Notes: You know the drill: "Mirror Image" is a joint project between Datenshi Blue ::applause:: and Jiro ::...crickets...:: Er, yeah. Anyway, there's some over-lapping in this segment because the chapter begins at the end of the confrontation between Hikaru and Akira. So there might be a *tincey* bit of repetitiveness here, but it shouldn't be too bad.

Warnings: Shonen-ai, angst. NO YAOI THIS CHAPTER, FOLKS! Just Akira sulking. He's good at that, after all (but damn is it annoying to write some times ^_^). Oh, and I was sick when I wrote this...and it shows.

Disclaimer: If we owned "Hikaru no Go" this wouldn't be a fanfic.


Chapter 4: Confusion



"All right then," Shindou says in an icy voice that's too cold to be his. But it is and I wince at the sound, wishing I could say something to make the hardness leave his voice. But I'm too shocked to do anything more than stare as he lifts his bag off the floor, slings it over his shoulder, and turns to go. I blink stupidly before realizing he's ended the conversation, and a wave of panic suddenly washes over me.

He can't leave like this, I won't let him.

My mouth opens to shout his name. To apologize. To call him an idiot. To say anything to keep him from leaving.

But the words refuse to come, and a dry, choking sound is the only thing that escapes my mouth as I watch him stomp across the salon towards the exit, bumping into the reception desk as he goes.

Ishikawa looks up as he passes, the shock on her face turning into one of exasperated amusement when she sees it's only Shindou storming out the door. She shakes her head in mock disappointment before turning her full attention back to the man waiting at the counter. The customers don't seem to notice as the door slams loudly against its frame, casing the bells to crack angrily against the glass, and my chest tightens. They think this was just another petty, childish argument. That Shindou will be back tomorrow, or maybe the next day, and everything will be like it's always been. But I know better; this was serious. It had to be if it could make Shindou so furious; if it could make me so uneasy. I slide back down into the chair, staring after him dumbly in disbelief.

He left.

I wasn't prepared for him to leave like that. I wasn't prepared for him to come, either. But he did it just the same.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and stare at my calloused hands. They're the hands of a go player, and unable to think of anything better to do, I use them how they are meant to be used. Dipping my hand into the nearest cask, I pull out a black stone and run the smooth plastic between my thumb and index fingers as I listen to the soft, steady sounds that fill the salon.

'pachi'

'pachi'

The dull clack of plastic on wood is oddly comforting, and I lean over to place the stone in my hand on the goban, adding my own voice to the noise. My muscles relax; thoughts enveloping me like a warm blanket as my mind falls into the steady rhythms of the game. Patterns begin to form on the grid below and I study them, calculating and strategizing even though I know the final shape they'll take. I need to keep my attention on the board, on the game. But in the back of my mind, just under the surface, the feeling of unease is growing. But I ignore it and place another stone.

'pachi'

A nostalgic smile tugs at my lips as I examine the board before me. Black and white stones battling fiercely, with equal passion and nearly equal skill. The game isn't half-way through yet, but the ability of both players is evident. It's exciting, the outcome of the battle's too close to call and I smile again. It's rare to see a game like this take place between two professionals who rank any lower than 6-dan.

'pachi'

'pachi'

I stare at the black, smooth oval clasped in my hand for a moment before I let my eyes drift lazily across the table and finally come to a rest on the umbrella sitting beside the go ke. I glare at it resentfully for a moment before sighing heavily. It's my own fault Shindou found out; Father's salon is obviously the place to go if you want to return something to me. I should have known not to come here after lying so blatantly to him, but I had forgotten about the umbrella.

I don't know how long I've been sitting here like this. An hour? Two? It doesn't matter, really. But I haven't finished recreating a single game yet; though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. My mind's been reeling; my thoughts tripping over each other and mixing together until I can't tell one idea from the next. I dip my empty hand into the nearest cask and pull out a white stone before leaning forward to lay it on the goban.

'pachi'

I shouldn't have lied in the first place, I know that. But I could barely even look at him let alone play him. Lying was just so much easier and I was so mad I didn't care, but I don't even know why I was so angry to begin with.

