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“Say it.”
In better circumstances, Akira would admire the love of his life – the way the nightclub’s multicolored lights played over his skin, the disheveled collar with the button that had worked itself free over the course of the night, the contrast between his beige suite and the casual outfits of the people dancing around them. He would take any excuse to touch him – gently, furtively, just enough to show that he cared enough to risk it but not enough to put either of them in danger. He would sit there and drink in Akechi’s genuine joy for hours, grateful that he’d come so far over the past few years and that he had learned how to be happy.
Instead of doing any of that, Akira stared, stone-faced, at the chessboard in front of him and seethed.
He sat directly across from Akechi at a padded table with his cheek propped on his fist. It was a classy-ish bar with music loud enough to distract anyone wondering what two young men were doing playing chess in the romantic corner in the back.
No matter what he did, there was no way he could win.
Akechi took a long draught of his own drink, politely giving Akira the chance to wallow before he crowed his victory again. There was the faintest flush of red on his cheeks as he sneered in that ugly, mean, real way he did when he got into something.
In a kinder world, Akira would’ve watched him swallow with an intentional stare and a knowing smile when their eyes met. In this cruel reality, his face muscles didn’t want to work right. Any attempt at an overconfident, overcompensating smirk turned into a bitter grimace. He couldn’t stop his nose from wrinkling.
“Say it,” Akechi breathed, leaning over the chess board with an insane glint in his eye.
The nightclub was pleasantly rowdy. Akira used a nearby outburst to excuse averting his eyes without admitting defeat. Once the couple nearby stopped laughing, he picked up his king.
Akechi’s hungry eyes tracked him like a particularly talented and annoying piranha waiting for drunken prey to fall into the river. They were fixed not on the morsel in Akira’s hand but on his face, his mouth, waiting for the words.
Akira titled his head so his glasses caught the overhead light, reflecting a rich purple back at the person he did not love in this moment and hiding his expression. He hesitated, looking helplessly at the options for his poor king. No matter where he went, Akechi would take it within a few turns.
His third drink sat empty on the end table beside him, ice cubes melting in the heat of dozens of bodies crammed into a small space. His mind slow with alcohol, Akira bit his lip until it bruised. Desperation took over.
He risked a look up just to see Akechi’s insufferable smile. “Admit it.”
He’d rather die. Just as the music swelled higher, Akira slipped two fingers under the chessboard, stared Akechi directly in the eye, then flipped the board over.
The look on Akechi’s face as the pieces bounced across the floor was priceless. Disbelief, longer than usual with his own inebriation, then outrage, then cackling. “You petty bitch.”
A few nearby patrons glanced over at the hostility there, not knowing him well enough to tell that the venom was harmless. Or maybe Akira had just built up an immunity over the years. Akira leaned over the arm of his chair, careful not to tip out of it, and started picking up the pieces closest to him. “I play by my own rules,” he slurred.
“Cheating brat,” Akechi hissed through a smile. “Fuck you. I won.”
“Stalemate.”
“I won.”
“Inconclusive.”
Akechi stood up – a little too fast, pitching forward to lean on the table – and jabbed a finger at him. He punctuated each word with a stab at his chest. “I. Won. You. Lost.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
He laughed loud enough that the people near them started to get uncomfortable and edged away. “You’re as bad as I am!”
“Nuh-uh. I’m not as bad as you because I’ve never lost–”
Akira was silenced by two hands fisting the front of his shirt, pulling the fabric taut and choking him with it. Akechi lifted him out of the chair and shook him until the lights smeared together in a kaleidoscopic mess. “I am smarter than you! You lost! Eat shit and cry about it!”
Akira tried to silence him and steady himself with a gentle hand on the shoulder. He missed, instead batting Akechi in the face. “Fuck off. I am more emotionally intelligent than you.”
“The hell you are–”
A shadow fell over them as the other patrons scattered to make space for the bouncer. He towered over them, half a foot taller and twice as wide. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put him down.”
Akechi turned to him with the sweetest smile – still strangling Akira. “Oh, I apologize. We didn’t mean to disturb anyone. We’re just having a small disagreement.”
Akira hung suspended, his head spinning, and unintelligently added, “Yeah. W’re good.”
“...You are very red, sir.”
“W’re jus playin,” Akira wheezed. His glasses sat askew on his face, only one lens still over an eye.
The resulting silence spoke volumes. The bouncer cleared his throat. ‘...Aight. Well, play outside then. You’re scaring people.”
Akechi and the bouncer glared at each other for a tense moment. A sober Akira would trust a sober Akechi to behave. Even if not, a sober Akira would figure out an elegant exit strategy.
Instead, drunk Akira gently kicked his partner in the shin. “I’ll win at shogi at home.”
He could feel the murderous intent radiating off of Akechi despite his rictus smile. The bouncer took a step closer. Before he could do anything to separate them, Akechi unceremoniously dropped Akira and gestured at the chess pieces on the floor. “You made the mess. You clean it.”
Akira let himself be manhandled. He misjudged the distance to the floor and dropped to his knees quite a bit harder than he meant to while he collected the last of the pieces, quickly scooping them up and clumsily placing them on the board. There was one rook left that had bounced to the dance floor.
The bouncer sighed. “Don’t worry about it. Just get out.”
They’d already paid for their drinks so Akira had no qualms booking it out the front door. Or, trying to. He flashed the bouncer a winning smile and jogged away, earning an indignant “HEY!” from Akechi, who followed him. Akira bumped into the door frame on his way out and nearly fell down the stairs to the sidewalk. He saved it by clinging to the door handle, saying a quick prayer of thanks to Sumire for all her teachings, and then Akechi collided into him from behind and sent them both sprawling.
They were both well practiced in eating shit but Akira still twisted so that he took the brunt of the fall, his shoulder connecting with two of the stairs on the way down. Akechi landed with a muffled “son of a bitch” into Akira’s chest.
Several people stopped to stare, turning away as soon as the two of them started getting to their feet and it was clear there wouldn’t be a show. Akechi got up first and picked Akira up by the hair.
“Ow.”
“Coward. I can’t believe you got us kicked out of a bar,” Akechi said. He dusted himself off once Akira was on his own feet.
“Mmhm.” Akira un-cinched his shirt from around his neck and rolled his sore shoulder, glancing around for anything to save him further defeat. There was a brief period of his life where, through the power of friendship, he could confuse and outwit Akechi. On getting some character development, Akechi had gained the same advantage and now thoroughly outwitted him. Akira could only beat him one in four times on a good day. Drunk? Not at all. He caught sight of a nearby restaurant that would offer salvation. “Do you want to get dinner?”
A firm hand in the small of his back propelled him towards the train station. “We have leftovers and a shogi board at home,” Akechi hissed. “Move.”
Akira laughed. They returned home, fighting and stumbling the entire time. Akechi locked the door behind himself once they got back to their apartment, the deadbolt sliding shut with the scrape of a guillotine being raised. Akira feigned fatigue, but Akechi was having none of it.
“Get the board.”
“You know, I’m really tired.”
Akechi dragged him by the wrist to their dining table.
Akira yawned loudly. “I have work first thing tomorrow.”
“No you don’t,” Akechi purred.
Akira proceeded to lose six consecutive matches of three different board games, cursing and throwing a tantrum where nobody but Akechi could see, and all was well in their world.