There are limits to Inui's multi-tasking.
There are limits to Inui's multi-tasking. He can easily time the sharp flex of a bicep in his swing while watching the movement of his opponent's feet, calculating their distance from the net, for example-- but he can't at the same time wonder why he is doing all these things, or what he will do once everything's over.
Inui knows almost everything about Kaidoh because everything about Kaidoh can be gleaned through observation. Effort writes itself clearly on Kaidoh's face, just as anger does, just as do envy and concern. Kaidoh isn't one for sharing or chit-chat, but he's too proud to lie. At the same time, he is desperate enough to keep certain things hidden that they become terrifically, achingly obvious.
Facts line up in neat rows, Kaidoh's behaviors and reactions form clear patterns: every time Kaidoh flies into a rage over some presumption of weakness in him, by himself or others; the bright flashes of self-loathing that are hard for Inui to watch; every fight with Momoshiro that ends with either boy half an inch from the other's face. The patterns are clear to Inui, anyway. He has notebooks and notebooks about Kaidoh Kaoru. There are scribbles on his wall about Kaidoh Kaoru.
So when Kaidoh drops his gaze just as Inui looks up from his mathematics textbook, Inui notices, has been noticing for months.
They're at Kaidoh's kitchen table doing homework, and Inui knows from routine that-- because it is Thursday-- Kaidoh's mother and little brother will return from grocery shopping in 40 minutes. He also knows from routine that if he gazes longer than three seconds without looking back down at his book, Kaidoh will scowl and the speed of his breathing will increase by 15%. Inui is aware of the relative warmth of his hand as he reaches across the table to touch Kaidoh's forehead, of how his own voice sounds when he says, "Are you all right? Your face is red."
Kaidoh's face gets redder.
"I'm fine, senpai," he says. When he sees Kaidoh grimace, Inui knows (it is 88% likely) that he won't run. By this point he is too aware of himself.
"Do you need some water?" Inui asks.
Kaidoh shakes his head. Still, Inui stands and picks up his own glass; he fills it at the kitchen sink, but instead of handing it to Kaidoh he holds it in front of himself. Inui bends over Kaidoh's chair to kiss him. Kaidoh doesn't shove him or stand up suddenly; there's an element of obsessive neatness to Kaidoh's personality; he doesn't want to spill the water. Inui can feel Kaidoh's pulse beat in the wet corner of his mouth. Two minutes have passed since Inui looked up from his homework-- now they have thirty-eight minutes.
Kaidoh doesn't move and Inui pulls back, two inches, enough to see Kaidoh's flushed face. His pupils are 70% dilated, his eyes wide, his face expressionless.
"Kaidoh," Inui says quietly, though it serves no purpose, really; Kaidoh has never shown any marked reaction to the mention of his own name, only to the name Viper, and that's hardly the reaction Inui is going for. But Inui finds himself saying it. "Ne, Kaidoh."
Kaidoh releases a sharp breath and turns his face away. Then he reaches for the glass of water in Inui's hand and places it on the table. He looks at Inui. His eyes are wide open, serious. Inui stares and forgets to move, until Kaidoh's hand fists in his t-shirt and pulls him down, down while Kaidoh leans up, and their mouths meet too hard-- their teeth collide and Inui's glasses creak. Both of Inui's hands are free now, though, so he props one hand against the chair back and touches Kaidoh's cheek with the other, lifts his chin and angles another kiss.
It becomes difficult-- Inui hadn't anticipated this-- to keep ahold of Kaidoh's numbers when they press so close against his own, as his own pulse makes one erratic staccato with Kaidoh's. Still, as they move across the kitchen, Inui keeps track of the words that Kaidoh murmurs, how often he breaks the kiss and begins another, what Kaidoh is doing and probably thinking.
Inui clutches at Kaidoh's shirt; Kaidoh's hands scramble at his arms, his wrists.
Thirty-five minutes later, Kaidoh's mother and brother come home from the grocery store. Kaidoh's mother extends an invitation to stay for dinner, and Inui accepts. Kaidoh has already cleaned up the glass of water, which they spilled, anyway. Inui makes pleasant conversation until it's time to go home.
This is the example:
It is only when Inui steps into his own bedroom, much later that evening, that he notices the smell of sweat on his own shirt and his own heart rate. There's a note in his pocket that Kaidoh slipped into his hand as he was leaving, and he pulls it out and places it carefully on the computer desk. As Inui lowers his backpack into the chair, it occurs to him for the first time to wonder, why is he doing all of this?
Inui runs a hand through his messy hair. He kneels down in front of his bed to jerk off.
What will he do when it's over?