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Akira had two kids, who for no reason that he could discern, adored Hikaru.
“Dad, dad, dad,” Rei, his seven-year-old daughter, said. “Will Hikaru be at the house this weekend?”
“Yeah!” Akira heard Haruto yell in the background. Haruto was five years old and unable to sit still for more than five minutes, except when he watched Hikaru play Go with Rei or Akira.
“Yes, Rei,” Akira said. “But he has his qualifying match for the Judan tournament on Friday, so you may not see him until Saturday.”
Rei was a little too young to fully understand the major Go tournament system, but she knew that even though her dad and Hikaru liked playing Go with each other best, sometimes Hikaru and Akira had to play Go with other people too.
“Oh,” Rei said, clearly disappointed. Akira refused to feel guilty about the Go Association’s scheduling, particularly in light of the fact that he had no control over it. “But he’ll be there on Saturday?”
“Yes, Rei,” Akira said.
“Yay!” Rei said and Haruto echoed it in the background before Rei handed the phone off to her mother, mumbling a distracted goodbye in response to Yui’s quiet admonishment. When Yui took the phone back, she cleared her throat.
“I'll bring them to your house on Friday after Rei finishes school,” she said, her voice cool and quiet.
“Thank you,” Akira said, just as formally.
“There is something that I would like to discuss with you,” Yui said. “But I think it will be best discussed in person.”
“Would you like to meet for tea this week?” Akira said. There was a qualifying match on Wednesday for the Tengen tournament, but he mentally started rescheduling all of his other meetings or required appearances.
“Yes, that would be nice,” Yui said politely. They settled on Thursday afternoon, when both of the kids would be in school. Yui didn’t sound upset, but the call still left a bad taste in Akira’s mouth and he forced himself to push away his sense of unease.
Hikaru blew in later that night, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms chopping through the air as he hung up his raincoat and kicked his shoes off loudly. It wouldn’t have been too alarming, except for the fact that Akira was in the middle of his weekly Go salon, roughly half-a-dozen other Go players spread around the living room, in various stages of games and conversation, all of which immediately died down at Hikaru’s noise.
Holding back a sigh, Akira gently cleared his throat and continued pointing out how Morita could have attacked to cut off white’s formation, showing where black should have played. Shinoda and Inoue started their discussion back up of Shinoda’s last game against Ochi, and the other conversations jumped back on track after that. Morita and Yamada picked up the rest of the attack, so Akira excused himself and went to the kitchen to find Hikaru.
When Akira got there, Hikaru was rummaging through the refrigerator, holding himself tight and banging everything about loudly. He was probably scaring poor Matsuda, Akira’s newest participant, a very nice kid, but barely out of junior high and incapable of looking anyone in the eye for more than ten seconds.
Akira brought his hand up to Hikaru’s neck and let it rest there as Hikaru tensed up at the sudden contact. Hikaru was so tightly strung that he almost shook with energy and Akira had a half-crazy, half-wonderful thought that Hikaru would turn around and push him up against the wall. Thankfully for the well-being of his salon, Hikaru let out a long breath and Akira felt the energy drain out of him leaving Hikaru sagging against the refrigerator handle. Akira stepped closer as Hikaru dropped his head against the door and stayed there for a minute, eyes closed, until he sighed.
“Sorry,” Hikaru said, straightening himself up. Hikaru didn’t shake Akira off, instead turning his head into Akira’s hand until Akira cupped Hikaru’s cheek. “Rough day.” He didn’t elaborate, but Akira could make an educated guess.
Hikaru opened his eyes and then flashed a smile with his usual good humor at Akira. “I would appreciate you not scaring my students,” Akira said, although there was no heat behind it.
“Eh,” Hikaru said. “Matsuda needs some toughening up.” Akira rolled his eyes but Hikaru was already moving, turning back to refrigerator and investigating its contents. “What’s for dinner? Is this cod—are you going to make it? I forgot to eat before Morishita-sensei’s and I am starving.”
“You are an adult,” Akira said. “You are capable of operating most of the equipment in this kitchen. I am going to go back to my students.”
Hikaru grumbled behind Akira, but he was much quieter this time and Akira didn’t hear any ominous sounds or smell anything too alarming while he and Yamada replayed the second half of her match from the previous week against Ogata.
After everyone left, Akira cleaned up the living room and then made his way into the kitchen. Akira could smell all the wonderful things that Hikaru had cooked: cod in the oven, miso soup gently simmering on the stove and rice in the cooker. Hikaru had even pulled out some of the vegetables that his mother had dropped off earlier that week. When Akira had once pointed out that maybe they were taking advantage of Hikaru’s mother, Hikaru had laughed it off and said that his mother liked having something to do for him. “I don’t think that she’s convinced that either one of us are capable of cooking. She likes knowing that at least we get a homecooked meal every once in a while.”
Shindou-san was always very polite and nice and even if she hadn’t really understood why Hikaru wanted to be with another man, she was unfailingly supportive of Hikaru’s decisions. It was more than Akira could ever have hoped for.
Besides, Shindou-san wasn’t completely off the mark. Akira would never admit it, especially to Hikaru, but Hikaru was probably the only decent cook between the two of them. For years, Akira had relied upon his mother and then, once they were married, upon Yui. Hikaru, on the other hand, had actually managed to teach himself how to cook while he lived alone, much to Akira’s eternal surprise.
“Smells good,” Akira said, startling Hikaru up from his phone.
“You’re just saying that because now you don’t have to cook,” Hikaru said, but he looked pleased at the compliment.
Akira waited until they had plated the cod, rice and soup and sat down at the table before broaching Yui’s request with Hikaru.
“Did she seem angry?” Hikaru asked.
“No more than usual,” Akira said.
“Do you think that she wants to change your visits? She doesn’t have to keep up the current schedule,” Hikaru said and he looked disheartened at the prospect. The thought had crossed Akira’s mind approximately four hundred times since his call earlier. But however Yui may have felt about Akira, or Hikaru for that matter, she had always been supportive of Akira spending time with their children.
“It could be,” Akira said. “But I don’t think that it’s it.” That seemed to reassure Hikaru enough to come up with other ideas.
“Maybe she’s getting married again,” Hikaru said. “She is still very pretty, especially for her age.”
“You shouldn’t say it like that!”
“What?” Hikaru said. “It’s true. She is very pretty. I don’t know why she once agreed to marry someone as ugly as you.” Akira threw Hikaru a glare and Hikaru softened the insult by reaching out with a foot and rubbing it along Akira’s ankle. “But it could be marriage.”
“Maybe,” Akira said, already leaning into Hikaru’s touch. “I think it’s unlikely that she would have gotten engaged without introducing Rei and Haruto to their future step-father.”
“Maybe she has cancer,” Hikaru said.
“Hikaru!” Akira said, shocked.
“Alright, alright, forget I said it. Maybe she wants the kids to change school—eh, that’s boring. Or how about she’s ready to let Rei start competing.”
“Hikaru,” Akira said.
“She is definitely good enough—she’s way better than those other kids that I see whenever Waya makes me to go watch his kids play.”
Akira let out a long sigh and tried to draw upon the well of calmness that always seemed to elude him in Hikaru’s presence. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t there.
