Hikaru No Go Fan Fiction ❯ The Extent of Denial ❯ Mixed Signals ( Chapter 20 )

Hikaru found himself smirking as he watched Akira fussily arranging his kifu books on a bookshelf in some way that made sense only to Akira.

 

To tell the truth, he was pretty tired. Bringing over the boxes hadn't been the difficult part, as there weren't too many of them. No, Akira had convinced him to pick up a few pieces of `easily assembled' furniture. `Easily assembled' his ass! It would have been easier to build the bookshelves and entertainment center from scratch than it had been to put them together `without tools'. Ha. Ha!

 

`A' to `F', `F' to `G', `A' to - “No, Hikaru, not that way, the diagram clearly states that `A' must be connected to `K' at this point!” And so on.

 

Actually, to be honest, Akira hadn't said a word about needing anything. Hikaru had ended up offering his services, seeing as how Akira had looked almost…forlorn, standing there in the middle of the very empty apartment. It had almost broken Hikaru's heart to see him so lost and lonely like that. Before he realized what he was saying, he had insisted that they get Akira some `furniture'.

 

They'd also managed to pick up a small dining room table. It was only big enough for two people, but somehow he didn't think Akira minded. The other boy was no entertainer. Through it all, his friend had been strangely quiet, speaking only to indicate which unit and color he desired. Those aqua eyes hadn't met his in hours. Something was going on in that head, and he had no idea what it was. But wasn't that always the way?

 

Hikaru became abruptly aware of the fact that he was starving. It was 2:00 in the afternoon, and the last thing he'd had was his toast for breakfast at 9:00 A.M. or so. His metabolism was apparently faster than Akira's, as the other boy did not appear to have any other concerns aside from organizing the kifu books.

 

He tried to be patient. He glanced around the bedroom, staring at the blank white walls. If this had been his apartment, he would have put up the posters first. He couldn't stand emptiness. Their voices echoing throughout the empty rooms freaked him out.

 

“You still need a living room and bedroom set,” he murmured to Akira's back. “What are you going to do for a bed, Akira?”

 

The other boy paused in his fanatical organization and half-turned to look at Hikaru. “What can I do? I did place an order with the furniture store while we were there, but they said that it would have to be delivered tomorrow.”

 

Hikaru leaned over, bracing himself on his knees, and sighed. “You need something. You can't just sleep on the floor.” He watched Akira through the curtain of his bleached bangs. “You could always stay the night with me again.”

 

“No!” Akira exclaimed, blushing immediately. “No,” he repeated again more softly, turning his back to Hikaru.

 

“You don't like being with me?” he asked in a low, quiet voice.

 

Akira's body tensed, movement stilling. “It's not…that. It's just that there's no need. I'm fine, Hikaru.”

 

“Hmm.” He straightened, tossing his bangs out of his face. He wasn't going to get anywhere with this, and Akira would just become a stone if he persisted in his questioning. “Well, it's official. I'm starving to death.”

 

“We have nothing to eat,” the other pro responded monotonically.

 

“Oh, god! Why have you deserted me?” Hikaru made his voice as dramatic as possible, shaking his fists at the ceiling. “I slave away and there is no food! What have I done to deserve this? A young man with a doomed fate!” He allowed himself to collapse slowly to the floor, pretending to be dead.

 

He heard Akira sigh, and resisted the urge to grin.

 

“Honestly, Hikaru, you're ridiculous. Come on.” Akira's voice had drawn closer, which meant the other boy must be crouching beside him.

 

He ignored Akira's request, waiting, and was startled to feel the other boy take his hands after a moment, tugging lightly at them in an attempt to make him rise.

 

“Come on, Hikaru, we'll get you something to eat. We can go get ramen or whatever you prefer. I won't have you going grocery shopping with me. You've already done too much.”

 

Unable to help himself, he smiled a little, but remained where he was. He felt Akira release his hands and wondered what was going on as he heard the other boy walking away. Had Akira become tired of the game? Was he going to be left to starve to death on the carpet? Hikaru would be truly upset if his friend walked out the front door without him. Truly.

 

A flash of light accompanied by a clicking noise startled him and he opened his eyes involuntarily. Akira was standing over him with a digital camera up to his face, finger on the button.

 

“Akira?” he murmured, confused and taken off guard.

 

The camera flashed at him again. “I don't have any pictures of you, Hikaru, and you're my only friend. Isumi thought that was strange, so I'm taking some.”

 

Hikaru blinked, sitting up. Akira was still hiding behind the camera. “I think it's even weirder that you're suddenly taking pictures of me. What do you want pictures of me for, anyway? I'm not nearly as good as a pin-up girl, I'm afraid.”