The image of him and Waya on the floor in his apartment creeps into my mind again and I flinch as I push it away. It's none of my business and it has nothing to do with this, I remind myself firmly. I thought he was my friend but he didn't tell me-

~"I forgot. It totally slipped my mind."~

But still, in my mind all I can see was Shindou strartling Waya, one hand clutching his waist and the other cupping his cheek. He didn't just 'forget'. He lied to me. But he seemed so earnest...

~"I'm telling the truth! I just forgot!"~

Maybe he really did just forget. He's like that sometimes. No matter what I didn't have the right to lie to him, he has a right to be angry with me. Shindou thought I was his friend, he said as much. But I was the one to lie to him, not the other way around. I sigh heavily, thinking. I knew even then I was being unreasonable, but I didn't care. And now I may have just done something completely irreversible. I might have ruined our friendship, worse our RIVALRY, over something as petty as not being told he was moving.

No. That wasn't it. That wasn't the reason I was so upset. I don't know what the reason was but that wa-

"Touya-kuuuuun!"

My head snaps up at the sound of my name as I'm ripped from my thoughts. I blink, mildly confused as I look up at the figure of my father's youngest disciple standing before me. I growl inwardly. I don't want to be disturbed and Ishikawa agreed to keep the customers at bay, but somehow the young pro seemed to slip past her radar. Leaning backwards in my chair I look behind my friend at Ishikawa, asking her the question with my eyes and frowning as she gives me a helpless shrug in reply. Sighing softly I look up at the man at my side and force a smile to my lips.

"Ah- Ashiwara-san, hello," I say, nodding my head in recognition. The irony that he would show up now doesn't escape me and I lower my gaze to glare at the umbrella again. But the wavy haired man smiles easily in response, oblivious to my mood.

"Are you busy?" he asks cheerfully, making a small gesture at the half played game resting on the goban. I look down, blushing as I realize I've started to recreate that game all over again. It's the only game I seem to think of lately.

"Not really," I answer flatly, silently willing my friend to go away.

"Great!" he beams, "Ogata-san canceled on me again, so I have no one to practice with." I flash him an understanding smile but blanch when he takes the seat across from mine, apparently interpreting my sympathy as an offer to take the Ouza's place.

"Uh-" I stammer, wracking my brain for a reason not to play right now. But any excuse is wiped from my mind when Ashiwara leans in closer to the goban, a glimmer of recognition shining faintly in his eyes as he studies the incomplete game that sits between us. I'm not sure why I don't want him to know I've been recreating my first professional game against Shindou, but the desire to hide it from him is overwhelming and at the moment I don't care about the reason behind it. My mouth goes dry and I look up at him anxiously only to see him with his eyebrows knit together in concentration while he tries to place the game. Unbidden, my hands fly out onto the board, clearing it before the wavy haired pro can examine it any further. Surprised, Ashiwara looks up at me but his expression remains the same.

"Touya-kun," he begins but pauses hesitantly, still searching through the index of his mind. My stomach lurches, because I know what he's going to ask next. Desperate, I shove my hands into the go ke and take out a fist full of stones.

"Nigiri," I say, purposely ignoring his comment as I hold my hand over the goban expectantly.

"Ah- H- hai!" Ashiwara nods, startled as he reaches into the other cask and pulls out stones of his own. He wins black.

"Please!" we say in unison and begin our battle.

I sigh in relief as Ashiwara's eyes gloss over in thought, his entire being focused on the game at hand. And for once I'm thankful that outside of an actual go match he has the attention span of a goldfish. I watch as he places the first stone and begin to consider my response, slowly becoming enveloped by the game.

"Arimasen" Ashiwara says, nearly an hour later.

"Arigatou gozaimashita."

"Arigatou gozaimashita."

I lean back from the table, the world slowly coming back into focus as I look up from the goban. It's only then I notice the group of customers that has crowded around the table during our game, and I stare at them in mild disbelief. I've become used to playing and discussing my games at Father's salon without being surrounded by a throng of onlookers. Though normally I play Shindou here. I hide my surprise well, ignoring the group of spectators like I usually would as I begin the post-game discussion.

"You played well over all," I say resolutely "But you paid too much attention to your territory in the right hand corner."

