Ghost Racket

[kirilenko]

2008-03-23T10:22:53Z

HATE, POTENTIALLY LOVE
by yumehikouki

Kirihara was the boy, the only 2nd year, who had caught my eye the day of team tryouts.

He was the only person without fear streaked across his face, the only one with a twisted grin of cocky determination. From the moment he stepped onto the court, I remembered my heart skipping a beat with excitement each time he effortlessly gained a point, each time he violently smashed the ball.

Someone new and intriguing had appeared right in the midst of Rikkaidai. Someone different, someone unlike the other students who were cluttered around like sheep for slaughter (a slaughter for him, that was). This was someone with incontrollable potential. And all this I saw with but that first glance into that boy's eyes.

Which is why, the first order of action I took - immediately after his first win - was to consult with Yanagi.

"He has potential, that second year." I informed the data-genius, knowing well enough that Yanagi didn't need a name to understand my words.

"Kirihara Akaya, I believe." Yanagi replied, glancing down at his clipboard and writing a few words under the boy's.

"Kirihara." I said, echoing Yanagi's voice. It was a name, a name of which, at the time, meant nothing more to me than a prize, a name which I would soon be glad to have remembered. "What do you think of him, Renji?"

"He's got good form, the basics are all there too. However," He paused momentarily, and a flash of cunning analysis sprinted across his eyes. I immediately knew that Yanagi had read Kirihara completely. "He's a bit too reckless."

"How so?"

Kirihara Akaya crushed another opponent. His dancing, languid smirk stretching wider and wider with each passing second. And I smiled.

"He hits the tennis ball at the opponent with a bit more force than needed," answered Yanagi, "And, when serving, he intentionally forces an unpredictable receive for the opponent using the slant of his racket "

"Anything else?"

"Well," Yanagi paused, and his gaze followed the boy to the sidelines, where his next kill was waiting. "There is that infamous, contemptuous grimace of his that emerges every time he scores a point. And that overconfident look he always casts his opponents."

"But, other than that, he's a great player, isn't he?" I added, taking a look at Yanagi's clipboard myself.

It was no surprise. The page contained the familiar 10-point score sheet, with the usual information of name, grade and class, address, and medical conditions (to which Kirihara apparently had none). The almost exact same phrases he'd recited to me earlier were scribbled down in the comments area at the bottom of the page - with the exception of that last bit, but everyone in the club already knew Kirihara's tendency to gloat and make a fool of himself.

"Other than all that, Seiichi, he's a great player." Yanagi replied, without even needing to relook at the boy's near-perfect point score.

"Do you think he's good enough for the team?"

"That's not for me to decide," he said, "You are the captain." He flipped to the next page, recording another student's score. Not surprisingly, he didn't at all have near as many comments about this one.

It took a few more seconds for me to decide the exact way to handle this Kirihara Akaya's initiation: a final obstacle.

"Get your racket, Yanagi." I ordered, immediately stopping his flow of writing. "You're playing a match against Akaya."

The tension between Yanagi and Kirihara Akaya wasn't at all what I expected, nor was it satisfying. But however condescending Akaya's expression was as he faced Yanagi across the net just didn't seem to make up for the expected calm of his calculating opponent. I chose to match the two of them together for a reason. For the element of surprise. But apparently, that was exactly what the moment seemed to lack.

"Rough or smooth, Senpai?" His confident voice droned across the court, hands grasping the grip of his tennis racket.

Yanagi didn't seem to be paying attention, even though to everyone else in the court he was staring straight at - or through- Kirihara.

"Senpai, hello?" Kirihara stepped towards the net and waved his racket recklessly from side to side as if a massive upside down pendulum would snap Yanagi out of whatever dream he was in. "Rough or smooth?"

"It's your call, Kirihara-kun." Yanagi replied upon returning his attention to the situation at hand. He was unfazed at the previous silence.

"You sure, Senpai? Wouldn't want ya' to get an accidental handicap from me or something."

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Whatever you say, Senpai. Don't blame me if this costs you the match." He gave another grin and twirled the racket, calling out "rough!" before stepping back to watch it fall.
And, rough it was.

The rest of the match wasn't worth much for all it was worth. A simple sequence of defeat and conquer happened necessarily and quickly.

Kirihara served first. Yanagi purposely missed a couple. Kirihara's confidence built up. And Yanagi striked it down all at once.

It was like popping a bubble.

And, before anyone could guess it, Kirihara was on his knees, hair drenched in sweat, eyes glued to the ground, body shifting up and down from his breaths. I didn't need to be up close to him to know the expression of disbelief painted across his pained face. Sanada, Yanagi, and I had seen it a thousand times, on our peers, on each other.

