Spaces Between
Although the tone was teasing, there was something in the words that made Isumi sound amazingly like Touya – when Shindou was nodding off and dead on his feet, and Touya was being snappy to hide the concern in his voice.
Hikago belongs to Yumi Hotta and Takeshi Obata.
AN: Written for the jumpexchange community on LJ. Apologies for any misuse/misinformation of go terms, go-related moves and the go association center. My knowledge from go comes entirely from the manga and a nice website with definitions of go-terms.
start
Waya slouched against the wall in one of the Go Association's small playing rooms and watched Shindou and Touya play intense tournament-level speed go against each other. Go stones struck the goban with almost bell-like tones; Waya didn't know much about wood grades, but from the sounds of it, the goban Shindou and Touya abused with their almost angry slaps was expensive.
"Not angry. Just intense, as always," Isumi murmured, a smile in his words.
"Remind me again why we have to be here," Waya whispered back. "If Shindou wants to one-up Touya, why can't they do it at Touya's go salon or something?"
"Shindou wants us to be witnesses, apparently," Isumi chuckled. He poked Waya lightly in the shoulder. "It's not like we have much to do, and you're going to wait for Shindou anyway."
"Bah," Waya said, throwing his head back against the wall in irritation; the resultant thud and brief shock of pain made him wince. "It means we have to wait on Touya as well, and Shindou will insist on dragging him along."
"Give in gracefully, Waya," Isumi said. "Shindou wouldn't have it otherwise."
Waya scowled. Shindou had been pigheadedly stubborn about dragging Touya into their circle; Shindou and Touya's relationship was probably the biggest open secret in the Go Association. There was civilized tolerance between Waya and Touya, but that didn't mean Waya had to hide all his distaste for the other go pro when away from said go player.
The hand ruffling through his spiky bangs brought Waya out of his thoughts.
"We're not so unlike Shindou and Touya-kun, you know," Isumi said, and Waya could swear there was a smile in those words as well, just directed wryly at him this time. "At least, I'd like to think so."
"We don't send senior citizens cringing from the room or scare grade-schoolers with the force of our screams when we play," Waya reminded him. Beyond them, Shindou slapped down a tsuke that threatened to split Touya's territory neatly in half and tipped his head up to grin toothily at his opponent. Touya simply gave him freezing look and ripped past Shindou's attack, bringing the battle to the last unclaimed corner of the goban.
"You've got a point," Isumi said. "Still, there are some similarities."
"Yeah?" Waya asked suspiciously. Shindou and Touya were surprisingly quiet today; it had less to do with being in a public space, and more with the jab Waya made about Shindou not being able to keep a cool head when playing against Touya. "So I'm obviously Shindou, right? Because there's no way in hell I'm like Touya."
Isumi twirled a white go stone between his fingers. "Yeah, you're like Shindou, probably." He stared out across the foyer for a long moment before turning and flashing Waya a wide grin. "You're just as brash and spontaneous as Shindou, and I'm the responsible one like Touya-kun. Ah, the trials we elder ones have to go through!"
Waya threw his head back with a snort and shrugged back the urge to hit Isumi in the shoulder. It would escalate into a minor scuffle, usually ending with Waya in a headlock or something, but they were in a public space. Isumi had been very circumspect lately, ever since his entry into the professional go world. "Sure, whatever. Never thought I'll see the day when you go all maudlin in your old age."
Isumi smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of the hit, but didn't take the bait. Jabs about their age difference was a common theme; so was the fact that Waya became a go pro before Isumi. It was nice to have something to lord over Isumi with, that Waya was his senpai. But Waya only did it occasionally – Isumi had overcome whatever doubts he had, but the pro exams from two years ago still aroused some lingering feelings in Isumi. It wasn't obvious, but Waya could read the gentle regret in his eyes, the lasting pain from that period in the careful but straightforward way Isumi placed each and every one of his stones.
Waya sighed. They were perfectly fine in private; Isumi was his usual, quiet-but-teasing self when they were out with friends, but at work, in the Go Association building, it was as if Isumi threw up a pane of glass before him. He was still there, still Isumi, but a little too distant, a little cold – ever since he returned from China, actually.
He stole a glance from the corner of his eyes; Isumi was watching the Shindou-Touya game, his eyes flicking from stone to stone, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. There was a tiny knowing smile on his lips, like Isumi was enjoying a private joke that only he could see.
