Fifthmus Fic: Between Sun and Shade (for qem_chibati, from penguin474)
TITLE: Between Sun and Shade
AUTHOR: penguin474
RECIPIENT: qem_chibati, requests
PAIRING: Implied Isumi/Le Ping and Waya/Isumi (unrequited?)
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: …in which Shindou looks for things lost, Isumi is well entertained and Waya is a miserable spy.
NOTES: qem_chibati, I wrote this for your second request but tried to throw in a hint of requests 1 and 3 as well. Many thanks to A for the quick beta.
Waya leans back in his seat and looks at the landscape speeding past. The hushed, rhythmical noise of the rails is hypnotic; and opposite him Shindou is already asleep with his head lolling between the headrest and the wall, his bleached fringe falling in a tangle over his eyes. His hands are in his lap, palms turned up and fingers twitching. Waya wonders what he's dreaming.
Shindou has behaved oddly ever since they were asked to sign up for the Honinbou Shuusaku festival, but then Shindou is generally a little odd. No half-measures. He's happy or angry, rude or kind, loud and obnoxious or subdued by a strange, deep sadness surfacing from time to time. Waya alternately loves him and wants to kill him, and in between the extremes he just admires him for his fantastic go sense. Envies him quite a bit, too.
To Waya's left, Isumi stretches out his long legs to rest socked feet on the empty seat opposite as he listens to music, small blue earbuds shutting out all conversation. His eyes are closed and there's a faint smile on his lips, Waya has no desire to know what he is dreaming. He can guess anyway.
Waya heaves a deep sigh and returns to the landscape. As travelling companions Isumi and Shindou really leave something to wish for. For all the entertainment Waya will get out of them, he may as well sleep until they reach Onomichi.
*
Shindou wins his first game with an ease that makes Waya gnash his teeth, and proceeds to play shidougo with admiring amateurs. That blinding grin of his sends several women into nervous, delighted fits of giggles. Waya meets Isumi's eyes and shakes his head. When Isumi smiles, Waya turns his face away.
When they make their almost obligatory visit to the Honinbou Shuusaku museum and grave, Shindou is like a different person - quiet and withdrawn, looking about to face something he dreads. The heat is beating down relentlessly from a blazing sky. Isumi glances at Shindou's pinched, pale face and asks if he feels ill, if he needs to sit down, if he wants water, but Shindou only shakes his head.
It gets weirder. As they're standing by the grave, Isumi says: "If you stand here long enough, will you soak up some of Honinbou Shuusaku's talent?"
"If you stand here long enough, maybe you get to talk to his ghost," Waya replies.
Shindou flinches at this. His eyes are suddenly ablaze and his hands are balled up in fists at his sides as he hisses: "Don't talk like that! You can't stand by someone's grave making jokes about them!"
They stare at him.
"Shindou, I wasn't making jokes," Isumi says in his mild manner. "Shuusaku was one of the best go players in history - I'm not being disrespectful."
"Don't… don't talk about ghosts like that! You don't know anything!"
Waya is interested against his will. "What got your pants in a knot, Shindou? You never struck me as the superstitious type. Do you really believe in ghosts?"
Shindou only glares at him, but underneath his anger there's a kind of bright pain shining through. Waya frowns.
"Come on, Shindou, you have to explain now. Have you ever met one?"
"I just want you to shut up about things you know nothing about!"
"But you do?"
There's a murderous glance in Shindou's eyes now but Waya stares back in defiance. Isumi steps in as always. "Come on, let's look around."
"I… I'd like to stay here for a bit," Shindou mutters, relaxing his hands.
Isumi steers Waya away with a firm hand that Waya tries to shrug off. "We'll meet you here in half an hour then, Shindou."
*
When Waya and Isumi walk away they're no doubt discussing Hikaru's weird reaction, but Hikaru doesn't care. This is much more important than any of his friends, even more important than Touya right now, because Hikaru is here to see Sai for the first time in five years, or rather, he's back to see whether he can actually find Sai this time. Maybe it's possible if he opens himself up to it. Last time he was too frantic to pick up on anything but his own desperation. He shudders a little in the heat, thinking about that panicked, grief-ridden visit with Kawai ages ago. Maybe this time it will be different.
Hikaru falls to his knees by the grave. The sun is beating down on the back of his neck as he reaches out to touch the stone. It's rough and hot under his fingers.
Sai!
He closes his eyes to shut out the light and feel. The few times he met Sai in his dreams, he had so much to say he was in a hurry to get it all out before Sai disappeared, his words tripping over themselves.
