Hikaru no Go fic!
By entering a fandom fashionably late, I thought all the goodfics must be already written, thereby leaving me absolutely no desire, want, or need to fic. But there is such a lack of good longfic in hikago (not including series, but I've always been more fond of one-shots more).
Will finally get around to commenting on all the fics I've read this week (& believe me when I say I've read a lot). It really is too bad that I didn't get into Hikaru no Go around the same time as everyone else did, because I honestly do adore Hikaru and Akira's relationship. They're the Naruto/Sasuke I never had. <3 Cathy tells me she refuses to fic for it, woe. absenceofmind, I hear you've been reading hikago too. You will write fic for me, yes? *looks cute*
I can't seem to angst this pairing out; the actual canon does it much better than I. Consequently, I think this is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Consider that your warning.
NOTE: Wrote this entire fic with The Motion City Soundtrack - "The Future Freaks Me Out" on repeat. Interpret at will.
graduated compensation
Hikaru never ends up telling Akira why he misses the first fifteen to twenty games of his pro career, and after a while, Akira in turn finally comes to accept it as another slow fate of Hikaru, filed away covertly under Sai and two other illusory games. They play regularly now, with each other, and he can still beat Hikaru reasonably solid at least two out of three; the remaining game is usually unpredictable and late, when Hikaru makes it clear that he doesn't plan to leave Akira's house empty-handed. Despite that, it's never easy anymore to play him, and the more they play, the harder it is to win. One of these days, Hikaru will win in the morning and shamelessly gloat for the rest of the day and knowing him, will probably still wait until late evening to leave.
They've become friends. At least, this is what friendship feels like, and while true, Akira hasn't had many natural occurrences to use as models, he's fairly sure they see each other the most, and Hikaru doesn't bother to call beforehand anymore; it's not as if he had previously, but he's now a lot less polite at knocking down Akira's door. His mother's also adjusted to him and lets Hikaru in even if he isn't there; competition and personal appointments barring, it's rare for him to be out long without Hikaru somewhere close behind anyway. Akira thinks she secretly approves of him, even if her first comment about Hikaru had been, "He's the one with the funny hair, isn't he?" Akira's busier now on the weekends, and he's more socially aware, if not at least understanding just how socially awkward he is. It's strange going out with people and pretending they weren't rivals just a week ago, but Hikaru never minds, and Akira isn't left with much of a choice.
Hikaru's in his room already when he returns from the go institute; he's sprawled rather ungracefully beside the goban, eyes searching the ceiling aimlessly. "You're late," he reports. He doesn't make a move to sit up.
"Sorry," Akira apologizes, without thinking why; Hikaru never told him he was coming, and it's not a complete anomaly for him to stay after class. Hikaru waves his hand lazily in a dismissive salute, and Akira drops his knapsack on the floor and reaches for the two bowls on the goban. He means to ask how many games he wants to play today, but the question rephrases itself in his mouth and comes out, "How many games have we played before?"
Hikaru raises his head, interested. "Go games? We've known each other for five years--subtract the first three where you were being weird--," Akira's face foreshadows a disagreement and Hikaru hurriedly cuts him off, "so that's two years, and we normally play on weekdays, three games a day, and--," Hikaru stops mumbling and falls silent. "Aw, you're the one who wants to know; you figure it out." He flops his head back down on the ground. Akira hovers over him, mockingly disgusted, and toes Hikaru's side inquisitively.
"Stop, that tickles." Hikaru instinctively curls leftward, a hand reaching out to grab hold of Akira's right foot. Akira steps back, and Hikaru latches on stubbornly, holding his ankle hostage. "Hey, Touya?" he looks up curiously, and Akira stills his movements enough to return the confused glance.
"I win." Hikaru jerks his arm back, and Akira capsizes over him, going down in a flurry of limbs. "Shit!" He winces when Akira's leg lands sharply on his knee, and then laughs.
"You're crazy. That hurt you more than it did me." As a protest, Akira gives Hikaru's other knee a soft kick.
