How the World Works (Hikaru no Go, Gen)
Hmm... Hikaru no Go drabble. How long can drabbles get, anyway? Well, I classify this as a drabble because I just sort of typed it out without thinking about it much. Introspection piece (I do a lot of those, don't I?) set in Touya's POV.
I told you guys that I'd get a drabble up in my next journal post ^^
Every year there was a day when Shindou didn’t come to the go salon, didn’t go to any of his matches,
didn’t try to call out any of his friends or make plans. It was a day that came up suddenly, without warning,
sneaking up behind the young man and knocking that easy going smile off of his face. He disappeared that
one day, every year, left like newly fallen snow-without a trace behind.
Every time it happened, Akira wondered where his rival had gone, thoughts almost distracted as he
placed the smooth, worn, black and white stones on the goban. He wondered during the breaks the secrets
Shindou -the boy already so ingrained in his life- had, wondered about the brightness that masked
some lurking sadness. Some deep melancholy nobody had ever uncovered or discovered the truth of.
Shindou seemed like a rapid river, always moving, always lurching along at a furious pace. Yet sometimes,
most noticeably during matches, he seemed to slow, seemed to become sharper than water could ever be
and more intent than a tiger stalking his prey. His eyes would narrow; his fan would snap out of his
pocket-something that seemed heavy in his hand. He would look at a goban and get lost in the
universe he was creating; sometimes seeming as if the opponent wasn’t even there if they weren’t good
enough.
Everyone noticed now. The brilliance that shone within Shindou’s moves. The way his seemed to exude
confidence unheard of in his age. None of them had heard of Shindou before, now they all knew him, even
studied his kifus. Akira prided himself on the fact that he knew Shindou first, knew practically
everything there was to know about the other boy-even more than his old friend Akari now.
They were more than just rivals that bickered over fights. They had played a game of cat and mouse before,
chasing one another, being chased, everything whirling around in ever tightening circles before fate took
them both in her grasp and seemed to declare that they were inseparable. That they caught one another at
the same time. That they would now race ahead instead of wheeling around, that they would run side by
side towards that ever elusive move.
Akira knew more than Waya would ever know. More than Akari ever did. He understood most if it.
Most of it.
Yet even Shindou was a mystery to him at times. The way his eyes would get heavy and sad and he would
quiet down and seemed lost in thought as he stared out a window. The way he would just stop in the middle
of a sidewalk, mouth opened as if to say something, and then snapping it shut again abruptly, as if he had
been about to talk to the air itself. Only there wasn’t anything in that air anymore that would listen to him.
Akira knew that Shindou held secrets far heavier than he himself had held. That his sadness lurked deep.
That his go was brilliance tempered with a deep awareness that seemed to be ingrained into him.
As if he was reaching for something when he played, something in that universe that he had created,
something that could only be found there for reasons unmentionable.
If he snapped at some insult delivered at Shuusaku, many would just nod knowingly-for they have all
heard of the young prodigy’s near obsession with the go master. But Akira knew that it was somehow more
than that, that it was somehow more personal for Shindou. That old wounds lurked deep. Even if they
seemed to be scabbed over, it didn’t mean that they were gone.
Perhaps less than scabs and more like scars.
Akira wasn’t sure that many people noticed that Shindou didn’t seem to be around that one day. That he
would skip everything and hare off to far off places for apparently no reason. It wasn’t as if it was
Shuusaku’s birthday, after all. It wasn’t as if anyone had died on that day either.
It had something to do with Sai, that he was sure of.
But he didn’t ask, didn’t pry. He just played his stones unerringly in his father’s go salon, teaching others
sometimes, but mainly going over old kifus. Some that people would say were outdated, but he went over
them faithfully, pouring over them as if they would unlock the secrets over why Shindou seemed so stuck
in the past and barreling forward in the present at the same time.
Shindou had said that he would tell him one day.
Akira knew that one day he would know. That was enough for him.
The door jingled as it opened, and the familiar sound of sure, swift strides echoed in his ears. Akira lifted
his head a bit from the old book, carefully closing it.
“Let’s play.”
Shindou looked grief-stricken, resolute, and peaceful at the same time. Somehow. Someway. If the
impossible happened, it was usually because of Shindou.