This does make him one of us, considering. I wouldn't have placed him against Yanagi if I knew he would've won; Yanagi himself knew that. Despite all that, Yanagi didn't walk back immediately to his clipboard as the match ended. Instead, he crossed the court, picked up Kirihara's towel, and handed it over to the crushed boy on the cement.

"Here." I overheard from behind, curious as to Yanagi's unusual actions. "You'll need this. Get up and clear the court, there's another match soon."

No response from Kirihara was heard.

"Kirihara-kun," Yanagi insisted. The people around them were beginning to divert their attention to the frozen scene on the court. "Here's your towel."

Silence resonated in their court, right between Yanagi and Kirihara. It was pierced in a moment by the shriek that followed.

"Rematch!" the boy yowled. Kirihara had spoken his first response since the end of the match, snatching his towel away from Yanagi's hand and swinging it angrily over his shoulders.

He just stood there; his eyes, red and piercing, glaring right into Yanagi's calm ones. He was huffing and panting and cursing under his breath and his demeanor seemed to be close to that of a very large nuclear explosion.

Yanagi didn't give an immediate response. He merely assumed the role of another spectator of the fool that was the heated Kirihara. Now that the match was over, Yanagi simply had no motive to treat him as an opponent.

Kirihara inhaled deeply, his fists balled up and fingers curled deep into his sweaty palm, and repeated, "rematch, Senpai."

I expected him to realize at one point in time that Yanagi was not a man to approach with screaming, nor nonsense. And, now was a better time than any. I expected Yanagi to give a detailed, logical lecture to the boy about the perils of over-reaction and red eye. And, now was a better time than any.

However, the latter did not happen; Yanagi opened his mouth, and instead of saying the words I was accustomed to hear, a new string of sounds crossed the air.

"We can have a rematch anytime you'd like." He replied, voice not a bit altered throughout the whole procession. "Focus on getting onto the team, and we can have a rematch anytime you'd like.

The next few words, the mass of murmurs I couldn't catch from Kirihara, were a mystery to me. Whatever meaning they had, whatever rash statements the boy had decided to make, had Yanagi, at last, walking away.

"So, tell me," I inquired as soon as he picked up his clipboard once more. "What did that boy say?"

There's an immediate flash, gone as fast as it had arrived, that disturbed the tranquility in Yanagi's eyes. But both he and I ignored the fact of its existence, allowing it to only sever a moment in time from our conversation.

"He said," He took a deep breath, somewhat similar to the breath that Kirihara had taken. "he said that he'll get on this team and he'll make sure to beat me. And you. And anybody else that'd dare stand in his way.

"Those are his exacts words? You're not paraphrasing, are you?" Kirihara's unconscious declaration of war caused my heart to again skip a couple of beats.

"His exact words, Yukimura." Yanagi nonchalantly flipped back to Kirihara's score sheet. .

"Do you believe them?" I glanced in the direction of Kirihara now and smiled as I caught him taking vengeance on the wall, as if it had some fault in his loss. "His words and intentions, I mean."

"I'll believe them for as long as he does."

He paused. Then, he looked at me.

"Or, for as long as you intend to make him believe."

I noticed the sly comment he manages to slide in, a Yanagi-like joke, I suppose. Backed with the morbid truth, it was something only Yanagi himself could pull off with such certainty.

I looked at him, but before I'm able to respond, he placed the clipboard into my hands, gave me the nod to begin my elimination, and headed back for the locker room.

On the clipboard, drawn in Yanagi's own handwriting, was a star next to Kirihara Akaya's name.

What a naïve, prideful, foolish, inexperienced boy. He doesn't have a chance. I know he doesn't have a chance. I told him he doesn't have a chance. Yanagi told him, "You don't have a chance." He should very well know by now that he doesn't have a chance. And yet, by some flaw of the universe, he's unaware of all of it. Unheeding to Yanagi's continued warnings of "why don't you play against me first, Kirihara?" Arrogant to Sanada's obvious grunt, retort, of "if you dare." In denial of the obvious truth both God and everyone else in the club is aware of.

Yet, he doesn't give up. Kirihara Akaya continues to pester me day by day, asking to play against me.

Monday. "Yukimura-buchou! Do you have time for a match against me today?" I refuse, saying I'm busy today. Tuesday. "How about today? You don't seem to be busy." I shake my head, reply that I have some previous engagement to attend to. Wednesday. "Okay, Yukimura-buchou. I asked Yanagi today, and he said you didn't have anything on your schedule." I chuckle at him, asking him if Yanagi had said anything else.

"Not really…well…kind of, but not really." Kirihara avoids my gaze, voice mumbling.

"What else did Yanagi say, Kirihara?" I smile at him, causing an instant twitch in his eyebrows.

