Archive of Our Own

Akira is twelve years old, and a boy his own age with bleached bangs and soft hands walks into his father’s Go Salon and completely upends his life.

His father, who is patient and a very effective teacher, has not played gently with Akira since he was five. Akira had learned through him and other professional players that there is a delicate balance between feeling the disappointment of a loss and letting it completely overwhelm you.

Akira thought he understood that lesson, until then. Shindou Hikaru, who is the same age as him, beats him by no small margin. For the first time in Akira’s life, there was a wall in front of him, blocking the way of something he had never questioned. All he wanted, needed then, was to find out who Shindou was, and beat him.

Three years later, Akira stops and really thinks about how he had chosen to pull Shindou into his life without really knowing it. He wonders how Shindou had felt then.

When he asks about it, Shindou snorts and says, “You know, I told you after our second game.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did. You weren’t listening to me, though. You were too focused on the game you’d lost. You were so intense, Touya. So passionate. I didn’t know what to think, at first. I’d never met anyone like you. I’d never been so passionate about anything. I wanted to feel the same thing.”

Akira had spent three years pulling Shindou into his world, and when that finally, finally happens, there’s no reason for him to think it isn’t enough. Akira has been playing Go since he was two years old, and yet he walks a path that only Shindou seems to really know.

-

Akira is fifteen, and Shindou Hikaru shakes his world up again. Their first match after Shindou had gone pro was the beginning, but the Hokuto Cup is the catalyst.

By then, it’s so normal for Akira and Shindou to shout at each other, particularly over Go matches, that Akira isn’t surprised when Shindou expects to be shouted at over his loss to Ko Yong-Ha.

The truth is, Akira hadn’t had the heart. Shindou had not played a poor game. He gave everything he had during that match, and it hadn’t been enough. It’s one thing to simply lose an important game. It’s another to lose an important game you wanted to win for someone, or something, other than yourself.

Akira had an idea of what that felt like. He also held enough suspicion regarding Shindou’s obsession with Shusaku that pushing the issue felt like it would be in poor taste. Instead of critiquing Shindou’s game, he critiques his attitude. Losing can hurt, but it can be a valuable learning experience, and letting the negative feelings simmer for too long never helped anyone.

Akira does something right, because by the time they are boarding the train, Shindou is in a somewhat better mood.

Or, he’s in a better mood until Kurata goes and ruins it by pestering Shindou - out of curiosity, rather than malice, though it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What exactly was the problem, though? Why Shusaku? I mean, I understand a little, but there’s no reason to take it so personally.”

Rather than answering any of Kurata’s questions, Shindou attempts to change the subject. When it doesn’t work, his demeanour shifts, and Akira can see the anger and grief building. He notices how tightly Shindou clutches the fan in his hands, how his lips tighten and he stiffens in his seat.

Akira thinks Shindou could clearly use some meditation exercises. He also can picture exactly how well that suggestion would go over. Instead, he takes it upon himself to stop Kurata’s inquiries before the situation worsens by asking about some of the other games that Kurata had observed. Akira isn’t sure whether Kurata is really that easily distracted, or if he took the hint, but Kurata stops asking about Shusaku and starts recounting some of the other games in detail. For a while, they all listen, but when Kurata and Yashiro are animatedly arguing about one of the games, Shindou leans over in his seat and whispers, “Thanks, Touya.”

-

Akira has been playing Go since he was two years old. He doesn’t remember a time in his life when playing wasn’t the most important thing to him. The earliest memories he has are of his father, placing white and black stones on a board in the soft morning light. He doesn’t remember it, but his mother likes to tell the story of him climbing into his father’s lap as a toddler and declaring, “I want to play, too.”

Professional players frequently came to their house to study. The atmosphere was always quiet and serious, but that never felt intimidating to Akira. He spent many afternoons and evenings sitting just outside the door, knees tucked up against his chest, listening to the pachi of stones against the board.

One day, Ogata had caught him when he had excused himself to light a cigarette. For a brief moment, Akira feared being reprimanded. Instead, Ogata had said to his father, “Why don’t you let the kid in, sensei?”

Nothing felt more right to him than studying Go. Outside of his parents, Go is what he remembers most from his childhood. It had never been just a hobby for him - the thought had never once crossed his mind. He was a good student, diligent in his studies, but his focus was always on finishing his work so that he could play Go.

In his younger years, he got along fine with other children at school. His parents had raised him to be polite and kind, and he found that attitude returned by others. Sometimes, other children would ask him what he was looking at when he was caught reviewing kifu. Some seemed interested, but no one else seemed to have the passion that he did.

When he discovered other kids with genuine talent and passion for Go, he had been so thrilled, at first. He’d imagined study groups with other children like his father held with Go professionals.

The fantasy didn’t last. There were times he would play other children and they wouldn’t even finish their game. When Akira was too far ahead, other children would resign and storm off, sometimes deliberately scattering the stones across the board. Some, like Kaga, made it their personal mission to defeat him, and became increasingly more hostile when they didn’t.

The first time Akira had become truly upset over this, his father had sat him down and gently explained that sometimes, it was easier to lash out at others in anger instead of dealing with disappointment, especially when the disappointment was directed inwards.

He stopped playing other children unless he was asked. He resigned himself to walking his path alone, at least until he could catch up to Ogata and his father in strength. He told himself many times it was for the best.

-

Akira knows that his relationship with Shindou seems strange to others. Shindou had been running his mouth about being Akira’s rival for years before turning pro, and Akira himself hadn’t been forthcoming with explanations, because he knew no one would believe him.

For him, the issue had been simple: Who was Shindou Hikaru?

He knew the answer to that question now, for the most part. The mystery of Sai lingered, but Akira was as sure of the fact that Sai was within Shindou as he was sure that it didn’t make any sense. He had come to accept that he may live for years without answers. Once he had accepted that, the rest was easy. Even if Shindou kept his secrets, his Go always told the truth. When they first played each other after Shindou had gone pro, Akira had thought that the years were almost worth the wait. Shindou played beautifully, and it was intoxicating. How he got to that point didn’t matter as much as ensuring that Akira stayed one step ahead, every day, knowing that Shindou would never stop following him. He was the first person Akira had played in his life that made him feel like he might reach the Hand of God.

-

Akira doesn’t eat during games. Everyone knows this. Shindou had asked him about it exactly once, during their first official match, but he hadn’t brought it up after that.

