Hikaru No Go Fan Fiction ❯ The Extent of Denial ❯ The Broken Edge of Love ( Chapter 18 )

A/N: If you're still with me up to this point, thank you for reading. I truly appreciate all of your comments and support. ^_^ I am sorry for the angst, but I swear that things will be lightening up a little soon! Hikaru and Akira will also get more time!

 

If anyone is interested, I listened to a lot of Mesh while writing this chapter and the last one, in particular `Leave You Nothing' and `The Trouble We're In'. They are both off of the `Who Watches Over Me?' album.

 

I also found a picture of Waya and Isumi (while browsing a Japanese site) to cheer you all up a little as you read their angst.

 

http://www5.ocn.ne.jp/~wegweb/Gallery/Gallerypage/yume.htm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Akira stifled a yawn as he left the bathroom, heading directly back to the fold-out bed to wake his rival up. Hikaru had slept in yesterday, too, and it was a horrible inconvenience to their host, as they were literally taking up most of the living room. He was determined to successfully eject the other boy from bed this morning, despite the fact that he had failed miserably yesterday.

 

Hikaru had sprawled out to take up Akira's half of the bed during his brief absence. Thank goodness he didn't have to fight to get back into that bed. And if he had to spend one more night staring at Hikaru's profile, he'd lose his mind. Never mind that they'd only spent a couple of nights like that - it was hardly easy.

 

He had to smile as he gazed down at his friend, despite his exasperation. While Isumi had been gone, Hikaru had driven them around to practically every apartment complex in the area. They'd finally found one that would let him move in within the week, and it even had two full bedrooms. Hikaru had promised to help him move in.

 

“Hikaru, wake…” Akira trailed off as Isumi came storming out of his bedroom, cell phone in hand.

 

“Waya, for the love of—“ Isumi paused, slanting a wary glance at Akira, then darted out the front door, slamming it behind him.

 

Hikaru sat up, blinking dazedly. “Whaa? `Kira, what's goin' on?”

 

Akira continued to stare at the door for a moment, then slowly turned to answer his friend. “I don't really know. Isumi just slammed out. He was on the phone with Waya.”

 

“S'not good,” Hikaru mumbled, rubbing his face.

 

Akira could vaguely hear the rise and fall of Isumi's voice outside, and the other boy did not sound pleased. To see such a mild person become so agitated was very disturbing to him. People often mistook him for one of those people, but despite being rather quiet and withdrawn, he was very intense and passionate - not the least bit like Isumi.

 

“No, I don't think it is. Fortunately my apartment should be ready to move into in another day or so. I hate the fact that we're troubling Isumi. Besides, you have somewhere to live, so why are you still here?”

 

Hikaru blinked up at him, suddenly wide awake and looking vulnerable and disturbed. “I…I just needed to get away.”

 

“Did it have something to do with what happened between us earlier that day?” Akira asked quietly, bracing himself.

 

But the other boy only set his jaw stubbornly and looked away, shaking his head. “No, it had nothing to do with that at all. Mom has just been really annoying. You know the way she is. She doesn't really tell me `no', she just nags me to death until I give up and do what she thinks is best.”

 

“What else can someone do when faced with you?” Akira teased, lightly flicking Hikaru's exposed arm. Damn Hikaru and those horrible little gym shorts that were all he wore to bed!

 

The bleach-banged boy gave him a particularly sunny grin, green eyes bright with good humor. “Hmm, be persistent?” There was something faintly sly in those eyes.

 

He'd better stay out of range, just in case it mutated into the kiss look. He couldn't keep up with his rival's mercurial mood shifts.

 

The sound of Isumi yelling outside startled both of them.

 

The front door opened suddenly and the dark-haired pro slammed back in with more force than he'd gone out with a few minutes prior. Blazing, angry blue eyes turned to them, and both shrank back as one. “I love you guys…but please get the fuck out of my apartment.” The line was delivered through clenched teeth and a scary smile that was no more than a stretching of lips over bared teeth.