"Hai," he agrees "I neglected your attacks in the center and lost control over the rest of the board." The crowd looks on, a slight murmur issuing from the men huddling around the table.

"It's nice to see the young master play against a worthy opponent," I hear Kitajima say loudly to the man standing next to him, distracting me from my thoughts. I glare at him from the corner of my eye for a moment before redirecting my attention back to the game. I know what he means, but I chose to ignore it. Today of all days I have no right to criticize him for judging my rival unfairly. So I bend my head lower over the goban, trying to ignore the comments and focus on the discussion with Ashiwara.

"- still only a 3-dan and he's been a pro for 4 years!" I suppress a wince as I narrow my eyes on the patterns in front of me.

"If I had used a kiema move here," Ashiwara says pointing to the lower left hand corner "then I could hav-"

"But isn't he Touya-sensei's rival?"

I lean in closer to the board to stare at the game, hoping to drown out the noise and the comments. A stone in the upper left hand corner during the first few moves might have strengthened white's hold-

"Ah- but that would have strengthened black's territory in the middle," I reply.

"He shouldn't even be compared to- " I clench my fists, unable to bear it anymore.

"Gomen, Ashiwara-san. I have to leave," I announce abruptly, drowning out the next insult before it can reach my ears. I stand up, pushing off the table as my chair scrapes against the tiled floor loudly. Kitajima stares at me, his mouth still open about to form more derogatory words at my rival's expense. I glare at him slightly, causing him to close his mouth in response.

I know Kitajima is a fan of mine, I know he berates Shindou for my sake; but sometimes he takes things too far. Even as angry as I am, I can't suffer listening to people like Kitajima insult him. But after what I've done today I can't criticize them for underestimating Shindou, I did much worse. But I can't stand to listen to it either.

"Ah-but wha-" Ashiwara starts to protest.

"We'll discuss the game next time," I assure him with a faint smile and he nods in agreement, the surprise still lingering on his face. Without another word I head towards the door, pausing only to smile slightly at Ishikawa as she hands me my bag.

"G-goodbye, Akira-kun" she says startled, concern faintly etched across her features. I nod in response, not trusting myself to do anything more, and leave the salon.

It's nice out tonight, the cool breeze feels soft against my skin. I glance up aimlessly, letting my mind wander and my feet lead me home. It's a clear night. You could probably even see the stars if they weren't hidden behind the smog and buildings of Tokyo. My apartment is a train stop away, and I find myself thinking about Shindou again on my journey home. My mind still on this afternoon and the incident at Father's salon, I enter my home and head towards the kitchen.

Opening the cupboards in my kitchen I'm annoyed to find them bare, yet again. With a scowl I pick my money clip off the table, shoving it in my back pocket before I leave my apartment. I could go to the sushi restaurant a few blocks over, or the ramen stand down the block. But neither option appeals to me and instead I decide to make my way to the grocery story nearby.

I retrieve my purchases quickly, hastily throwing all of them in paper bags before I leave the store. The three bags, brimming over with items, slightly obstruct my view, but But I continue to walk down the not-so-crowded sidewalk, confidant I can walk the seven blocks to my building. I smile lightly at myself. This is probably something Shindou would do, carrying more than he could handle.

Suddenly I run into something, soft but unyielding, and I stumble backwards with a muffled 'oof', spilling the contents of my bag.

Kuso. I was so wrapped up in my own little world I forgot to watch where I was going.

"Gomen! I wasn't paying attention!" comes a distressed apology and I take a step back to balance myself, blinking up at the victim of my inattention and wondering why he is apologizing to me?

"Here, let me help you!" he says bending down to pick up the mushed box of pocky and dented cans of vegetables that have spilled onto the sidewalk. I shake my head lightly, still mildly disoriented, and kneel down beside him to help. Glancing up from my task to look at the man as we place the groceries in the torn paper bag, I wonder if we know each other from somewhere. I know there's something familiar about his voice but I can't see his face. "Here, you go--" he mutters embarrassedly, handing me one of the bags as we stand up. My eyes widen in shock as I look at him; he almost drops the bag again.

"Isumi-san," I manage somewhat awkwardly, trying my best to hide my surprise. His eyes are slightly puffy and his nose is raw.