After the Hokuto Cup, Shindou starts asking him along when he goes out for lunch. Akira declines every time, but it doesn’t stop Shindou from asking. When Shindou packs a lunch, he usually sits with Waya, or whoever else is around that he knows from his Insei days, but sometimes he pulls Akira out of the match hall (“If all you’re going to do is study, you can do that in the lounge, Touya”) and sits in a corner with Akira, so that it’s quieter.

Whatever he does, he makes it very clear that in his mind, Akira is always welcome. Akira knows very well that some might disagree. It’s not that he is disliked in general among the pros, but many of the players Shindou associates with are ambivalent towards him at best, and some, like Waya, have never been quiet about their dislike.

He says as much to Shindou, once. Shindou’s response is, “So? That’s their problem, not yours. They’re my friends, but so are you, so they should get used to it.”

Akira is so startled that he drops his tea. The can rolls off the table onto the floor, and Akira is thankful that he hadn’t opened it yet, but the sound still draws the attention of the room. Akira retrieves the can with a soft apology, and the others present mostly return to their own discussions.

“What?” Shindou asks. “Did I say something strange?”

“We’re friends?”

Clearly annoyed, Shindou says, “I don’t spend every Sunday and Monday playing Go with anyone else, do I?”

“Monday is Serizawa-sensei’s study group.”

Shindou groans. “What the hell, Touya! That wasn’t the point. Fine, I take it back.”

He returns his attention to his lunch with a sigh. Akira realizes with some surprise that he hurt Shindou’s feelings.

“Shindou,” he says.

Shindou doesn’t reply, but he does put his chopsticks down.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting…. Of course we’re friends.”

Akira’s response hangs in the air between them for a beat, before Shindou says gleefully, “Did I surprise you? You can’t take that back, you know!”

Akira throws his tea at him.

-

The thing is, Akira enjoys Shindou’s company. He can be boisterous, but he’s loyal, and easy going outside of professional matches. He’s oblivious to many things, but when he decides he cares about something, he’ll go after it with everything he has. Akira may be more quiet about it, but they are alike in a lot more ways than he was expecting.

Along with Waya, Isumi, and a handful of other players, they spend an entire Thursday playing teaching games and providing match commentary at an institute-sponsored event.

At the end of the day, Waya excitedly goes around gauging everyone’s interest in going out for dinner. There’s talk of a party afterwards. Akira, fully expecting Shindou to go, because he usually does, thinks of the language studies he’s behind on when he feels a hand brush his shoulder. He turns his head to find Shindou plopping down in the chair next to him, popping the top of his drink from the vending machine.

Shindou downs half the soda at once, gasps, and leans his head back against the wall.

“Did your students give you a rough time?”

Shindou sighs. “No, just the last group. Well, not all of them. The woman, what’s her name - “

“Makoto-san, I think.”

“Right, Makoto-san. She’s actually a pretty good player, and was honest about her strength. It’s the other two she was with that were the problem. Acting like they were good enough to be pros, when they wouldn’t know a decent keima if it hit them in the face.”

“Shindou,” Akira hisses.

“What? No one’s paying attention to us.”

He was right, but that was hardly the point. “Would it be so hard to show some tact?”

“It’s not like I would say so much straight to their face! I save that for Ochi.” Shindou pauses, and then adds, “And you.”

“Shindou, Ochi doesn’t care what you think of him.”

“I know, that’s why I say it. Anyway, Touya, you’re one to talk. I saw your face this morning while you were playing that one-on-one game. You looked like you swallowed a fly.”

Akira has never minded playing beginners. He enjoys seeing the game from the eyes of someone who is just discovering the flow of moves, or even more experienced amateurs who just aren’t as intimate with it as he is. New players kept the game alive, after all, and that was the most important thing.

His issue had always been with attitude rather than experience. This particular player had been blatantly derogatory towards Go professionals. Still, he has always tried his best to keep his feelings to himself. “Was it that obvious?”

Shindou shrugs. “Well, it was to me, but I don’t think the guy noticed, so you’re probably fine. I heard him talking on the phone as he was leaving, and all he said about you was that you’re a patient teacher.”

“Good,” Akira murmurs, closing his eyes. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me.”

Before Shindou can say anything else, Waya’s voice thunders from only a few feet away. “Hey, Shindou! We’re going for dinner, you coming?”

With a wave of his hand, Shindou says, “I’ll pass this time.”

Akira can see Waya’s eyes rolling. “Touya, you’re invited too.”

Privately, Akira thinks Waya looks like he swallowed a fly, and he’s about to politely decline, but Shindou says, “Shove off, Waya, we’re not attached at the hip. I’m tired. I’m going home.”

“Suit yourself. See you at the study session.”

“Yeah, alright, later.”

As the group leaves, Akira turns his attention back to Shindou. Just because he can, he asks, “What if I had wanted to go?”

With a laugh, Shindou replies, “Oh, do you? We can still catch up with them.”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Akira says, “I’m surprised you aren’t interested in going.”

“Honestly, I’m not in the mood right now. I’d rather play a game that I don’t have to teach. You’re in, right?”

Akira should really, really be doing a number of other things. He has prep work for his language studies, and he’s becoming increasingly aware of the housework that’s going undone with his parents out of town.

What he wants to do, though, is play with Shindou. Shindou’s face had brightened when he mentioned playing. It had been a long day for them both, and when they played on nights like this, it was always more easy going. Shindou would still tease, but he would be mellow about it, smiling to make it clear he wasn’t serious, and in turn, Akira found it easy to relax.

“I thought you said you were going home.”

“That’s because Waya likes to tease, and he’s nosy.” Akira thinks that’s pretty funny, coming from Shindou. “Come on, Touya, play me.”

It’s not like he wanted to say no. “Alright. Come over to my place? There’s plenty of food if you’re hungry.” There’s plenty of food because his mother left way more in the fridge than was really necessary before his parents left for China, but Akira appreciates it all the same.

“Yeah, okay,” Shindou agrees easily. He stands up, stretching. He’s wearing a checkered shirt that rides up his stomach as he stretches. He discards the drink in the bin, and turns to Akira with a smile. “Let’s go.”

-

Akira is startled awake by someone shaking his shoulder. “Hey, Touya!”

