30 kisses themes

Starbrigid

1. look over here

Akira was going to win this match. He narrowed his eyes at his opponent, making the man shift uneasily. The slam of his white stone against the board just made the 4-dan twitch, but one of the reporters nearby jumped. Soon, they both knew, if Akira played his proverbial cards right, there would be no way to save the black cluster in the center. Akira waited patiently, his face as impenetrable as Ogata's famous old poker face. He could afford to be polite, as he always was, except with- well, Shindou didn't count.

"He's so much like his father," he heard one of the women whisper. "Such a dragon. If I was Minamoto-san, I'd have crawled under the table!"

"Idiot," another reporter hissed back. "Touya-san can hear you, you know! He's looking right at you. This is an important match. Idiot."

Akira liked playing in this particular room. The white and blue Chinese drapings made him comfortable there. His mother's China was similar to the cup they'd given him his green tea in. He inhaled the stream from it slowly and deeply, listening for a black stone's placement and at least hearing it. He responded within a second, then leaned back to sip the top off the hot liquid. It slightly burned his tongue. From the look on Minamoto-san's face, the man had realized that he'd been burned as well.

Another voice came to Akira's attention, coming from farther away but emitting more loudly from its source. The voice was young, but definitely male, callous, insensitive to the proceedings inside. He recognized that voice, the loudest, as Shindou's, and the ones that rose to accompany it were probably friends of Shindou's. Shindou had lots of friends.

The opponent played. Akira's hand plunged into his container of stones, and his fingers clenched around them clumsily. Shindou and the others had stopped to talk there for some reason, but they didn't sound like they were coming in. Shindou wasn't here to see him. Shindou probably didn't even know he was there. Shindou was an idiot, talking so loudly in front of a room where there was a match going on.

Akira's next move was more aggressive than he'd originally planned. This was the critical point in the battle, but-

"So," he heard Shindou say, voice striking through the paper doors to reach Akira clearly, "My mom's talking about remodeling my room. I don't care what she does. I just hope she leaves my go stuff alone. She really freaked out when I bought all those weird posters..."

Akira tried to calm his breathing, but found it difficult to do so. Minamoto was fidgeting, and pushed his stone too far before he managed to shove it back to the place he'd originally intended. Why didn't anyone go tell Shindou to be quiet? "Waya," Shindou was laughing, snorting in a way unbefitting anyone's rival, much less Akira's, which he wasn't, anyway. "Waya, that is," (snort) "so, not funny!"

Akira's concentration was shot. He fumbled in his container again, fingers feeling greasy against their simple iciness, and moved to respond. His arm brushed his tea-cup and knocked the saucer off the table. It shattered brilliantly, making the female reporter shriek.

"Waya, you suck and you know it," Shindou was laughing, probably shoving the boy with his elbow slyly as he said it, eyes narrowed not predatorily but conspiratorially, go stones in his pocket jingling. If black was Shindou-

The woman, who'd ran over to clean up the rough shards of china, let out another shriek upon seeing where the stone had been placed. Akira shifted on his knees, running a sweaty hand through the sweaty roots of his long hair and closing his eyes. The black cluster was dead. Behind his eyes was burgundy-orange, and if he squeezed them tighter, mahogany-violet.

"He's so much like his father," the other reporter said shakily. Minamoto let a small whimper escape his hairy lips. His mustache quivered, and he started to scratch it. Akira didn't move.

The door opened, and Shindou Hikaru poked his head in. Akira just heard the squeak of the plastic at the bottom scraping against the smooth wood tiles. He tried to pass off this feeling as pride from making a good play. Footsteps, soft on the off-white carpet, made impressions on it with each movement.

"Hey," Shindou said, "What's going on?"

Akira breathed out very slowly, then very deliberately ignored the question.

2. news, letter

"Hey, Hikaru, what are you doing? Come on, Hikaru, let's play a game!"

Hikaru ignored Sai and bent further down over his desk, red mechanical pencil scratching furiously away at a piece of notebook paper. As the sound of Sai's whining reached a particularly high frequency, Hikaru's pencil was pushed too hard, and the narrow point stabbed the paper open. Hikaru muttered something, pressed the eraser a few times, and kept writing.

Mechanical pencils scared Sai. He leaned in closer, but not too much closer, to study the baffling apparatus his desired go partner was currently occupied in utilizing. He tried to poke it, but Hikaru dodged away. "Come on, can't you see I'm trying to do something?"

"Hi-ka-ru!" Sai bellowed, and Hikaru let go of the pencil to cover his ears, cringing. "I want to play go now! Hey, what are you doing with those kifu?"

"I'm sending them," Hikaru said. "It's none of your business, Sai."

"It is when it involves go!" Sai squealed, and managed to sneak a look at the top of the paper. "Korea-"

Hikaru pulled the letter away and turned it over, reddening. "Sai! Down!"