"Ah- Touya-san!" the other pro stammers, his face burning with embarrassment as he fumbles for a better hold on the shopping bag. I shift my own load and reach out to help him. My cans are already dented as it is, any more abuse and I doubt I'll be able to open them. "Gomen, I wasn't looking," he says once my groceries are no longer in immediate danger and gives an apologetic smile at the three bags now resting in my arms, two of which are torn. "Do you need help getting them to your apartment?" he asks with concern.

"Oh. My apartment is only six blocks from here. I can bring them back myself," I reply. I'm not going to let Isumi carry my bags home. It's my fault they're torn, not his.

"..."

"Oh, alright," he says, still eying the precarious load in my arms like he's not quite sure he believes me. I mentally sigh in relief and open my mouth to say good-bye before he can change his mind but I stop as a loud tearing noise fills the sidewalk and the gash in my bag widens, sending the contents tumbling out. I wince as they hit the cement with a loud 'smack' and make a mental note not to drink the soda any time soon.

"Let me help you," the older pro says, his voice embarrassed but firm, as he leans over to pick up the loose cans of soda and bags of rice. I look down at my battered groceries lying on the ground, then up to my mangled bag, and finally back to Isumi. There's no way I can manage to bring all this food home by myself, and I stifle a small sigh.

"Arigatou gozaimasu" I say, defeated and he takes the tattered bag from me, placing the items in it as best he can. I wait patiently for Isumi to get ready and it's only after the bag is full again and its contents secure that I turn to go home.

"It's this way," I tell him, jerking my head slightly in the direction I was going before the incident. He nods, falling in step beside me as we head down the street. It's not too crowded tonight so it's easy enough to walk side by side. I remain quiet and keep my eyes ahead, not knowing what to say to one of my rival's closest friends. Especially after what happened earlier today. I shift my bags awkwardly in my arms, and I'm very aware of how quiet it is between us.

"So...How's your father?" Isumi asks, breaking the awkward silence.

"He's well," I reply automatically, I'm asked so often it's become a reflex.

"He's living in China now, right?"

"Hai," Father's decision to move there permanently was almost as widely talked about in the go world as his retirement. "He's agreed to train some of their more talented pupils at the Chinese Go Institute." I add and I glance at him over my packages in mild concern when his stride falters for a moment at this news. That hasn't been released to the public yet, but it will be in a few days. A week at the most.

"He's working with Yang Hai-san and Li-sensei?" he replies softly in surprise. "They didn't tell me that."

"You know them?" I ask, genuinely curious; father has mentioned those names before. Isumi nods, grinning slightly.

"Hai. I studied there before I became a pro. I even go back once every two years," he answers easily and I turn my head to look at him. I hadn't known that. "I have a picture from my last visit," he says, shifting the bag in his arms to shove a hand in his back pocket. Handing me a worn leather wallet, he flips it open to a photo of a group of young pros standing in front of a large building. I assume it's the Chinese Go Institute. "Yang Hai-san taught me a lot, he even let me sleep in his room for free the first time I was there." I lean over as we walk to see the picture in his hand. "He's the third one on the right," Isumi says, pointing to a tall dark haired pro in a... colorful tropical shirt. I nod, glad to finally have a face to put to the stories and I absently let my eyes wander over the faces in the crowd; they're suddenly drawn to the sight of a familiar tuft of unruly red hair.

"Waya went with you to China?" I ask, genuinely curious, as I stare pointedly at the smiling red head clinging to Isumi's arm. The older pro blinks at me in slight confusion before glancing down at the picture again. I nearly drop my bags at the sound of his laughter when he realizes what I mean. I look at him, more confused now than ever and he grins, still chuckling as he tries to explain.

"Ah- no that's Le Ping," he manages to say. "He's another pro in China."

I lower my head to stare back down at the picture.

"Are you sure?" I ask incredulously. "They look exactly alike,"

"Not exactly," Isumi replies, straining to reign in a smile. I raise a skeptical eyebrow; they look alike to me. "Le Ping has an outie belly button, Waya has an innie."

"Oh," is all I can manage to say. I don't think I want to find out how he knows that. Blushing slightly at the expression on my face, Isumi smiles and shakes his head.