With a jolt, he jerks his head up, surprised to find it had been pillowed on his arm on the hard table. Disoriented and blinking sleep out of his eyes, Akira says, “Oh, Shindou. It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me, are you alright?”

Akira looks around and remembers where he is. A lounge at the Institute. He’d been waiting for Shindou to finish his game. “What time is it?”

“It’s 5 oclock.”

Akira must look surprised, because Shindou continues, “The discussion went on for a while. I won, by the way, thanks for asking.”

“I’d be angry if you lost, Shindou, your opponent’s not a very strong player.” Akira brushes the hair out of his face. “I’m sorry. You wanted to play, right?”

Shindou’s frowning at him, his head tilted.

Akira feels strangely self-conscious. “What?”

“Are you alright?”

With a roll of his eyes, Akira insists, “I’m fine.”

“Your schedule has been packed lately. Are you getting any sleep?”

“Yes, mother,” Akira snaps, then yelps when Shindou places a hand on his forehead. “Shindou, what the - ”

“Do you have a fever? Come on,” Shindou says, ignoring Akira’s denial, “I’m taking you home.”

“I can get home myself.”

“Coming from the guy who’s always offering to meet me at the train station, even though I got lost one time, that’s rich.”

“Shindou, that’s not the same thing.”

Shindou is ignoring him again. He takes Akira’s jacket off the back of his chair and begins trying to force one arm into the sleeve. Akira pulls his arm away, scowling. “Seriously, what’s gotten into you?”

As soon as he’s pulled his jacket on, Shindou is practically forcing him out the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Really, I can get home myself.”

“I’m taking you home anyway. What if you fall asleep on the train? You’ll miss your stop.”

Instead of giving the logical response, which is that if that were to happen, he could just get off at the next stop and back-track, he finds himself saying, “I won’t fall asleep on the train.”

“Says the guy who fell asleep at the table.” Really, why is Akira even having this debate?

As they reach the door, Shindou fetches his umbrella and hands it to him, before opening his own as they step out into the rain. Thankfully, it is a lighter rain than it had been for most of the day. They set out towards the station, and the silence isn’t uncomfortable, but Akira’s head feels foggy now that he’s upright, and he finds himself wanting to focus on anything besides putting one foot in front of the other. “So, how was your game?”

Shindou immediately begins critiquing the apparently overly aggressive moves of the other player, clearly not expecting Akira to engage in the conversation, which he finds himself incredibly grateful for. He never thought he could feel at peace with someone chattering right next to him, but he does.

He doesn’t protest when Shindou boards the train with him, because it’s a waste of energy that he doesn’t have. They find their seats and he leans his head back and lets his eyes close, which really isn’t something he does in public, ever. But Shindou is next to him, and Akira trusts him, and where’s the harm in resting his eyes for a moment?

“It’s okay if you fall asleep, Touya. I won’t let you miss your stop.”

“Are you sure you remember the right one?” Akira quips out of habit, but there’s no heat in it.

He doesn’t sleep, but he does keep his eyes closed until they reach his stop. He lets Shindou walk him home, and by the time they reach his door, it’s late.

“Shindou, do you want to come in? It’s late. You could have some tea before you head back.”

“Your parents are home, aren’t they? I don’t want to intrude. Go inside, get some sleep.”

“Are you sure? You came all this way.”

“Yeah, and that was my idea, wasn’t it? Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Akira wants to protest. He doesn’t want Shindou to leave, but that’s silly, isn’t it? He likes having Shindou around, sure, but they’ll see each other tomorrow.

“Let me call you a cab, then.”

“Touya, stop fussing. Go inside. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright. Goodnight, Shindou.”

-

Akira does not spread rumors within the professional Go circuit, but it is impossible not to hear them. He tunes out most of what he hears about Shindou these days, because it’s always the same, and because other players stopped asking him months ago if he really thought of Shindou as his rival.

When late April comes around, the talk is harder to ignore. Shindou may have only skipped his matches for a period of time once, but it’s the stuff of legends, especially among newly promoted pros who are unfortunate enough to get crushed by him in matches. People start talking about it without bothering with subtleties unless Shindou is around, which is ultimately useless, because it’s not like Shindou doesn’t know what they are talking about.

One Insei, who almost certainly lost a bet with his friends, asks Shindou about it, and whether or not he is going to skip matches this year. Shindou changes the subject, his voice getting louder every time the kid tries to steer the conversation back towards his original question.

Akira doesn’t bring it up. The thought of him skipping matches again never crossed his mind. Akira won’t ever forget the look on Shindou’s face when he had found Akira and told him that he would walk this path - their path - forever. Akira doesn’t know why Shindou had taken the break from playing, but he’s sure the answer lies within the secret of Sai. The curiosity burns within him, but he won’t ask. Especially not now.

On May 4th, they walk to the train station together after their games end. Shindou had been uncharacteristically quiet that day. He had won his match, but it hadn’t been a particularly inspired game. Akira lets him take the lead, in both walking and conversation.

His voice soft and hesitant, Shindou finally breaks the silence. “Touya?”

“Yes?”

Shindou stops walking, then, and waits until Akira turns to face him.

“I wanted to say thank you. For not… you know. Bringing it up.”

Despite his vagueness, Akira knows what he means.

“The game you play is what you are,” Akira says. “That hasn’t changed.” He resumes walking, slowly until he’s sure Shindou is following, and then at a more regular pace. “Many Go players, professional or not, falter. Most suffer setbacks. What’s important is what you learn from them. I know you aren’t quitting. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Thank you,” Shindou says again. “Maybe after this year, everyone will find something else to gossip about.”

“Probably.” What Akira doesn’t say is that there would be less talk about it now if Shindou actually addressed the issue rather than changing the subject anytime anyone asked, because Shindou knows that already, and they both know he’s not going to talk about it.

“Touya?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to Innoshima tomorrow.”

“Innoshima?”

“Yeah.” Shindou stops walking again, and looks at the sky. “Just for tomorrow. Please don’t tell anyone else.”

Akira has so many questions. Why Innoshima? What will he be doing there? Why tomorrow?

All he says is, “I won’t. I promise.”

Shindou smiles at him, and it’s the first genuinely happy look Akira has seen on him all day.

As they reach the station, Shindou takes a deep breath, and says, “Um…. are you busy tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“I really… don’t want to be alone right now. Will you play a game with me?”

“Of course.”