"Ah?" Sai blinked. "Am I a doh? Neh, are you writing to a go player there?"

"Yeah," Hikaru admitted, leaning back in his chair and sighing. "Touya's there, so..."

"He'll find out that you passed the pro exam as soon as he gets back," Sai reminded Hikaru.

"I know," Hikaru said impatiently. "But I want him to know as soon as possible!"

"Don't brag too much," Sai said.

"Hey, you're the one who taught me my go," Hikaru shot back. "I mean, don't you think it's pretty cool?"

"Of course!" Sai agreed hastily, then faltered. "Cool is a good thing, right?"

"Yeah," Hikaru said. "We'll play in a second, okay? I'm almost done."

"We'd better get ready to start fighting him," Sai smiled. "He'll be merciless, to us more than anyone."

"Well," Hikaru said, "That's why I'm telling him to get off his ass and prepare himself!"

"I wonder what Touya's doing right now," Sai mused, voice softening.

Hikaru wrote a few final words, then folded the letter up, satisfied. He pushed it into an enveloped, one he'd drawn a Shuusaku kifu on, and licked the top shut. "Maybe he's playing. You know, kneeling all quiet, but with his eyes burning out all fiery and vicious and green."

"His eyes are green?" Sai repeated dubiously.

"What?" Hikaru blinked. "Oh, yeah, really green."

"You noticed?" Sai asked, and coughed.

"Huh?" said Hikaru. "Yeah, sure. Of course."

"What would he be doing if he didn't have a match?" Sai wondered, propping his chin up on his hands. Hikaru was seized by the inescapable but thoroughly impossible desire to steal the ghost's tall black hat.

"Hmm," Hikaru mused, then laughed. "I bet he's practicing go! If I ever get as obsessed as he is, please just shoot me and end my misery."

"You could do to be more dedicated!" Sai bawled suddenly, making Hikaru backpedal again. "See! Hikaru, if he's playing go, I want to be, too!"

Hikaru pictured Touya's sharp face buried in a well-worn book of problems, the boy solving them in his head for practice. It was night in Korea, about 8:00, he guessed, or maybe nine something. The games would be done, would have been finished for a while, so Touya would have had dinner already, too. He'd be back in his hotel room, probably a beautiful, traditional one. Maybe there would be a garden and a carp pond outside his delicate sliding doors, paper left ajar to let a cool wind play with Touya's hair, colored the same moonlight-blue-black of the dark Seoul night sky.

His suitcase would probably still be waiting to be unpacked, so he'd be stretched across the sparse futon as he read, his baggage taking up the chair. According to the Korean weather website, there was a cool front blowing through the capital tonight, so Touya in his thin sleeping yukata would be wrapped in a blanket, the soft, thick wool pulled up to his chin, brushing pink-flushed lips that whispered numbers, half-smiling. He'd be pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes, otherwise that girlish hair of his wouldn't let him see what he was reading. Hikaru looked down at his own hands and imagined them longer and whiter, but the go calluses would be the same. He remember how Touya had grabbed his hand to look for them before their second came. He hadn't had any calluses then, but he could see them clearly now, as if Touya had carved them into his fingertips.

"Hikaru! Pay attention! You're playing really bad today, pro-san!"

The letter went like this,

"Touya,

Here are the kifu of my examination matches. I'm a professional now, like you, and I hope to become a 2-dan, soon, like you are. I'm catching up.

Good luck in your games. You had better not let anyone beat you but me!

Oh, and hurry up, will you? I want to see you."

He didn't sign it, because he didn't need to.

3. jolt!

Shindou's hands were shaking, but he kept his voice admirably even as he bowed his head and said, "I resign."

Akira didn't thank him for the game. It had been an awful game. Akira had played horribly. To think that Shindou had gotten so close to beating him- He probably shouldn't have even come today, his mother certainly hadn't thought he was well enough to play at his best. Neither had Father, for that matter. But when Akira had become a pro, he'd become an adult, so it had been his decision, and that was what he'd chosen. He would have sooner died than not faced Shindou. He knew thinking that way was pathetically juvenile and overdramatic, but he really felt that way. His mind was racing. To think that, even if it had been a bad day, Shindou had gotten so close to beating him- to think that Shindou had changed so much- to think, that in a few moves, he'd seen that strength he'd seen the first two times he played Shindou, again-

"Hey, Touya!" Shindou was leaning across the go board, eyes somehow looking very bright to Akira's. "So what do you think? I've improved, haven't I?"

Shindou made him sick. His stomach felt like it was rolling around in his torso, and Shindou's excited smile made it worse. To think that, even if it might have been a bad day, Shindou had gotten so close to beating him-

"Aw, Touya," Shindou wheedled. "Come on, just a word of praise! You don't need to be such a tight-ass all the time! I've been working so hard!"

