[Hikaru no go] Fanfic: The Losers Circle
Title: The Losers Circle
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Characters: Waya, Shindou
Genre: Angsty angst pointless angst
Spoilers: None, unless you consider angsty-face Waya a spoiler.
Summary: Waya receives an interesting proposition from an older Go player. Waya considers.
The Losers Circle
Waya is familiar with loss, as all Go players must be, and he's even familiar with terrible, undignified losses, as most but not all players are, but he's not familiar with this.
"I could lose," says his opponent, Mr. Old Man 7-dan, "if you make it worth my while."
At first Waya thinks he's asking for money - something Waya doesn't have - but Mr. Old Man 7-dan has been giving him this hungry, assessing look throughout their game and suddenly that look makes sense. He feels his skin crawl. He knows he should be saying no no no, should be sickened and disgusted and righteous with indignation, and he is all that; but he's also hungry, assessing, and he can't help but calculate the gains and losses of this proposal like a true Go player. What would it be like to make it to the third round of the Meijin preliminaries, he wonders briefly before recoiling at the images that come to mind.
But his opponent doesn't seem to sense his revulsion. "I should play a hane here," the man says, pointing at a spot in the lower left corner. "But I've been known to overlook that hand." And his eyes scan Waya's body, up and down, until Waya puts down a stone with an unsteady hand, a wavering pachi his only answer.
When Waya gets home he wants more than anything to throw up, but all he can manage is nausea and a bit of a headache, which probably have more to do with lack of sleep than with being propositioned by a disgusting loser of an old man who is better than him at Go.
It isn't until the next day at his study group - before Shindou gets there, thank god - when he sees his sensei's weathered hands hovering above the goban, lovingly, that Waya needs to excuse himself to throw up in the toilet.
After a few minutes of misery he hears a knock on the door of his stall and it's Shindou, finally, asking in a halting voice if he's still alive. It's your fault Waya wants to say, except he's too good a friend to say what he really feels and too busy puking his guts out to talk anyway.
"Are you sick?" asks Shindou through the door.
"No," Waya manages to say between retches.
"Are you upset about...yesterday?"
"It was just a game."
"But Waya..."
"You're going on to the third round of the Meijin, right? Congrats."
"Thank you. Isumi-san made it too," says Shindou, and this awkwardness between them is a new thing. He doesn't bother saying that Touya has also won his way into the third round; that goes without saying.
"Listen, Waya..." Shindou begins, then gives up. "I'm sorry, I just came by to say I'm gonna go meet Touya at his dad's go salon right now. I'm not leaving our study group," he adds hastily. "It's just this once."
"I thought you were having a fight with Touya."
"I was. I mean, I am. But he says he wants to talk."
"Okay. Then go."
"Waya - "
"Just go."
When Waya emerges from the bathroom there's only a little spot of vomit on his shirt and none in his hair, and Shindou is already gone.
"Are you alright, Waya?" asks his sensei.
"Yeah," he replies. "I'm okay."
And he sits down to play Go.
-End-
Aaaaand there's also a crack version of this fic. Bigger, longer, and uncut. And that's just referring to the sex! But please read the serious version first.
The Losers Circle: Crack version
“Shindou,” Waya says blearily, “it’s two in the morning.”
“I missed the last train. Can I crash here tonight?”
Shindou walks into the apartment without waiting to hear an answer, not even bothering to say hi, so it’s obvious he’s had another fight with Touya.
“Couch is all yours,” Waya says before heading back to his futon, which is laid out on the floor of the living room since the bedroom doesn’t actually exist in his tiny apartment.
It’s hard to sleep with Shindou turning restlessly on the couch but Waya’s tired and he’s got a big game tomorrow so it’s actually not that hard to sleep after all. It’s hard to stay asleep, though, when someone or something climbs on top of you to straddle your crotch and starts moving.
Waya is wide awake now. “Shindou, what are you...nng...ah.”
“Touya is such a jerk,” Shindou says in a suspiciously hoarse voice as he does something with his hips that makes coherent thought pretty much impossible.
Afterward they don’t say anything, not a thing, as Shindou wipes off Waya’s belly and chest and slumps back to the couch. When Waya gets up the next morning there’s no trace of his guest except for the stain on the bedsheet, which he can’t worry about now since he doesn’t want to be late for his game.
Waya is familiar with loss, as all Go players must be, and he’s even familiar with terrible, undignified losses, as most but not all players are, but he’s not familiar with this.
“I could lose,” says his opponent, Mr. Old Man 7-dan, “if you make it worth my while.”