"The last time Le Ping came to Japan he practically ripped Waya's shirt off trying to see his belly-button." He's laughing so hard now that I can't really understand what he's saying anymore, but I gather Waya didn't take it too well. And I can't help but chuckle slightly at the image.

"This is it," I tell him as we approach my building and he follows me into the lobby. Once inside we call for the elevator and it doesn't take more than a minute for the doors to open; I press the button for the third floor. I give Isumi an appreciative nod and he gives me a small smile in return. The walk here was relatively short but surprising pleasant considering my mood. And I'm glad because in an odd way it makes feel better, knowing that at least one of Shindou's friends doesn't hate me. The elevator comes to a halt and we walk down the brightly lit hallway to my apartment. I open the door, awkwardly balancing my parcels in my arms as I invite the older pro in with a nod and lead the way into the kitchen. Putting my load on the counter I turn to help Isumi but he's already placed his bag on the table, letting the food spill out onto the counter top.

"Arigatou," I say again, sincerely thankful for his help.

"That's alright. I didn't have anything better to do," he answers, forcing a pained smile to his face. He suddenly seems sad, but I don't ask him about it. It's his business; if he wants to tell me he'll do it on his own. "Ah-I should get going," he says softly as he sees the digital clock on my microwave. It reads 10:49. I nod and walk him to the door. "Good night, Touya-san." he says as he leaves.

"Good night." I reply with a small smile, shutting the door behind him and heading back to the kitchen. I want to put the food away and go to sleep. Reaching for the container of dried noodles on the table, I pause. Sitting on the table, slightly covered by a bag of rice, is Isumi's wallet. I must not have given it back to him when he showed me the picture of Le Ping.

He's been gone less than two minutes, he might not have even left the building yet. Quickly I grab the wallet, stuff my keys in my pocket, and follow after Isumi. Maybe I can catch him before he gets too far. I run down the corridor, ignoring the fluorescent lights as they sting my eyes, and call the elevator. It's stuck up at the top story and I shift my weight in impatience for a moment before deciding to take the emergency stairs to my right. I really don't know where he lives so if he's gone already I'll have to wait until I see him next to give him back his wallet.

I come down the stairs just in time to see the back of his head as it disappears behind the corner.

"Ah!!! Isumi-san!!" I shout, hoping he'll hear my voice through the half-open door as I leave the building still sprinting after him.

He pauses and turns, looking for the source of his name. I smile, relieved, as I trot up by his side.

"Isumi-san!" I pant, leaning against the wall slightly.

"Touya-san?"

"You left this in my apartment," I explain breathlessly, my face flushed from exertion as I hold out the wallet. Except for yesterday, I haven't run like that in three years, not since I chased after Shindou when he stopped showing up for his matches. I frown at the memory, and shake my head slightly.

"Ah- Arigatou gozaimashita," he says smiling slightly as he reaches out to take the wallet from my hand. But he stops unexpectedly, the sadness returning to his eyes as the focus on something behind me.

"Hey guys," he says with fake enthusiasm, his small smile flickering momentarily. Startled, I turn around and blink in surprise. Once. Twice. Three times.

Kuso.

The world must be playing some cruel, twisted joke at my expense but I'm too startled by what I see to protest.

"Hello, Waya-san. Shindou," I say calmly, recovering quickly and falling back into the security of formalities since I can't think of anything else to do. I keep my voice steady as I stare at the duo, watching impassively as they gawk at us and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, obstructing the flow of traffic. My heart is beating painfully in my chest, but I ignore it, passing it off as the after effects of my short run. Their faces still flushed from laughter but they aren't smiling anymore. My eyes harden slightly at the comfortable, intimate way Waya leans into Shindou for support and I look away, stubbornly pretending Waya's arm is not wrapped around my rival's waist and his hand is not in Shindou's front pocket. But I'm not going crazy because Isumi's gaping at them too, his face paler than usual.

Shindou stares at us dumbly for a moment, his mouth open slightly. I suppose he isn't prepared to talk with me yet either. I have no idea how he'll act after what I've done, and I'm honestly not in a big hurry to find out. But I risk a tentative glance up at him anyway, and my previous concerns are wiped from my mind when I see his attention focused on the small gap between my hand and Isumi's. I shift awkwardly, now uncomfortably aware of how close I am to the other pro. Shindou blinks at the movement and his head snaps up, eyes focusing on us as if he's only just noticed we're standing here for the first time.