"E-eh…that I'm - well, I personally don't think it's true, Buchou but-…he said I'm not ready yet?" He looks up at me with the best puppy face he can manage, trying to dissuade me from my usual trust of Yanagi's words.

"Listen to Yanagi." Another reassuring smile, and I'm on my way, leaving Kirihara in the background, the continuous sound of his sneakers stabbing the ground and the low, yet distinct, stream of curses as his farewell to me.

The same daily ritual of greeting occurred for the next week. I stand at the courts right now, watching a couple of third-years playing a match. And Kirihara marches up to me now, eyes more fiery and determined than usual.

"I don't care what Yanagi says, I want a match with you, Yukimura-buchou. A match. Today. Right now."

"Ah, but I care about what Yanagi says." I reply suavely, raising my eyebrows at him. Perhaps he had a bad day at school?
"Screw what Yanagi says. He keeps telling me that I'm 'not ready,' whatever the hell that means. I think I'm ready. Way past ready. And you shouldn't deny me a match, Buchou."

I consider his proposal for a moment, looking into his frustrated face, and then said, "you don't trust Yanagi's words?"

Kirihara shakes his head. "It's not that I don't trust them, just they're a bit touchy-feely, if you know what I mean. Something about how I'd get all my hopes crushed if I played against you, something about going into mental trauma, rehabilitation, that kind of stuff." He grins at me. "A bit overrated, don't you think?"

Just like Yanagi to refer to far-fetched situations when logic fails to work on Kirihara - as it usually does fail.

"So, against Yanagi's words, against Sanada's words, and against mine as well, you challenge me to a match?" I ask again, for reassurance this time. No more joking around.

"Exactly. Now you're catching the drift, Yukimura-buchou." He grabs the racket in his hand tighter, in anxiety of the moment that has finally come. "Which court are we playing on?"

I give the foolish boy a smile - the one my unfortunate opponent always receives - and point towards the first court. "Let's not waste a second then, shall we?"

We played. If you could even call it playing.

A matter of a couple of minutes, and the match was over. Simple, child play.

Kirihara lays faced up on the ground, a familiar image of his first match against Yanagi. Parts of his arms and legs are scratched, just a bit bloody from trying to return the unreachable balls, from trying desperately to win a point. He doesn't get up for the next five minutes, maybe more, just lays there on the ground, as if realizing finally just where he stands in my team.

I told him. Sanada told him. Renji- most importantly - told him. But he doesn't listen. Never does. This is his price to pay, the lesson that should've been taught to him after that very first match against Yanagi.

What turns into a ridiculous match for me would soon turn into an unforgettable beating for the little Kirihara Akaya. There's nothing worth noting for me, other than his weak state that I know he is in - the ridiculous carrion of a living being that is him.

It's not until later, that I realize what was missing from the surreal match.

Out of all the spectators, Yanagi was nowhere to be seen.

"Shut the hell up," I overhear as I round a corner of the locker room; a voice, coarse and harsh in its delivery, seems to be shouting at something. "Just shut up. I hate your advice."

I had wandered into the locker room to take a quick shower, to get the disgraceful air of Kirihara's lost off my skin, but apparently, I'm about to receive more than I bargained for.

"How can you hate my advice, Kirihara, if you never listened to it in the first place?" A much more controlled, yet somewhat quivering tone, replies back.

I stop my steps, realizing that this is where Yanagi had probably been during Kirihara's match - waiting here in the locker room, somewhere he knows Kirihara would eventually come sprawling back to. This is where Kirihara, unwantingly and unknowingly, wanders right into Yanagi's trap.

Something is changed in the boy - something I expect to appear once he'd face me in a match and lose. It's just unfortunate of Yanagi to be right there, to decide, that he's the one to receive Kirihara's anger, the one to keep the flaming candle from burning itself out. I kneel down on one of the benches, hiding myself three locker rows behind the two of them, a good distance for a watcher, a bystander, a coach.

"Fuck you, senpai." Kirihara's voice drones on, hisses. A bang resounds as something's thrown harshly into a locker. "Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

A pause. Silence.

"You did," Yanagi continues, voice leveled, much in the same way a pressured water tank has to be kept under control. "Yet, you didn't listen to my advice. There shouldn't be any reason for me to listen to yours."

Thud. Another object is tossed into the locker. Kirihara then shouts, "What're you trying to get at?"

"Why did you challenge Yukimura?"

"I can challenge whoever the hell I want. You're not my mother, you know. As hard as it is to believe." His voice is biting, snapping at the cords that hold Yanagi's patience intact.

"Why did you challenge him?" Yanagi repeats, emphasize on his question. Kirihara hadn't properly answered the question at all.

"Some data collector you are." Kirihara scoffs. "Yukimura- buchou's the best, right? The best of the best. I came to Rikkai to be the best. Who else would I challenge but the best of the best?"