"But I'm not the one who fell," Hikaru grins. That wins him another kick toward his shin.
"We should get up now if you want to get a game in before dinner," Akira informs him.
"Do you think we play too much go?" Hikaru asks him suddenly; his wrist's draped across his eyes, and his breaths are still coming out shallow below his arm.
Akira sits up. "Why, do you?"
Hikaru rolls over onto his stomach and props his head up with an elbow. "No, but we play it a lot. There's other ways of studying go."
"We went to a seminar two weeks ago," Akira reminds him. "And you constantly forget to show up to shidougo classes unless it's an actual job." Hikaru makes a low grumbling noise. "We can go somewhere next week. The weather forecast said it's supposed to rain throughout, though."
"But that means this weekend will be sunny, right?" Hikaru raises himself, excited. "Let's do something this weekend! Let's go to Hiroshima!"
Akira stares at him blankly. "What?"
"Hiroshima! That's where--" Hikaru slows and his fingers flutter nervously. "Shusaku. He grew up there."
Akira pauses. "You're insane."
"Fine, then! I'll ask someone else!" Hikaru scowls.
"Okay." Akira shrugs and picks himself up.
"Wait, you're really not going?" Hikaru scrambles into a sitting position.
Akira looks at him helplessly; anyone with any sense of preparation doesn't decide on a cross-country trip two days in advance, but anyone with any sense of go doesn't play go like Hikaru either. "Well--I guess--if I ask my mom now--"
"Oh, your mom will agree!" Hikaru beams, and Akira sinks down; he knows it's true too.
"So we leave Saturday morning and come back Sunday night?" Akira stretches his legs, and Hikaru follows suit. "We'll have to make hotel reservations."
"Do we? Last time I went, it wasn't so hard to find a place to spend the night."
Akira glances over at the first part of the sentence, but Hikaru's engrossed in remembering where he stayed before, and Akira brushes it off. "It's a vacation season. All the resorts will be filled. If we offer to host a class, we might be able to secure a room."
"You're taking care of those details, right?" Hikaru asks brightly.
Akira frowns, but he doesn't mean it, not when Hikaru's already listing the sites they have to visit, and it's going to be another weekend out of his control, but it's spring and Hikaru's right: they've been staying inside too long even for him and the sun's shining.
*
It rains unforgivably the entire way from Tokyo station to Hiroshima.
"Who said it was going to be sunny all weekend?" Hikaru complains loudly, tapping the glass rebelliously. The rain blurs everything green and brown outside the train, and a continuous rhythm beats at the windowpanes.
"You did," Akira tells him flatly.
"It better stop raining by the time we get there," he threatens defiantly. As though on cue, a roll of thunder rumbles acutely overhead and a flash of lightning accompanies a few seconds after. Hikaru slumps down, depressed.
"It's not so bad. The weather's still warm. We brought umbrellas," Akira reconciles. "Well, I brought umbrellas, since I knew you'd refuse to bring one."
"It wasn't supposed to rain!"
"Want to play go? I have my foldable board with me," Akira tries again.
"No." Hikaru sullenly traces a figure over the glass.
Akira doesn't bother him after that. He picks up a copy of Weekly Go from the seat pocket and flips through the pages idly. The cover advertises a Touya versus Shindou rivals article in the back for the upcoming Young Lions Tournament, so he avoids that section completely. There are insei records in the front, with pictures and speculations of this year's favorites for the pro qualification exams. It's still too early for that; three months still allows for skill change, even for people less volatile than Hikaru.
Akira lets his eyes wander over. Three years made all the difference for him; Hikaru climbed up almost as fast as Kurata-san and, considering, at younger age too. The older pros joke how even if Hikaru's a pro, he acts like an amateur whenever it's revealed he can't keep the Meijin title separate from the Honinbo. How he made it to the insei level, no one can properly explain except for the potential, like the reading ahead in a game. Hikaru could always read ahead.
