Title: Sequence 2/?
Rating: PG-13 in the long run
Pairings: future Hikaru/Akira
Disclaimer: Belongs to Hotta Yumi and Obata Takeshi. I am not them. I do not own Hikaru no Go.
Comments: Bad cooking reigns, Yashiro has difficulties (we know that already), and another scene based around a phone.

Sorry for the long delay. Several things came together to eat my time away the last few months. Thanks as always to Middles and Chev' for looking this over.

Comments are adored and commenters are worshipped.

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"Don't save it, Touya. Throw it out. Throw it out!"

Akira shoved the plastic wrapped tray in the refrigerator. "You might not want to eat it, but Yashiro-kun might when he gets back."

"Only if he's suicidal," Shindou muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

The tenacity of Shindou Hikaru. He never knew when to stop. "My cooking is not that bad."

"Right. I'm surprised you didn't poison yourself when left at home. Haven't you heard of too much seasoning? Ah! Don't do that!" Touya struggled to place the last dish in the refrigerator without Shindou's flailing arms upsetting it. Placing one hand against Shindou's chest -- firmly making him keep his distance -- Touya managed to get the last of dinner safely inside. "Noooooo."

"It's not going to kill you." Was there something Akira was forgetting? Yes. His hand was still touching Shindou and while his rival had failed to notice it, it was likely to be only a few seconds until he did. It was still too early to make any obvious moves. Far too early. Akira removed his hand swiftly.

"Only if I'm lucky. I can see the obituary. 'Shindou Hikaru died yesterday at home. He went to get a midnight snack and mistakenly grabbed Touya Akira's cooking and ate it. He died, writhing in agony, upon the floor moments later. The Go World has lost a bright star.'" In a deeper voice, Shindou added, "Touya Akira is currently being investigated for the poisoning of Shindou."

Watching how Shindou was eyeing the still open refrigerator door, Akira shut it before giving him a dark look. "Stop being over-dramatic."

"It was funny!" Shindou adopted a haughty look. "You're just being a poor sport, because you know it's true and you don't want to admit that you have gotten used to eating your own bad cooking."

Akira whirled on Shindou, forcing the green-eyed young man to take a position facing him, his back against the fridge. "My cooking isn't that bad!"

"The salt, Touya. You depleted the oceans of salt when you made that - that thing!" In the usual scheme of their fights, they both leaned forward, eager to prove the other wrong. The warmth of Shindou's breath brushed Akira's cheek.

"Like you can cook any better!"

"I can!"

"Who cares?" Yashiro edged his way into the kitchen, his shirt rumpled and feet dragging. He had been gone overnight so he could attend a game at the Kansai Institute that morning. It looked as if sleep had left him wanting. "Aren't you two supposed to be friends?"

In the wake of Yashiro's sudden appearance, dead silence took over in the kitchen while Akira fought against the heat rising in his face. Yashiro's words could be taken a few different ways and Akira's first take on them had most decidedly been the wrong way. What had that been about it being too early?

Shindou squirmed. "The handle's digging into my back," he whined.

"Stop being so childish." But Akira backed away, allowing Shindou to dash away to the kitchen entrance.

Yashiro quickly occupied the space Shindou had just vacated, opening the refrigerator door. "You shouldn't be talking, Touya. I should. I'm the baby-sitter around here." He fished around inside and pulled forth a plastic wrapped plate of food. "Is this the notorious cooking Shindou's ranting about?"

He would have taken offense at Yashiro's remark, but his compulsion to prove Shindou wrong overtook it. "It's not as bad as he says it is."

Shindou gave a muffled snort and Akira plotted his demise. Maybe poisoning Shindou's food wasn't such a bad idea.

Tentatively, Yashiro placed a morsel of food in his mouth. His eyes widened and his throat clenched and strained. It was a long moment and a very long silence before he swallowed and started moving again. The food went into the trash can, plate and all -- Shindou snickered and Akira was positive that he would never live this moment down -- and Yashiro calmly drank a glass of water before letting out a whooping sigh.

"Touya," here Yashiro pointed at him, "you are not allowed to cook until you learn what is edible and what's not."

"Told you." Shindou, basking in victory.

"You haven't proven that you can cook better."

"Anyone can cook better than that!"

"Prove it!"

"I will."

Yashiro's hand coming down on Shindou's shoulder stopped the shorter boy from immediately raiding the fridge. "Let's call for takeout tonight, okay?"

On another night, perhaps Akira would have had Shindou prove himself there and then, but despite the amused light in Yashiro's eyes, dark lines were drawn beneath them and his tall and usual straight posture was slumped and weary. This was not the night. Shindou apparently saw the same thing and backed down with a simple, "Okay, okay. I'll go call."

Akira leaned against the counter. "Just not ramen."

"I can order ramen if I want. I won today." There were two wins Shindou could be referring to. It was better off if Akira didn't must on it.

Yashiro quickly looked to Shindou. "You won your last game today?"