Shindou doesn’t give him the answers he has been waiting for, that day. But he gives Akira his trust, and that’s more than enough.

-

The day after he turns seventeen, Shindou comes storming into the Go Salon, letting the door slam behind him. Ichikawa is waiting for his bag, but he doesn’t pass it off to her. He practically stomps his way towards their usual seat, throws his bag onto the floor, and sits down on the chair across from Akira with a sigh.

“Nice to see you too, Shindou.”

Shindou doesn’t say a word. He motions for Akira to nigiri and slams two stones down on the board.

Akira could pry and get straight to whatever is on Shindou’s mind, but that method is sure to involve a lot of shouting, and Akira has a headache, so he leaves it. It doesn’t take long to deduce that Shindou is angry, because he doesn’t waste any time in attacking. His moves are not bad, but they are overly aggressive.

Akira responds aggressively in turn, because it’s what Shindou wants.

Halfway through the game, Shindou places a stone in the upper-right, and growls, “Waya’s an idiot.”

“What makes you say that?” Admittedly, Akira does not know Waya very well. He does know that Waya, like Shindou, can be impetuous, but because they are such close friends, their arguments usually fizzle out as quickly as they start.

“So, Waya has a date tonight with - um - alright, he told me her name, but I don’t remember it - “

Imagine that, Akira thinks.

“ - but he says she plays Go, she’s not a pro, but she plays, I think they met at a Go salon - “

“Shindou, get to the point.”

“Okay, so he has a date.” Shindou plays his next move as he says it.

“And that’s a problem?”

“It’s only a problem because he asked me to come along.”

“I didn’t realize Waya still needed a chaperone.”

There’s a pause, and then Shindou starts laughing, leaning back in his chair. “Chaperone! I’m going to tell him you said that, but no - he wants me to go on a double date, with this girl’s friend.”

Akira blinks, and places the stone he was holding back into the goke. “Oh. Did you ask him to find you a date?” It’s not any of his business, really, but his stomach twists at the thought of it.

“No!” Shindou practically shrieks, and it’s a testament to their usual arguments that hardly anyone in the salon looks in their direction. “Why would I ask Waya to find me a date? Anyway, I’m busy, obviously!” He waves his hands emphatically at the board.

The uneasy feeling in Akira’s stomach starts to fade, and as he plays his next move, he suggests, “Maybe he thought he was helping, Shindou.”

“Don’t defend him, I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet. I told him thanks but no thanks, I’m not really interested, and do you know what he said to me?”

“No, I don’t, because you don’t know how to get to the point.”

“Jerk. He said, ‘Shindou, don’t you get it? She plays Go too, she seems very nice, and she’s very pretty. You’re going to pass that up for Touya, when you can play him anytime?’ Which is stupid, by the way. I mean, I don’t know her, and I’m not - “ Shindou growls in frustration. “I told Waya that I was happy for him, but I want to be here.” Shindou slams down his next stone.

“Shindou,” Akira says, trying to be placating, “I’m not sure I understand why you’re so angry. I’m sure Waya had good intentions.” Really, what world was he in, where he was defending Waya to Shindou? “If you weren’t interested in going, that’s fine.”

“I’m angry because… I just am! And I don’t like what he said about you.”

“I don’t think he meant anything by it.” Actually, Akira thinks Waya had a point, even if it was misguided. If Shindou had been interested, they could have rescheduled their game. He certainly isn’t going to point that out, and he tells himself it’s only because he doesn’t want to reignite Shindou’s irritation.

Staring at the board, Shindou grumbles, “He shouldn’t have said it.”

Akira doesn’t need anyone to defend him, but he finds himself touched that Shindou feels like he should. He doesn’t know what to do with the fondness he feels, so he says, “Shindou, I’m not going to let you win just because you said something nice and I missed your birthday.”

-

Akira’s next interview for Go Weekly is presumably about his recent winning streak, but Amano quickly starts asking questions about his parents. Akira answers sincerely that yes, his father certainly continues to make a name for himself even in retirement, and yes, his mother seems happy to be able to travel with him, and yes, of course being on his own more often was an adjustment, but he’s happy for them, and he has his own Go to focus on.

Akira has been giving interviews to the press for many years, and it takes a lot to surprise him. This time, Amano manages it.

“Has this made you think more about your own ambitions outside of your Go career, Touya-sensei?”

As politely as he can, Akira answers, “I’m not sure what you mean, Amano-san. Go is my life. My ambition is to become a strong player, better even than my father. That has always been the case.”

-

The question catches him off guard, because it’s not something he thinks about all that often. For as long as he can remember, the path in front of him has been clear. Play Go, and continue to become stronger. Play strong players, and surpass them. Become a professional, and win titles. Chase the Hand of God.

When he closes his eyes that night and thinks about the question again, he still sees the same path in front of him. The only difference now is that he no longer sees himself on that path alone. He hasn’t seen himself alone for a long time. Shindou is always right there with him.

Akira is not the same as his father, who had an incredibly successful career as a Go professional. Akira has a long way to go, and he has no desire to deviate from those goals.

His eyes still closed, he takes a deep breath, and asks himself if there is anything else he wants. What he sees, almost immediately, is Shindou. Shindou, eyes fierce as they face each other across the goban, of course, but also Shindou, wearing one of his hideous 5 shirts, chopsticks full of ramen in hand, filling Akira in on the gossip he certainly does not want to hear. Shindou laughing as he crowds into Akira’s space. Shindou, with all of his secrets, and his passion, and -

Akira opens his eyes.

Oh.

-

A week later, he’s sitting in the lounge at the Institute with Shindou when he finally asks one of the questions that’s been on his mind. “Shindou, what did you do before you started playing Go?”

“What?”

Akira supposes this must seem like it came out of nowhere, but to be fair, Shindou does that to him all the time. “What were your hobbies?”

Shindou narrows his eyes. “Why? Is this about your interview in Go Weekly?”

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

Shindou shrugs. “I mean… nothing important. Normal stuff, you know. I played video games and read manga. Let Akari talk me into going to festivals and shops with her because I didn’t have anything else better to do. The festivals were always a good time, at least.”

Shindou looks at him again, his gaze intent. “Why?”

“You didn’t ever think about what you wanted to do? With your life, I mean.”

“Hell, of course not. I was twelve, and a horrible student, Touya. It doesn’t matter anymore, I don’t think. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else now.”

