Isumi knew something was very, very wrong.

For starters, his heart was beginning a rapid pounding that was steadily increasing by the second.

Well, and there was also the telltale blush that was creeping across the alabaster expanse of his cheek.

He had to do something about it. Soon.

However, try as he might, the reason for his feverish reaction was proving to be most elusive at that moment.

As far as he could see, everything was in perfect, normal order. Yes, everything was going the way it should. It was exactly six thirty in the evening, and he was having his dinner in the mesh hall with all the other Chinese players.

It could have been the food, of course, but the green paste that had been slopped on his plate looked and smelled faintly of cabbage and hat was a good thing because it meant that it was something vaguely recognisable.

Or, it could be the fact that all the other players had been pointing at him during the course of the entire dinner. That, compounded by the fact that he didn't understand a word of mandarin.

Maybe none of the above reasons were it. Maybe it was just his self-consciousness acting up again. But did not seem too reassuring…

He was positive there was something else. There had to be. There had to be something behind the furtive glances sneaked in his direction.

There was something nagging him at the back of his mind, buried under all the other things that were more important at the moment, like trying to eat his food without wincing, concentrating on the back of his spoon to drown out the buzzing of conversation seemingly aimed at him…

"Isumi-san!"  A voice broke through the incessant chatter filling the hall. A porty balding figure made its way round to his table, the jovial expression suddenly melting into one of amusement when he approached the table.

Isumi silently cursed his luck. Of all people, it just had to be the head of the Go institute. Hopefully he wouldn't question the fact that Isumi was calmly sitting there having dinner with the other residential players.

" Ah, Isumi-san, I was just looking for you. There's something that I'd like to tell you that—"Here the man broke off in mid speech, his strained expression taking on an aspect of barely concealed laughter as he considered his next words.

With an effort, he continued," It's just that players are advised not to wear … shorts… when having dinner."

Having said that, he withdrew, ambling his way along the hall.  Isumi could have sworn that there was that elusive something in the way he said it. It was that crinkle at the mouth, or that twinkle in the eye… He couldn't place it but there was some hidden meaning behind those words.

No rule that he ever recalled mentioned anything about wearing shorts to the dining table. Could it be that it was some Chinese custom that he was unfamiliar with? A look around soon confirmed that there were no restrictions on attire at the dinner table.

Loads of people were dressed in shorts. In fact, just across him YangHai had on a pair too. He was sure it wasn't about appropriateness, because the one that YangHai had on was far too short to be anywhere near decent.  It  was too short, too tight …

Then realisation dawned like a splash of icy water in his face.

Those were his shorts.

Isumi looked down—

And these were YangHai's shorts.  Damn it.

The blush that threatened to stain his cheeks took over in full force, making his face burn hotly.

~Owari~

Authors Notes: Another short, fluffy fic! ^^ Done because it is part of my mission to write more YangHaiXIsumi fics, and also because it's an avenue for me to take a break from writing exposition. Not really anything explicit, but I think the hints are there.  :)

Thank you Shimizu Hitomi for you encouragement and support! I owe you loads for that!

Arigatou everyone! *bows*