 

“But you have the sun in your eyes,” Akira said softly.

 

It was said so softly that Hikaru barely heard it, and imagined that he must have misheard the aqua-eyed boy. Akira didn't say things like that, much less think them. “W-what?” he stuttered uncertainly, staring up at the camera.

 

The camera lowered, revealing cool, composed aqua eyes. Guarded eyes. “Nothing. What did you imagine I said?”

 

“Uhh…something weird and not you. What did you really say?” For some reason, the moment that had just passed between them had him completely off-balance. Surely he had imagined it. Surely. Akira had made himself painfully clear in regard to not liking Hikaru as anything more than his rival.

 

“I was simply teasing you, Hikaru. About not being a pin-up girl. I said, `But you have one's eyes.' Meaning that your eyes always seem to have a femininity and coyness about them.” Akira lifted his chin a little, eyes slightly hooded.

 

It was the arrogant `how dare you question me' look. Hikaru was very familiar with that look. And he hated that look. It made Akira seem so distant and uncaring. It separated them.

 

“Akira!!” he leapt up, ready to strangle the other boy. “That's perilously close to what you said at the restaurant that night! Take it back! I do not have the eyes of a slut!” Hikaru was surprised to find that he was shaking a little.

 

Akira set the camera on the bookshelf, moving a little closer to him. “I didn't say that, Hikaru. I'm not going to say anything like that again.”

 

He stared up into Akira's eyes, hating that the other boy was taller than he was. Even if it was only by an inch or so, it made it that much easier for the other boy to affect the arrogant and disdainful look.

 

Without warning, the other pro's hand was in the back of his hair, pushing his head into the hollow between Akira's shoulder and neck. “Don't be hurt, Hikaru,” his friend whispered into his hair.

 

Hikaru shuddered, squeezing his eyes closed. “You confuse me sometimes, Akira,” he mumbled into the warm neck that his face was pressed into. The scent of Akira's hair, as well as faint scent of some cologne, surrounded him and drowned his senses, his brain cells. They were crying out for help and he was unable to assist them.

 

“What is there to be confused about?” Akira asked quietly.

 

He realized that the other boy's free arm was loosely draped about his waist, hand pressed into the small of his back. There seemed to be a trembling tension in that hand, as if it wanted to move. He was unable to wrench his attention away from that hand.

 

“Hikaru?” Akira prompted in a low, husky voice, the hand on Hikaru's lower back slipping fractionally lower.

 

Oh, god, they definitely weren't children anymore. Times like this reminded him quite forcibly of that. Why do I have to want you like this? Why can't I just let us be best friends and leave it at that? I always take everything the wrong way.

 

“Y-yes, Akira…what is there to be confused about? Whenever I'm close to you, I forget that you aren't interested in me…that way. I'm sorry that my mind is so twisted, but please don't forget that I can only interpret these sorts of things in one way. My other friends never…hold me like this. They definitely never kissed me. So you confuse me a little, sometimes.” All the time.

 

“Friends don't hug each other? Would you rather I don't touch you anymore?” Akira's voice was calm, almost toneless. The hand in the back of Hikaru's hair clenched briefly.

 

Damn you, Akira. “Not quite like this, perhaps. And you know what I have to say to the second question. You know that your touching of me isn't the issue.”

 

“You sound a little winded, Hikaru. Are you well?” Akira sounded concerned, but there was a strange note in his voice.

 

I'll give you `well', you little… “Well, being held by you gets to me a little, `Kira. Akira. Yes, I'm `well', but I need food.” Dear god! If there were any god or gods in the universe, please let them rescue him from this torment!

 

Akira swayed closer to him, seemingly unaware, their bodies pressing together in too many places for Hikaru's comfort.

 

“Akira!” he croaked, pushing away a little. “I'm still a little sweaty, you don't want to…” He trailed off as he looked up into those aqua eyes. They were intense and electric, just like a building storm about to explode into fury. That look was very different from the one that Akira had always fixed him with when they played Go. This one was almost scarier, and raised all the hair on his body.

 

“You still smell clean. You always smell pure…” Akira's pupils were dilating as he spoke. Dilating and pinning a little.

 

Hikaru watched in amazement. He'd had no idea that Akira ever took note of how he smelled. Or that the other boy liked it. Apparently a lot, if the current reaction was anything to judge by.

 

Experimentally, he pulled away a little, only to have Akira's arm thwart him and pull him closer again. He despised being played with like this, however, as enjoyable as it was. “Are you going somewhere with this, Akira?” he murmured, bringing his face very close to his friend's.

 

Aqua eyes blinked repeatedly, looking surprised. “W-what? What do you mean?”