He turns around as though he can feel Akira's thoughts, and his eyes light upon the magazine cover. "Hey, there's an article about us in there! Let me see it." Hikaru nudges his shoulder, and Akira resignedly hands it over, despite misgivings. A couple years ago, Weekly Go had done a Who Is Shindou Hikaru arc where reporters asked seasoned pros why Akira might consider him a rival, and Hikaru had been incensed enough to challenge him to a game every time they met in public. It was after that week that everyone started thinking of their names in succession.
"'It's amazing how Shindou 4-dan manages to stay unintimidated by Touya 6-dan's go'? What are they talking about? Like I would ever be intimidated by you," Hikaru tosses the magazine aside, uninterested.
"Yeah, you've pretty much accepted you can't beat me," Akira agrees.
"I want a game! Right now!" Hikaru elbows Akira sharply.
Akira ducks his head away from Hikaru's wayward arm and laughs. He pulls up the discarded goban and makes sure he's far enough when he says, "It's still raining, Shindou."
*
The sky settles into a light drizzle by the time they reach the hotel, and Hikaru wastes no time in kicking his duffel bag next to his futon and immediately demanding to start on the temples. He swiped a bus schedule from the downstairs lobby on the way up and has already calculated which line should take them out to Inno Island, and when.
"Don't be ridiculous. We have to meet with the hotel owners first. Why are you in such a hurry anyway? Two days gives us plenty of time to visit everything." Akira rolls his right shoulder and sits down on his mat. He hadn't expected Hikaru to want to tourist the entire time in Hiroshima. Vacationing was always counterproductive for Akira and his father; that's why they'd stopped going on family trips years ago. You didn't need to be in a topical climate to play good go.
"We didn't spend four hours on a train to stay inside," Hikaru says firmly. Akira knows he still isn't fully satisfied on wasting Sunday morning teaching go to a class of beginning vacationers, but the proximity of the hotel to the bus and train station had swayed him, in Tokyo, at least. Now that they were here, Akira can see the impatience stamped across Hikaru's features.
"It won't take long. The bus doesn't leave for another hour, anyway."
Hikaru mumbles a concession and taking hold of the opportunity, Akira ushers them both downstairs to the office. He's dealt with the same scenario for several years now, and so has Hikaru, who knows to act pleasant when it's forced of him. The managers laugh over how young they are, and how successful, but they are still three years older than when they first left age for the amateurs, Akira thinks.
"Shindou-san is so unsuspecting," one of them says, almost surprised. "You look exactly like a teenager."
Hikaru bows his head, embarrassed, and smiles. "That's what Touya is for, then."
The arrangements are simple and painless; someone will ring their room at seven and they should be down by eight; the lesson ends at eleven, and they're then relieved of all duties. Hikaru still makes an indiscernible sound on the way out, but brightens once they're finally outside. His mood grows on the bus, and there're a few droplets left hitting the water surface but the rain's drying out. Akira's never been to Inno Island before; rare, since he studied Shusauku as a child and visited the Tokyo cemetery. Trees line the coastlines and a few temple tops peak inconspicuously above the branches.
Hikaru twists in his seat, both palms pressed against the glass, and it feels wrong to spoil the ride with conversation, so Akira doesn't. The crowds are reasonable, but not sparse. On the train alone are several families with breezy-print shirts and large cameras. The loud chatter of children rises and falls to their left. A couple nearby talk about the exhibits currently showing at the Shusauku museum. It's easy to eavesdrop in public, Akira realizes. He's never paid much attention to surroundings, but voices lend themselves to hearing especially well. He thinks back on exchanges between him and Hikaru on in transits, and his face flushes inwardly when he remembers how different he must sound around Hikaru than in the go institute.
A metallic voice-over announces the destination and Hikaru grabs his shirtsleeve as soon as they step off. "Let's see the cemetery first."
"Everyone's heading toward the temple," Akira points to the group massing in front of a wide gate.
"We'll see that later." Hikaru's already walking the other way, and Akira hurries to catch up, folding the schedule he'd made up on the bus; he should have known preparation would be useless.