Akira gave a faint smile, fingers sliding down the go stone’s worn wooden container before gesturing to the
chair in front of him.
“Please.”
I told you guys that I'd get a drabble up in my next journal post ^^
Every year there was a day when Shindou didn’t come to the go salon, didn’t go to any of his matches,
didn’t try to call out any of his friends or make plans. It was a day that came up suddenly, without warning,
sneaking up behind the young man and knocking that easy going smile off of his face. He disappeared that
one day, every year, left like newly fallen snow-without a trace behind.
Every time it happened, Akira wondered where his rival had gone, thoughts almost distracted as he
placed the smooth, worn, black and white stones on the goban. He wondered during the breaks the secrets
Shindou -the boy already so ingrained in his life- had, wondered about the brightness that masked
some lurking sadness. Some deep melancholy nobody had ever uncovered or discovered the truth of.
Shindou seemed like a rapid river, always moving, always lurching along at a furious pace. Yet sometimes,
most noticeably during matches, he seemed to slow, seemed to become sharper than water could ever be
and more intent than a tiger stalking his prey. His eyes would narrow; his fan would snap out of his
pocket-something that seemed heavy in his hand. He would look at a goban and get lost in the
universe he was creating; sometimes seeming as if the opponent wasn’t even there if they weren’t good
enough.
Everyone noticed now. The brilliance that shone within Shindou’s moves. The way his seemed to exude
confidence unheard of in his age. None of them had heard of Shindou before, now they all knew him, even
studied his kifus. Akira prided himself on the fact that he knew Shindou first, knew practically
everything there was to know about the other boy-even more than his old friend Akari now.
They were more than just rivals that bickered over fights. They had played a game of cat and mouse before,
chasing one another, being chased, everything whirling around in ever tightening circles before fate took
them both in her grasp and seemed to declare that they were inseparable. That they caught one another at
the same time. That they would now race ahead instead of wheeling around, that they would run side by
side towards that ever elusive move.
Akira knew more than Waya would ever know. More than Akari ever did. He understood most if it.
Most of it.
Yet even Shindou was a mystery to him at times. The way his eyes would get heavy and sad and he would
quiet down and seemed lost in thought as he stared out a window. The way he would just stop in the middle
of a sidewalk, mouth opened as if to say something, and then snapping it shut again abruptly, as if he had
been about to talk to the air itself. Only there wasn’t anything in that air anymore that would listen to him.
Akira knew that Shindou held secrets far heavier than he himself had held. That his sadness lurked deep.
That his go was brilliance tempered with a deep awareness that seemed to be ingrained into him.
As if he was reaching for something when he played, something in that universe that he had created,
something that could only be found there for reasons unmentionable.
If he snapped at some insult delivered at Shuusaku, many would just nod knowingly-for they have all
heard of the young prodigy’s near obsession with the go master. But Akira knew that it was somehow more
than that, that it was somehow more personal for Shindou. That old wounds lurked deep. Even if they
seemed to be scabbed over, it didn’t mean that they were gone.
Perhaps less than scabs and more like scars.
Akira wasn’t sure that many people noticed that Shindou didn’t seem to be around that one day. That he
would skip everything and hare off to far off places for apparently no reason. It wasn’t as if it was
Shuusaku’s birthday, after all. It wasn’t as if anyone had died on that day either.
It had something to do with Sai, that he was sure of.
But he didn’t ask, didn’t pry. He just played his stones unerringly in his father’s go salon, teaching others
sometimes, but mainly going over old kifus. Some that people would say were outdated, but he went over
them faithfully, pouring over them as if they would unlock the secrets over why Shindou seemed so stuck
in the past and barreling forward in the present at the same time.
Shindou had said that he would tell him one day.
Akira knew that one day he would know. That was enough for him.
The door jingled as it opened, and the familiar sound of sure, swift strides echoed in his ears. Akira lifted
his head a bit from the old book, carefully closing it.
“Let’s play.”
Shindou looked grief-stricken, resolute, and peaceful at the same time. Somehow. Someway. If the
impossible happened, it was usually because of Shindou.
Akira gave a faint smile, fingers sliding down the go stone’s worn wooden container before gesturing to the
chair in front of him.
“Please.”