Cartography
Hikaru no Go - Akira
When he squares up to the table (as he inevitably does every evening) he places his palms on both corners, bearing down on the sharp edges. It is a strange ritual, he knows, but it is his way of orienting himself, to locate himself within that empty blond plane.
He needs this placement.
He opens the box and reaches in. The pieces slide, cold, between his fingers. He both hates and loves the feeling of them. They remind him, terribly, seductively, of skin. And it is then he grows aware of those eager eyes across the table from him.
He becomes unmoored.
It is only when he clicks the pieces on the board that he finds himself again.