“Fine, I’ll stop,” Hikaru said but he was smiling. “Besides, if it was really serious and imminent, she would have told you over the phone. So, she’s probably getting married.”
By now, Hikaru’s foot had climbed progressively higher up Akira’s leg and Akira found himself quite willing to drop a conversation that would make him pointlessly worry in favor of other things.
Yui and Akira hadn’t worked out for a lot of reasons, much to everyone’s, including Akira’s, grave disappointment. After all, on paper, Yui was the perfect wife for Akira. Even Akira thought so at first. She was quiet instead of loud. She didn’t have any strong opinions on politics or, more importantly, Go. She never argued with him, not even once, about his yose-miru in the upper right corner or wanted to yell at him about losing against Kurata 9-dan in the second-round qualifier for the Ouza tournament.
When Akira’s match ran late in Osaka and he missed dinner with Yui and her parents, she just smiled gently at him when he arrived home and presented him with perfectly warmed leftovers. She definitely didn’t glare at Akira and sulk when Akira had to cancel one of their Go study sessions or harangue Akira until Akira took her out to her favorite ramen place as penance.
And that was the problem.
Akira didn’t think it was so bad at first. Yui’s presence was relaxing at first—she was sweet and kind and always thought before she spoke. Akira could think when they had conversations—he could formulate a reply in his head and then calmly say it. His filter worked beautifully, unlike with certain other people.
But then, after the first few months, Akira found himself running out of conversation. Yui endeavored to learn about Go, but her knowledge was basic at best and she didn’t show any inclination to undertake any of the more serious strategy. When Akira tried to teach her more, they both found themselves frustrated, so by mutual unspoken agreement, they stopped.
In lieu of Go, Akira pledged to learn more about Yui’s interests. He didn’t know much about cooking or shopping or cleaning, although he tried to be a good husband and ask about her day or help out around the house. Yui seemed grateful that he tried, but always reassured Akira that she was fine.
Was this what marriage was like? It seemed to require so much effort—Akira didn’t know what he was supposed to do differently. His parents had always made it look so easy—they talked about everything, Go, cooking and everything in between. Perhaps they had struggled in the beginning as well.
So, Akira kept working at it—he’d never given up on a goal before. He brought home flowers every week and remembered to buy gifts for Yui. They tried to talk about food or Akira’s schedule or his upcoming matches, and if there was always an imaginary timer in the back of Akira’s head counting down until he could look back at his phone to see Hikaru’s next move or when he could leave in the morning, well everyone probably had that.
But then, after all that struggling, there arrived a respite: Rei.
She arrived a little over a year after their first wedding anniversary and everything else faded into the background. She was—perfect. Akira couldn’t find a better word to describe her. She looked so serious and trusting, her brown eyes open wide as she fit in Akira’s arms. For the first time in Akira’s entire life, he realized that he loved something even more passionately than Go and it was a chubby beautiful baby who didn’t do much more than burp and spit and cry.
Hikaru visited them in the hospital, right after the new grandparents left. His hair was mussed, as if he’d hurried straight over from bed and he had clearly grabbed the first shirt he’d seen—an old Go Institute shirt with faded letters advertising a charity match. He was gratifying careful and quiet when he came and he wrapped Akira in a warm hug that Akira let himself draw strength from. Yui gently handed Rei to Hikaru and he took her, biting his lip with concentration as he held her.
“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Akira said.
Hikaru laughed softly. “Of course, she is—anything you made would have to be perfect.” At the time, Akira had taken it as a half-joke—after all she was perfect, although both Hikaru and Akira knew that Akira was far from perfect himself.
Only on looking back could Akira sense the slight bitterness of the statement, the wry twist to Hikaru’s lips, the seriousness in his eyes.
A kifu is always easier to understand than while one is playing the actual game.
For a while, Akira and Yui were too busy with Rei to think of much else outside of her. But the Go world waited for no one and a month after Rei’s birth, Akira found himself bleary-eyed and fighting for a spot in the Meijin qualifiers. Then there were the Honinbo league matchups, all of it blending together, those first few bewildering and exhausting months. The only time that Akira wasn’t overcome with the desire to sleep was when Yui left him alone with Rei and Akira spent the entire time panicking until Yui returned.
After the hospital, Hikaru kept his distance for a while and if Akira had had time to think, he would have found it strange that Hikaru, not known for his restraint, would manage to go several months without dragging Akira into a game or groaning to Akira about one of his latest matches. Hikaru didn’t even call to yell at Akira about his barely-won game against Ogata in the second game of his defense of the Kisei title.
But, Akira scarcely had the energy to take a shower some days, so when Hikaru rang the doorbell and Akira realized that it had been a full month since he could remember seeing or speaking to Hikaru, the weight of it hit him at once. A wave of relief swept through Akira and for a moment, his knees felt oddly weak, although that might also have been due to the fact that Rei hadn’t stopped screaming since she’d woken up over a half-hour ago.
“Hikaru, where have you been?” Akira said finally, trying to juggle Rei against his shoulder.
Hikaru raised an eyebrow and then just laughed. “Here,” he said, making grabbing motions. “You’re the one that’s been the recluse. I’ll hold Rei, you should probably get cleaned up.”
Akira looked down at himself. Rei had burped up over his shirt. But at least she’d stopped crying. She stayed nice and quiet when Hikaru cradled her gently and she didn’t start screaming at all, not even a little bit when Akira took time to wash up and change clothes.
When Akira entered the living room, Hikaru was sitting on the couch, Rei fast asleep and drooling on his shirt. It stopped Akira short, a feeling of protectiveness and affection hitting him like a punch to the stomach. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want anything to change, except Hikaru slowly turned and smiled at Akira—a lazy, pleased smile—and that was so much better and so much worse.
Akira barely trusted himself to gather up Rei, his hands brushing against Hikaru’s and each one firing off a series of sparks that made Akira want to press closer, lay his hands against Hikaru, let Hikaru reach a hand down and—Akira forced himself to cut off that line of thinking and retreated with Rei to her room, babbling something about her nap to Hikaru.
In Rei’s room, Akira sat down heavily on the floor after her put her down. He tried to think of things in their most factual state—he just felt a great deal of respect for Hikaru. But that clearly wasn’t it. He’d always been fascinated by Hikaru, could it be that? That didn’t explain how Akira was still half-hard from the brief touch in the living room. Maybe it was a fluke? After all, how many times had their hands brushed before as they cleaned up after a hard-fought game or as they argued over a particularly bold attack as Hikaru took a stone instead of cutting it?
But none of those lines of thought changed the underlying truth of the situation—the universe had just played a myoushi and the board that Akira thought that he could read through yose had radically shifted.
Akira desperately wanted to go see Hikaru and he desperately wanted to stay in Rei’s room. Here, he could pretend that everything was as it had always been—he was a dedicated family man, Go professional and someone who had always known himself. But Akira had never been one to back down even when he was terrified, so he smoothed a hand over Rei’s head and went back to the living room, mind in complete disarray.
He and Hikaru must have talked about something that afternoon, even played out part of a game, because Yui commented on the board that was out when she arrived home. Akira couldn’t remember it—not one stone that was played—it was a giant blur of panic.