Akira takes a minute to sort out his next question, and then says softly, “I was wondering if you felt like you were missing out on anything.”

“No, definitely not. Nothing was ever important to me before. Do you feel like you are missing out?”

“It’s not the same for me,” Akira says. “I’ve never known anything different.”

“That’s exactly why I’d understand if you did feel like you are missing out.”

Akira blinks. “Shindou… that is… perceptive of you.”

“Hey, just because I usually don’t think about things doesn’t mean I can’t. So don’t lie to me, because I’ll know.”

“I’m happy with the life I have,” Akira says, and it’s the truth. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other things he wants, but he’s not quite ready yet to express that.

Luckily, Shindou doesn’t press. He hums, and says, “I’ve never been asked that question. I should think of a good response for when it comes. ‘My future ambitions are to win the Honinbo title and eat at every ramen restaurant in Japan.’”

Akira really wants to focus on the specific mention of Honinbo, but what he says instead is, “Maybe your ambitions should include expanding your diet, Shindou.”

“Why would I do that, when there are so many ramen restaurants I haven’t visited?”

Sometimes, Akira questions his own taste. Now is one of those times, because he laughs, genuinely amused.

With a smile, Akira says, “Ramen and Go, huh?”

“I mean, I have you, too. What else could I want?”

Akira’s hand tightens on the drink he’s holding. Sometimes Akira suspects that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the only one who feels like there could be more between them. Is Shindou only referring to their friendship, which he has been so open about for so long now? He makes comments like this all the time, like it should be obvious, and Akira can’t quite decipher the meaning, because his emotions are too tangled up in what he wants the meaning to be.

-

One rare Saturday morning, Akira has no obligations, and his parents are home for a while. His mother sits quietly at the edge of the room with tea and a book, occasionally watching Akira and his father play. She never used to watch them, but it’s become a ritual for her to do so the first morning after they return from traveling.

Barely twenty moves into the game, his father says, “You’re stronger than the last time we played, Akira.”

“I’ve been working very hard,” Akira says, even though his father knows that.

His father points to a move Akira made in the upper right corner. “Shindou-kun makes that move a lot.”

Akira examines the play he was pointing out. He’s right, but Akira is surprised that he noticed. “You’ve been following Shindou’s games?”

“I still follow many pros,” his father answers. Akira thinks there’s more to it, but his mother speaks up before he can.

“Akira-san, you’ve been spending a lot of time with Shindou-kun, haven’t you? You should invite him for dinner while we’re here.”

Surprised, Akira says, “I can ask, but why?”

“If he’s your friend, I’d like to get to know him better. I’ve only met him a few times.”

His mother is too kind to mention that he’s never really had friends except for Ashiwara, but Akira knows that she’s thinking it.

“Have Shindou-kun come join the study session tonight,” his father suggests. “He can stay for dinner, if he likes.”

Akira is certain there is a motive behind the suggestion, but he doesn’t ask. He nods, and they finish their game without more conversation.

After they finish discussing the game, Akira calls Shindou. “Are you free tonight? My parents are here. My father’s holding a study session, if you want to come. My mom wants you to come to dinner.”

“A study session with your father? Who else is - wait. Your mom wants me to come to dinner? Why?”

Leave it to Shindou to make this difficult. “She says she wants to get to know you.”

Shindou snorts. “Who am I, your date to a summer festival?”

“Don’t be rude, Shindou.”

“But your father is scary, Touya.”

“You’ve played my father in games. You visited him when he was in the hospital.”

“Both of those situations were different! Look, he’s your father, but his eyes, Touya. Don’t you notice?”

“There’s nothing strange about my father’s eyes.”

“Don’t you ever get the impression that he can see right through you? Are you sure he can’t read minds?”

Only partially successful in hiding his exasperation, Akira asks, “Have you been reading superhero comics again? You’re being ridiculous. Are you free or not?”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll come.”

-

Later that afternoon, Akira opens the door to find Shindou in the nicest pair of jeans he’s ever seen him wear and a dark grey sweater, looking nervous and clutching a bouquet of flowers.

Akira’s first thought is that Shindou looks really good, and his brain must shut down, because instead of properly greeting him, he says, “So, you are my date, then?”

Shindou scowls at him. Akira should be welcoming him inside, but his manners seem to have abruptly left him. Shindou has been here often enough to feel comfortable walking through the door, but neither of them move, and Akira doesn’t know why he feels flustered and frozen in place.

He tries to regain composure and return some normalcy to the situation. “If you’re trying to impress my father, flowers weren’t the best way to go.”

“Shut up,” Shindou hisses, his face reddening, “They’re for your mom.”

Akira has no idea where in the world he would have gotten the idea to bring flowers, and suspects that Shindou’s mother is behind it. His mother finds them before he can ask and Akira briefly has the thought she’s going to chastise him for keeping their guest standing outside.

She doesn’t. With a warm smile, she says, “Shindou-kun, it’s very nice to see you again. Please come inside.”

Shindou bows, and holds the flowers out to her, looking embarrassed. “These are for you.”

“Thank you very much, how sweet of you! Really, Akira-san, why haven’t you ever mentioned how nice he is?”

Shindou looks pained, and Akira can’t help it. He starts laughing, and Shindou glares at him, which is enough to break the tension between them.

-

Shindou seems uncharacteristically nervous. It’s not that he can’t be polite, but he isn’t usually so quiet about it. His mother puts the flowers in a vase and shows Shindou to the table in the kitchen before she puts the kettle on. As she sets out a tray of cookies, she asks him about his matches and about what he does for fun.

“What?” Shindou asks, which sounds more like him. “Oh, excuse me, it’s just, Go is fun.”

Amused, his mother prompts, “I’m sure that’s true, but what do you do for fun outside of Go?”

Shindou pauses, a cookie halfway to his mouth. He looks bemused, and his mother laughs.

“You and Akira-san really are alike,” she points out as she pours tea.

“Mother,” Akira says, watching as Shindou takes a bite of the cookie and gets crumbs all over the table, “I have much better manners than him.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Shindou says snippily, coughing as he almost forgets to swallow, “You knocked half the stones and your goke off the table at the salon last week!”

“Don’t blame that on me,” Akira protests, “You’re the one that started it by banging the table with your knees!”

