How did I not stash this forever ago when I wrote it?
Even once it's over, it isn't over. There's the discussion, then Weekly Go, and short chats with the Asahi and the Yomiuri, and a seemingly endless march of random pros with some comment to make. Akira bears it all politely, but he's relieved when he can finally escape to a train home.
There's only silence as he slips in the door, puts away his shoes, and tucks himself under the kotatsu, and he assumes no-one's home until Shindou comes quietly up behind him and sets a cup of tea at his elbow.
"Interesting game," Shindou says cautiously.
Akira waves his hand irritably. "We'll play it through later," he says, as near as he can come to the truth, which is: I don't want to talk about it now.
"Sure," Shindou says. "Hey, are you hungry? Dinner's almost ready."
Akira isn't, but he knows he should eat, and instant ramen is reasonably unobjectionable. He nods.
But it's not a bowl of ramen Shindou emerges from the kitchen carrying. He sets the plate down in front of Akira, puts a spoon next to it, and, wriggling under the kotatsu blanket, makes an impatient, Well, go on, then, noise.
Akira takes a small, cautious mouthful -- this is not his first encounter with Shindou's "cooking". Something puzzles him, and he takes another, and another. If this has a basic flavour, it's burnt, but underneath that, there's something naggingly familiar. Akira thinks for a moment, and then he has it.
"Shindou," Akira says, putting his spoon down, "is this my mother's curry?"
Shindou grins that big goofy grin of his. "I tracked her down in Korea to ask for the recipe. She said to tell you to do your best, by the way, and she's sorry she and your father weren't able to get a flight back in time for the match, but they'll be here on Thursday." Akira's match was rescheduled at the last minute, clashing with one of his father's; Akira's mother was going to make his father forfeit and fly back anyway, but Akira told her not to. His father didn't need telling -- they understand each other.
But speaking of clashing matches... Akira stares at Shindou. "You had a match this afternoon. How did you..."
"Che'," says Shindou dismissively. "I rescheduled."
"Ah," says Akira. Who is absolutely not blushing. He returns, dutifully, to his curry, Shindou sitting there and watching him eat.
After a few minutes of this he puts his spoon down again. "Aren't you going to have any?"
"Um," Shindou says, and coughs guiltily. "I, uh, made enough for two but had to throw it out and try again because it was pretty burnt, and there wasn't enough left to make more than this."
"Oh," says Akira, trying for the sake of appearances to sound surprised. "Would you like to--?"
"No, that's OK," Shindou says. "I made myself some ramen before."
Akira doesn't answer that, but he does make a point of eating everything on his plate. When he's finished, he stretches, and makes to pick his plate up--
"Leave it," Shindou says. "The kitchen's kind of... scary at the moment."
"Ah," Akira says. "I'm going to take a bath, then." He stands up and pads softly to the bedroom.
As he slides the screen open, Shindou's quiet, "Hey," calls him back. He half-turns, and there's Shindou, propping himself up on the kotatsu on one elbow and smiling happily.
"Congratulations, Touya-meijin," Shindou says.