That night, Akira laid awake, Yui sleeping softly on the other side of the bed, only the moon there as a witness to his thoughts. He felt—something—with Hikaru, but he was supposed to be in love with Yui. He was in love with Yui, right? Although, that seemed questionable. He was supposed to want Yui the way he wanted to win a game, passionately and deeply, but he’d never felt that for her. He liked her. He could love her—because if he didn’t think he could love Yui, if he felt something for Hikaru deeper than friendship, that could only be because there was something wrong with him.
Marriage was no different than Go. Akira had never given up on Go and he certainly didn’t intend to give up on his marriage. He had promised to love and stay with Yui—how could he go back on that?
If Akira slept that night, he wasn't aware of it. But by the time that the moonlight disappeared from their room, the pre-dawn gray replacing it, Akira came to the conclusion that there seemed to be only one path to follow. He needed to focus his attention on his family and forget whatever it was that Hikaru had inspired.
And then a few months later, Haruto happened.
At first, it felt like the perfect affirmation of Akira’s re-devotion to his marriage. Yui seemed so happy and pleased with the pregnancy, no morning sickness this go-around and both of their parents were delighted.
The pregnancy as a whole was an easy one, and as Yui moved closer to her due date, Akira prepared Rei’s new room and repainted the nursery. When Yui came to meet Akira at the Go Institute, everyone oohed and aahed over Rei and Yui, congratulating Akira on his good luck on his wife and her second pregnancy.
They spent their free days at the park, Akira pushing Rei’s stroller, and enjoyed dinners with their parents. Akira finally felt like he could take a breath—the feelings that he’d felt about Hikaru, they’d been something that he imagined in that fog of new fatherhood. Even if there was a voice in the back of his head that reminded Akira of how a game with Hikaru made his heart speed up or a night out with Hikaru felt like a reward—even if they fought the whole time—it was, well, Akira was mistaken about it. That was that.
Then Haruto arrived, wonderful, delightful Haruto. But when Akira and Yui brought Haruto home from the hospital, even though it should have been easier the second time around, it felt more difficult. The subtle distance that had always existed between Yui and Akira kept increasing, spreading out until Fuji-san could have separated the two of them.
The only things that they talked about were the children or Akira’s game schedule. Yui’s schedule followed the children and they only seemed to see each other early in the mornings or late at night. Akira didn’t want to wake Yui when he came in—Haruto was a very light sleeper, especially in that first year—so he took to sleeping on the fold-out couch in the living room.
Slowly, Akira also realized that he’d begun avoiding Hikaru as well. The distance between the two of them had also increased during Yui’s pregnancy, somewhat of a deliberate decision on Akira’s part. Hikaru had sent a slightly hurt text expressing congratulations and excitement on Haruto’s birth that Akira never returned, but that Akira pulled up and looked at from time to time, much to his shame.
And as Akira kept feeling himself falling further and further away from Yui, from Hikaru, from everything, he wanted to reach out and hold something, slow the pull of gravity, but he didn’t know what to reach out for and so the distance kept growing.
Akira kept smiling politely, doing nigiri, bowing, moving his life one stone at a time, and tried not to look up and see the profound darkness pushing closer all around him.
It might have continued on that way indefinitely if it hadn’t been for Ashiwara who rescued Akira after one of the worst games of his career.
The matches for the round robin portion of the Honinbo tournament had been mailed out weeks in advance, so Akira had had plenty of time to dread his scheduled match with Hikaru.
He thought that he’d steeled himself well enough in preparation, but it just made everything worse, Akira rushing in at the last minute before the start, as if he were a beginner dan who needed to play tricks on himself to calm his mind.
The match official was polite enough to not say anything, just clearing his throat awkwardly before ushering the two opponents who refused to look at each to their places and going through the never-changing rules. Akira and Hikaru bowed, Akira’s neck stiff, and when they had nigiried, Hikaru taking black, he took a long time, his mouth pulled tight, and Akira wanted to reach out, smooth away the tension, but he couldn’t, so instead he looked down and focused on the board.
Black went 5-4. Akira couldn’t help but start at that—when he looked at Hikaru, Hikaru looked back fiercely, anger blazing. Fine, Akira thought and then moved to 16-4.
They played desperately, recklessly, pushing in at each other, Hikaru’s anger boiling over and shouting at Akira in every move. There was no justification, no defense that Akira could give, but he kept pushing back, 4-3 in the opposite corner, going for a shape in the upper right, telling Hikaru with every stone that Hikaru would always have Akira here on the goban.
When they broke for lunch, Akira found himself in the bathroom, sitting in a stall on top of the seat cover. He’d never before felt so close to breaking down. Even angry and upset like this, Hikaru was beautiful and wonderful and it took all of Akira’s control to pull himself together.
The tension was thick enough that when they returned, the match official looked concerned, like he expected Akira and Hikaru to start a brawl on top of the goban. Hikaru gave the official a jaunty smile that Akira half-expected to turn into a baring of teeth. It was no surprise then that mid-game turned into all-out warfare, stones pushing up against each other. Shapes being born and eaten faster and faster. Only by the skin of his teeth did Akira manage to hang on and the pain of the game felt exquisitely good.
When Hikaru placed the last stone, Akira held his breath as he counted out territory. Some horrible, traitorous part hoped that what he knew to be true wasn’t. But when Hikaru bowed his head, there was no use denying it. Akira had won, but there was little joy in it.
Akira hadn’t even been able to look Hikaru in the eyes after the match, knowing what he would see. Akira grimaced his way through the post-game pleasantries while he couldn’t help but feel something horrible split apart in his chest.
“Akira!” Ashiwara said, appearing from out of nowhere as Akira came out of the elevator into the Go Institute’s lobby. “Congratulations on your game.”
“Thank you,” Akira said, inclining his head.
“Want to grab dinner or do you need to get home?” Ashiwara said.
Akira looked back to see Hikaru behind him, his face drawn tight and his hands clenched into fists. Hikaru, he thought and almost as if Akira had called him, Hikaru looked up.
“Yes,” Akira said and immediately turned back around. “Let’s go to dinner.”
“How are Rei-chan and Haruto-kun?” Ashiwara asked once their waitress had left the table.
“They’re great,” Akira said, smiling.
“I believe that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile all month,” Ashiwara said and his voice was kind but serious. Akira froze, but Ashiwara moved ahead anyways. “How is Shindou-san doing? That seemed to be an unusual game for the two of you.”
“I—” and Akira’s voice scrapped against his throat, his heart beating frantically in his chest. Did Ashiwara know? “I don’t know—I haven’t—we haven’t talked recently.”
Ashiwara raised an eyebrow at that. The last time that Akira and Hikaru hadn’t talked for any significant period of time, it had been more than a decade prior when Hikaru had gone off the deep end and missed a half-year’s worth of professional matches.
“Ah,” Ashiwara said as if it all made sense. And maybe it did to him. If so, Akira wanted Ashiwara to explain it to him, because Akira felt lost, completely at sea. He’d been adrift for so long, he didn’t think he’d ever find a way to solid ground.
“I—just—it’s—Yui and I,” Akira said, before he could stop himself. “We aren’t. I’m not—” And he couldn’t even make the words come out, sticking there, hovering there in his throat, choking him.
Ashiwara reached out a hand, comfortingly, against Akira’s shoulder as Akira tried to pull himself together. To fall apart in public, with Ashiwara there, it would have been unforgiveable.
