[Konishi]
by myaru
May Fifth
They shared an apartment because it was convenient, because Hikaru was tired of calling home every night a go tournament kept him late, tired of his mother sighing over his decision to skip high school, and because Touya said the house felt too big with only him and his mom; that he hated walking down to the tatami room to play, only to find it empty. One bedroom, one bathroom, half a kitchen neither of them used-- Hikaru's go board waited in the middle of the living area when he got home, the go ke set at their respective corners, and the cushion he'd used to sit and play Sai was on his side. Touya's silk-and-tatami cushion was on the other side. His back would face the TV.
We should cut the cable off, Touya said the night before. He ran his hand back through his hair, held it at the nape of his neck in a messy, spiky ponytail. His fringe slid back into place on his forehead. We don't even use it.
Sure we do, Hikaru said. I watch Shinsengumi every week.
You can buy DVDs for that when the season is over--
You're the one with the inheritance--
He'd never seen Touya go so pale before: face pale as the white and gray argyle of his sweater, lips pressing together and draining of color. A deep breath. When he turned on his heel and walked away, the scent of his shampoo swirled in his wake, peach and vanilla.
If they'd had a couch, Hikaru would have slept on it. Instead, he'd waited until one in the morning, replaying one of his games with Sai on the board, and went in when he couldn't hear Touya turning in his sleep anymore. A neon green 1:02 floated in the darkness, about level with his hip where it sat on the night table. The foot of his twin bed ended only a step inside; he felt his way around to his pillow, sat down on the edge, waited. His eyes would adjust to the dark. Ugly orange light pooled beneath their blinds, made the window a glowing rectangle above the other bed, and cast just enough light for him to undress and pull on some sleeping shorts.
His friends told him he had a big mouth-- Akari did, anyway, and she was a friend, when she wasn't trying to drag him to school festivals or calling him names. She was there when he needed to find something to wear to the funeral, when he was trying to come up with potential roommates and falling short; she was there when Sai disappeared, her yelling all that kept his spirits up. (God Hikaru, you're so mean! Why don't you just go home!) She was there - here, in this apartment - to help him make a batch of curry and prove instant ramen wasn't the only staple of his diet. (Maybe it was, but who had time to go through all that trouble every day?)
Akari would know how he should apologize-- probably. She'd tell him he was a jerk to even say that, first.
She'd be right.
Hikaru bumped the night table when he stood up to pull his covers back. The handles rattled. He heard a sigh, heard the sheets pull on the other side of the room, rustling, and saw Touya sitting up when he swung his legs into bed.
"Sorry," Hikaru whispered to the ceiling.
Touya sighed again, more softly. The power lines creaked outside, and the wispy fronds of the palm trees lined up outside their building slithered in the wind. "It wasn't you," he said eventually, a gravelly undertone to his voice.
Hikaru had to look. It was probably just sleep-- it wasn't as if Touya ever cried. He would've been one of those quiet, angelic babies that never screamed for his mother, never got into cupboards, never threw his food, all things Hikaru's own mother reminded him of whenever she dragged him away on a visit to his grandmother's place. Touya didn't cry at the funeral; he didn't cry at night, or in the bathroom. He replayed his father's games on nights when he couldn't sleep and ended up staying by the go board until morning, when Hikaru would go out for breakfast and find him curled on the floor, his butt still centered on the cushion and his head resting on his arms, the two go ke at his middle.
Touya was sitting on his legs, yukata half-open, feet bare and toes curled. His hands were flat on his knees. The light behind the blinds illuminated his profile and the pale curve of his cheek, his chin, made his lashes seem longer by their shadow, like they were drawn in ink.
Every shadow like an inkblot, Hikaru remembered - like watercolor, or pastel. When his brows drew together at that angle, with his mouth set in that precise line, he lacked only the silky length of Sai's hair to appear a ghost.
Hikaru's stomach knotted, his throat squeezing. He looked at the ceiling again. The plaster looked like someone had cemented spit balls to the ceiling for the crumbly effect. "Tomorrow is May fifth," he said.
Touya didn't reply. He might have nodded - he usually did, even when he was annoyed.
"I'm going to Innoshima," Hikaru said.
"I know."
He tried not to roll his eyes, though it wouldn't have mattered. "Come with me."
Five heartbeats passed before Touya said, "You said it was personal."
Hikaru fingered the seams of his quilt. He'd had it since-- since forever. Fans opened in pairs across the top layer on a blue background. "You said you wanted to pray at Shuusaku's grave."
Touya's breath caught. He cleared his throat. "Yes."
"So come with me."
"Is this your way of apologizing?"
Hikaru snorted. "I just said I was sorry."
"About waking me up." Touya's voice sounded clearer - louder. Normal.
"Yeah." Hikaru turned on his side, faced the wall. "Because we're gonna have to get up early if you want a ticket."
Silence - another three heartbeats, and then Touya sighed sharply. His faint inkblot shadow shifted on the wall.
Hikaru swallowed the tightness in his throat. "I... have something to tell you. If you go." He waited, listened, heard only the rustling of the sheets. "Eight thirty, sharp. If I can be on time--"
"Fine. Eight thirty."
Eight thirty, on May fifth. That's when he woke up that morning three years ago, watching the curtains drift inward on a hot breeze, an empty spot where Sai should have been. How would he even begin to describe that? The emptiness, the pit in his stomach dropping when he realized what happened.
But he looked at Touya's shadow, orange and brown on the wall, and thought he already knew.