Akira glared at him, trying to make Shindou feel all the horrible dark seething misery and nausea and self-hate that were swimming around inside him right then. Shindou shrank back. Apparently he'd gotten the gist of it.

"Touya?" Shindou whispered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Akira's hand made its way to his head; he had a headache. He hadn't had time to get any inoculations before his games in Korea. Did Japanese people need inoculations before going to Korea? In any rate, he'd picked this bug up in Korea. He hated Korea. He hated his go. He hated his stupid worthless self. It was a hot day, and hotter inside the go salon; he reached for the pitcher of ice water at the side of the table, and so did Shindou. Their hands brushed, and Shindou pulled back quickly.

"S-sorry," Shindou said quickly.

Akira froze. He'd felt a shock rush through him at the contact, a jolt of electricity that went straight to his head. He turned and stared at Shindou, fingers twitching. Shindou frowned.

"T-touya, are you okay? You look kinda red. Do you have a fever?" Shindou reached up, and, just the way Shindou's father probably did to him, pressed his palm against Touya's forehead. He felt cool and solid against Touya's skin.

Jolt.

"I think," Akira said. "I'm alright, but I should be going. Thank you for the game, Shindou."

He got to his feet and walked into the bathroom. He was sweating. He reached up, touched his forehead. He was burning up. He leaned down and splashed cold water across his face. His stomach careened violently, and his face fell into the still-running stream of water as his body lurched forward. He felt the water forced down onto his face, and felt an acidic tightness wrench around his throat. He wanted to cry.

"Hey, Touya," Shindou said, walking in behind Akira. "Are you really okay?" Akira could feel Shindou's presence lingering behind his back, and his throat clenched.

Akira turned, looked at Shindou, felt droplets of water drip down his skin. "Just got a little hot in there."

Shindou laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Well, see you!"

Akira leaned against the wall, and shakily, let his mouth open into a little smile. He could already taste the chicken soup and rice his mother would make him when he got home.

4. our distance and that person

"Sai," Hikaru asked, "Do you think Touya and I are friends?"

Sai turned from where he'd been lounging to stare at Hikaru. "Friends?"

"Yeah, friends," Hikaru said. "What, is that so weird to imagine?"

"Well," Sai said. "You are rivals."

"Does that mean we can't be friends?" Hikaru asked.

Sai shrugged. "Do you want to be?"

Hikaru pressed a button, and an orange soda tumbled out of the vending machine. He walked over to the bench where only he could see Sai reclined upon and waited for the ghost to get up so they could continue walking home.

"Yeah," Hikaru said, after a second. "I mean, he's not like my other friends, but I kinda want to get to know him better."

"You just aren't interested in his go?" Sai asked idly, looking up to stare at a billboard.

"I-" Hikaru reddened. "What do you mean? I mean, he is his go, isn't he?"

Sai turned to stare at Hikaru. "I-" Hikaru muttered. "Did that sound really stupid?"

"No," Sai said. "You're right. Each person's go comes from somewhere, after all. You can see who they are in it."

"I guess you don't think we're friends?" Hikaru asked.

Sai sighed. "Hikaru-"

"I know, I know," Hikaru muttered. "He hates my guts, doesn't he?"

"I'm saying," Sai said, "You figure it out. People are staring."

Hikaru hated how he was the only one who could see Sai. All he did was have a conversation with the guy, and everybody around ended up looking like they thought he was a psycho. "I wonder," Hikaru said, "If Touya and I can ever be friends, while he doesn't know about you."

"Well," Sai said, "I won't always be putting that distance between you."

"Eh?" said Hikaru. "What, are we gonna tell him someday?"

"Hikaru, why is that girl unclothed?"

"It's a billboard, Sai, she's advertising something..."

"It's not right! You should take it down, Hikaru!"

"Sai, that's not the kind of thing you can just do in any case..."

5. ano sa... (hey, you know...)

"Hey, you know... Touya?"

Akira turned, surprised to hear Shindou speaking to him, much less so civilly, after so losing their game. Yeah, Shindou was still mada mada dane, and they both knew it. "What is it, Shindou?" he asked, keeping his voice cool and stingingly distant. He wanted Shindou to feel disappointed. He pictured Shindou kneeling at his feet and begging for forgiveness from him. Akira smiled pleasantly. It was a wonderful image.

Shindou, oblivious to Akira's rather (supposedly) uncharacteristic thoughts, finished sweeping his black stones up and asked, "Touya? Did you know this salon's going on a trip to the beach?"

Akira blinked and searched his memory. He hadn't. He hoped that didn't mean the salon would be closed. Shindou probably realized that they would need to relocate that day's practice game. Good, that was unusually smart forethought on Shindou's part. He rewarded the boy with a small, brief half-smile. "No, I didn't."