 

He and Hikaru sat there frozen as Isumi put a hand to his face, then turned back around and went back outside. A moment later Akira found the courage to peek out the window that faced the parking lot and saw Isumi's car pull out and race off.

 

“Hmm,” he commented, turning back to Hikaru. “He just left. Does he do that often?”

 

Hikaru looked utterly shocked and pale. “God, no…Isumi has never been like that before. At least not in front of me or anyone else that I know. I don't even think he's been like that to Waya.” Realization suddenly lit the other pro's face. “Waya. It has to be. I thought that something strange was going on with those two lately.”

 

“What do you mean?” Akira asked, frowning.

 

The other boy gave him an impatient look. “Don't tell me you could have possibly missed all of the weird stuff that has been going back and forth between them. I mean, really. We haven't been invited to hang out with them lately, and Waya has stopped returning my calls. Plus the fact that Isumi talks to Waya constantly, despite the fact that I can't even get him to hang out with me or give me a call. Then we have Isumi getting angry, cursing at us and throwing us out of his apartment. If it's not Waya, then he's possessed, because the Isumi I know is nothing like the other one we've been seeing lately.”

 

Akira stared at Hikaru in surprise. “Are you saying that there's something more than friendship between them?”

 

“Betting,” the other pro affirmed, crossing his arms.

 

“Hikaru, just because you're like that doesn't mean that Isumi and Waya are. You're seeing it everywhere—“

 

“Dammit, Akira!” Hikaru's eyes flashed with sudden anger. “I am not. Don't make this about me!”

 

Akira resisted the urge to take a step back from those intense eyes. It was too close to the other pro's game face for his comfort. Without a Go-ban between them, he had no idea how to respond to that look, so he changed the subject. “Speaking of those sorts of things, why haven't you been talking to your girlfriend?”

 

“I told her when I first got here that I was going on a trip for a week, so she has no reason to expect another call until then. All I had to say was that it involved Go and she lost interest - after making sure that you wouldn't be along, of course.”

 

A strange feeling coursed through him when he was reminded of the situation between Hikaru and Amari. It was primarily a mixture of protectiveness and anger, with a hint of some other, more acidic emotion. He'd felt the latter particularly when other people had been given the chance to play Hikaru back before the other boy had played him regularly - back when he was still chasing after him.

 

“On a slightly different tangent, Hikaru, Isumi just told us to get out of his apartment. My apartment is not ready yet, thus I will have nowhere to stay tonight, and…” He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to have to ask after the offer that Hikaru had made a few days ago.

 

Hikaru grinned up at him, thoroughly amused. “And you need to take me up on the offer to stay at my place for a night or two. Sure. I already said that it was okay.”

 

“Thank you. The sooner you get dressed, the sooner we can leave.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I sure as hell don't want to be here when Isumi gets back. But I'm really worried about him, Akira. I think he's losing it.”

 

“There's nothing that we can do about that,” Akira replied calmly.

 

“Ever the optimist, aren't you?” Hikaru muttered, running a hand through his unruly hair.

 

“I'm a realist,” he replied.

 

“Pessimist,” the other pro insisted.

 

“Realist.”

 

“Well, your realism sucks!” Hikaru made an immature face at him and leapt out of bed, dashing off to the bathroom.

 

Please don't let him come out naked or with barely a towel on again.

 

At least the clothing the bleach-banged boy had been wearing lately had been more conservative. The jeans were all in one piece and there was no fishnet anywhere that he could see.

 

Akira began stripping the sheets off of the fold-out bed. He would to attempt to remove all signs of their presence. He appreciated the hospitality and kindness that Isumi had shown them, and also the gift of the Hikaru photograph. It was the very least that he could do.

 

To tell the truth, he was also concerned about Isumi.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isumi pulled over on the side of the road, shaking, and finally screamed. He'd been holding it in for the last five minutes. The conversation he'd just had with Waya made him want to drive recklessly and tempt fate. Screaming was better.

 

Just recalling it made him ill, his grip on the steering wheel tightening involuntarily.

