The first time Hikaru tried to place the small, black Go stone, it was on a dusty board in the back of a sketchy salon, and he didn't really want to be there. Sai was set on practicing until they got it; Hikaru, on the other hand, was less than enthused.
The stone was finally positioned, and his fingers were trying to place it correctly, but his mind was elsewhere, with money and homework and whether or not his mother would let him buy lunch at the ramen shop again.
The stone slammed onto the Go board and shattered.
Altogether, the damage wasn't bad. There was a scratch in the center of the board and the stone was destroyed, but Hikaru's finger only suffered a small gash alongside the nail. Sai was grateful that nothing else had been hurt; Hikaru swore to never hold another Go stone again.
As they made their way home, Sai was unusually quiet. It wasn't the comfortable, relaxed silence they normally shared, but a deep, grudging disappointment.
Hikaru huffed and stomped further down the street. It wasn't his fault- he'd never wanted to play Go in the first place. It was Sai's fault. And his grandfather's fault. And the Go stone's fault.
Sai followed gloomily after him, leaving his own trail of shattered black glass.