The cemetery spreads across a generous span of land, two hilltops merging into a low valley and stone paths. The place isn't empty; they're even starting to attract a few quizzical stares from passer-bys, and Akira is hit with the knowledge that someone will figure it out, soon, suddenly, and the two of them will never finish out the day. Hikaru realizes this, too, and pulls Akira behind a large gray slab of a tomb, the engravings so old and weathered that Akira can barely make out the numbers for the date of death. A long time ago, obviously.
"This is your fault. Why do you have to dress so formally?" Hikaru breathes, using a bush as a shield as he peeks out between the leaves. "You're so recognizable."
"You're just as bad," Akira replies testily, but the hotel owner's words surface in his head; he never could pass for his age group. "People recognize us because of your hair."
"My hair's normal," Hikaru defends.
"It's not even natural!"
"But it's normal," he insists. The bleached bangs look even brighter with the sun emerging cautiously in the sky, and Hikaru gives it a scrutinizing flick before inching forward. The ground pushes soft and giving from the rain; Akira keeps his discomfort in check and tries to ignore the mud he knows must be adhering to the soles of his shoes. It must be safe to walk out now, with all the tombstones blocking the view, and Akira nearly loses his footing when Hikaru abruptly turns into a path.
"We're here."
Akira tells himself to not look down at his feet.
"This is the second time I'm facing this grave." The softness in Hikaru's voice makes him raise his head, eyes leveling with Torajiro Shusaku's name. "It's been three years."
"An irreplaceable figure in history," Akira murmurs. Hikaru nods silently. He's sure Shusaku plays a large part in Hikaru's past and with Sai; the old-fashioned playing style, out-dated maneuvers, his near-obsessive loyalty, and Akira waits breathlessly, but he doesn't offer an explanation, and Akira, truthfully, doesn't expect one now. Hikaru's hands are clenches tightly into fists, and this feels personal, intimate, like Akira is witnessing a moment he shouldn't be.
"Thank you for inviting me," he says finally, for lack of anything he can add.
Hikaru turns to him and he exhales, long, and squeezes Akira's hand once and lets it go. "I owed you this much," he explains, and Akira thinks the two years of unbearable mystery he went through aren't unforgivable after all.
Will finally get around to commenting on all the fics I've read this week (& believe me when I say I've read a lot). It really is too bad that I didn't get into Hikaru no Go around the same time as everyone else did, because I honestly do adore Hikaru and Akira's relationship. They're the Naruto/Sasuke I never had. <3 Cathy tells me she refuses to fic for it, woe. absenceofmind, I hear you've been reading hikago too. You will write fic for me, yes? *looks cute*
I can't seem to angst this pairing out; the actual canon does it much better than I. Consequently, I think this is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Consider that your warning.
NOTE: Wrote this entire fic with The Motion City Soundtrack - "The Future Freaks Me Out" on repeat. Interpret at will.
graduated compensation
Hikaru never ends up telling Akira why he misses the first fifteen to twenty games of his pro career, and after a while, Akira in turn finally comes to accept it as another slow fate of Hikaru, filed away covertly under Sai and two other illusory games. They play regularly now, with each other, and he can still beat Hikaru reasonably solid at least two out of three; the remaining game is usually unpredictable and late, when Hikaru makes it clear that he doesn't plan to leave Akira's house empty-handed. Despite that, it's never easy anymore to play him, and the more they play, the harder it is to win. One of these days, Hikaru will win in the morning and shamelessly gloat for the rest of the day and knowing him, will probably still wait until late evening to leave.
They've become friends. At least, this is what friendship feels like, and while true, Akira hasn't had many natural occurrences to use as models, he's fairly sure they see each other the most, and Hikaru doesn't bother to call beforehand anymore; it's not as if he had previously, but he's now a lot less polite at knocking down Akira's door. His mother's also adjusted to him and lets Hikaru in even if he isn't there; competition and personal appointments barring, it's rare for him to be out long without Hikaru somewhere close behind anyway. Akira thinks she secretly approves of him, even if her first comment about Hikaru had been, "He's the one with the funny hair, isn't he?" Akira's busier now on the weekends, and he's more socially aware, if not at least understanding just how socially awkward he is. It's strange going out with people and pretending they weren't rivals just a week ago, but Hikaru never minds, and Akira isn't left with much of a choice.