But I've been wrong, he thinks now. If Sai can come back to me, if he still has some kind of existence… if he can find me here, and in my dreams... then he already knows. Then he can be anywhere, everywhere, and see anything he wants to. I won't need to tell him.
So instead Hikaru just sits in the hot sun and focuses on breathing, thinking about Sai, how he looked when he was happy to play or pleased with Hikaru's progress, thinking about the beautiful face, his smile, his reassurance.
Tears are stinging Hikaru's eyes, and suddenly, silently, Sai is there.
Hikaru isn't sure how he knows, but a tremor of joy runs through him and he senses Sai's presence as clearly as he knows his own body kneeling on stone. Sai is there, beside him or around him, and he is smiling.
Hikaru opens his eyes. Sai is nowhere to be seen, but Hikaru senses him beyond the shadow of a doubt. And this time, Hikaru knows better than to rush to tell Sai everything. Instead he closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, open it... focusing on his admiration, his gratitude, his love for Sai, so that Sai will feel it and know.
The more he stills himself and calms his mind, the better it works. Waves of thought or emotion, or thought and emotion, are passing between them. There are no words, exactly, but a language of another kind, equally clear.
"I know you loved Torajirou better, but I'm trying, Sai. When I play, I still ask myself what you would have done. I'm trying to do well, for you."
"You will play the Hand of God, Hikaru."
"If I do, it's because you taught me."
"I will watch you."
Sai is smiling again; Hikaru knows it as clearly as if Sai had been standing in front of him. There is a faint, light touch against his cheek, like a breath of air, and then Sai is gone. The world is empty and there's only a boy kneeling on hot stone in the sun.
He sits in seiza with his eyes closed, trying to hold off the overwhelming wave of sorrow washing in to drown him.
*
When Waya and Isumi return to the grave they find Shindou on the ground like he's facing a go ban, his hands rigid on thighs and his eyes closed. He's trembling and there are tears on his face.
"Shindou!" Waya hates being scared.
There's a vacant look in Shindou's eyes as though he doesn't recognise them immediately, like that disoriented moment when you wake up and can't remember where you are.
"Are you okay?"
Shindou nods. He's still not quite there and doesn't seem to notice his tears although they're running down his face, dripping from the point of his chin and leaving dark spots on his jeans. Waya doesn't know what to say or do and glances at Isumi for help, but Isumi's eyes are on Shindou and there's a strange look on his face, a kind of wry recognition.
"Are you still allowed to play?" he says very softly.
Shindou looks up in surprise but obviously understands what this means, because a small, tremulous smile flits across his face as he stands up. He wipes at his eyes with the back of a hand and nods.
"Good."
They share a smile that makes Waya feel like an intruder, a spectator, someone looking in from the outside. Excluded.
Jealousy is an ugly feeling and it swallows Waya whole. Without a word he turns on his heel and walks away.
*
The feeling of exclusion stays with him. The afternoon is dedicated to shidougo and Waya honestly tries to focus on his game, but his eyes keep returning to Isumi, who wanders around with his mobile phone and smiles to himself. Waya bends his head over the board.
"What's with Isumi grinning like that?" Shindou asks by the vending machines. "Girlfriend?"
Waya shrugs angrily. "Texting with Le Ping, I think."
"Le Ping? Your Chinese double?"
Isumi walks past, laughing softly, mobile phone in hand.
"Must be a real comedian, Le Ping," Shindou comments and returns to the game room.
Somehow Waya doubts that Isumi's exchange with Le Ping is of the humorous kind. Isumi's smiles and flushed face suggest something else.
Waya scrunches his can between his fingers.
*
In their room that night, Waya sits on the edge of his bed staring at Isumi's mobile phone lying silent and innocent on the bedside table. From the bathroom he hears the hiss of the shower and occasional bursts of singing. Waya resists temptation for all of three minutes before he reaches over to snatch up the phone. With shaking fingers he presses a couple of keys and stares at the list of messages in Isumi's inbox. Le Ping, Le Ping, Le Ping…This is already an intrusion on Isumi's privacy but he can still choose to stop here if he wants. Looking at the message list is bad enough; reading the messages would be a true violation of trust.
Waya takes a deep breath and opens the latest message.
His blood pounds in his ears as he stares at a picture of himself and yet not of him, at the younger, brasher near-copy of himself, slim and naked against a tiled wall, with an erection pushed towards the camera. The look on his face makes Waya want to kill something.
He's looking so intently at the picture that he doesn't notice Isumi at first. When he sees a white towel at the edge of his field of vision he jumps so violently he sends the phone clattering to the floor. Without a word, Isumi picks it up and returns it to the bedside table.