"Oh, that's weird," Shindou said, leaning back in his chair. Akira wished he'd hurry up so they could talk about the game. He was dying to educate Shindou on his embarrassing sloppiness in the end game. "So are you going?" Shindou finished.

Akira's stomach took a nice big fist to it. He hadn't been expecting anything like that. "You're going?" he asked incredulously, though that wasn't what he was surprised about.

"Well," Shindou said, rubbing his head rather sheepishly, "That is, if you are."

"I- excuse me?" Akira snapped.

Shindou stared at Akira, who was all sharp and wound-up again, crisp razor edges and the swish of almost bluish hair angled across near luminescent eyes. It made him suddenly nervous. "Well," Shindou laughed, pushing himself back up, "It's not like I wanna go with a bunch of old geezers! You're the only guy even close to my age."

"I thought I'm supposed to be your rival," Akira pointed out.

"Hey," said Shindou, "all the more reason! Think of how many games we can play!" He delivered that last line knowingly, using his experience with Sai and go obsession, and wished he had the right to yank on the end of Akira's hair. Akira's mouth widened, the expression on his face changing to pure longing. "I love the beach," said Shindou. "Don't you?"

"Shindou," Akira said quietly, "I haven't been to the beach since I was four years old."

Shindou laughed, and his voice took on a teasing tone. "Are you saying you don't know how to swim?"

"Of course I can swim," Akira said defensively. He stared at his rival helplessly. "Shindou-"

"Please?" Shindou said, and Akira gave up.

Akira rode down with Shindou, the two of them cramped together in the backseat of Ichikawa's little car. The music was cranked up very loudly so the driver didn't have to listen to them yelling at each other. Shindou had brought a magnetic go board, and they played game after game on it, sweating profusely from the heat. When Shindou did pretty well in their second game, he acted so triumphant that it made Akira seriously consider strangling him.

Akira waited and stretched his legs out in Shindou's space while the other pro left the car to go to the bathroom stop. When Shindou came and sat back down, their thighs brushed together, the silky cotton of Shindou's trunks scraping against Akira's jeans shorts. It was weird. Akira suddenly felt a whole lot hotter.

Their arrival was a pretty grand event, with the old people around them cheering just as loud as Shindou did when they finally got there. Akira stood silently, wishing they would try not to attract so much attention. Shindou screeched in excitement upon the sight of white-yellow sand and gray-turquoise waves. Akira stared too, the salty air, clanking boardwalk, and far-away splashes of colorful umbrellas and people bringing back tinges of painfully distant memory, impressions from before he'd known what atari meant. The squawk of the seagulls and the up-sweeping breeze made Shindou grin, as if he belonged in such a place, but they made Akira feel an odd regret-hurt. He wished Shindou's stupid face wasn't so familiar and bright and clean.

The other members went off to the boardwalk go salon right away, but Shindou dragged Akira in the opposite direction. Akira stared past whirling hot tubs, pink adobe hotels, and hairy sand-encrusted legs, wishing for the cold, comforting presence of go instead of this confusing, positively teeming life. Shindou was perfectly a part of it. He seemed to think Akira was, too.

"Oh, man, I love the beach!" Shindou was nearly yelling, though he didn't seem to realize it. They'd fallen into a fast pace as they walked, and all the cerulean blue made Akira's eyes practically water, as if the light's reflection off it was bleeding into them. "Aw, man, Touya, what should we do first? I want to go swimming, and play volleyball, and eat ice cream and fries and cotton candy and pizza and Touya, what do you think?"

"I want to play go," Akira said, voice only slightly breathless. "You should have gotten one of your friends to do things like that with you."

"I thought-" Shindou said, then stopped, looking put off, but he couldn't be hurt. "Would it hurt just once to do something other than go?"

"With you, it would," said Akira, pretending to be calm and unfeeling, and regretting it.

"What's wrong with me!" Shindou yelled, stopping in his tracks. Clank. "Touya, do you even like me?"

Akira stopped, too. His heavy bag almost slipped off his sweaty fingers. "Of course," Akira said, "Of course I like you, Shindou."

Shindou stared at him, then his face broke into an ear-splitting grin. "Hey... Touya... you know..."

"Eh?"

"Are we friends?"

Akira was turning red. He let out a haughty "hmph" sound and deliberately turned his head. "Don't get too cocky."

Shindou laughed, and before Akira could manage to protest, they'd joined a group of teenagers in a beach volleyball game. Akira hadn't played volleyball since elementary school. You just had to knock the ball over the net, though, right?

Shindou covered for Akira when he missed a ball, and the smash scored a point in the process. The other boys and girls laughed. Shindou raised his hand for Akira to high five. Akira tentatively extended a hand back.

Hey... you know... Shindou? I feel like I could spend my life like this.