Waya sighed – again – then growled softly at the back of his throat. He reached up and grabbed Isumi by the sleeve and towed Isumi across the room to a free table.
"I'm not going to stand around here waiting like an idiot. Let's play a game!" Waya threw over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of Isumi's face as the other man tried not to stumble over his own feet and was pleased with what he saw. There was shock, a wry acceptance, and a flash of anticipation: nothing irritatingly distant about that expression.
"All right, all right, I got it," Isumi called.
Waya tightened his hold around Isumi's wrist and tugged harder.
--
Waya shook his head, sending water droplets sprinkling onto the ground. He ran a hand through his wet bangs and leaned against the bathroom door. He could hear voices on the other side; either Isumi was on the phone, or another late night visitor had dropped by Isumi's place.
"Feel free to come over any time. I know the Go Association would have booked you into a hotel, but you're definitely welcome, after all the times you put up with me in China."
Waya shifted and tried to make himself comfortable in the damp bathroom. Isumi's apartment room was small, but serviceable; there was a small closet of a bedroom, a space that could be considered the living room, the kitchen, and a bathroom. Waya liked meeting Isumi at his place better than his own; there was something nice about being allowed into someone else's space and feeling at home there.
"Yes, he can stay as long as he wants," A pause, then, "No, that's fine. Waya comes by often, so with Le Ping it'll be like having him around all the time. I'm used to it." Isumi laughed, a low ripple of sound.
Waya jumped at the sound of his name. He reached out, grabbed a towel and began running it briskly through his hair. The rustle of cloth and hair drowned out Isumi's voice, and Waya was strangely relieved by it. Hearing Isumi talk about him on the phone made Waya feel self-conscious, like he was eavesdropping, even though thin apartment walls made it hard to do anything but.
He was so preoccupied with rubbing his hair down that he didn't realize Isumi's phone call ended until he heard a rap on the door. "Waya, I hope you haven't drowned in there," Isumi called.
Waya pulled his head free from the towel, the tips of his hair fluffing up with the movement. "I'm coming out," he yelled back and stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was true that he and Le Ping looked uncannily alike. When Yang Hai-san came on one of his informal visits, Le Ping in gleeful tow, the others had stood the two of them together and stared. And stared and stared, before they burst out laughing. Waya didn't understand a single Chinese word, but the grin on Isumi's face made him rub at his head sheepishly instead of exploding in frustrated embarrassment. Someone had snapped a photo from that encounter, and Isumi had it up in one of photo albums he kept around.
And Waya had to admit the kid wasn't too bad. Le Ping practically worshipped the ground Isumi stood on, except he was an absolute brat about it. He was clinging, irritatingly shrill when Isumi didn't pay him enough attention, and treated Waya like the enemy he'd love to hate, but couldn't because Waya was Isumi's best friend. That had been an interesting visit.
Waya draped the towel back on the rack and went to the living room. He threw himself on the seat next to Isumi, bouncing a little from the cushion. "Sorry about taking so long. You're probably itching for a shower."
"No, I was on the phone, actually," Isumi said. He began clearing the stones from their last game, a task the phone call must have interrupted.
"Ah," Waya muttered noncommittally.
"Yang Hai-san is coming to Japan next month. Although he's here for official games, he's bringing Le Ping along, so they'll be hanging around here for a while."
"Oh. Okay," Waya replied, and mentally hit himself. What a lovely way to show you're not sulking, which he wasn't. He reached forward to help Isumi sort the black from white stones, just to give his hands something to do.
Isumi's hands paused, and Waya looked up. Isumi gazed at him, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"I guess we'll put off our weekly night games, then?" Waya asked, carefully scoping white stones into his goke. The rattle of stones striking wood was loud. "You see Yang Hai-san so rarely; you don't have to waste your time playing with me. You can play with me any time, after all."
Isumi flicked a go stone at Waya's forehead. Waya yelped at the impact.
"No, I'm not going to cancel on you. Besides, Yang Hai-san wouldn't mind having another go pro to play against, even just informally."
"And where's everyone going to sleep?" Waya asked, glaring. He knew, from good and personal experience that when you placed go players in an enclosed space with enough gobans, tea and snacks lying around, the games didn't just end because the clock ticked closer to morning than midnight.
"We'll figure something out," Isumi said, closing the lid on his goke and leaning back.
"Figure something out? Just that easily?" Waya asked stubbornly, but the initial reflex to make himself scarce while Isumi's Chinese friends visited had evaporated.