“Only because you were saying such stupid - "

“Why the shouting?” Ogata and his father are making their way into the kitchen, and Ogata’s voice startles Shindou into silence. “Oh, Shindou. I see.” He nods at Akira, then turns to his mother, who seems completely unphased. “Hello, Akiko-san.”

“Ogata-san, how nice to see you! Have some tea.”

“Um,” Shindou mumbles, “Please excuse me for a moment.” He hurries off towards the bathroom.

Ogata looks amused. “That kid’s going to be a lot of fun to play in official matches.”

As his mother brings over another cup of tea, Akira says, “I don’t know what his issue is with you, Ogata-san, but it’ll be different when you play him.”

Ogata hums. “Perhaps. More importantly, Akira-kun, you should invite Shindou over for games more often.” He picks up the tea that has been placed in front of him. “It’s fun to see you worked up.”

Akira has at least two rude retorts on his tongue, but stops himself, remembering his parents. Before he can think of a more appropriate comeback, the doorbell rings, and Akira jumps at the chance of escape.

-

After the study session ends, Akira and Shindou join his mother in the kitchen. Akira helps finish preparing dinner. Shindou had offered to help too, but Akira’s mother had insisted that he was the guest, and there was no need. Akira is grateful, because there’s always the chance Shindou will set something on fire.

His mother asks Akira to fetch a bowl. Shindou, who was sitting at the table perusing a book of old kifu, puts down the book and gets to his feet. “Oh, I’ll get it,” he offers. If his mother is surprised that Shindou knows exactly which cabinet to look in, she doesn’t say so then.

She does later, mid-way through dinner. “Akira-san, is Shindou-kun over here a lot?”

“Sometimes it’s better to play games here than at the salon,” Akira says.

“I think Akira means that Ichikawa-san can only handle so much shouting,” his father chimes in. Akira is only resigned, but Shindou actually looks embarrassed.

“You heard about that, huh?” Shindou asks, which makes his father laugh.

“I know everything that happens in that salon.”

“They’re all terrible gossips,” his mother explains cheerfully.

“Although my sessions are no longer regular, you should come study here more often, Shindou-kun,” his father offers. “It would serve you well.”

Shindou squeaks and drops a chopstick. “I - uh - I don’t think - Morishita-sensei would flay me alive, Touya-sensei.”

His father laughs. “It’s okay that you play Akira so often, though.”

“Touya’s different,” Shindou insists. “What anyone else thinks doesn’t matter.”

“How lucky for me,” Akira deadpans.

“Whatever,” Shindou says, unphased. “What would your life be like without me, huh?”

“Quieter.”

“Don’t you mean boring?”

“I’m sorry, Shindou. You are, in fact, the pinnacle of a cultured lifestyle.”

Shindou clutches his chest dramatically. “So harsh, and in front of your mother!”

Akira had forgotten that his parents were in the room, which seems ridiculous. How could he forget? Remembering that they weren’t alone interrupts his train of thought, and so he only ducks his head, hiding a smile.

-

The next morning, Akira sits down across from his father, who had been waiting for him. The gokes are still resting on top of the goban.

As soon as Akira is sitting, his father says, “I have always trusted your judgement, and I was right to do so. Where you are today makes that clear.”

Akira nods, but doesn’t dare to speak. He can count on one hand the number of times his father has spoken to him so openly.

“I feel it would be remiss of me not to emphasize that my trust, and support, is not limited to your profession.”

“I - “ Akira finds himself at a complete loss for words. “Father, I’m - I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand.”

With a small smile, his father says, “Life is too short not to pursue what makes you happy, Akira.”

Akira is really at a loss for words, then, because isn’t that what he has been doing his whole life? Studying Go has been hard, and full of sacrifices, but it has brought fulfillment and happiness, purpose beyond himself - that’s why it is worth doing. His father knows that; understands it better than anyone. He’d never wanted anything else.

Except that’s not true anymore. There is something - someone - else he wants. He inhales sharply, and there’s no way it went unheard. Akira hasn’t told anyone about the warmth and anxiety in his stomach when he thinks of Shindou.

Briefly, he hears Shindou’s voice in his head. “Mind reading, Touya!”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it.

At that moment, his father pulls the goke towards him. “All I ask is you remember that. Now, let’s start.”

-

Akira is eighteen, and he is eliminated from the Honinbo round robin tournament because Shindou beats him.

Shindou had been lighting a fire on the goban with his stones from his first hoshi. The first third of the game had been played furiously, but then the game had slowed as they took territory from each other until the endgame. Shindou surprises him during the endgame, as he so often does. Akira loses by half a moku, and although he is disappointed, he can’t deny the exhilaration running through him. Shindou’s attention had been on him for hours, intense and focused, almost teasing, as if he was saying, “I know you see where I’m going. You’ll follow, won’t you?”

The game ends, and Shindou is absently rubbing his fingers against his fan as he breathes, “Thank you for the game”. The sleeves of his suit are rumpled, and there’s a crinkle in his tie. The match room is warm, and there are strands of blonde hair stuck to his forehead. The match officials are speaking, and he thinks someone is asking him a question, but Akira doesn’t know the outside world, not now.

He realizes then that he does not want to be here, surrounded by propriety. He wants to replay the game with Shindou, discuss every move, watching the fire as it ignites again. He doesn’t want to share it with anyone else, though, because no one else would understand. He knows Shindou’s Go better than anyone else, but this wasn’t just about Go. Shindou is looking at Akira like the whole universe is right there between them.

Akira must have a similar expression on his face, because the room has gone quiet.

Akira, feeling like he needs something to occupy his hands, has the urge to reach out and touch Shindou. He wants to trace his now-calloused fingers and read the stories of hundreds of matches that are written in them. He wants to push the blonde bangs out of his face, and -

Clenching his hands into fists on his knees, Akira clears his throat. “Shindou,” he says, “This game - “

“I know,” Shindou replies, his voice tight.

Akira knows they understand each other. There are some things they won’t discuss in front of anyone else.

-

Their post-game obligations are finally finished, and Akira wants nothing more than to be alone with Shindou. They hadn’t arrived together, but Akira figures it’s a foregone conclusion that they’ll leave together - eat, discuss the game, probably start yelling, because it’s what they do.

“Shindou,” Akira says, “You won, so ramen it is. If you want.”

The look Shindou gives him in response is reluctant, guarded. Akira doesn’t understand why. They had just finished one of the best games either of them had played, and if Akira’s this keyed up, Shindou has to be.