"Ah- Hey, Touya! Hey, Isumi!" he says with a smile, trying to hide his surprise-- and failing miserably. I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his voice. The coldness from this afternoon is gone, replaced by something closer to shock or confusion or……... something else entirely.

"I thought you felt sick." Waya says gruffly, staring at the Isumi and disregarding my greeting. I raise an eyebrow at the comment, Isumi seemed perfectly fine to me. A little distracted maybe, but healthy nonetheless.

"Aa- I guess I just need some fresh air," the older pro answers, smiling nervously as he reaches a hand up to scratch the back of his head. A blush creeping across his face as he looks between his two friends and understanding slowly comes to me.

Isumi was there yesterday too, he saw Shindou and Waya touching each other like that. If they were all out together, and I'm assuming they were, it must have been awkward for him. No wonder he wanted to leave. Especially if they were acting like this the whole time... My eyes unconsciously drift down to the tanned arm resting on my rival's slender waist, and my stomach twists vaguely at the way Shindou accepts the touch without complaint. I wonder in a detached sort of way why I find it so disturbing.

But I'm startled from my thoughts by a small, surprised gasp, my head snaping up at the sound and I watch Shindou jump slightly as he stares down at the hand tucked casually in his hip pocket. From his shocked expression I'd have to guess that he only realized it was there a moment ago. His cheeks are stained a bright pink as he awkwardly moves to step out of the redhead's grasp with an embarrassed, self-conscious expression painted across his features. I look to Waya, expecting him to protest or pull his friend closer. But he doesn't even seem to notice as Shindou untangles himself from his grasp; he's far too busy interrogating Isumi.

"- back to the restaurant?" he demands, folding his now free arms across his chest.

"But you're better now, right?" Shindou asks Isumi brightly before he can answer.

"H-hai," the older pro answers, flashing the dual haired boy a grateful smile.

Shindou grins at his answer and Waya's scowl darkens.

"So, Touya," the red head says, abruptly turning his attention to me and practically hissing my name. I narrow my eyes at him, but let it slide. After all, I'm used to it by now. "What are you doing out this time of night?"

"I came home from my father's salon late," I answer simply and Isumi gives a relieved sigh at my response. Neither of us wants to explain the grocery incident, for some reason I don't think Waya would take it very well. He seems rather protective of his friends, especially when it comes to me.

"Did Ashiwara-san finally make it?" Shindou asks, an ironic smile playing at the corners of his lips. I don't miss the jibe and I blush, looking away from the bitter amusement glimmering in his eyes. He hasn't forgiven me for this afternoon, not that he should. Still, I was hoping he wouldn't bring it up.

No. Shindou won't let me get away with this so easily. I lied; I was wrong; I know it. And he knows I know it.

Frowning, I raise my head to look at him again and he smirks triumphantly at the flush that's spread across my cheeks. I shouldn't be mad, I deserve this. But despite all my efforts I feel the anger rising in my chest again and my blush darkens; only this time it is out of annoyance not embarrassment. Shindou's smirk widens, pissing me off even more.

"Yes," I reply curtly, "He did."

"Oh," I smirk in smug satisfaction as his mouth snaps shut at my answer.

"Then why was Isumi in your apartment?" Waya cuts in and I look at him, stunned. I thought they hadn't heard that. There's a hard glint in Waya's eyes as he stares at me and I feel my pride surface. He has no right to look at me like that; I haven't done anything wrong. I open my mouth to respond, but stop abruptly when I see Shindou's face.

He looks...pained? There's a slight spasm in my diaphragm at the sight of him but I ignore it, suppressing the urge to wince as I push the sensation to the back of my mind. I don't even want to begin figuring out what that could mean. This entire situation is already confusing enough as it is. No need to complicate matters further. But I can't ignore that look on Shindou's face and I want to make it go away. Only I don't know how.

Kami! Why is this so awkward? I don't understand.