Hikaru's in his room already when he returns from the go institute; he's sprawled rather ungracefully beside the goban, eyes searching the ceiling aimlessly. "You're late," he reports. He doesn't make a move to sit up.
"Sorry," Akira apologizes, without thinking why; Hikaru never told him he was coming, and it's not a complete anomaly for him to stay after class. Hikaru waves his hand lazily in a dismissive salute, and Akira drops his knapsack on the floor and reaches for the two bowls on the goban. He means to ask how many games he wants to play today, but the question rephrases itself in his mouth and comes out, "How many games have we played before?"
Hikaru raises his head, interested. "Go games? We've known each other for five years--subtract the first three where you were being weird--," Akira's face foreshadows a disagreement and Hikaru hurriedly cuts him off, "so that's two years, and we normally play on weekdays, three games a day, and--," Hikaru stops mumbling and falls silent. "Aw, you're the one who wants to know; you figure it out." He flops his head back down on the ground. Akira hovers over him, mockingly disgusted, and toes Hikaru's side inquisitively.
"Stop, that tickles." Hikaru instinctively curls leftward, a hand reaching out to grab hold of Akira's right foot. Akira steps back, and Hikaru latches on stubbornly, holding his ankle hostage. "Hey, Touya?" he looks up curiously, and Akira stills his movements enough to return the confused glance.
"I win." Hikaru jerks his arm back, and Akira capsizes over him, going down in a flurry of limbs. "Shit!" He winces when Akira's leg lands sharply on his knee, and then laughs.
"You're crazy. That hurt you more than it did me." As a protest, Akira gives Hikaru's other knee a soft kick.
"But I'm not the one who fell," Hikaru grins. That wins him another kick toward his shin.
"We should get up now if you want to get a game in before dinner," Akira informs him.
"Do you think we play too much go?" Hikaru asks him suddenly; his wrist's draped across his eyes, and his breaths are still coming out shallow below his arm.
Akira sits up. "Why, do you?"
Hikaru rolls over onto his stomach and props his head up with an elbow. "No, but we play it a lot. There's other ways of studying go."
"We went to a seminar two weeks ago," Akira reminds him. "And you constantly forget to show up to shidougo classes unless it's an actual job." Hikaru makes a low grumbling noise. "We can go somewhere next week. The weather forecast said it's supposed to rain throughout, though."
"But that means this weekend will be sunny, right?" Hikaru raises himself, excited. "Let's do something this weekend! Let's go to Hiroshima!"
Akira stares at him blankly. "What?"
"Hiroshima! That's where--" Hikaru slows and his fingers flutter nervously. "Shusaku. He grew up there."
Akira pauses. "You're insane."
"Fine, then! I'll ask someone else!" Hikaru scowls.
"Okay." Akira shrugs and picks himself up.
"Wait, you're really not going?" Hikaru scrambles into a sitting position.
Akira looks at him helplessly; anyone with any sense of preparation doesn't decide on a cross-country trip two days in advance, but anyone with any sense of go doesn't play go like Hikaru either. "Well--I guess--if I ask my mom now--"
"Oh, your mom will agree!" Hikaru beams, and Akira sinks down; he knows it's true too.
"So we leave Saturday morning and come back Sunday night?" Akira stretches his legs, and Hikaru follows suit. "We'll have to make hotel reservations."
"Do we? Last time I went, it wasn't so hard to find a place to spend the night."
Akira glances over at the first part of the sentence, but Hikaru's engrossed in remembering where he stayed before, and Akira brushes it off. "It's a vacation season. All the resorts will be filled. If we offer to host a class, we might be able to secure a room."
"You're taking care of those details, right?" Hikaru asks brightly.