At first Waya thinks he’s asking for money - something Waya doesn’t have - but Mr. Old Man 7-dan has been giving him this hungry, assessing look throughout their game and suddenly that look makes sense. He feels his skin crawl. He knows he should be saying no no no, should be sickened and disgusted and righteous with indignation, and he is all that; but he’s also hungry, assessing, and he can’t help but calculate the gains and losses of this proposal like a true Go player. What would it be like to make it to the third round of the Meijin preliminaries?
When Waya gets home he wants more than anything to throw up, but all he can manage is nausea and a bit of a headache, which probably have more to do with lack of sleep than with being propositioned by a disgusting loser of an old man who is better than him at Go.
It isn’t until the next day at his study group - before Shindou gets there, thank god - when he sees his sensei’s weathered hands hovering above the goban, lovingly, that Waya needs to excuse himself to throw up in the toilet.
After a few minutes of misery he hears a knock on the door of his stall and it’s Shindou, finally, asking in a halting voice if he’s still alive. It's your fault Waya wants to say, except he’s too good a friend to say what he really feels and too busy puking his guts out to talk anyway.
“Are you sick?” asks Shindou through the door.
“No,” Waya manages to say between retches.
“Are you upset about...yesterday?”
“It was just a game.”
“But Waya...”
“You’re going on to the third round of the Meijin, right? Congrats.”
“Thank you. Isumi-san made it too,” says Shindou, and this awkwardness between them is a new thing. He doesn’t bother saying that Touya has also won his way into the third round; that goes without saying.
“Listen, Waya...” Shindou begins, then gives up. “I’m sorry, I just came by to say I’m gonna go meet Touya at his dad’s go salon right now. I’m not leaving our study group,” he adds hastily. “It’s just this once.”
“I thought you were having a fight with Touya.”
“I was. I mean, I am. But he says he wants to talk.”
“Okay. Then go.”
“Waya - ”
“Just go.”
When Waya emerges from the bathroom there’s only a little spot of vomit on his shirt and none in his hair, and Shindou is already gone.
"Are you alright, Waya?" asks his sensei.
"Yeah," he replies. "I'm okay."
And he sits down to play Go.
Waya gets a case of déjà vu when he’s woken up once again at two a.m. by a jilted Go player, though this time it’s done over the phone.
“I understand you and Shindou had an...altercation,” Touya says stiffly.
“I wouldn’t call it that. I’d call it sex. And he started it.”
Waya can hear Touya breathing heavily over the phone.
“Was he on top?”
“What?”
“Was he on top?”
“Well, yes.”
“Was he any good?”
“What?”
“Was he any good?”
“Well, yes.”
Touya mumbles goodbye and his pardons, but right before he hangs up Waya hears Shindou yelling in the background, “See! I told you I should be on - *click*”
At this point Waya is pretty sure he doesn’t care anymore.
The next morning Waya is at the laundromat stuffing his come-stained bedsheet and vomit-stained shirt into one of the machines when he runs into Isumi.
“Hi,” Isumi says.
“Hi,” says Waya in return, though he’s confused as to why Isumi would come here when he could be using his parents’ luxurious in-house washing machine.
“Waya,” Isumi bites his lips nervously, “can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“...I mean somewhere else? Somewhere private?”
“Um, okay. Where? I need to take my laundry out in half an hour and it takes twenty minutes to get to my apartment. And I know your house is really far from here.”
“Um...maybe the bathroom, or...oh, screw it.”
It’s another déjà vu moment when Isumi kisses him, though Waya has never actually been kissed before and certainly not in a laundromat with a bunch of dumbfounded strangers watching. Maybe it feels familiar because it’s Isumi, or because Waya’s getting used to being hit on.
“What was that?” he demands when they break apart.
“Shindou says he slept with you,” Isumi says in a low voice. “He apologized to me.”
“Oh, that. Oh.” Waya isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. “That was...that was weird. Why did he apologize to you?”
“He thought we were together.”
Isumi, curiously, is blushing. Isn’t he too old to be doing that?
“Did you tell him we’re not?”
“No.”
“...Why?”
“Because I don’t want him sleeping with you every time he gets in a fight with Touya.”
“Me neither,” says Waya, thinking of what his laundry bill would be like.
“You don’t?” Isumi says hopefully. “Oh good. Because I want you to sleep with me.”
“What? You mean every time Shindou and Touya are fighting?”
“No, just whenever.”
“Oh. Oh. God, is everyone gay?”
“Yes,” Isumi says before kissing him again.
As they leave the laundromat they see Ogata and Ashiwara making out in the backseat of a red convertible, but that’s nothing new.