“I don’t love her,” Akira said when he felt that he could speak, although his voice sounded rusty. He’d thought it a hundred thousand times, late at night, early in the morning, but he’d never said them out loud.
Ashiwara made a comforting sound and then Akira couldn’t stop himself, his words taking the opening and Akira unable able to stop the dam from overflowing, even if it meant that Ashiwara knew how much he was failing at his marriage.
When Akira finally slowed to a stop, the restaurant was mostly deserted and Akira’s throat hurt, as if he’d been screaming loudly all afternoon. “Come,” Ashiwara said firmly. “Let’s go get a drink.”
Ashiwara took Akira down the street, through a small alley, barely lit, and then up to a door that led into a smoky bar where a pianist played something classical that Akira ought to have recognized, but couldn’t. The hostess led them to a table in the back where frosted glass blurred out anything that Akira might have seen outside. It felt cozy, remote and Akira felt grateful that Ashiwara had known to take him to a place like this.
“I’m failing,” Akira said. “I’m losing my marriage.”
Ashiwara looked serious. “That’s not what marriage is. It’s not a game of Go, something that you can win or lose.” It was easy for Ashiwara to say that—he’d married another Go player and the two of them were disgustingly happy with one another.
“There are so many people relying on me to make this work. Yui, Rei, Haruto, my parents, Yui’s parents, half the readership of Go Weekly,” Akira said. “How do I announce that I’m quitting something? It would kill Yui. And I don’t even know how my parents would handle it.”
Ashiwara sighed. “You know, we’ve been friends for a long time. Probably since you were seven or eight, I think. Back when you used to play against your father and all of us at the Go salon, although except for Ogata and your father, I think you never used handicaps against us, even then.
“I can’t speak with certainty for anyone else, but for me, watching you grow up, being your friend, I don’t want you to be miserable. I don’t think that your parents do either. And for Yui, if you’re this miserable, I can’t imagine that this marriage is good for her either.” Ashiwara said it all in his cheerful and matter-of-fact way and his words were such a shock that Akira needed a few minutes to think about them while Ashiwara ordered drinks for the table.
“What if I want something other than just getting a divorce—what if I want to be with…someone,” Akira stumbled over the words, “else who my parents would really rather me not be with. If everyone would rather me not be with this person?”
Ashiwara raised an eyebrow as if he was impressed by an unexpected move. “Well,” he said carefully. “I think that you may find that perhaps people are not as surprised or disapproving as you may think. And even if they are, I, personally, trust in your judgment and the people close to you will do the same.”
“What will my parents think?” Akira said eventually. There were too many questions in his head but that was the only one that he felt brave enough to say.
Ashiwara smiled at Akira. “I imagine that they will continue to love you,” Ashiwara said. “Much as they always have.”
“What would you do if you were in my place?” Akira asked.
Ashiwara didn’t even hesitate. “I would start by talking with my wife.”
Predictably, the discussion with Yui was awful. Akira spent the night after his discussion with Ashiwara going through all the possibilities in his head. He could tell Yui and they could try to make it work. They could separate and not get divorced. They could spend the rest of their lives living in different bed rooms. So many couples had opted for one of those—was Akira entirely selfish for wanting a divorce?
He wanted to think about making it work, but he’d spent two and a half years taking parts of himself and his happiness and locking them away. He’d gotten so used to living without them that it had almost been bearable, but the conversation with Ashiwara had let it all loose. There was no guarantee that Hikaru felt anything at for him like what Akira felt, but even if he didn’t, Akira wanted to be with someone that he wanted in the way that he wanted Hikaru. He wanted to be excited to see someone, see their face, find out their thoughts—he wanted to lust after someone, dream about them in the darkness of night when he took himself in hand and closed his eyes, shiver when they touched. And Yui deserved for someone to feel that way about her, because it wasn’t going to be Akira.
And so, the next evening, Akira made sure to be home early. He waited until the kids were in their rooms, asleep and tuckered out from their day, and then approached Yui after they both finished the remaining clean-up from dinner. At first, it started just like he’d rehearsed it in his head, calm and logical, but then Yui’s eyes went round with understanding as Akira talked about the separation and distance that had grown between them. She sat down heavily at the kitchen table, looking down to the ground before she pulled herself together to face Akira.
“Have I done something wrong?” Yui asked, and her voice was quiet and composed even as the tears began to track down her face.
“No, of course not,” Akira said and he wanted to reach out a hand and comfort her, the way that a husband should, but it wasn’t his place now, so he clenched his hand into a fist and kept it tightly by his side.
“Then what is it?” Yui said and Akira took time to breath, to absorb his surroundings, to see their lives as they had been, instead of if it had been laid out on a board in front of him.
“I have always admired you,” Akira said eventually, and his own voice cracked. “From the moment that we met. But, I don’t love you and I don’t think that I will come to.”
Yui let out a small sound at that and then started to cry in earnest and Akira couldn’t help himself—he moved around the table and reached out for Yui. She almost fell into him as he leaned down, her face pressing against his shirt and he could feel wetness seeping through the material, but neither of them moved for a very long time.
That first night after, Akira slept on the couch and woke up in the early morning, light begin to filter in through the windows. For a moment, everything felt comfortable and familiar until he remembered the previous evening. Yui, separating, his marriage ending. There was no going back from that knowledge, no matter how much Akira might wish it. There was only one option now—to keep moving forward.
Yui rose early as well and the two of them kept an awkward distance in the kitchen as Yui began to prepare breakfast.
“I’ll pack up my things today,” Akira said.
Yui nodded. “I think that would be best. I think—” She started and then stopped, looking lost. “I—would you come with me to my parents to tell them?”
“Of course,” Akira said. “Can I—still see the children after I leave?”
Yui started crying again at that. “Of course, I would never want to keep you away from the children.” And there was nothing that Akira could do but stand there as Yui pressed a napkin against her face. Then, for the last time, the two of them went to wake up Rei and Haruto together.
With shaking fingers, Akira dialed Hikaru’s number. He picked up on the fifth ring, annoyed and his voice thick with sleep. Akira checked the time surreptitiously—it was ten a.m. He had, in fact, called at a normal person’s reasonable hours. “Is this an emergency and if not, why are you calling?”
“It’s Akira,” Akira said quietly. He weighed if it was an emergency or really just a catastrophe. Maybe it didn’t even meet the level of a catastrophe. Just a minor crisis. The dissolution of his marriage and everything that Akira had thought that he was.
“What?” Hikaru said, sounding much more awake. There was a flurry of activity and a loud thump as Akira made out some muffled curses as Hikaru presumable dropped his phone. “Shit, sorry, I’m trying to find it. Aha—got it,” Hikaru finally said triumphantly. “Akira? What are you—where did you go after our game the other night? What’s going on—you’ve been ignoring my calls and texts! After our game, I was so concerned. Although Ashiwara assured me that you were still alive, I was beginning to think he’d killed you and hidden the body.”
“Hikaru,” Akira said firmly. “Can I come over?”
“What? Now?” Hikaru said.
“Yes,” Akira said.
“Oh,” Hikaru said, more quietly. “Yeah, I guess that’s fine.”
