It's not that he cares about glasses per se – after all, even Kaga is reasonable enough to get that people probably wouldn't wear them if they didn't have to. (More of this generosity of spirit is due to the fact that Tsutsui looked sort of like a disheveled baby owl in them than Kaga really cares to admit, but this is beside the point.) It's the way Kishimoto takes them off and polishes them very gravely, as if he were about to start holding forth on the virtues of mutual funds. It drives Kaga so insane that for a while he considers hitting Kishimoto every time he does it; but the sad fact is that even the Fan of Awesomeness can only hold up to so much abuse, and Kishimoto polishes his damn glasses a lot.
It has sometimes occurred to Kaga that, just possibly, Kishimoto knows full well that taking off his glasses draws attention to the somehow perpetually-surprising fact that he has beautiful eyes. Reluctant though he is to reward any behavior that looks like it ought to involve mutual funds, Kaga has a sort of sneaking admiration for the subtle use of advantage.
2. The Shindou vs. Touya question.
Kaga has a sort of proprietary, older-brother-ish interest in Shindou's career advancement, since he was the one who lit a fire under Shindou's ass and propelled him into the insei program when he was wibbling about it. Kishimoto thinks Shindou is a vacuous flake who doesn't have enough brains to take Go or anything else seriously, or indeed to come in out of the rain, and who deserves neither his success nor his rival. Kaga thinks there are very few things wrong in this world that couldn't be solved by Touya Akira being run over by a bus. Kishimoto has some sort of strange conflicted thing going where he's still pissed off at Touya for the Go club debacle but won't hear a word against him anyway, and talks about the game they played like a man will talk about the very last time he touched his first love. Kaga and Kishimoto have had a dozen arguments about who it is that doesn't deserve who, and it is Kaga's deeply-held and immovable opinion that anyone who prefers Touya Akira to Shindou Hikaru either doesn't know either one of them or is as much of an asshole as Touya himself.
So it's sort of amusing when the tabloid someone else left on the table at the coffee shop turns out to contain, tucked into the back beside a caption of only cursory luridness, a photo of Shindou and Touya in a dark hallway outside some exhibition hall trying their best to climb into each other's clothes and possibly also down each other's throats. The expression on Kishimoto's face is priceless, but the thing that strikes Kaga is how much he looks like he wants to laugh.
3. Go.
Kaga's damn good at Go. So, he admits grudgingly, is Kishimoto. Their first game was a bit of a disaster – Kishimoto was rather dry and very condescendingly kind, all but offering Kaga a handicap, and Kaga sat down across from him smirking in anticipation of wiping that condescension off Kishimoto's face. By halfway through the game, he had; but he wasn't smirking anymore, either. In all honesty, they were both a bit thrown by the extent to which they'd underestimated each other, and it made both of them shaky and a little too cautious. Kaga doesn't like the fact that Kishimoto beats him as often as he loses – though, again, Kaga is a reasonable man, and he really thinks he wouldn't mind losing to Kishimoto if it weren't for the infuriatingly kind way that Kishimoto offers to point out the error of Kaga's ways afterward. Someone needs to introduce Kishimoto to the concept of being a good winner, and also to the concept of losing gracefully, because he has a tendency to get all pissy and martyred and one of these days Kaga really will beat the crap out of him for it.
Kishimoto's Go is endlessly fascinating to Kaga, cool and spare as still water, strangely elegiac, as if he were replaying games a thousand years old that only he remembers now. It's what keeps Kaga coming back to play him even though, objectively speaking, Kishimoto is pretty intolerable before and after.
Well, that and he's still hoping to convert Kishimoto to shougi.
4. His clothes, dear God.
Kaga really believes that there are clothes in this world that are so objectionable as to actually be a reflection on their wearer's moral character. (Exhibit A: Touya Akira.) When he's not wearing a button-down shirt and tie, Kishimoto wears unfortunate flannel trousers and shirts that look like the rugby uniform of the Nerd Fatherland.
Granted, Kaga is aware that his own rather vibrant Hawaiian shirts could be considered by the ill-informed to be a little objectionable too, but at least he wears them on purpose. And he has yet to see Kishimoto in anything he could work like Kaga could work Haze's spartan black, even if Kishimoto were inclined to work things, which frankly Kaga can't really imagine him doing.
He almost changes his mind about that the first time he sees Kishimoto against dark sheets, sleepy and contented with his hair falling into his eyes. Fortunately, however, the drab greyish-blue jersey hanging half off the bed brings Kaga back to his senses and keeps him from saying anything stupid.
5. His attitude.
Kishimoto really is an enormous dick. This is, Kaga feels, a fact that is beyond dispute by anyone with a modicum of reality contact. Kishimoto is overtly snide and obliquely insulting and has a superior little laugh that has more than once driven Kaga to actual physical violence. He's a snob in every area that Kaga was aware it's possible to be a snob in and a few that he wasn't, and he can perform the Cut Direct with the efficiency and finality of the world's most competent headwaiter, though he wouldn't thank Kaga for the comparison.
As well as Kaga knows this, and he knows it very well indeed and has lectured Kishimoto at length about it on many occasions, he's still taken aback when he personally witnesses Kishimoto flash-freezing an entire Go salon.
It's not as if Kaga doesn't elicit grumbling from old men wherever he goes. Men over about thirty-five have a tendency to hate Kaga on sight. He has no idea why, exactly, but he secretly (or, well, not so secretly) sort of glories in it, and he'll be the first to admit that he's appallingly out-of-place in this quiet, stodgy Go salon Kishimoto has taken him to. Se he's snickering at the nasty murmurs from old men and considering commenting loudly on the décor when Kishimoto draws himself up to his full height, pulls off his glasses, takes his own sweet time giving them a thorough cleaning, slips them back on, and says, "Is there a problem?" in that bored, contemptuous voice like he's weary unto death of talking to idiots but apparently someone has to.
The grumbling subsides to a few isolated mutters, which Kishimoto silences individually by looking down his nose at the offenders until they shut up. Kaga's busy enough being reluctantly impressed by this that he's taken a bit off-guard when Kishimoto's cool fingers wrap around his own and draw him over to a table without actually doing anything as vulgar as tugging him along by the hand. He's even more surprised by how long it takes Kishimoto to let go.
Kishimoto drinks his coffee black too. Kaga supposes he can forgive a lot of pissy attitude for that.