 

“Are we going somewhere with this?” he repeated huskily, moving into Akira until their bodies were flush again. He wondered how that would affect Akira. Perhaps like a glass of cold water being thrown in the other boy's face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Akira felt cold. And frightened. Hikaru's very green eyes were so close to him, and he felt as though he'd just awoken from a dream that he wasn't certain that he truly wanted to recall.

 

The question Hikaru had asked him had broken into his mind like a stone being hurled through a pane of glass. He didn't need to ask for clarification on the `going somewhere' part. The other boy's eyes, as well as the closeness of their bodies, told him all that he needed to know about that.

 

“I-I didn't mean…” Akira whispered, trailing off.

 

“You never do,” Hikaru muttered somewhat bitterly, eyes darkening and cooling considerably.

 

“Hikaru—“

 

Hikaru broke free of their embrace and cut him off. “Well, well, I think it's time to eat!” the bleach-banged boy sang, stretching his arms over his head and turning his back on Akira.

 

His eyes skimmed over his friend's body repeatedly, ignoring his mind's order to look elsewhere. It was that outfit that had tampered with his mind in the first place, that had made him want to be too close to Hikaru. Not to mention the times the other boy had accidentally brushed against him today or bent over in front of him, as well as various other maddening things. It was as if he had momentarily descended into some altered state where logic had no place. `Madness,' his mind supplied obediently.

 

Seeing Hikaru lying on the floor, fishnet-clad arms over his head, stomach exposed, legs spread, not enough clothing covering his body…eyes closed, hair in disarray, head thrown back, baring the other boy's throat to tantalizing effect… And then, perhaps, less clothing, and Akira's hands against that tanned skin, touching the paler places…

 

Akira put a hand over his face, clenching his jaw. Damnation, but this was getting out of hand. Perhaps he should consider taking something for it. Was there anything that could quell a hyperactive sex drive? Unfortunately, he was only aware of having a sex drive when he was near Hikaru. Otherwise, he was typically so indifferent to sexuality that other people found him disconcerting and unnatural.

 

“Hello?” Hikaru's voice broke into Akira's reverie, shattering his train of thought. Beautiful green eyes peered at him, almost luminescent.

 

He gave a guilty start, feeling caught and exposed. Hikaru did not seem aware of the thoughts he'd been having, but looking at the bleach-banged boy was doing nothing to cool him down. He was painfully aware that both of them were aroused - something he had been forced to notice when their bodies were pressed together a minute ago.

 

`Don't look at me!' he thought violently at Hikaru.

 

They were both aroused, so why…Akira bit down on one of his knuckles, trying to stop thinking. Stop thinking like that!

 

“Uh…hey, I don't mean to interrupt anything, but I really will starve to death.” Hikaru looked completely normal and composed, a faint flush in his cheeks the only sign remaining that they'd been embracing each other up until a few minutes ago.

 

Why wasn't Hikaru having this difficulty! He didn't even like Hikaru and he was having this issue, so if the other boy deeply liked Akira, then he should be much worse off! Hikaru didn't truly like him.

 

“You don't like me at all, do you?” Akira asked coolly, the doubt like a sharp, heavy stone in his heart.

 

Hikaru gave him a surprised look, eyes wide. “What? What are you talking about! Of course I like you. I wouldn't have done all this if I didn't, right?”

 

“Not like that!” he snapped, making a chopping motion with his hand.

 

“Oh, that. Well, you don't want me to like you like that, so I'm trying not to. I don't want to trouble you.”

 

Trouble me! For some reason, he felt betrayed that Hikaru could manage to contain himself, or even think of not liking Akira in `that way'. The bleach-banged boy was supposed to focus only on him, with permanent feelings that would never change, with a devotion that would never flag, with an intensity that fueled his own. It was supposed to be only the two of them, always just them.

 

He stared at the camera where it sat on the bookshelf, his eyes burning strangely. He felt as if Hikaru were leaving him, but his friend was quite present. More pictures. Need more pictures.

 

Aware of Hikaru's growing discomfort, he turned to face the other boy. “Ok, let's go.”

 

“Dude, you're really weirding me out, Akira. What's up with you, eh?”

 

Akira shrugged irritably, grabbing his camera on his way out of the room.

 

Hikaru followed him across the living room, collecting his yellow and black back-pack from one of the dining room chairs. “Dude, if you point that thing at me again, I'm going to be seriously concerned.”

 

“Stop saying `dude', Hikaru. I've told you a thousand times that it is not appreciated when you go into `dude' mode. You haven't even been around Waya lately. Besides, I am not a `dude', I am a young man--”

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Hikaru exclaimed in exasperation as Akira locked the door behind them.