When Hikaru opened up the door, warily blocking the entrance, Akira placed his suitcase on the ground and then bowed deeply in apology. Hikaru hissed a “Stop that! My neighbors can see you!” and pulled Akira and his suitcase into the apartment.
“What are you doing? You are totally freaking me out!” Hikaru shrieked.
“Hikaru,” Akira started. “I owe you a huge apology.”
“You mean apologies,” Hikaru said.
“Yes, apologies. I, uh,” and then Akira really looked at Hikaru and his thoughts came to a screeching halt. Hikaru’s hair was a mess, sticking up every which way, and it was so funny that Akira couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just your hair.”
Hikaru glared and tried to flatten it, which only made it worse, and Akira kept laughing. But when he realized he’d been laughing an awkwardly long amount of time, he tried to stop, but his lungs wouldn’t obey him, and Hikaru started looking at Akira weirdly. Akira tried to say something, to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but then Hikaru hesitantly came forward and placed a hand on Akira’s arm and Akira realized that he’d stopped laughing at some point and had started crying. And so, he let Hikaru gently pull him into a hug.
Eventually, Akira managed to get himself together and retreated to Hikaru’s bathroom to wash his face.
“Akira, what’s going on?” Hikaru said when Akira emerged. Akira had prepared a full answer—about learning who he was and moving forward, apologizing for being a bad opponent and a worse friend, but none of it was there.
“Yui and I are separating,” Akira said.
Hikaru’s mouth opened in shock. It would have been gratifyingly funny in any other situation. Instead, Akira just sat down cautiously on Hikaru’s couch and looked at his hands.
“As in….” Hikaru eventually said.
“As in we are probably going to get divorced,” Akira said. Hikaru just gaped.
“Wow,” Hikaru said and sat down heavily next to Akira. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Is that why you’ve been so weird lately?” Hikaru asked. Akira thought about telling Hikaru the truth. But Akira had no reason to think that Hikaru might feel the same. And then their friendship really would be ruined.
“Yes,” Akira said and the word felt like ash on his tongue even as he told himself that it was true, at least partially.
“I still haven’t forgiven you yet,” Hikaru said. “But I will let you stay in my guest room.”
“Wait, what?” Akira said. “You don’t have to do that—I was going to stay in a hotel.” In fact, some solitary time alone would definitely not be a bad thing. Distance would be good.
“What! You definitely need companionship at a time like this. I know you—you’re going to internalize all of this and dwell upon how your parents are taking this—what did they say about this?—and you’ll just be more miserable.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” Akira said, but apparently it wasn’t emphatic enough for Hikaru, who took that as a yes. “Great! It’s settled, I’ll put your bag in the guest room,” and before Akira could stop him, Hikaru stood up and grabbed Akira’s bag.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Hikaru called from the guest room.
“Shouldn’t it be lunch?” Akira asked.
“Definitely still breakfast,” Hikaru said, making Akira smile. Even if Akira’s world was falling apart, he could definitely still argue with Hikaru and that felt like a win.
The first few months of separation, Akira felt like a new-born colt, just trying to get his legs out from underneath him. Where Yui had been quiet and acquiescent during their marriage, she now was angry and hostile—something that Akira understood all too well. She still allowed Akira to see the kids, no matter how much she iced Akira out when they met, which was a relief and he saw the kids every Tuesday and Sunday, Hikaru sometimes tagging along to help push strollers or change diapers at the park.
Conversations with his parents were strained—they loved him but were concerned. Go was great—even during the hardest part of his marriage, he’d still loved Go, but he was able to go into games with better focus and energy. Akira hadn’t realized how much he’d carried the stress of his marriage around, but now that it was gone, everything about the game felt like a pure relief.
Most nights, Hikaru and Akira played a game, ate dinner and discussed their game and got worked up enough for a rematch once they’d finished. Even if Akira sometimes thought about what it might be like to reach out and pull Hikaru close, to kiss him or let himself be kissed, living with Hikaru was still as close to heaven as Akira had ever been.
“Why would you attack here? You should have gone down here, next to white to prevent this shape from developing,” Akira said.
Hikaru made a noise of dismissal. “Definitely not—if I had gone there, then you would have just gone around by going here,” he tapped the board where he thought Akira should have gone, “and this allows me a good opportunity to develop this group over here when you inevitably try and break it up by going here.”
“No, you are definitely wrong!” Akira said and he felt so frustrated with Hikaru that he wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but it was the best kind of frustration, irritation and affection rolled up together.
“Well, you’re blind,” Hikaru huffed and then leaned back. “Ok, let’s play again.”
Akira checked his watch—he had to head over to his parents’ soon. They’d just returned from their latest international trip—Shanghai, Hong Kong and then Seoul. “Speed Go,” he cautioned.
“Yeah, sure,” Hikaru said and then they both started cleaning off the board. Their fingers brushed against each other as they both went for the same area and Akira felt that familiar jolt of something buzz through his system.
“Hikaru,” Akira started and then trailed off. Hikaru looked up and Akira swallowed down whatever had been about to come out. “Actually, I really should get over to my parents. Later tonight?”
Hikaru looked disappointed but didn’t protest the decision, making Akira feel even guiltier as he left.
So maybe it wasn’t exactly perfect.
“Will you be getting your own place?” Akira’s mother asked after they had sat down for dinner. “You have been staying with Shindou for quite a while.”
The question took Akira by surprise—he should have planned to move out weeks ago. He’d been intruding on Hikaru for several months, surely Hikaru must have wanted his place back to himself, but he’d never even indicated that he wanted privacy or space.
“I guess so,” Akira said eventually, even as the thought of leaving behind the warmth and excitement (and challenge) of living with Hikaru seemed miserable.
“You can always stay with us,” Akira’s mother said. “We can prepare your old room.”
“Thank you very much for the offer, but I think that it will be better me to look for a place on my own,” Akira said.
Akira’s mother sighed, but graciously let the conversation move on.
After dinner, Akira and his father went into his father’s study for a game of Go. “I saw your kifu from the Tengen match,” he said after they had nigiried.
“What did you think?” Akira asked as he watched his father place his stone on 10-3. An interesting move. Sai’s influence would never be gone—not as long as people watched his father, Hikaru or even Akira play and that knowledge reassured Akira in some undefinable way.
“A very interesting yose,” his father said. “You played it well.” It was funny, even now, a compliment from his father filled him with pride. He fiercely hoped that Rei and Haruto could also find something that they passionately loved. If it happened to be Go, he certainly wouldn’t complain.
“Are you sure that you won’t consider moving back in, even for a short while?” his father asked. Akira’s head shot up with surprise. His mother he could understand, but his father? “Your mother is worried about you—she’s concerned about you. We both are.”
Akira flushed. “I’m sorry for causing concern to both of you.” He wasn’t sure how to apologize for the separation—he was sorry for the shame that it must have been bringing to his parents, but since it had been made, it felt indisputably right.
“We will always worry about you,” his father said, laughing. “I think that your mother is concerned you’re not eating enough.”
“It’s been good for me to be at Hikaru’s. We muddle through cooking together,” Akira said eventually. “But I think that it’s not a bad thing that I’m becoming more self-sufficient. And, as weird as it is, I like living at Hikaru’s…although I’m sure he’s getting tired of me,” Akira acknowledged, laughing.