"I tore his grocery bags so I had to help him bring them up," Isumi explains simply, saving me from having to answer myself. Waya glares at him skeptically, giving a pointed look at our empty hands. I glance up at Shindou, he's staring at me blankly; I don't think he really believes us.

"He forgot his wallet on the table when he left," I add quickly, answering the unasked question; Isumi holds up his hand, the wallet still clenched in his fist, to emphasize the point. Waya opens his mouth, giving me an accusing glare.

"Ah- ," Shindou yawns loudly, stopping the red head before he can start. "I'm beat!" He smiles, or tries to as best he can with his mouth opened wide, and begins stretching his arms in an exaggerated motion to prove his point. "What time is it?"

"11:05," Isumi replies, looking at his watch. Waya doesn't even bother to check, his glare still held steadfast on me.

"Wow! It's that late?!" Shindou cries loudly, stunned, "I gotta get home. I have to be up by 7 tomorrow!" he makes a small face at this, and I suppress the urge to grin.

"Me too," Isumi replies, smiling a little at his friend's reaction before turning to me, "Thanks for giving me back my wallet."

"Let's go," Waya growls as he steps between me and Isumi, holding the other boy roughly by his arm. The older pro blushes, too shocked to resist as Waya leads him down the sidewalk towards the subway. Shindou stares after them, a startled look on his face.

"I guess I'll see you Friday, right?" Isumi calls over his shoulder, the red head refusing to let him turn around as he ushers the older pro down the sidewalk. "Waya, that hurts!" he says directing his attention back to his friend. A mumbled apology is all I can make out.

I blink after him in confusion, not knowing what he's talking about.

"Wha--"

"Oh, yeah! I forgot!" Shindou exclaims, interrupting me as he walks closer to where I stand. "Touya, I'm having a party at my apartment this Friday, like a house warming thing. It'll just be me and some friends, you wanna come?"

I frown at him slightly. Shindou seems to be forgetting quite a lot lately. He smirks when he sees my face.

"I was going to tell you this afternoon in the go salon but..." his voice trails off and the heat of embarrassment rises to my face. His lips twitch slightly at my reaction and I have the sudden urge to throttle him. Still, I think to myself, if he's teasing me like this...he can't be that mad, right? And he is inviting me to come to a party this Friday-- though it'll probably be more of a punishment than a reward. It doesn't matter, because it means Shindou's still willing to be my rival; maybe even my friend. A shadow of a smile flickers across my face but I suppress it quickly and raise my eyes to look at him. I fight the urge to laugh at his baffled expression; he's obviously confused by my reaction to his taunting.

"Shindou! Come on!" Waya's voice carries through the street.

"So you'll go?" he asks, ignoring his friend. I mentally sigh, after today I'm lucky he's even willing to talk to me, let alone invite me to his home.

"Hai," I answer calmly.

"Good! It'll start around eight-ish. I live on-"

"I know where you live," I interrupt coolly and I find no satisfaction in the faint blush that rises to his cheeks.

"Oh, yeah" he says, smiling sheepishly as he rakes his hand through his hair. "I forgot...."

"SHINDOU!" Waya shouts again

"Well, see ya Friday!" he says brightly and I move my head to nod, but stop suddenly when I notice how the light from the street lamp shines down on him, casting a fuzzy halo around his head. My breath catches in my chest at the way his hair frames his face and his bangs fall slightly into his eyes. I fight the urge to reach up and brush the strands away from his face so I can look into hi-

"SHINDOU!"

"GEEZE! I'm coming!" he cries in exasperation and he flashes me a smile before turning around to catch up with his friends. I watch him leave, thinking I must be more exhausted than I thought. Sighing, I turn and head back to my own apartment. Tomorrow is a Thursday and I have a match against Serizawa 7-dan. I can worry about Shindou later.

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End Notes: HOLY CRAP was that long! 16 ¼ pages. Yikes. And NOTHING HAPPENED!!! Heh, heh. Next chapter though there'll be a little action ::wink, wink.:: :: Nudge, nudge:: Yeah, that was forced and it jumped around a lot, but I was sick , ok? Cut me some slack. Anyway, please review. Let us know what you think; your opinions are important to us. Blah, blah, blah. ^_^