“As much as it pains me to pass that up,” Shindou says, “Rain check? I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Akira frowns. That’s a lie. Shindou had told him just yesterday he had nowhere to be after their match - that he had left it open on purpose. But Shindou’s already put his shoes on and shrugged his shoulders into his bag, and he’s nodding politely at everyone else leaving.

“Alright,” Akira says. “I’ll see you, I guess.”

“Yeah, see you,” Shindou says, still not looking at him as he leaves.

-

Akira doesn’t see Shindou again for over a week. Shindou’s schedule is full with matches and interviews and assisting with a high school Go tournament over the weekend, and Akira’s own schedule doesn’t match up. While this isn’t unusual, it feels different. For quite a long time now, they’ve made time to play each other at least once a week, even if it was late and one or both of them should have been sleeping.

Shindou hasn’t even called him, which is also unusual, because in the past few months he’d taken to leaving vague messages on the Touya’s answering machine when something was on his mind that no one else would listen to him ramble on about. Akira tells him all the time he should watch what he says, because there’s always a chance that his parents could check the messages first, but it never stops him. Akira had tried calling a few times, but he’d only gotten through to Shindou’s mother, who had promised to pass on his messages.

Obviously, Shindou is avoiding him. It annoys Akira, because the last time that had happened, Shindou had been determined to make the team for the first Hokuto Cup, and Akira thought they were past that. Even then, Shindou had made his intentions clear. That certainly wasn’t the case now.

There was no chance that Shindou’s avoidance had anything to do with the game itself. They had both played well, and Shindou had won, but he would have lost if only a few moves had been played differently. It was a game that both of them could be proud of. That only left one possibility.

Akira knows what he had felt after their match; what he had been feeling for a long time. Akira had been chasing Shindou since the day they met, but it had been about more than just the game for years. The thought of revealing his feelings makes his stomach clench with anxiety, but he also wants Shindou so badly the thought of not doing so is worse. It’s unbearable. Now that he has identified his fear, he knows how to overcome it.

Akira is not always overly perceptive when it comes to the emotions of others, but he knows Shindou. Shindou runs when he gets scared, and it’s been a very long time since he’s run from Akira. He asks himself what Shindou could be scared of, and does not dwell on the answer for long.

He remembers a time when Shindou had shown up for a completely casual dinner with his parents, nervous and holding flowers, and how Shindou seems to devote himself to Akira the way he devotes himself to Go, and he thinks of Shindou saying, “I have you, too. What else could I want?”.

Akira knows they had felt the same thing in that match room: fire, and possibility.

Shindou had made his move when he had left without Akira that day, and maybe he was still waiting to see if Akira would follow.

-

Almost two weeks after their Honinbo match, Akira opens the door to the records room at the Institute to find Shindou sitting crossed-legged on the floor, his fingers tracing the page of an open book of kifu.

“Shusaku’s?” he asks, closing the door behind him. Shindou looks up, startled.

“Um, yeah,” he confirms, gingerly closing the book. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Waya,” Akira answers. “Shindou, you know most of Shusaku’s kifu has been digitized, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

Akira agrees, and he nods. Shindou is fidgety. “How was the Go Tournament?”

“Oh, it was going great, very smoothly, until Akari started telling stories about me. She had all of the other pros there hanging on her every word. I’m never going to live it down, Touya. I can see the next headline in Go Weekly: ‘Current Go professional once crashed a baseball practice; hit himself in the face with the bat’.”

Not bothering to suppress his grin, Akira says, “I should play Fujisaki-san, sometime.”

“Don’t you dare,” Shindou groans, “The last thing she needs is more ammunition.”

Shindou is still sitting on the floor, next to the shelving. Akira walks to the small table next to him and braces himself against it. “Do you miss it?”

“Club tournaments? Sometimes. Quitting the Go Club was hard. I couldn’t let anything slow me down, though. All I could see was becoming a pro, and catching up to you. It’s not something I regret.”

“I’m glad, you know,” Akira admits softly, “because it means we can play games together like our Honinbo match.”

Shindou turns his head to stare very intently at the book still in his hands. Akira gives him a moment to respond, but he doesn’t, so Akira says, “We haven’t played since then.”

“We’ve both been busy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Akira is tempted to roll his eyes, but it would be a wasted gesture, because Shindou still won’t look at him. “Why did you run from me after the match was over?”

“I didn’t. I told you, I had somewhere to be.”

“Shindou, you told me the night before you didn’t have plans.”

That, at least, makes Shindou look at him, his annoyance clear. “I’m not allowed to change my plans?”

“Of course you are, but you didn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know when you’re lying to me. I know when you’re running away from me, Shindou! You could at least give me a reason.”

Shindou places the kifu book on the floor next to him before turning his body towards Akira. “If you know me so well, then why don’t you tell me why I did, huh?”

In that moment, Akira is certain he read the situation correctly, and Shindou was never going to play first.

“What I think,” Akira says firmly, “no, what I know, is that we can never hide from each other in our games. Didn’t you feel the air? The electricity in that room? It’s only ever like that with you.”

Shindou doesn’t respond, but he’s still looking at Akira, one hand tightly clenched around his shirt.

“It’s only ever like that with you, because it’s about more than the game, isn’t it? There’s something else, and I don’t want to run from it. The question is, what do you want, Shindou?”

Shindou is silent. Akira holds his gaze.

The next thing he knows, hands are cupping his face, and Shindou is kissing him. Akira is startled, and would have lost his balance if the table wasn’t behind him. He moves his hands to grip Shindou’s hips as he kisses him back.

Akira isn’t exactly experienced at this, but Shindou doesn’t give him any time to contemplate it. He pulls Akira in closer, moving one hand to the back of his neck. He parts Shindou’s lips to kiss him deeper, and that prompts Shindou to step closer to him. As he steps closer, Akira shifts, and it’s just enough to push the table backwards. Not expecting it, Akira loses his footing and stumbles backwards. His back hits the table and he falls to the floor, pulling Shindou with him.

Shindou lands in his lap, his grip almost uncomfortably tight on Akira’s hips.

“Um,” Shindou says. “Oops.”

Akira narrows his eyes.

“I meant knocking you over,” Shindou clarifies quickly, “not - not kissing you. That - I meant to do that.”