Shindou beamed and made the victory sign with his fingers. "I'm in the Meijin League. It was a tough game, but I beat . . ."

"Ah, congratulations."

"How did you do on your game today, Yashiro?" Akira asked, after studying the other boy for a moment.

Yashiro ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and answered the inevitable.

"I lost."
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The night was growing late -- the glow of harsh city lights bright against the dark sky -- and Shindou yet insisted upon hunching over his recreation of the game he had played earlier that day. His nose crinkled and he muttered inaudible words to everyone else but himself.

Everyone else meaning Akira, who sighed and put down his book, giving the clock one last look. Shindou had been sitting down on the floor of their bedroom, studying that game for over an hour. And Akira had to get up at a semi-decent hour for a tutorial. "Give it up, Shindou. Arakawa could have taken the vital point of your left formation and won if he was a more insightful player."

"There would have been another away to win."

"You were almost into yose. He would have won." Shindou's stubbornness was something that Akira at times feared. Other times, it merely gave him a headache.

Shindou sighed and started to put the stones away. "But I won."

"That makes you the better player." Shindou didn't reply, so Akira looked up to see his rival watching him curiously. He shrugged, gave a slight smile. "Against Arakawa-kun, of course."

"I'll beat you in an official match one day."

Akira anticipated that. It wasn't uncommon that Shindou won when they weren't playing for the record book, but as of yet, Shindou had not made a mark against Akira in a professional game, though the several times they had met, it had been close. "Not if you leave openings like you did in your game with Arakawa."

"He wasn't you."

Akira pondered that as Shindou moved the goban between their beds and reached for the light. He paused in mid-reach and whirled around to sit on Akira's bed . . . and his legs.

"Shindou.," Akira said, yanking his legs out from underneath of Shindou's weight, "what are you doing?"

"Did Yashiro talk to you about how his search for an apartment is going?" It was rare that Shindou would be thoughtful on something when it didn't concern Go.

"No. He's said something to you?"

"Not at all."

Their eyes met, Shindou's a dark glassy green. Akira shifted, stared at the wall behind Shindou. "He's not finding anything."

"I think so. And his game today . . . it's the sixth he's lost in a row. He's better than that. He's not as good as we are right now, but he doesn't have as much experience. He'll be a big threat when he does," Shindou said. "I like playing him."

He would. Yashiro's style of Go played against Shindou's style meshed well, creating amazing games of daring moves and exciting challenges.

"I know, but what can we do?" Friendship and the ties it brought was something still a bit of a mystery to Akira. He understood the pattern of Go well enough, but human relations was something infinitely more complicated. It made him wonder how close he really wanted to get to Shindou.

Shindou brought his knees to his chest and rested his head on them. "I don't know. He reminds me of . . ." he shook his head. "I don't think he really knows what to do, either."

"And we do?" The insight Shindou was showing had him mystified. Akira rubbed his temples. "We can help him look for apartments, maybe. Keep challenging him to games."

"If we weren't so far from the Kansai Institute, he could stay here."

Akira gave that a moment's thought. "He could always transfer to our Institute."

Shindou grimaced, "Everyone he knows is at Kansai. I doubt he would want to."

"It never hurts to ask."

"I suppose."

Darting a glance at the clock, Akira frowned. "It's late."

"Yeah?"

"I have a tutorial in the morning."

"Have fun with that."

How dense could Shindou be? "I should be going to sleep."

"Then go."

The answer was very dense. "Unless you want to sleep with me, you need to get off my bed first."

"Oh." Shindou rolled off his bed. "You didn't have to dance around it."

Akira was determined not to have this develop into an argument right before bed, because if it did, who knows how late he would be fighting with his rival. "I'll remember that. Lights?"

"Fine, fine." The lights went off and Akira heard the faint rustle of bed covers as Shindou climbed into the right bed.

Silence.

"You're a really bad cook, Touya."

Akira groaned. "Good night, Shindou." ssssssssss
Hikaru knew someone was calling his name. Telling him to get up. But he wasn't going to listen. Barely awake and still caught on the soft arms of sleep, he ignored the calls and curled deeper into his warm blankets. It wasn't a school day. Why was his mother insisting he get up?

"Hikaru!" An intrusive hand came down and shook him.

He rolled away. If he could only become one with his mattress, then no one would notice him and he would never have to leave. "Mmagarumph."

"Lazy ass. Hang on a minute." When did his mother use language like that? In fact, when had his mother's voice been that deep? Must be the blankets. "Wake up, Shindou. Phone call for you."

"Urgh?"

"Yes. For you."

Too bad. Sleep was more important than some phone call. "Mmmuphamm," he said, determined to become one with the mattress.

A deep sigh came from his mother. "You're asking for it."

Hikaru barely registered the time it took for him and his blankets to be yanked off the bed and fall into a tangled lump on the ground. He blinked in shock for a moment, staring at the white ceiling and blinding light. "Ow."