 

“Isumi.”

 

“Well, good morning to you, Waya.” He wasn't about to bring up the fact that Waya had hung up on him yesterday, even though it was in his tone.

 

“They're still there, aren't they?” The other boy sounded waspish.

 

“Why yes, yes they are. Why, do you have a problem with that?”

 

“No, not really. I just know when I'm not welcome. It seems they've become your new constant companions. Do they help you relieve tension, Isumi?”

 

“What are you talking about?” He was completely and utterly confused, but he didn't like the tone of Waya's voice.

 

“Are you that lonely? Are our little trysts not good enough?”

 

“Waya,” he said warningly.

 

“I know Hikaru is probably more to your tastes, being a friendly little fag and all. Do you relieve tension with your new best friend, too?”

 

“Waya!” he cried desperately, something tearing in his heart.

 

Waya's voice dropped lower, almost whispering. “Do you, Isumi?” It raised goose bumps all along his body, for it was a lover's tone. It should have been a lover's tone, but it was taunting. “Do you let him do to you what I did to you yesterday? Do you let him see you like that? You do, don't you? You beg for him to--”

 

“Fuck you, Waya!” he yelled into the phone, hanging up. He pressed the phone into his chest so hard that it hurt, then spun to slam back inside and deal with his guests.

 

Isumi shuddered as the memory of what had happened just a few minutes ago looped over and over in his mind. He couldn't bear to be around anyone right now. Perhaps he'd just…drive for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waya dialed and re-dialed Isumi's number with a singular determination, shaking so hard that his teeth were clacking together. He'd really pushed the other boy this time. But he had to have the truth.

 

Why else would the others, especially Hikaru, stay for so long? He couldn't think of any other reason but that something had to be going on between Hikaru and Isumi. As he'd said, the bleach-banged boy was friendly and willing. Surely much more likeable, much more appealing than his own admittedly wretched self. Had he somehow missed something between them all this time?

 

He hadn't really slept last night, turning over and over all the possibilities in his mind, as well as the last thing Isumi had said to him. The other boy had been so cold. For some reason, it had disturbed him deeply when Isumi had `corrected' himself and referred to what had happened between them as `fucking'. It really bothered him. So much so that he would have cried, if he were prone to doing such weak and stupid things.

 

He'd had the irrational urge to ask if Isumi still loved him, which was silly, because he doubted that Isumi truly loved him anyway, as love wasn't possible between boys. It just wasn't.

 

Waya thought of Isumi's impassioned face again and couldn't bear to think of what they'd done as `fucking'. Sex, yes, but even that term made him feel slightly disoriented, slightly sick. Did his friend truly think of it that way? Was it just a joining of the flesh? He found that he couldn't stand the idea.

 

He dialed again. “Fuck you, Isumi, answer your fucking phone!” he yelled as the voicemail clicked on yet again.

 

He desperately wanted to hurt something, but there was nothing to hurt. He needed the cell phone in order to get Isumi, so he couldn't destroy that. Hurting himself would just be one more nuisance to deal with, one more complication.

 

“I want you here,” he whispered to the phone as he re-dialed.

 

Waya could still smell the lingering scent of the dark-haired boy on his comforter and on his pillow.

 

He no longer cared that the others were there. He would go and see Isumi and settle this once and for all. He would have the truth, even if he had to beat it out of Hikaru.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isumi wrestled with his keys dully as he was walking up the stairs to his apartment, attempting to separate out the right one in the failing light.

 

He had driven around all day and it had not made him feel the slightest bit better. He was now miserable and exhausted. Besides, everything reminded him of Waya.

 

Isumi fumbled with his key for a moment and finally got the door unlocked. He would take a long, hot shower and perhaps settle onto the couch afterward to read. Anything to get his mind off of the situation he found himself so thoroughly tangled up in. He walked into his apartment - and promptly froze.

 

Waya was sitting on the couch, looking baleful. There were dark circles under his amber eyes, and they were fever-bright. “You've been gone a long time,” the other boy sniped.