 

Akira waved the key at his rival. “Your Western sayings are not romantic, contrary to your fondly held belief. Why do you insist on trying to be—“

 

Hikaru glared at him. “Akira, I swear I'll drive us off of a bridge or a cliff if you keep on like this, I swear I will! Do you really want die with me?”

 

Akira ignored that, leading Hikaru down the hall towards the elevators. At least they were successfully off of the subject that must not be thought or spoken of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waya felt someone's presence beside him and opened his eyes, looking up to see Isumi standing there and watching him quietly with unreadable eyes. Before he could do more than smile, the other boy went inside, the door closing firmly behind him.

 

Waya swallowed, feeling his smile fall off of his face. That was it? Not even a `hello' or `go away'? It had been bad enough when he'd realized upon arriving that the lock had been changed and that he no longer had access to the other boy's apartment. He had paid for breaking Isumi's trust.

 

But to be brutally ignored like that? Was Isumi done with him for good? Waya felt tears welling in his eyes and drove a fist into his own leg. Stupid, stupid Waya! There was no way he was leaving until he had at least one sentence out of Isumi.

 

Oh, fuck me.

 

He gripped his head in his hands, uncertain of what to do with himself. He couldn't start screaming at the top of his lungs. He could, however, pound on Isumi's door until his fists were bloody, which he fully intended to do. He took off his headphones, slipping his mp3 player carefully into of one of the wide, velcroed leg pockets of his pants. Just as he was preparing to get to his feet to start his pounding, the door opened again.

 

Isumi came out with a glass of water and sat down beside him, their bodies not quite touching. The other boy handed him the glass, not looking at him. “So talk. If you're here to talk and not rant insensibly.”

 

“Yes,” Waya whispered, blinking back the tears that still threatened from a moment ago. Dammit, he was just like a girl when it came to Isumi! “Can't we talk inside?” he asked tentatively.

 

“No.” Isumi drew his knees up, locking his arms around them. Fingers lacing together, he waited.

 

He wasn't quite sure what to do with that response. He began hesitantly. “I'm…sorry. I'm really sorry, Isumi. I want to…want to…” Waya pressed the heel of his hand into his cheekbone, closing his eyes tightly as he became choked up again. He forced himself to continue, focusing on the pressure. Everything that mattered in his world relied on his ability to see this through. “I want to be with you. Don't hate me. I know I've been terrible to you, I was…I am s-scared. You make me…make me feel so weak, and vulnerable, and I care about you so much. I want…you. I want to be close…to you.”

 

Isumi was silent for some time. When he finally spoke, his voice was subdued. “How do I know that you won't reject these words later? Deny that you ever spoke them? How do I know that you mean this, that it isn't just to get what you want? How do I know that you won't reject me again whenever you feel like it?”

 

“Isumi!” Waya cried, lifting his head to stare at the other boy in hurt.

 

Isumi's dark blue eyes returned his gaze calmly without offering anything. “Well? You must admit that I'm well within my rights to ask such things.”

 

“I won't,” he whispered to that implacable gaze. “I don't want to lose you, Isumi. So I'll do whatever you want.”

 

Isumi frowned at him. “No, no, no, no. What do you want, Waya? This isn't only about me.”

 

Waya lowered his eyes, cringing a little. “I want you,” he said softly.

 

“As a friend with benefits?” the other boy prompted sharply.

 

“No! As…mine.” He couldn't believe he was saying these things to Isumi. He'd never meant to speak these things out loud. It was horribly uncomfortable, and the camou was not making him feel strong. It had utterly failed him.

 

“Your what?” Isumi murmured, reaching out to tip Waya's chin up so that their eyes met. Isumi's were pained.

 

“My lover,” he whispered, the admission shaking something deep inside of him.

 

“Without strings?” Isumi asked with a sad smile.

 

He took a deep, shaky breath, glancing around to make sure no one was coming down the walkway. “W-with. With strings. I…want a relationship. I want the right…to be in your space, to share your life. I hate this.”

 

“I hate it, too, Waya. You've no idea how deeply I hate it.” Isumi's blue eyes were intense again, intense and sharp.

 

“So…so will you be my boyfriend? Partner? Whatever they call it?” This was so awkward. Why couldn't they just make up and be together? But he understood Isumi's need to know. His friend despised things without boundaries, things without clearly defined rules.

 

Isumi snorted in response, reaching over to lightly ruffle Waya's hair.

 

“Isumi!! You'll mess it up!”

 

“Not possible,” the other boy retorted, giving him a faint smile.

 

“So…yes?” Waya pressed hopefully.