"Finally. Stay awake." Yashiro was looking down at him, phone in hand, and his voice sounded suspiciously like Hikaru's mother's. Or wait . . . when had Yashiro become his mother? Or had his mother always been Yashiro?

"Mom?"

Yashiro looked as if he had swallowed a live crab. He raised the phone to his ear. "Don't expect coherency from him, but here he is." And with that he placed the phone in Hikaru's hand. "It's Waya-kun."

It took a fumbling second or two for Hikaru to bring the phone to his ear -- in which time Yashiro fled the room -- but he managed and finally mumbled into the receiver, "Waya-kun?"

"Morning, Shindou!" his friend's voice chirped out, much too energetic for whatever time it was. "You're still in bed?"

"Not any more." He glanced mournfully at the bare mattress. "Mom pulled me out."

"Mom?" Waya choked.

"No. Yashiro!" Where had his mother come in? She wouldn't be here.

"I see." A short hesitation followed, then came the killer question. "Um, why did Yashiro-kun answer the phone at . . . eight in the morning. Isn't Touya supposed to be living with you or is there something else going on?" In the background of wherever Waya was, Hikaru could hear a puzzled voice that sounded like Isumi going 'Yashiro?' followed by what had to be a whispered conference between the two, but what stood out the most was the smug tone in which Waya spoke.

"It's not like that!" he frowned. "Yashiro got kicked out of his house, so he's staying with us until he can find an apartment."

"I see." Hikaru could almost hear the knowing smile on Waya's face. "Hey - wait a minute!" Muttered words came across the line and Hikaru rubbed the last of sleep from his eyes.

"Shindou-kun?" Here was a different voice. The phone must have changed hands.

Hikaru struggled to sit up in his mess of blankets. "Isumi-san?"

"The three of you are living together?"

Isumi's words could only mean one thing when spoken in that tone of voice. Hikaru flailed as best he could on the ground. "Not like that!"

A sigh of relief came over the line. "That's good, then. You and Touya-kun . . ?"

"Stop listening to Waya," Hikaru whined. "Nothing's happened. We share a room, we play go, he cooks horribly -"

"What are you saying?" Touya was standing in the door to their room, hair wet and bare-chested with a dress shirt slung over one of his arms. He was glowering.

Hikaru gulped. "Nothing, Touya." Then, searching for a way to get off the subject of Touya's cooking -- for Hikaru didn't feel like dying this morning -- he mindlessly asked, "What's with the lack of shirt?"

Immediately afterwards he winced, listening to Isumi's shocked "Shindou!" on the phone and Touya's snappy, "The shower head fell off and drenched everything in the bathroom."

"Okay," Hikaru said.

"What was that, Shindou?" Isumi's questioned.

"Nothing, all right?" Nothing, nothing, nothing. And he was really trying not to watch Touya change. Really. That's why he was staring at Touya's back like his was. Right. Bad Hikaru. "Um, how are things in China going?"

"Fine. Waya's getting sick of people taking pictures of him and Le Ping together."

In the background, Waya's voice rang out loud and clear, "You're sadistic, Isumi. You encourage everyone and then you hide behind your hand and laugh. It's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

Hikaru smiled on his end and took a quick peek at Touya, who had just finished dressing and was putting the finishing touches on his necktie. Didn't he have something other to wear than suits and dress clothes.

Touya saw him looking. "I have things to do today, Shindou." He didn't look too impressed with Hikaru's appearance or placement this morning, sprawled and wrapped in blankets. "Don't leave those on the floor when you get up."

"It's Yashiro's fault," Hikaru objected as his roommate left.

"What's Yashiro's fault?"

And here Hikaru had almost forgotten that he was on the phone with Isumi. Handling two conversations -- even if one was only a semi-conversation -- was a difficult thing. "That I'm awake."

"You have to wake up sometime."

"You were nicer about waking me up." At least Isumi had been. Waya was cruel in finding ways to rouse Hikaru, ranging from the simplistic ice water to smacking eggs on his forehead. The latter one had hurt and left him with a bruise.

A muffled conversation took place between Isumi and Waya took place, one that Hikaru couldn't quite make out. Isumi groaned, "Waya wants to know if Touya really can't cook."

"Yeah, can the seemingly perfect Touya be bad at anything?" Waya's voice came through loud and clear.

Touya wasn't around anymore, Hikaru felt safe. "Absolutely horrible. Yashiro banned him from cooking."

Waya snickered, "I wonder if cooking's the only thing he's bad at."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if he's bad in bed?" Hikaru got the feeling he had walked right into that one. "What are you going to do then?"

"We're not together," he growled. "And stop giving Isumi a heartattack." Knowing Isumi, the conversation was most likely making him go pale with worry. The older Go-player fretted too much over the simple things. Like whether or not Hikaru could take care of himself. He could. Sort of.

"Consider it revenge for Le Ping."

"I think you just want me to go to China to hurt you."

"Yeah, that's it."

"Masochist."