"That's private," he says quietly.
Waya can't look at Isumi but stares at the floor. His face and ears are burning and his throat aches ominously. He can't even bring himself to apologise. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Isumi's bare, unmoving feet, and Isumi is probably looking at him, expecting him to say something. After a long silence Waya stands up and meets Isumi's eyes defiantly, but it's Isumi who speaks first.
"Le Ping keeps sending me all these photos and messages," he says. "I've asked him not to. He's so young. Too young."
"But you're flattered," Waya states, his voice hard.
"Yes," Isumi admits and blushes.
"Why?" Waya bursts out, his eyes raking over Isumi's body, naked apart from the towel around his hips, before returning to his pretty face and damp, tangled hair. There's a horrible, dull ache somewhere deep inside Waya that makes him want to do something violent. "Why?" he repeats. "I'm here, and I... I'm the original."
It sounds ridiculous even to him. Shaking, he quickly switches off his bedside lamp and climbs into bed, turning his back to Isumi and pulling the bedclothes over his head. He lies stiffly, listening to the pounding of his heart, half expecting Isumi to say something. But the room is silent until Isumi eventually begins to move about - no questions, no explanations. After a few minutes his bedside light is turned out and there's only the sound of their breathing.
It's hours before Waya sleeps.
*
The train rushes through the sun-drenched countryside like a flash of silver and Hikaru gazes sleepily out the window. The memory of Sai's smile is like warmth in his body, in his mind. Sai is with him and will always be; Hikaru found what he came for.
Isumi and Waya, now - that's a different matter. Hikaru turns to look at them. Isumi's eyes are closed as he listens to music, effectively shutting out the world, and Waya is staring stiffly in the other direction. They've been like this all morning; Isumi silent and uncommunicative and Waya tense and angry, his eyes hard. Whatever happened between them must have been pretty bad.
Hikaru will try to wheedle it out of Waya eventually, perhaps tomorrow when he's less tired. There's no point even trying with Isumi, who always keeps things tightly locked within himself and never lets anyone in. Waya might, though.
The gentle, rocking motion of the train makes Hikaru sleepy and he looks out the window, watching the landscape blur before his eyes.
Help me out here, Sai, he thinks hazily before dozing off. I need you to come and point your fan.
There's no longer any doubt in his mind that Sai will.
AUTHOR: penguin474
RECIPIENT: qem_chibati, requests
PAIRING: Implied Isumi/Le Ping and Waya/Isumi (unrequited?)
WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: …in which Shindou looks for things lost, Isumi is well entertained and Waya is a miserable spy.
NOTES: qem_chibati, I wrote this for your second request but tried to throw in a hint of requests 1 and 3 as well. Many thanks to A for the quick beta.
Waya leans back in his seat and looks at the landscape speeding past. The hushed, rhythmical noise of the rails is hypnotic; and opposite him Shindou is already asleep with his head lolling between the headrest and the wall, his bleached fringe falling in a tangle over his eyes. His hands are in his lap, palms turned up and fingers twitching. Waya wonders what he's dreaming.
Shindou has behaved oddly ever since they were asked to sign up for the Honinbou Shuusaku festival, but then Shindou is generally a little odd. No half-measures. He's happy or angry, rude or kind, loud and obnoxious or subdued by a strange, deep sadness surfacing from time to time. Waya alternately loves him and wants to kill him, and in between the extremes he just admires him for his fantastic go sense. Envies him quite a bit, too.
To Waya's left, Isumi stretches out his long legs to rest socked feet on the empty seat opposite as he listens to music, small blue earbuds shutting out all conversation. His eyes are closed and there's a faint smile on his lips, Waya has no desire to know what he is dreaming. He can guess anyway.
Waya heaves a deep sigh and returns to the landscape. As travelling companions Isumi and Shindou really leave something to wish for. For all the entertainment Waya will get out of them, he may as well sleep until they reach Onomichi.
*
Shindou wins his first game with an ease that makes Waya gnash his teeth, and proceeds to play shidougo with admiring amateurs. That blinding grin of his sends several women into nervous, delighted fits of giggles. Waya meets Isumi's eyes and shakes his head. When Isumi smiles, Waya turns his face away.
When they make their almost obligatory visit to the Honinbou Shuusaku museum and grave, Shindou is like a different person - quiet and withdrawn, looking about to face something he dreads. The heat is beating down relentlessly from a blazing sky. Isumi glances at Shindou's pinched, pale face and asks if he feels ill, if he needs to sit down, if he wants water, but Shindou only shakes his head.