-End-
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Characters: Waya, Shindou
Genre: Angsty angst pointless angst
Spoilers: None, unless you consider angsty-face Waya a spoiler.
Summary: Waya receives an interesting proposition from an older Go player. Waya considers.
The Losers Circle
Waya is familiar with loss, as all Go players must be, and he's even familiar with terrible, undignified losses, as most but not all players are, but he's not familiar with this.
"I could lose," says his opponent, Mr. Old Man 7-dan, "if you make it worth my while."
At first Waya thinks he's asking for money - something Waya doesn't have - but Mr. Old Man 7-dan has been giving him this hungry, assessing look throughout their game and suddenly that look makes sense. He feels his skin crawl. He knows he should be saying no no no, should be sickened and disgusted and righteous with indignation, and he is all that; but he's also hungry, assessing, and he can't help but calculate the gains and losses of this proposal like a true Go player. What would it be like to make it to the third round of the Meijin preliminaries, he wonders briefly before recoiling at the images that come to mind.
But his opponent doesn't seem to sense his revulsion. "I should play a hane here," the man says, pointing at a spot in the lower left corner. "But I've been known to overlook that hand." And his eyes scan Waya's body, up and down, until Waya puts down a stone with an unsteady hand, a wavering pachi his only answer.
When Waya gets home he wants more than anything to throw up, but all he can manage is nausea and a bit of a headache, which probably have more to do with lack of sleep than with being propositioned by a disgusting loser of an old man who is better than him at Go.
It isn't until the next day at his study group - before Shindou gets there, thank god - when he sees his sensei's weathered hands hovering above the goban, lovingly, that Waya needs to excuse himself to throw up in the toilet.
After a few minutes of misery he hears a knock on the door of his stall and it's Shindou, finally, asking in a halting voice if he's still alive. It's your fault Waya wants to say, except he's too good a friend to say what he really feels and too busy puking his guts out to talk anyway.
"Are you sick?" asks Shindou through the door.
"No," Waya manages to say between retches.
"Are you upset about...yesterday?"
"It was just a game."
"But Waya..."
"You're going on to the third round of the Meijin, right? Congrats."
"Thank you. Isumi-san made it too," says Shindou, and this awkwardness between them is a new thing. He doesn't bother saying that Touya has also won his way into the third round; that goes without saying.
"Listen, Waya..." Shindou begins, then gives up. "I'm sorry, I just came by to say I'm gonna go meet Touya at his dad's go salon right now. I'm not leaving our study group," he adds hastily. "It's just this once."
"I thought you were having a fight with Touya."
"I was. I mean, I am. But he says he wants to talk."
"Okay. Then go."
"Waya - "
"Just go."
When Waya emerges from the bathroom there's only a little spot of vomit on his shirt and none in his hair, and Shindou is already gone.
"Are you alright, Waya?" asks his sensei.
"Yeah," he replies. "I'm okay."
And he sits down to play Go.
-End-
Aaaaand there's also a crack version of this fic. Bigger, longer, and uncut. And that's just referring to the sex! But please read the serious version first.
The Losers Circle: Crack version
“Shindou,” Waya says blearily, “it’s two in the morning.”
“I missed the last train. Can I crash here tonight?”
Shindou walks into the apartment without waiting to hear an answer, not even bothering to say hi, so it’s obvious he’s had another fight with Touya.
“Couch is all yours,” Waya says before heading back to his futon, which is laid out on the floor of the living room since the bedroom doesn’t actually exist in his tiny apartment.
It’s hard to sleep with Shindou turning restlessly on the couch but Waya’s tired and he’s got a big game tomorrow so it’s actually not that hard to sleep after all. It’s hard to stay asleep, though, when someone or something climbs on top of you to straddle your crotch and starts moving.
Waya is wide awake now. “Shindou, what are you...nng...ah.”
“Touya is such a jerk,” Shindou says in a suspiciously hoarse voice as he does something with his hips that makes coherent thought pretty much impossible.
Afterward they don’t say anything, not a thing, as Shindou wipes off Waya’s belly and chest and slumps back to the couch. When Waya gets up the next morning there’s no trace of his guest except for the stain on the bedsheet, which he can’t worry about now since he doesn’t want to be late for his game.
Waya is familiar with loss, as all Go players must be, and he’s even familiar with terrible, undignified losses, as most but not all players are, but he’s not familiar with this.
“I could lose,” says his opponent, Mr. Old Man 7-dan, “if you make it worth my while.”