But his father did not laugh at the joke, his face turning thoughtful. “Somehow, I don’t think that he is,” he said, but refused to elaborate on what he meant, even when Akira pushed him on it.
Akira’s father eked out a two moku win and then they sat back and discussed it. It was comfortable and familiar, the actions of many long afternoons and evenings over the course of his life. He loved it and yet, it wasn’t yelling and arguing with Hikaru about a crazy decision or an impressive shape as they hung about his living room, staring at the well-used goban.
If I could do that every evening for the rest of my life, I would die happy, Akira thought and then wished he could take it back.
“You think differently?” Akira’s father asked as he pointed at a stone.
Akira was immensely grateful that his father could not read his thoughts. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” he said.
And so it went—official matches, study groups, teaching sessions, Go Institute appearance—Hikaru and Akira orbited around one another and Akira began to feel that perhaps he could put his feelings for Hikaru aside, that he could move on. Maybe he could look to date again, to find someone else, someone more appropriate than Hikaru, someone more female than Hikaru.
Because there was no doubt that Hikaru was unsuitable, Akira told himself, even as Hikaru made himself more and more indispensable in his life. He was just so lively and energetic, charming Rei as he pushed her on the swing or making Haruto giggle and laugh in his stroller. He’d never shown much inclination towards kids, but he handled the two of them like a pro.
And, just as unhelpful, somewhere along the line without Akira ever realizing it, Hikaru had gone from boyishly cute to handsome. He still dyed his hair, but it fit his face now, the bangs hanging over stylishly in a way that women always seemed to find attractive. The way that Akira found strangely attractive.
Hikaru had even grown out of his rotating cast of girlfriends, which Akira personally felt was unfair. Back when Hikaru had been younger, he’d gone through a period where he’d constantly had one girlfriend or another, their names and faces all blending together, despite Akira’s best efforts to differentiate them. Even Waya had been stymied by their interchangeability. Akira had felt somewhat guilty that each one of them made such short appearances, until a whole group of Go pros had gone out for Hikaru’s 25th birthday and late in the evening when everyone else had been wailing along to a song that Akira didn’t recognize at karaoke, Hikaru had confessed that he wasn’t dumping them.
“How’s Ito?” Akira had asked. He didn’t ask why Ito wasn’t at Hikaru’s birthday celebration, but he would have expected even Hikaru, despite his poor social etiquette, to have invited her to his birthday party.
“We broke up,” Hikaru said, although it was rather cheerful for someone who had been very excited to introduce his girlfriend to Akira just a few short weeks ago.
“Ah,” Akira said.
“Hey! What does that mean?” Hikaru said, although he was smiling as he called Akira out.
“It means that you have a lot of girlfriends. You should come with your own warning sign.”
“It’s not me!” Hikaru protested loudly enough to cause Waya to briefly look over at the two of them slumped together in the corner before he rolled his eyes and went back to singing.
“It’s definitely you,” Akira said. “You’re the worst.”
Hikaru pushed Akira and it devolved into a drunken push fight before they ran out of energy. “They dump me because they always get upset at how much time I play Go,” Hikaru said after he leaned back in exhaustion against the seat, leaving Akira as the de-facto winner. But, he didn’t sound too torn up about it, so at the time, Akira figured that Hikaru could manage his own love life and let it lie.
And now that Akira wanted a reason to think ill of Hikaru, of course, Hikaru had finally seemed to learn moderation in dating. Akira had been so wrapped in the implosion of his life, that he hadn’t even been aware of any girlfriends that Hikaru might have had. And then once Akira moved in, Hikaru never seemed to go on dates at all.
If he dated anyone, he was exceptionally discrete about it. Discretion had never been one of Hikaru’s better strengths, and when Akira tried to ask, feeling shamefully like he was fishing instead of just being a good friend, Hikaru always changed the subject. All of it pointed to Hikaru not dating.
Once upon a time, back when Akira was in the process of planning his wedding to Yui, he wished for Hikaru the same thing that he was himself receiving: a steady marriage with a nice woman. The gods must have been laughing now.
Akira dragged out the moving out conversation for as long as his conscience would let him, which managed to last almost three months. But eventually, he had to face facts and facts meant that he needed to find an apartment of his own.
“Hikaru, thank you so much for letting me stay with you,” Akira said during dinner one night.
“Of course,” Hikaru said, waving it off. “As I’ve said before, it’s not like the room was being used. And my mom is overjoyed that you’re staying with me—she thinks that you’re a good example to me.” Hikaru made a sound of derision but kept on eating.
Akira raised his eyebrows. That was news to him. “I think that’s a very low bar. Although it’s gratifying that I exceed it?” Akira sighed and tried to find his place again. “Still, you didn’t have to let me stay here and I really appreciate it. I just think that it may be time for me to start looking for a place of my own.”
Hikaru’s head shot up. “What?” he said and set down his plate of food.
“Well, you’re probably ready to have your own space again, not an unrequested roommate who’s crept into your space and pays for groceries,” Akira said, trying to keep a light tone.
“If I wanted you to leave, I would have told you,” Hikaru said.
“No, you wouldn’t, that would have been rude. And it was rude of me to keep assuming that it was fine to stay here,” Akira pointed out.
“You’re the one being rude now!” Hikaru said, his frustration starting to come through, leaving Akira confused.
“How am I being rude? I’m trying to be a good guest! It’s time that I found a place of my own.”
“Because you want to leave or because you think that I want you to leave?” Hikaru asked.
“Hikaru, I think that I need to leave,” Akira said gently.
“Why? Why do you have to leave?” There was something desperate about the way that he said it and unbidden, the word Sai came to mind. Hikaru’s face was wide-open and the yearning on it was so plain that even Akira suddenly knew what it meant.
Akira carefully took a step towards Hikaru and reached out to put a hand on Hikaru’s shoulder. Hikaru shivered minutely at the touch, but Akira read it easily. When Akira slowly moved his hand towards Hikaru’s neck, marveling at the intoxicating feel of Hikaru’s skin pressed against his own, Hikaru leaned into the touch.
“You can’t—you can’t take this back,” Hikaru said quickly. “You can’t do this and tell me later it was a mistake.”
“You could never be a mistake,” Akira said and then Hikaru made a cut-off sound of frustration before grabbing Akira hard enough to hurt and bringing him in for a desperate kiss.
For one long moment, the world stopped, everything came to a screeching halt, even Akira’s heart, as Akira’s world rearranged itself with a bang. And then Akira reached out and pulled Hikaru even closer, wanting nothing between them, wanting to feel Hikaru’s skin against his own, wanting Hikaru so badly, it hurt.
Hikaru kept moving, dynamic even in this, one of his hands grabbing Akira by the neck and Akira responded by kissing back and slipping one hand down underneath Hikaru’s shirt, which caused Hikaru to moan loudly into Akira’s mouth. The feel of Hikaru’s callused fingers against Akira’s skin made him shiver with lust, both of them kissing harder, coordination long gone by the wayside, but Akira was finally kissing Hikaru and that was the only thing that mattered.
Eventually, they were both panting and Hikaru had managed to work Akira’s shirt and sweater out from where they’d been tucked in. Hikaru gently ran his hands up and down Akira’s sides until Akira was so hard, he couldn’t even see straight.
