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Originally Tadaomi had wanted to try connecting with people through music, deeply intrigued in understanding their competitors. He'd wanted to repay Shuu for selecting him to join the band, wanted to see his rare pleased expression if they actually won first place. That was why he'd been working so hard with Epsilon Phi. Yet, when confronted with the fact that their efforts weren't nearly enough, Tadaomi could only turn his eyes to Reiji.
Reiji was silent, exuding an air of composure as though he'd expected this outcome.
Perhaps this was what people called nostalgia, or an old comfort - any sense of disappointment that could have come from their 5th place result was swept away. Tadaomi was well used to seeing the idiosyncrasies in Reiji's current expression. His deep ruby eyes stared intently yet focused on nothing in his sight; there was the thin crease at his forehead, the way his chin angled toward his chest, a swallow too hard to be natural.
The face of a Reiji-kun that hated to lose.
When Reiji had stopped playing shogi with him in middle school, Tadaomi thought for sure he'd never see it again. He was suddenly aware of his heart in his chest, his pulse jumping to a faster rhythm, filling the tips of his fingers with warmth. What would it be like to lay them on Reiji's cold expression, brushing them along the curve of his clenched jaw?
Perhaps the weight of that notion was too heavy. Reiji's eyes shifted toward him. Tadaomi thought they would glide right over him as though he weren't there, still fixed on something invisible - the past, or maybe an alternate world where things played out the way Reiji wanted them to. The way he used to stare down at the board and relive every moment of their match, mouth pressed flat so his lips didn't quiver in frustration. There were butterflies in his stomach at the memory, ticklish, forcing a quiet laugh from his throat. Reiji's ephemeral gaze took form at the sound, landing squarely on Tadaomi's delighted face.
The stony composure crumbled immediately. Reiji's eyes crinkled at the edges in anger, glaring hotly at him as if he were gazing at the source of all his misfortune. A smile inexplicably pulled at Tadaomi's mouth, spreading so wide it made his cheeks hurt. The words that followed were just as impulsive, practiced and well-worn once upon a time. "Don't worry, Reiji-kun. We can still win next time."
Don't worry, Reiji-kun. You can still win next time. Tadaomi's repeated words after each loss, meant to invoke sportsmanlike behavior, slowly built up until it was a stain on the game of shogi itself. Reiji had taken it in after each match until it burst. He stood up sharply and said: There will be no next time.
That was when Tadaomi learned never to doubt his words, for there had never been one.
Tadaomi could see Reiji clenching his fists, could tell that he was sharing in the same memories but from the opposite side. For a moment, Tadaomi wondered if this would ironically be Reiji's breaking point twice over - if he would decide that there would be no "we", no "next time" for Epsilon Phi as a consequence of their failure.
Reiji turned his head away, deciding to ignore the intentionally provocative words. Not trusting himself to give a reply? Or was the silence his answer? Tadaomi was still smiling as he contemplated it. He inwardly thanked Reiji, knowing that his heart would be at ease going forward into the next stage of the competition.
Win or lose - he would be happy to see the result, either way.