May Fifth
They shared an apartment because it was convenient, because Hikaru was tired of calling home every night a go tournament kept him late, tired of his mother sighing over his decision to skip high school, and because Touya said the house felt too big with only him and his mom; that he hated walking down to the tatami room to play, only to find it empty. One bedroom, one bathroom, half a kitchen neither of them used-- Hikaru's go board waited in the middle of the living area when he got home, the go ke set at their respective corners, and the cushion he'd used to sit and play Sai was on his side. Touya's silk-and-tatami cushion was on the other side. His back would face the TV.
We should cut the cable off, Touya said the night before. He ran his hand back through his hair, held it at the nape of his neck in a messy, spiky ponytail. His fringe slid back into place on his forehead. We don't even use it.
Sure we do, Hikaru said. I watch Shinsengumi every week.
You can buy DVDs for that when the season is over--
You're the one with the inheritance--
He'd never seen Touya go so pale before: face pale as the white and gray argyle of his sweater, lips pressing together and draining of color. A deep breath. When he turned on his heel and walked away, the scent of his shampoo swirled in his wake, peach and vanilla.
If they'd had a couch, Hikaru would have slept on it. Instead, he'd waited until one in the morning, replaying one of his games with Sai on the board, and went in when he couldn't hear Touya turning in his sleep anymore. A neon green 1:02 floated in the darkness, about level with his hip where it sat on the night table. The foot of his twin bed ended only a step inside; he felt his way around to his pillow, sat down on the edge, waited. His eyes would adjust to the dark. Ugly orange light pooled beneath their blinds, made the window a glowing rectangle above the other bed, and cast just enough light for him to undress and pull on some sleeping shorts.
His friends told him he had a big mouth-- Akari did, anyway, and she was a friend, when she wasn't trying to drag him to school festivals or calling him names. She was there when he needed to find something to wear to the funeral, when he was trying to come up with potential roommates and falling short; she was there when Sai disappeared, her yelling all that kept his spirits up. (God Hikaru, you're so mean! Why don't you just go home!) She was there - here, in this apartment - to help him make a batch of curry and prove instant ramen wasn't the only staple of his diet. (Maybe it was, but who had time to go through all that trouble every day?)
Akari would know how he should apologize-- probably. She'd tell him he was a jerk to even say that, first.
She'd be right.
Hikaru bumped the night table when he stood up to pull his covers back. The handles rattled. He heard a sigh, heard the sheets pull on the other side of the room, rustling, and saw Touya sitting up when he swung his legs into bed.
"Sorry," Hikaru whispered to the ceiling.
Touya sighed again, more softly. The power lines creaked outside, and the wispy fronds of the palm trees lined up outside their building slithered in the wind. "It wasn't you," he said eventually, a gravelly undertone to his voice.
Hikaru had to look. It was probably just sleep-- it wasn't as if Touya ever cried. He would've been one of those quiet, angelic babies that never screamed for his mother, never got into cupboards, never threw his food, all things Hikaru's own mother reminded him of whenever she dragged him away on a visit to his grandmother's place. Touya didn't cry at the funeral; he didn't cry at night, or in the bathroom. He replayed his father's games on nights when he couldn't sleep and ended up staying by the go board until morning, when Hikaru would go out for breakfast and find him curled on the floor, his butt still centered on the cushion and his head resting on his arms, the two go ke at his middle.
Touya was sitting on his legs, yukata half-open, feet bare and toes curled. His hands were flat on his knees. The light behind the blinds illuminated his profile and the pale curve of his cheek, his chin, made his lashes seem longer by their shadow, like they were drawn in ink.
Every shadow like an inkblot, Hikaru remembered - like watercolor, or pastel. When his brows drew together at that angle, with his mouth set in that precise line, he lacked only the silky length of Sai's hair to appear a ghost.
Hikaru's stomach knotted, his throat squeezing. He looked at the ceiling again. The plaster looked like someone had cemented spit balls to the ceiling for the crumbly effect. "Tomorrow is May fifth," he said.
Touya didn't reply. He might have nodded - he usually did, even when he was annoyed.
"I'm going to Innoshima," Hikaru said.
"I know."
He tried not to roll his eyes, though it wouldn't have mattered. "Come with me."
Five heartbeats passed before Touya said, "You said it was personal."
Hikaru fingered the seams of his quilt. He'd had it since-- since forever. Fans opened in pairs across the top layer on a blue background. "You said you wanted to pray at Shuusaku's grave."
Touya's breath caught. He cleared his throat. "Yes."
"So come with me."
"Is this your way of apologizing?"
Hikaru snorted. "I just said I was sorry."
"About waking me up." Touya's voice sounded clearer - louder. Normal.
"Yeah." Hikaru turned on his side, faced the wall. "Because we're gonna have to get up early if you want a ticket."
Silence - another three heartbeats, and then Touya sighed sharply. His faint inkblot shadow shifted on the wall.
Hikaru swallowed the tightness in his throat. "I... have something to tell you. If you go." He waited, listened, heard only the rustling of the sheets. "Eight thirty, sharp. If I can be on time--"
"Fine. Eight thirty."
Eight thirty, on May fifth. That's when he woke up that morning three years ago, watching the curtains drift inward on a hot breeze, an empty spot where Sai should have been. How would he even begin to describe that? The emptiness, the pit in his stomach dropping when he realized what happened.
But he looked at Touya's shadow, orange and brown on the wall, and thought he already knew.