“Bedroom,” he said firmly.
“Bedroom?” Hikaru said, as if it were a challenge.
“Yes,” Akira said, gripping his teeth and grabbing Hikaru’s hand. “This isn’t a competition.”
“It’s always a competition,” Hikaru said, but he moved towards the bedroom as well. Their progress was slowed by stopping every five feet to push one another against the wall and kiss until they were both senseless and painfully hard, until they finally got to Hikaru’s bedroom door and Akira could barely think straight.
“Hikaru, bed, now,” Akira said and punctuated it with a nip to Hikaru’s neck, which he apparently liked based on how much he pulled on Akira’s hair.
“Yes, yes,” Hikaru said distractedly and went back to sucking what was sure to leave a mark by Akira’s ear.
“Now,” Akira said, and all but pushed Hikaru through the door of his room. Akira immediately began to pull off his clothes with no regard for wrinkling or order, but Akira’s buttons seemed determined to give him trouble. He’d barely undone two of them before Hikaru got impatient.
“Come on, you’re killing me here,” Hikaru said, but he watched Akira eagerly. Akira wanted to take it slow, be cool and nonchalant, but Hikaru lay back on the bed, a long pale and glorious expanse of skin that Akira couldn’t wait to touch and taste and smell.
“Yeah, yes,” Akira said, somewhat nonsensically and screw the buttons, he’d never gotten the rest of his clothing off so quickly in his life.
After, they both lay there, panting faintly into each other’s skin, slowly cooling down until Hikaru pushed himself up and kissed Akira. “I’ll be right back,” he said but he didn’t even make it a few steps away before coming back to kiss Akira. He kept repeating himself, much to Akira’s amusement, before he finally groaned. “You’re killing me,” Hikaru said, but even that couldn’t make him stop smiling and he finally dragged himself out the doorway.
Akira laughed despite himself and when Hikaru returned with warm washcloths a few minutes later, Akira was still smiling fondly.
When they were both clean, Hikaru dropped back onto the bed and then propped himself up on his elbows. “I was serious before—this means something to me. If you’re not serious about this or just experimenting or any of the other things that boil down to no, then please tell me now.”
Akira opened his mouth to immediately deny it and then bit back the response. Hikaru deserved for Akira to give the question his full consideration.
“I can’t promise how this will turn out,” Akira said, choosing his words carefully. “I haven’t done this before,” and Hikaru let out an inadvertent laugh that Akira glared at him for, “but I am completely serious about this and you.”
Hikaru leaned in and kissed Akira, a long lingering kiss that made Akira press in hard, grabbing Hikaru by the hair. When Hikaru lay back down, Akira couldn’t help but broach one of the topics that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since he’d first looked at Hikaru in another way.
“How long have you felt like this?” he asked.
Hikaru made an ambiguous sound. “I don’t know.”
“For me, it’s been—well, I noticed it that day when you came to visit right after Rei was born. But I think it might have been there before that. Maybe since when we were first professionals.”
“I think I might have wanted to kiss you since before I really knew what kissing was,” Hikaru said, throwing an arm over his face. Akira pushed Hikaru’s arm away and looked at him.
“Really?”
“I mean, I don’t know, it all blurs together. But from that first game against you, something was there and I couldn’t even put it into words. I didn’t want—anyone—else playing against you. I wanted it to be me.”
Akira laughed. “I’ll be sure to inform the Go Institute of your preference.”
Hikaru pushed Akira and Akira used Hikaru’s momentum to pull him closer. Hikaru didn’t fight it, settling gently against him.
Hikaru’s breath evened out and eventually Akira found himself slipping towards sleep as well. “Hey, Hikaru,” Akira said quietly. “Did you ever think that what you were feeling was wrong? Or that something was wrong with you?”
Akira felt Hikaru give a small shrug. “Not really. Other people always make a big deal over nothing anyways.” It was such a Hikaru answer that Akira couldn’t help but smiling as he fell asleep.
Their first few months of dating felt like going to an international tournament where the rules had changed and no one spoke Japanese. Akira had no basis for comparison and he wanted to make sure that he got this right. But, it wasn’t really anything like the formal dating that Akira and Yui had done—dinner in expensive restaurants, flowers sent to her house, walks at the park. When Akira suggested that they go out for nice dinners, Hikaru side-eyed him and laughed it off.
Instead of any wholesale changes to reflect the massive change from Hikaru and Akira’s relationship, things continued somewhat the same as they had always been. Akira and Hikaru played Go most evenings, yelling at each other either in the privacy of their own home or in front of their friends who had long since grown immune to it. Or Hikaru badgered Akira into taking him out for ramen and drinks. They continued arguing about each other’s matches, arguing about the dishes, arguing about pretty much everything.
Hikaru kept tagging along when he could for Akira’s days with the kids. When Rei started preschool, Akira started taking her to school in the mornings, happy to hear her tell him about her morning or what they were doing that day. Unexpectedly, Hikaru also dragged himself out of bed at what he said was an “unholy” hour so that he could join most days.
Being with Hikaru was also an exploration—getting to touch him and learn where he liked being touched. Half of their arguments turned into tussles, one of them reaching out to grab the other in the middle of a fight, pushing and shoving each other until they were half naked next to the goban.
In consequence, Akira found himself hard during most of their games and they became liable to take their post-game discussion straight to the bedroom, hashing it out between kisses or slow hand jobs or, during one memorable evening, Akira waited until Hikaru went down on him and then started listing why he thought one of Hikaru’s strategies was exceptionally poor. Hikaru got his revenge afterwards, opening Akira up so slowly he thought he would die, all while arguing back against each of Akira’s points.
It was a good evening.
Weirdly, Akira loved all of it, the arguing, the sex, the Go, everything. It couldn’t be that easy, right?
The other shoe dropped around the year-mark. Akira came home from a match to find Hikaru’s mother sitting at their kitchen table, quietly crying, although she stood up and immediately tried to dry her face when she saw Akira enter.
“Shindou-san, are you ok?” Akira asked, dropping his satchel. Hikaru’s mother burst into a fresh batch of tears.
Akira pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to Hikaru, Your mother is crying in the kitchen, come home immediately, and then tentatively went to sit next to her.
“Do you need me to call a doctor?” he asked. She shook her head, so Akira handed her some napkins, which she gratefully accepted.
After a minute, she looked up and took a deep breath. “Are you and my son—that is to say—are you together?”
Akira paused. He wished that Hikaru was here—this was his mother after all. But Hikaru wasn’t here. “Yes. We are.”
Hikaru’s mother dabbed at her face. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just was going to the bathroom and walked past both of the rooms. And Hikaru’s room looked so neat—he’s never that neat. And I—I don’t know what possessed me—I went to look at your room and I knew—I just knew—that no one lived in it.”
“It’s ok,” Akira said.
“I’ve just never known what to do about Hikaru. One moment he was a kid and then all of a sudden, he was a professional Go player. I didn’t even know he could be a professional so young. I should have been more involved—he’s just always been so determined and stubborn. But, you’ll take care of him, at least he’ll have you,” she said and she looked like she was on the verge of crying again, so Akira quickly nodded and agreed.