“I should hope so,” Akira says, and pulls Shindou in again. Shindou’s hands move to Akira’s hair and he kisses back with more confidence than he had before. Akira realizes neither of them knows what they are doing, and it’s fine.

It’s better than fine, actually, because Akira needs somewhere to go with his hands and rests them on Shindou’s arms. Akira feels him shudder at the touch, and then Shindou brushes fingers over his ear and down his jawline, and Akira really, really enjoys that.

Akira only breaks away when he desperately needs to catch his breath. Shindou finally moves off his lap, and although Akira’s legs had been starting to hurt, he misses the warmth of Shindou’s body. He doesn’t move far though, and he keeps one hand on Akira’s thigh.

“The minute we finished that game, I knew there was no hiding how I felt anymore,” Shindou admits, his cheeks pink. “I thought… well, I hoped… but I guess I got scared.”

Akira smiles, feeling light and happy, and rests his head on Shindou’s shoulder. “Good thing I’m here, then.”

Shindou doesn’t respond, but he wraps an arm around Akira. Akira relishes in the quiet, in the warmth of Shindou next to him, for what feels like a very short amount of time. With a small sigh, he presses a kiss into Shindou’s neck, and then stands up.

“Where are you going?” Shindou protests, almost pouting.

“Shindou,” Akira says, “You do remember where we are, don’t you?”

He looks around the room briefly, and his blush deepens. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Akira parrots, but he’s smiling, too pleased to be sarcastic. “I’d prefer to continue this somewhere more private.”

“Yeah, let’s - do that.”

-

“You know,” Shindou begins, tapping his fan against the goban, “We haven’t actually gone on a date.”

Akira is surprised enough he almost places the stone in the wrong place. “Shindou, you really have to stop saying these things mid-game.”

“It’s not my fault if it distracts you. It’s not like this is unusual.”

He’s right - mostly. It’s not unusual for Shindou to be talking during their more casual games at the salon, and Akira’s usually good at tuning out the chatter when he needs to. Nothing has been usual lately. Akira feels hyper-aware of Shindou all the time. He thought Shindou had been on his mind before, but that was nothing compared to now, with the memory of how Shindou’s lips feel on his, and the cadence of his voice when he speaks softly into Akira’s ear, and how his hands feel, and Akira really needs to focus on something else.

Akira clears his throat, examines the board, and plays a hane. “We had dinner out on Tuesday, and then we went back to your house.” Admittedly, he is not an expert on what qualifies as a date, but they’d spent the majority of the time that night sitting close together in Shindou’s bed, alternating between talking and making out. “I think that counts, doesn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” Shindou hums, and extends. “Does that trip to the bookstore count too then?”

“Probably,” Akira agrees, placing a stone. “I wouldn’t be opposed to something more… official. If you want to.”

“Obviously I want to, that’s why I said it.”

“Okay.” Honestly, Shindou could have just asked, but Akira could have too, so he figures they’re even. They are still figuring all of this out, but he’s not worried, because they make a good team when they aren’t sitting across from each other with a board between them.

“Hey, Touya.”

“Yes?”

“Winner of this game picks the location?”

“Are you trying to get out of making decisions?”

-

The sun is setting, and Akira and Shindou are alone, Shindou laying in the grass next to the magnetic goban, Akira sitting next to him, running one hand through his bangs.

“Touya,” Shindou says, “do you remember the day after my 17th birthday?”

“When Waya tried to get you out on a double date?”

“Yeah.” Shindou is staring at the sky, but he’s leaning into Akira’s touch. “I was angry, because I did want to go out, but I didn’t want it to be with just anyone. I wanted it to be you.”

Akira’s hand stills.

“Why’d you stop? I was enjoying that,” Shindou whines.

With a smile, Akira resumes, letting his fingers brush skin, this time. Shindou takes a sharp breath, and explains, “I didn’t realize it then. I thought it was because we’re walking our own path towards the Hand of God, and I won’t let anything change that.”

With a soft smile, Shindou turns his head to look up at Akira. Akira’s hand slides down to rest on his collarbone. “When I thought about it though, I realized it was more than that. It’s been more than that for a long time, hasn’t it? No one’s more important to me than you.”

Akira’s throat feels tight, and all he can say is, “Hikaru.”

Suddenly, he’s being pulled down, and Shindou is kissing him, clutching Akira’s face in his hands. His back is hunched uncomfortably and his hair falls in his face, but Shindou’s kisses are desperate, passionate, intoxicating. When Shindou pulls away, he gasps, “Say that again.”

Akira tugs on Shindou’s shirt until he is sitting, legs still stretched out in front of him. His hand still clutching the shirt, Akira whispers, “Hikaru,” before leaning in for another kiss. Shindou’s arms come around him, pulling him closer. Shindou breaks the kiss, but only so he can move his mouth to Akira’s ear, kissing down his jawline. Akira’s breath hitches, and he’s trying very hard not to forget that they’re in public, but if Shindou keeps kissing him like he is now, he’s not going to succeed.

Shindou protests when Akira turns his head away, but he stops when Akira touches his cheek and rests their foreheads together. “You’re important to me too.” Shindou looks pleased, and he tucks his face into Akira’s shoulder, smiling.

Akira finds he has no desire to move. The night air is pleasantly cool, and Shindou’s breath is warm on his neck. His eyes find the goban, though, and the black stones are difficult to see. Reluctantly, he says, “We should probably head back.”

Shindou mumbles an inaudible protest, but pulls away. His hair is mussed, and his shirt is wrinkled. Akira feels nothing but fondness. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess.”

They gather the stones in a comfortable silence. Once the stones and the board are packed away, they begin heading out of the park, walking side by side.

Akira is eighteen, and the path in front of him is both known and yet to be discovered. Anticipation and trepidation alike frame the future he is aiming for.

Shindou, whose hand brushes against his, has been on this journey with him for six years. The promise of the years to come is thrilling. Akira is already full of excitement, thinking of the next official game they will play.

The best part, though, is the anticipation of what each day is sure to bring. They will play Go together, because that’s always the start, but Akira thinks of all the other ways he will get to have Shindou Hikaru, who is loud and infuriating, passionate and wild, his rival and his partner. He reaches between them to take Hikaru’s hand.

“Hey, Akira,” Hikaru says, bumping their shoulders together. “What are you thinking about?”

Akira smiles. “Tomorrow.”