"My room can probably fit two people, and we can always spread out more futons after we move the gobans and the chairs. Well, it's only for a few days."
"Hm," Waya murmured, sprawling on his back so he stared at the ceiling. It was almost midnight; the soothing quiet and the sound of Isumi clearing up around him, combined with the late hour and the warm shower was making him drowsy. His eyes fluttered shut. "Yeah, I guess we'll work something it. It'll work out."
Fingers ran briefly through his hair, and then Waya heard footsteps as Isumi walked away, a slight rattle as he picked up the goban and gokes.
"Waya, if you're going to fall asleep, at least drag yourself to the futon," Isumi said. Waya's eyes snapped open. Although the tone was teasing, there was something in the words that made Isumi sound amazingly like Touya – when Shindou was nodding off and dead on his feet, and Touya was being snappy to hide the concern in his voice.
We're not so unlike Shindou and Touya-kun, you know.
Waya twisted around and stared at Isumi's retreating back.
--
Waya tugged briefly at his necktie, trying to ease off the choking sensation he sometimes got before dropping his hands, aware that he was in the public. He and Isumi were playing a public demonstration game, two weeks after Waya overheard Isumi's conversation with Yang Hai.
Waya had been stealing glances at Isumi all week, trying to figure out what had changed, trying to look at things from another angle. Isumi was polite and open amongst other go professionals outside their circle, but most so when Waya was there with him. Alone together, or with anyone from their old gang, and Isumi would mellow like caramel before a flame.
It was in between all the stolen glances that Waya realized Isumi was always watching him, not constantly, but with slight head turns to ascertain Waya's presence before turning back to the task at hand. If Isumi noticed that Waya was quieter and more thoughtful, he made no indication of it.
How were they like Shindou and Touya? The question kept drifting to the forefront of Waya's thoughts, like an annoying, unending atari.
"I think we're up now," Isumi said behind him, and Waya jumped and whirled around.
"Thanks for trying to give me a heart attack," Waya growled, running his hands through his hair.
"Your own fault for not paying attention." Isumi was dressed in suit and tie, like Waya was – it looked good on Isumi. It made him look composed and certain of himself, although that probably had more to do with the comfortable, sure way Isumi stood.
They drifted to the stage and took their places at the goban, Isumi leaning back against his chair, hands on his knees, while Waya leaned forward, perched on the very edge of his seat. He stared at the goban, and thought of the last official type game Shindou and Touya played, back at the Go Association. It had started out nothing like the game he and Isumi were about to play, and the outcome, the game itself, would only differ more.
Waya tried to connect the pieces together in his head. The result was like a badly played amateur go game, with stones scattered throughout the board with barely a coherent thought nor logic connecting them into recognizable shapes.
They were so much more mature than Touya and Shindou, for one. When he and Isumi played, it was a mix of playfulness and gravity. Sure, there were the usual teasing jabs and casual insults thrown in every once in a while, but they never blew up at each other the way Touya and Shindou do every time they played together. He and Isumi were best friends and there existed a camaraderie between them born from such prolonged exposure to each other. When one devoted as much time as they did to their games, something others their age rarely understood, they learned to latch on to those who did understand.
Shindou and Touya were like… salt and pepper. Or the sun and the moon. People just naturally thought about them in pairs. It was not only because of their rivalry, which the Go Weekly reporters loved harping about whenever hype seemed low, but because when they were together in the same room it was as if they created a space around them that belonged to them alone.
Sun and the moon. Shindou was surely the sun, bright and an absolute explosion of energy, and Touya? Moon-imagery suited him, pale, decidedly calmer and colder than Shindou. Waya snorted.
"What now?" Isumi asked him in undertone, even as Sakurano, the interpretator of their game for the audience, pattered on with the introductions.
"Touya," Waya snickered quietly. "He could be a moon priestess with that girly hair, but the death glare would slay anyone trying to approach him."
Isumi shot him a look, half amused, half chiding and smiled.
Waya smiled back. He stared at the goban, the gokes waiting by the side, lids removed and flipped to hold captured stones. Isumi knew him too well – he'd barely blink at Waya's response. It was comforting to know, even with the lines shifting between them, that some things never change.
"Now, let's start the game," Sakurano announced.
"Nigiri," Isumi said, and dipped his fingers into his goke and withdrawing white stones. Waya mirrored his movements with two black stones. No one had to ask him twice to play go, especially when it was with Isumi.