By the time that Hikaru burst through the door, Akira had brewed some tea and Hikaru’s mother seemed resigned to the situation.
“What was the emergency?” Hikaru said. “I ran all the way from the station!”
Akira glared at Hikaru. “Couldn’t you have texted or called?”
“Well, I wanted to get here as soon as possible! Nothing looks like an emergency.”
“It’s ok, Akira,” Hikaru’s mother said, standing up. “Hikaru, there was no emergency. I just was a little upset, but Akira calmed me down. You have a—a, uh—a very special person here.”
Hikaru didn’t get it at first, but Akira made a face at him and mouthed out, your mother knows. Hikaru squinted and then a sweep of awareness covered his face. “That’s what you were upset at? It’s not even that big of a deal.”
“You don’t tell me anything anymore,” Hikaru’s mother said sadly.
“Yeah, because you would have made a big deal over it!” Hikaru said. Akira decided that he’d done his duty and discretely left the kitchen so that the two of them could hash it out on their own.
And then because Hikaru’s mother (and then his father) knew, Akira felt like his parents needed to know as well. It seemed only fair.
They both took it with equanimity and neither one of them seemed surprised. “Well, you didn’t want to move out and you are quite old to just be living with a friend,” his mother said.
“I have seen you two play Go,” his father said.
And then it all just started coming out, like a weird game of telephone that seemed to spread without discrimination, guaranteeing Akira and apparently only Akira would receive perennially awkward conversations about it.
“How long have you guys been sleeping together?” Ogata asked before their first Kisei match. Akira turned bright red and wished that the ground would open up a hole to benevolently swallow him.
“If you’re trying to throw me off my game, it’s not going to work,” Akira said, as primly as he could manage it.
“If I were trying to throw you off your game, I’d ask if Hikaru was the one on top, or perhaps if screwing men is better than women.”
“Ogata!” Akira hissed.
Akira won the game and when he told Hikaru about, Hikaru seemed oddly pleased about the result, even if he did yell at Akira about his opening move.
“Wait, you and Shindou?” Waya said, his mouth gaping and the kifu that he had been holding now fluttering to the floor.
“Shouldn’t you be asking Hikaru this?” Akira said, awkwardly trying to loosen the grip that Waya had on his arm.
“Why would I ask Hikaru this?” Waya asked, horrified at the thought.
“Why would you ask me this?” Akira said desperately, but let Waya drag him out for a drink.
Ochi was upset and then smug about it, telling Akira that he knew all along that there must have been some other reason that Akira was obsessed with Hikaru.
“I was not obsessed with Hikaru,” Akira said for the god-knew how many-th times that conversation.
“Yeah, you were—or rather are,” Ochi said. “Clearly it hasn’t gone away. I knew that it wasn’t because you thought he was actually better than me.”
Akira gritted his teeth.
Kurata was confused but happy for them, which was nice. A bunch of the older Go professionals started avoiding Akira like the plague. Presumably they also avoided Hikaru, but since he was about as oblivious as a bat, it didn’t make much difference to him.
When it finally got to the tipping point, where it started to seem like everyone knew about it, Akira went to tell Yui before it filtered back to her in some worse way. He let Yui know that he was going to come back to the house after dropping Rei and then Haruto off at their schools. When he got back to the house, Yui had some tea and breakfast waiting for him and for a moment, it was a nice reminder of the beginning of their marriage.
“I have to tell you about something,” Akira said.
Yui looked up and frowned. “What is it?”
Akira took a deep breath. “Hikaru and I are together.”
Yui stopped short. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “You and Shindou…?” she asked.
“Yes,” Akira said.
She floundered for a few moments and then abruptly picked up her cup and put it back down. “Did this happen while we were married?”
“No,” Akira said quickly.
“But did you know about how you felt about Shindou during our marriage?” Yui said, looking straight at Akira, pressing him.
Akira sighed. “I don’t know—probably, but I was very confused. And I wanted to make our marriage work.”
“Thank you for telling me this,” Yui said, but her mouth was hard-set and determined and she tilted her chin towards the door.
“Of course,” Akira said reflexively and then he excused himself.
The cordiality stayed, but the burgeoning sense of amicableness didn’t. When Haruto turned three, Akira asked Yui if the kids could stay over for one weekend a month. He didn’t hold out much hope for it, their handoffs of the children had been frosty, unless Hikaru tagged along, in which case they became outright hostile. But, surprisingly, Yui came back to him a few days later and agreed.
“I think that the kids would like it and it would be good for them to spend more time with you,” she said when she called.
“Thank you,” Akira said, meaning every word.
“Of—of course,” Yui said, sounding surprised.
“Wish me luck for Yui today,” Akira said as he packed up his bag.
“Maybe she’s moving to America,” Hikaru said.
“Not helpful!”
It felt a bit of a full circle, sitting at a small table, a cup of tea cooling as Akira waited for Yui to join him. She finally arrived about twenty minutes late, her hair hurriedly pushed up into a bun and no make-up on, apologizing for being late. But she smiled at him as she sat down and it reassured Akira.
After they had both ordered, Yui looked down at her hands and then back up at Akira, a shy smile on her face. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Of course,” Akira said. “Is everything ok?”
“Yes,” Yui said, smiling wider. “In fact, it’s very good. I’ve met someone.”
Akira mentally awarded a point to Hikaru. “That’s wonderful. Have you introduced him to the kids?”
“Not yet, I wanted to tell you first. Maybe even introduce him to you—he works for a technology company as a program coordinator. I think that you would like him.”
“I would like to meet him as well,” Akira said, surprised that Yui would want that, but pleased all the same.
“I also wanted to see if you would want to watch the kids if I took a vacation with him this spring,” Yui said, and by now, she was beaming.
“Of course, we would love that. We always want to spend more time with the kids,” Akira said earnestly.
“Maybe they could spend another weekend during the month with you and Hikaru,” Yui said, thoughtful.
“Really?” Akira said, surprised.
“Yes, I think that would be good,” Yui smiled and Akira couldn’t help but match the intensity of her smile as well.
When Akira returned home, Hikaru was waiting for him, floating between the kitchen and the living room. Akira felt unexpectedly touched by Hikaru’s nervousness, although Hikaru tried to play it off as trying to find a snack in the kitchen.
“So, what did Yui say?” Hikaru said offhandedly.
“She’s started seeing someone and wants to introduce him to the kids.”
“Hah! I was right!” Hikaru said and he was smiling so widely that Akira could help but reach out for Hikaru and slowly reel him in.
“She also wants us to watch the kids for a bit during the spring. And I think we’re going to get two weekends a month with them.”
“Really?” Hikaru said, excitedly. “That’s great!”
“I think so,” Akira said and then he couldn’t wait any longer and kissed Hikaru.
“Can you work on the Go competitions for Rei next?” Hikaru asked. “She would clean up out there.”
Akira groaned. “Still haven’t learned how to pick your battles.”
“I pick the right battles,” Hikaru said smugly.
“Definitely not—no one who knew how to pick their battles would try and go after the upper left like you did with Ogata yesterday, don’t think that I didn’t see the kifu,” Akira said.
“Hey!” Hikaru said loudly and then began listing out his defense, breaking away from Akira to head to the goban, where he began setting up the game. Akira couldn’t help but smile in anticipation.