Akira frowns, but he doesn't mean it, not when Hikaru's already listing the sites they have to visit, and it's going to be another weekend out of his control, but it's spring and Hikaru's right: they've been staying inside too long even for him and the sun's shining.
*
It rains unforgivably the entire way from Tokyo station to Hiroshima.
"Who said it was going to be sunny all weekend?" Hikaru complains loudly, tapping the glass rebelliously. The rain blurs everything green and brown outside the train, and a continuous rhythm beats at the windowpanes.
"You did," Akira tells him flatly.
"It better stop raining by the time we get there," he threatens defiantly. As though on cue, a roll of thunder rumbles acutely overhead and a flash of lightning accompanies a few seconds after. Hikaru slumps down, depressed.
"It's not so bad. The weather's still warm. We brought umbrellas," Akira reconciles. "Well, I brought umbrellas, since I knew you'd refuse to bring one."
"It wasn't supposed to rain!"
"Want to play go? I have my foldable board with me," Akira tries again.
"No." Hikaru sullenly traces a figure over the glass.
Akira doesn't bother him after that. He picks up a copy of Weekly Go from the seat pocket and flips through the pages idly. The cover advertises a Touya versus Shindou rivals article in the back for the upcoming Young Lions Tournament, so he avoids that section completely. There are insei records in the front, with pictures and speculations of this year's favorites for the pro qualification exams. It's still too early for that; three months still allows for skill change, even for people less volatile than Hikaru.
Akira lets his eyes wander over. Three years made all the difference for him; Hikaru climbed up almost as fast as Kurata-san and, considering, at younger age too. The older pros joke how even if Hikaru's a pro, he acts like an amateur whenever it's revealed he can't keep the Meijin title separate from the Honinbo. How he made it to the insei level, no one can properly explain except for the potential, like the reading ahead in a game. Hikaru could always read ahead.
He turns around as though he can feel Akira's thoughts, and his eyes light upon the magazine cover. "Hey, there's an article about us in there! Let me see it." Hikaru nudges his shoulder, and Akira resignedly hands it over, despite misgivings. A couple years ago, Weekly Go had done a Who Is Shindou Hikaru arc where reporters asked seasoned pros why Akira might consider him a rival, and Hikaru had been incensed enough to challenge him to a game every time they met in public. It was after that week that everyone started thinking of their names in succession.
"'It's amazing how Shindou 4-dan manages to stay unintimidated by Touya 6-dan's go'? What are they talking about? Like I would ever be intimidated by you," Hikaru tosses the magazine aside, uninterested.
"Yeah, you've pretty much accepted you can't beat me," Akira agrees.
"I want a game! Right now!" Hikaru elbows Akira sharply.
Akira ducks his head away from Hikaru's wayward arm and laughs. He pulls up the discarded goban and makes sure he's far enough when he says, "It's still raining, Shindou."
*
The sky settles into a light drizzle by the time they reach the hotel, and Hikaru wastes no time in kicking his duffel bag next to his futon and immediately demanding to start on the temples. He swiped a bus schedule from the downstairs lobby on the way up and has already calculated which line should take them out to Inno Island, and when.
"Don't be ridiculous. We have to meet with the hotel owners first. Why are you in such a hurry anyway? Two days gives us plenty of time to visit everything." Akira rolls his right shoulder and sits down on his mat. He hadn't expected Hikaru to want to tourist the entire time in Hiroshima. Vacationing was always counterproductive for Akira and his father; that's why they'd stopped going on family trips years ago. You didn't need to be in a topical climate to play good go.
"We didn't spend four hours on a train to stay inside," Hikaru says firmly. Akira knows he still isn't fully satisfied on wasting Sunday morning teaching go to a class of beginning vacationers, but the proximity of the hotel to the bus and train station had swayed him, in Tokyo, at least. Now that they were here, Akira can see the impatience stamped across Hikaru's features.
"It won't take long. The bus doesn't leave for another hour, anyway."
Hikaru mumbles a concession and taking hold of the opportunity, Akira ushers them both downstairs to the office. He's dealt with the same scenario for several years now, and so has Hikaru, who knows to act pleasant when it's forced of him. The managers laugh over how young they are, and how successful, but they are still three years older than when they first left age for the amateurs, Akira thinks.