It gets weirder. As they're standing by the grave, Isumi says: "If you stand here long enough, will you soak up some of Honinbou Shuusaku's talent?"
"If you stand here long enough, maybe you get to talk to his ghost," Waya replies.
Shindou flinches at this. His eyes are suddenly ablaze and his hands are balled up in fists at his sides as he hisses: "Don't talk like that! You can't stand by someone's grave making jokes about them!"
They stare at him.
"Shindou, I wasn't making jokes," Isumi says in his mild manner. "Shuusaku was one of the best go players in history - I'm not being disrespectful."
"Don't… don't talk about ghosts like that! You don't know anything!"
Waya is interested against his will. "What got your pants in a knot, Shindou? You never struck me as the superstitious type. Do you really believe in ghosts?"
Shindou only glares at him, but underneath his anger there's a kind of bright pain shining through. Waya frowns.
"Come on, Shindou, you have to explain now. Have you ever met one?"
"I just want you to shut up about things you know nothing about!"
"But you do?"
There's a murderous glance in Shindou's eyes now but Waya stares back in defiance. Isumi steps in as always. "Come on, let's look around."
"I… I'd like to stay here for a bit," Shindou mutters, relaxing his hands.
Isumi steers Waya away with a firm hand that Waya tries to shrug off. "We'll meet you here in half an hour then, Shindou."
*
When Waya and Isumi walk away they're no doubt discussing Hikaru's weird reaction, but Hikaru doesn't care. This is much more important than any of his friends, even more important than Touya right now, because Hikaru is here to see Sai for the first time in five years, or rather, he's back to see whether he can actually find Sai this time. Maybe it's possible if he opens himself up to it. Last time he was too frantic to pick up on anything but his own desperation. He shudders a little in the heat, thinking about that panicked, grief-ridden visit with Kawai ages ago. Maybe this time it will be different.
Hikaru falls to his knees by the grave. The sun is beating down on the back of his neck as he reaches out to touch the stone. It's rough and hot under his fingers.
Sai!
He closes his eyes to shut out the light and feel. The few times he met Sai in his dreams, he had so much to say he was in a hurry to get it all out before Sai disappeared, his words tripping over themselves.
But I've been wrong, he thinks now. If Sai can come back to me, if he still has some kind of existence… if he can find me here, and in my dreams... then he already knows. Then he can be anywhere, everywhere, and see anything he wants to. I won't need to tell him.
So instead Hikaru just sits in the hot sun and focuses on breathing, thinking about Sai, how he looked when he was happy to play or pleased with Hikaru's progress, thinking about the beautiful face, his smile, his reassurance.
Tears are stinging Hikaru's eyes, and suddenly, silently, Sai is there.
Hikaru isn't sure how he knows, but a tremor of joy runs through him and he senses Sai's presence as clearly as he knows his own body kneeling on stone. Sai is there, beside him or around him, and he is smiling.
Hikaru opens his eyes. Sai is nowhere to be seen, but Hikaru senses him beyond the shadow of a doubt. And this time, Hikaru knows better than to rush to tell Sai everything. Instead he closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind, open it... focusing on his admiration, his gratitude, his love for Sai, so that Sai will feel it and know.
The more he stills himself and calms his mind, the better it works. Waves of thought or emotion, or thought and emotion, are passing between them. There are no words, exactly, but a language of another kind, equally clear.
"I know you loved Torajirou better, but I'm trying, Sai. When I play, I still ask myself what you would have done. I'm trying to do well, for you."
"You will play the Hand of God, Hikaru."
"If I do, it's because you taught me."
"I will watch you."
Sai is smiling again; Hikaru knows it as clearly as if Sai had been standing in front of him. There is a faint, light touch against his cheek, like a breath of air, and then Sai is gone. The world is empty and there's only a boy kneeling on hot stone in the sun.
He sits in seiza with his eyes closed, trying to hold off the overwhelming wave of sorrow washing in to drown him.
*
When Waya and Isumi return to the grave they find Shindou on the ground like he's facing a go ban, his hands rigid on thighs and his eyes closed. He's trembling and there are tears on his face.
"Shindou!" Waya hates being scared.
There's a vacant look in Shindou's eyes as though he doesn't recognise them immediately, like that disoriented moment when you wake up and can't remember where you are.
"Are you okay?"
Shindou nods. He's still not quite there and doesn't seem to notice his tears although they're running down his face, dripping from the point of his chin and leaving dark spots on his jeans. Waya doesn't know what to say or do and glances at Isumi for help, but Isumi's eyes are on Shindou and there's a strange look on his face, a kind of wry recognition.