At first Waya thinks he’s asking for money - something Waya doesn’t have - but Mr. Old Man 7-dan has been giving him this hungry, assessing look throughout their game and suddenly that look makes sense. He feels his skin crawl. He knows he should be saying no no no, should be sickened and disgusted and righteous with indignation, and he is all that; but he’s also hungry, assessing, and he can’t help but calculate the gains and losses of this proposal like a true Go player. What would it be like to make it to the third round of the Meijin preliminaries?
When Waya gets home he wants more than anything to throw up, but all he can manage is nausea and a bit of a headache, which probably have more to do with lack of sleep than with being propositioned by a disgusting loser of an old man who is better than him at Go.
It isn’t until the next day at his study group - before Shindou gets there, thank god - when he sees his sensei’s weathered hands hovering above the goban, lovingly, that Waya needs to excuse himself to throw up in the toilet.
After a few minutes of misery he hears a knock on the door of his stall and it’s Shindou, finally, asking in a halting voice if he’s still alive. It's your fault Waya wants to say, except he’s too good a friend to say what he really feels and too busy puking his guts out to talk anyway.
“Are you sick?” asks Shindou through the door.
“No,” Waya manages to say between retches.
“Are you upset about...yesterday?”
“It was just a game.”
“But Waya...”
“You’re going on to the third round of the Meijin, right? Congrats.”
“Thank you. Isumi-san made it too,” says Shindou, and this awkwardness between them is a new thing. He doesn’t bother saying that Touya has also won his way into the third round; that goes without saying.
“Listen, Waya...” Shindou begins, then gives up. “I’m sorry, I just came by to say I’m gonna go meet Touya at his dad’s go salon right now. I’m not leaving our study group,” he adds hastily. “It’s just this once.”
“I thought you were having a fight with Touya.”
“I was. I mean, I am. But he says he wants to talk.”
“Okay. Then go.”
“Waya - ”
“Just go.”
When Waya emerges from the bathroom there’s only a little spot of vomit on his shirt and none in his hair, and Shindou is already gone.
"Are you alright, Waya?" asks his sensei.
"Yeah," he replies. "I'm okay."
And he sits down to play Go.
Waya gets a case of déjà vu when he’s woken up once again at two a.m. by a jilted Go player, though this time it’s done over the phone.
“I understand you and Shindou had an...altercation,” Touya says stiffly.
“I wouldn’t call it that. I’d call it sex. And he started it.”
Waya can hear Touya breathing heavily over the phone.
“Was he on top?”
“What?”
“Was he on top?”
“Well, yes.”
“Was he any good?”
“What?”
“Was he any good?”
“Well, yes.”
Touya mumbles goodbye and his pardons, but right before he hangs up Waya hears Shindou yelling in the background, “See! I told you I should be on - *click*”
At this point Waya is pretty sure he doesn’t care anymore.
The next morning Waya is at the laundromat stuffing his come-stained bedsheet and vomit-stained shirt into one of the machines when he runs into Isumi.
“Hi,” Isumi says.
“Hi,” says Waya in return, though he’s confused as to why Isumi would come here when he could be using his parents’ luxurious in-house washing machine.
“Waya,” Isumi bites his lips nervously, “can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“...I mean somewhere else? Somewhere private?”
“Um, okay. Where? I need to take my laundry out in half an hour and it takes twenty minutes to get to my apartment. And I know your house is really far from here.”
“Um...maybe the bathroom, or...oh, screw it.”
It’s another déjà vu moment when Isumi kisses him, though Waya has never actually been kissed before and certainly not in a laundromat with a bunch of dumbfounded strangers watching. Maybe it feels familiar because it’s Isumi, or because Waya’s getting used to being hit on.
“What was that?” he demands when they break apart.
“Shindou says he slept with you,” Isumi says in a low voice. “He apologized to me.”
“Oh, that. Oh.” Waya isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. “That was...that was weird. Why did he apologize to you?”
“He thought we were together.”
Isumi, curiously, is blushing. Isn’t he too old to be doing that?
“Did you tell him we’re not?”
“No.”
“...Why?”
“Because I don’t want him sleeping with you every time he gets in a fight with Touya.”
“Me neither,” says Waya, thinking of what his laundry bill would be like.
“You don’t?” Isumi says hopefully. “Oh good. Because I want you to sleep with me.”
“What? You mean every time Shindou and Touya are fighting?”
“No, just whenever.”
“Oh. Oh. God, is everyone gay?”
“Yes,” Isumi says before kissing him again.
As they leave the laundromat they see Ogata and Ashiwara making out in the backseat of a red convertible, but that’s nothing new.
-End-