 

“I suppose I'll give you a try,” Isumi replied, hand slipping down from Waya's hair to grip the back of his neck and shake him slightly. “And don't think that I won't make you earn this forgiveness!”

 

Waya laughed, beginning to relax a little. It was going to be all right. But… “So you and Hikaru…aren't?”

 

Isumi rolled his eyes. “No, and never will be, Waya. You're so paranoid. And if you're truly committed to having a relationship with me, I'll also add that neither of us will be seeing anyone else. No `dating'. This is it.”

 

“As if there ever could be, Isumi. Come on. Do you think anyone else could stand me, or even understand me? There has never been anyone else. But you went to China, and—“

 

“Waya! There was nothing in China. Le Ping was way too young, and you had long since captured me by that point. I only liked his company because he reminded me of you, and I missed you…so much. That was such a difficult time.”

 

“Good.”

 

“I will say one thing, though.”

 

“Hmm?” as he glanced back at Isumi, he was surprised to see that his lover's eyes were stern and steely.

 

“If you betray me, I will never forgive you, and we will not be able to go back to being friends. That will be it.” Isumi was absolutely serious. Immovably so.

 

Waya could hardly breathe around the lump in his throat. He'd sooner cut off his own hands than betray or alienate Isumi. Even though he'd nearly done just that with his asinine behavior. He had no doubt that he'd be fucked to hell and back if he ever did betray the other boy somehow. This was the other side of his friend that most people never saw. The frightening side.

 

“So do you still want this, knowing that?” Isumi waited patiently, lines of tension around his eyes.

 

There wasn't really much of a choice. If he said no now, which he truly did not want to do, they would still no longer be friends. Either way, there was no other path to take.

 

“Absolutely, Isumi. I'd do anything for you. But before that, I desperately need to go to the bathroom.” The glass of water sat beside him, untouched. He was thirsty, but be damned if he was going to make things any worse on himself.

 

Isumi looked mildly amused. “Fine, I'll let you in and you can be comfortable. Bring your glass of water along, too.”

 

Isumi helped him rise, and he continued to hold onto his lover's hand even after he was on his feet, not wanting to let go. The other boy's brows arched slightly, but his friend made no comment, simply opening the door and pulled him into the apartment.

 

 

 

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Isumi beckoned Waya over to sit beside him on the couch as the other boy came out of the bathroom.

 

Waya complied a little shyly, smiling at him. “So…can I have the key to your apartment again?”

 

“No,” Isumi replied calmly. Waya would have to earn that privilege all over again.

 

“No!?” the other boy exclaimed, amber eyes flaring with indignation.

 

He didn't reply for a moment, pinning his lover with a cool stare. “No. Not until you've earned it. You broke my trust by using your key to come in and rifle through my belongings, and by lying in wait to torment me. Until I have seen that you respect me, I can't allow you to have a key again.”

 

The indignation had subsided, and Waya was staring down at his clenched hands. “I…you're right, Isumi. I'm sorry. I don't deserve anything from you.” The other boy's expression was bitter and pained, touched with a hint of self-loathing.

 

“Hey, stop that,” he murmured, reaching out to lightly touch Waya's hands.

 

“Can you…can you hold me, Isumi?” Waya asked haltingly, raising hopeful eyes. “I miss you so much.”

 

He opened his arms in invitation. The other boy moved to sit between Isumi's legs, Waya's back to his chest. He closed his arms around his best friend, cradling him tenderly but tightly.

 

“Are you going to take pity on Hikaru and start talking to him again now that you know he's innocent?”

 

“Hmph. I guess so. I sort of miss hanging out with him.” Waya's tone was grudging.

 

Isumi laughed a little. “You're so hard on him! He didn't do anything to you, so why are you acting as if you have to forgive him?”

 

“It's just awkward now. I can't tell him why I was ignoring him! Then he'll know about me…about us.”

 

“Isn't that okay?” he asked warily.

 

Waya was silent for a long moment. “I guess that they can know.”

 

He knew it was only prudent that they keep their relationship a secret from everyone, but it also hurt him to hear that Waya didn't want anyone to know. But things were not going to be simple now just because they were together. He knew that very well.

 

Isumi remained silent, determined not to voice the thoughts that would push the two of them apart again. He was content just to hold Waya for now, that the other boy was finally allowing Isumi to hold him.

 

“I love you,” he whispered.

 

“Mm,” Waya replied.

 

He closed his eyes, trying not to let it bother him. Waya was not going to say it back to him until he was quite ready, and Isumi knew that. But it did nothing for his insecurity.

 

It didn't matter. He was grateful beyond words for the moment that he found himself in now. It would have to be enough.