 

He couldn't deal with this right now. He could also tell just by glancing around that Waya had gone through his personal belongings. Quietly clenching his jaw, he went directly into the kitchen to heat up some sake.

 

Waya stood sharply to follow him, crowding him and invading his personal space. Which was ordinarily fine by him, except when he was on the brink of losing his mind and Waya was ranting at him.

 

“Where have you been?” the auburn-haired boy demanded.

 

Isumi refused to look at his friend. “Out,” he mumbled.

 

“So just what is going on between you and Hikaru? I assume that it's Hikaru, and not Touya. I seriously doubt you'd go for Touya, despite the fact that he's pretty.”

 

“Nothing,” he replied monotonically, staring determinedly at his sake as he heated it in the microwave.

 

“Nothing? Yeah, right. You don't even have time for me anymore—“

 

His sake was ready. He rescued it and immediately poured some for himself, knocking his first cup back in one swallow. Doing his best to tune Waya out and avoid recalling why he'd been upset in the first place, he leaned on the counter and drank steadily.

 

“Are you listening to me? Dammit, Isumi, you even left your phone here! I thought you said you loved me, and yet here you are ignoring me and messing around with whomever you feel like. Isn't one person good enough?”

 

Waya's voice had settled into that strident tone that drilled into his brain. Whenever the other boy became very upset, his voice jumped up to that certain pitch. A pitch that drove Isumi to distraction. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to enable him to deal with this moment with grace.

 

Rage and pain were building to frightful proportions within him, drowning his logical and calm self out. What was this craziness that Waya was going on about now? These accusations were hardly rational.

 

“To think, I've been depraved and engaged in horrible, wrongful acts for you, not just once but several times, and you can't even appreciate it. I saw that photo album out of its usual place - do you really need to look at pictures of him, too? You won't even deny it. I guess I'm just not good enough for you, am I? Am I? Why the fuck not!” Waya's tone was harsh and aggressive.

 

So you still think of it as sullying yourself when we make love. Just who isn't good enough for whom? You're the one that thinks that I'm not good enough for you!

 

He had reached the limit of what he could bear. Isumi turned and winged his sake cup across the room where it shattered against the wall over the couch. Momentarily focused, he rounded on the other boy, finally meeting his eyes. “Then stop it, Waya! Just stop it and get the hell out of my face! Leave. Leave now.” He did not care that he was yelling. He did not care that his voice broke. He did not care about much of anything right now except for getting away from the pain, the source of which was currently (and much too often) Waya.

 

Waya's amber gaze was shocked and disbelieving. The other boy's mouth was hanging open as he stared at Isumi. “Isumi…?” Waya whispered hesitantly, reaching out for him.

 

“Get out!” he barked, backing out of Waya's reach. He would not allow the other boy to gloss over this nightmare with sex again, emotionless, loveless sex.

 

Just looking at his friend hurt him. He ached to hold Waya, but knew that it wouldn't fix anything, wouldn't do either of them any good. He was also dying to slap the other boy senseless.

 

Quietly, Waya left, but not without a last wounded and longing look at him before the door closed.

 

“Why do you look at me like that when you don't care?” Isumi whispered to his now blessedly silent and empty apartment.

 

He couldn't bear the chaos in his mind, or the pain tearing him apart. It was too much for him to cope with. He had never planned on having emotions like this, and had never suspected that he was capable of feeling so deeply or passionately before meeting Waya.

 

He had certainly never planned on loving the other boy when he'd first laid eyes on him. But one day, he had suddenly realized that he did love him, without knowing how or when it had happened.

 

He didn't know what to do.

 

Isumi went directly into the bedroom and crawled into bed fully clothed, not bothering to shut off any lights or worry about cleaning up the mess he'd made. The bedroom was dark and silent, and that was all that mattered.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and buried his face in his pillow, trying to pretend that he didn't exist. If he didn't exist, then he couldn't feel the wrenching pain that was consuming his heart.

 

Waya is…my heart. My heart, rebelling against me.