"Shindou-san is so unsuspecting," one of them says, almost surprised. "You look exactly like a teenager."
Hikaru bows his head, embarrassed, and smiles. "That's what Touya is for, then."
The arrangements are simple and painless; someone will ring their room at seven and they should be down by eight; the lesson ends at eleven, and they're then relieved of all duties. Hikaru still makes an indiscernible sound on the way out, but brightens once they're finally outside. His mood grows on the bus, and there're a few droplets left hitting the water surface but the rain's drying out. Akira's never been to Inno Island before; rare, since he studied Shusauku as a child and visited the Tokyo cemetery. Trees line the coastlines and a few temple tops peak inconspicuously above the branches.
Hikaru twists in his seat, both palms pressed against the glass, and it feels wrong to spoil the ride with conversation, so Akira doesn't. The crowds are reasonable, but not sparse. On the train alone are several families with breezy-print shirts and large cameras. The loud chatter of children rises and falls to their left. A couple nearby talk about the exhibits currently showing at the Shusauku museum. It's easy to eavesdrop in public, Akira realizes. He's never paid much attention to surroundings, but voices lend themselves to hearing especially well. He thinks back on exchanges between him and Hikaru on in transits, and his face flushes inwardly when he remembers how different he must sound around Hikaru than in the go institute.
A metallic voice-over announces the destination and Hikaru grabs his shirtsleeve as soon as they step off. "Let's see the cemetery first."
"Everyone's heading toward the temple," Akira points to the group massing in front of a wide gate.
"We'll see that later." Hikaru's already walking the other way, and Akira hurries to catch up, folding the schedule he'd made up on the bus; he should have known preparation would be useless.
The cemetery spreads across a generous span of land, two hilltops merging into a low valley and stone paths. The place isn't empty; they're even starting to attract a few quizzical stares from passer-bys, and Akira is hit with the knowledge that someone will figure it out, soon, suddenly, and the two of them will never finish out the day. Hikaru realizes this, too, and pulls Akira behind a large gray slab of a tomb, the engravings so old and weathered that Akira can barely make out the numbers for the date of death. A long time ago, obviously.
"This is your fault. Why do you have to dress so formally?" Hikaru breathes, using a bush as a shield as he peeks out between the leaves. "You're so recognizable."
"You're just as bad," Akira replies testily, but the hotel owner's words surface in his head; he never could pass for his age group. "People recognize us because of your hair."
"My hair's normal," Hikaru defends.
"It's not even natural!"
"But it's normal," he insists. The bleached bangs look even brighter with the sun emerging cautiously in the sky, and Hikaru gives it a scrutinizing flick before inching forward. The ground pushes soft and giving from the rain; Akira keeps his discomfort in check and tries to ignore the mud he knows must be adhering to the soles of his shoes. It must be safe to walk out now, with all the tombstones blocking the view, and Akira nearly loses his footing when Hikaru abruptly turns into a path.
"We're here."
Akira tells himself to not look down at his feet.
"This is the second time I'm facing this grave." The softness in Hikaru's voice makes him raise his head, eyes leveling with Torajiro Shusaku's name. "It's been three years."
"An irreplaceable figure in history," Akira murmurs. Hikaru nods silently. He's sure Shusaku plays a large part in Hikaru's past and with Sai; the old-fashioned playing style, out-dated maneuvers, his near-obsessive loyalty, and Akira waits breathlessly, but he doesn't offer an explanation, and Akira, truthfully, doesn't expect one now. Hikaru's hands are clenches tightly into fists, and this feels personal, intimate, like Akira is witnessing a moment he shouldn't be.
"Thank you for inviting me," he says finally, for lack of anything he can add.
Hikaru turns to him and he exhales, long, and squeezes Akira's hand once and lets it go. "I owed you this much," he explains, and Akira thinks the two years of unbearable mystery he went through aren't unforgivable after all.