"Are you still allowed to play?" he says very softly.
Shindou looks up in surprise but obviously understands what this means, because a small, tremulous smile flits across his face as he stands up. He wipes at his eyes with the back of a hand and nods.
"Good."
They share a smile that makes Waya feel like an intruder, a spectator, someone looking in from the outside. Excluded.
Jealousy is an ugly feeling and it swallows Waya whole. Without a word he turns on his heel and walks away.
*
The feeling of exclusion stays with him. The afternoon is dedicated to shidougo and Waya honestly tries to focus on his game, but his eyes keep returning to Isumi, who wanders around with his mobile phone and smiles to himself. Waya bends his head over the board.
"What's with Isumi grinning like that?" Shindou asks by the vending machines. "Girlfriend?"
Waya shrugs angrily. "Texting with Le Ping, I think."
"Le Ping? Your Chinese double?"
Isumi walks past, laughing softly, mobile phone in hand.
"Must be a real comedian, Le Ping," Shindou comments and returns to the game room.
Somehow Waya doubts that Isumi's exchange with Le Ping is of the humorous kind. Isumi's smiles and flushed face suggest something else.
Waya scrunches his can between his fingers.
*
In their room that night, Waya sits on the edge of his bed staring at Isumi's mobile phone lying silent and innocent on the bedside table. From the bathroom he hears the hiss of the shower and occasional bursts of singing. Waya resists temptation for all of three minutes before he reaches over to snatch up the phone. With shaking fingers he presses a couple of keys and stares at the list of messages in Isumi's inbox. Le Ping, Le Ping, Le Ping…This is already an intrusion on Isumi's privacy but he can still choose to stop here if he wants. Looking at the message list is bad enough; reading the messages would be a true violation of trust.
Waya takes a deep breath and opens the latest message.
His blood pounds in his ears as he stares at a picture of himself and yet not of him, at the younger, brasher near-copy of himself, slim and naked against a tiled wall, with an erection pushed towards the camera. The look on his face makes Waya want to kill something.
He's looking so intently at the picture that he doesn't notice Isumi at first. When he sees a white towel at the edge of his field of vision he jumps so violently he sends the phone clattering to the floor. Without a word, Isumi picks it up and returns it to the bedside table.
"That's private," he says quietly.
Waya can't look at Isumi but stares at the floor. His face and ears are burning and his throat aches ominously. He can't even bring himself to apologise. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Isumi's bare, unmoving feet, and Isumi is probably looking at him, expecting him to say something. After a long silence Waya stands up and meets Isumi's eyes defiantly, but it's Isumi who speaks first.
"Le Ping keeps sending me all these photos and messages," he says. "I've asked him not to. He's so young. Too young."
"But you're flattered," Waya states, his voice hard.
"Yes," Isumi admits and blushes.
"Why?" Waya bursts out, his eyes raking over Isumi's body, naked apart from the towel around his hips, before returning to his pretty face and damp, tangled hair. There's a horrible, dull ache somewhere deep inside Waya that makes him want to do something violent. "Why?" he repeats. "I'm here, and I... I'm the original."
It sounds ridiculous even to him. Shaking, he quickly switches off his bedside lamp and climbs into bed, turning his back to Isumi and pulling the bedclothes over his head. He lies stiffly, listening to the pounding of his heart, half expecting Isumi to say something. But the room is silent until Isumi eventually begins to move about - no questions, no explanations. After a few minutes his bedside light is turned out and there's only the sound of their breathing.
It's hours before Waya sleeps.
*
The train rushes through the sun-drenched countryside like a flash of silver and Hikaru gazes sleepily out the window. The memory of Sai's smile is like warmth in his body, in his mind. Sai is with him and will always be; Hikaru found what he came for.
Isumi and Waya, now - that's a different matter. Hikaru turns to look at them. Isumi's eyes are closed as he listens to music, effectively shutting out the world, and Waya is staring stiffly in the other direction. They've been like this all morning; Isumi silent and uncommunicative and Waya tense and angry, his eyes hard. Whatever happened between them must have been pretty bad.
Hikaru will try to wheedle it out of Waya eventually, perhaps tomorrow when he's less tired. There's no point even trying with Isumi, who always keeps things tightly locked within himself and never lets anyone in. Waya might, though.
The gentle, rocking motion of the train makes Hikaru sleepy and he looks out the window, watching the landscape blur before his eyes.
Help me out here, Sai, he thinks hazily before dozing off. I need you to come and point your fan.
There's no longer any doubt in his mind that Sai will.