The game unfurled quickly, their familiarity with each other, like a beloved conversation topic, made joban, the opening game, complete within minutes. Waya relaxed into a calm state of mind. This game was like many of the countless hundreds they'd played, with the sharp, electric intensity playing an official game added. Here, Waya didn't have to think about anything but Isumi's moves and his own responses.
They were well into chuuban when Waya noticed the shape of their game altering. It was subtle – Sakurano's commentary contained no hint of her noticing any such thing – but Waya could read a few moves ahead and it was… different. It was Isumi's hand next; Waya glanced upwards to see if there was any telling expression on Isumi's face.
From a distance, Isumi's posture suggested that he was studying the shape of the game, head tipped downwards, bangs hanging over his eyes. But from Waya's angle, Isumi's eyes were directed at him, pupils dark under his eyelashes.
The look was like a slow, languid kiss against his throat, sensual and intimate. Not that Waya would know, because despite his teenage good looks and boisterous personality, the scattered girlfriends he'd picked up over the years had each eventually complained about go as their rival. Smooth talker as he could be, Waya never escape these confrontations unscathed, because the single thought in his head when the subject was brought up was there's no competition, and before the girls could tip their quivering lips in brilliant smiles, he'd complete the sentence with it's always been go for me.
Isumi leaned back, a flash of surprise whipping through his face before his eyes narrowed, his mouth smoothing out into a neutral line. He dipped two fingers into his goke and placed his hand without breaking their gaze.
Waya stared at him, stared down at the game, stared at the way Isumi withdrew his hand, curling it by the side of the goban, and felt his in-game calm splinter. There was nothing distant about the way Isumi looked at him; it contained nothing of the familiar, placid friendship they had, either.
Waya slapped down a stone that broke out from the shape he'd been building, a hand that was half what are you doing and half panic settling in. He glared at Isumi's tie – a discreet, solid blue – and turned his attention back to the game, a silent rebuke in his actions: don't stare at me, concentrate on the game!
Isumi's eyes flickered, and he drew a white stone from the goke, balancing the stone between his fingertips. The gentle pachi of stone hitting goban was deliberate, placed with no hesitation; it was a hand that blocked Waya's run towards as-of-yet unclaimed middle ground. The look Isumi gave him contained the same unwavering answer.
I'm paying attention. Are you?
Waya stared at the stone. He could feel Isumi's eyes on him and that made him concentrate even more on the shape of the game, the way the stones blossomed into a dizzying, complex array. His and Isumi's go was like the ebb and flow of the tide, simultaneously pushing and bolstering each other; it was nothing like the brilliance of Shindou's and Touya's erratic, clashing games, but a subtler, languid movement, more liquid than flame.
Waya snapped his head up and faced Isumi square on. There were no expectations in Isumi's face, just determination and the promise of acceptance in whatever decision Waya made in the tilt of the chin, the open, honest gaze. Isumi had simply laid down his stones, his stance clear; the outcome of the game depended on Waya's next hand. That, more than anything else, tipped Waya over the edge.
So he'd seen something more than friendship in Isumi's gaze. It was there in their game, visible only to them, who knew each other's styles as well as they did. Prolonged exposure did that. The dynamics that had grown between them did the rest. It… wasn't a bad change. It was an evolution of their relationship.
The ways they interacted were echoes of their go. And their go, which depended on the synchronicity of their movements, each pushing the other onto another level – maybe that's what they could have. What they did have.
Waya grinned, even though they were in the middle of a public tournament and he perhaps resembled a crazy loon in front of a sizable audience. Screw the eternal rival, I-stalk-you-to-make-you-look-at-me, soul-level attachment thing Shindou and Touya had. He liked what he and Isumi had. And although Waya now understood what Isumi meant, he was glad the differences outweighed the similarities by far. What they had and the go he and Isumi played was unique, utterly theirs.
Isumi was smiling, Waya could tell. Guess Isumi wasn't a good endgame reader for nothing.
"Wait, our players are smiling. Come now, Isumi-kun, this is a public game! No hiding secrets within your shapes, mister, or I'll have to decipher them in front of an audience."
Isumi's smile widened, and as one, they looked down at the goban. Waya withdrew a stone, slapped his answer down with a decisive pachi and looked up to see his resolution mirrored in Isumi's eyes.
end
AN: Con/crit and feedback is much beloved, as always.