"And you thought that would be a just enough reason to ignore all other protests?" Yanagi's voice raises, slightly, the change probably unnoticed by Kirihara.

"What other protests? There's no other protests that matter but my own. So just fucking leave me alone, Yanagi." Feet begin shuffling, signifying Kirihara's leave.

"You didn't even hear my protests, Akaya?" Yanagi's voice hovers above all other sounds -louder than Kirihara's previous screams- even despite its low tone.

The sound of footsteps cease, delay in their departure. I wonder what caused it: fortune, luck? Or, maybe just the wavering emotion in Yanagi's voice. Could the boy have caught that?

"No, Yanagi. I didn't." Kirihara states, enunciating his words, his proclamation.

"Why didn't you?" He insists. Yanagi might have been just playing for time now, knowing if Kirihara left now, things would forever be in disharmony.

"Even if I tried to listen, I wouldn't have fucking heard your protests anyway."

"And," There's a break in Yanagi's fluency, as if for once in his life, he isn't sure at all how things will turn out. "Why is that? Why can you not hear me?"

"Why, why, why, why. Stop asking why and just take things as they are. I'm never going to hear you, nor anybody. And that's just the way I am. So fucking deal with it."

There are times when I know that the amount of cussing Kirihara uses in his speech is directly proportional to his anger. And yet, regardless of the continuously pausing Yanagi, voice more uncertain and slow in response than ever, regardless of the obvious passion in Kirihara's voice, the situation has no explosive value - the match to light the bomb is nowhere to be seen or felt.

Kirihara's footsteps commence again, and I expect them to completely disappear away this time; Yanagi speaks once again.

"That's not the way you are, Akaya. I know." Yanagi's voice stops the footsteps, in much the same way as before.

A desperation has sunken into his voice. I question myself, not sure if a situation that provokes so much change in Yanagi is a situation I should be eavesdropping on. Regardless, I'm captain. That gives me some sort of exception, ethically and morally.

"How the hell do you know what I'm like?" Kirihara retorts for rhetorical effect, until realizing that of course, Yanagi knows almost everything about everyone. "Oh, right. You're a fucking stalker, that's why."

Ignoring the boy's obvious insult, Yanagi continues, "do you still remember what you promised me the first time we played?" He slows his voice down from the statement before, attempting - yet, failing - to regain composure. Two personalities driven by pure impulse - two Kirihara Akayas - in the room wouldn't bring any sort of closure.

"Yeah, I do." Kirihara seems to regain the slightest bit of patience, curious as to what Yanagi plans to reveal. "That I'm going to pummel you to the ground. That I'm going to crush Sanada and Yukimura and anyone else that stands in my way."

Regret and frustration marks itself in Kirihara's voice. How the thought of being unable to fulfill his promise to himself must have bothered him day and night. The boy does cleave to his promises, if not anything else.

"What about it?" Kirihara asks impatiently, not understanding.

"Then, according to your promise," Yanagi pauses - the harbinger to his upcoming revelation. "Shouldn't I be your first concern?"

There's no answer from Kirihara, an obvious sign that the boy doesn't see Yanagi's point at all. He speaks, irritated, "stop speaking in fucking riddles. What are you trying to say?"

"Then, tell me, Kirihara Akaya," He regains some of his previous confidence, the calm - an everlasting one, that is - before the storm. "Why haven't you challenged me? Why haven't you slipped out one word about me, about wanting to pummel me into the ground?"

"You can't hear me cussing out at you?" Kirihara snarls, or, at least, his voice sounds near close to a beast, finally and fatally agitated.

"Cussing me out and challenging me are two different actions, Kirihara." There is no doubt that Yanagi has completely regained his dominance in the conversation. "Now, tell me."

The logic Yanagi presents, set in front of Kirihara, who as hard as he will try to deny it, reverses their roles. No response from the boy is heard.

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that, Yanagi?" Kirihara responds after an ample pause.

"I may be. But you have yet to answer my question."

"And there's something seriously screwed up in your head, you know that?"

"That may be true as well. Just answer the question, Kirihara."

"Well - I …what if I don't want to answer it?" He challenges. Yanagi's wanted answer is still allusive by all means - Kirihara refuses to tell him directly.

"Everyone knows there's nothing you could possibly hide. You wear your emotions like a kid wears his reward stickers from the dentist. So, just say it."

"I do not wear my emotions like a kid!" Kirihara diverts away from the subject, voice still a bit heated and raged, but nevertheless calmed down.

"Why haven't you challenged me, Kirihara?" Yanagi doesn't seem to waste a second once Kirihara steers away from the point; there's some more shuffling of feet (Yanagi's footsteps, I presume) and then silence befalls once again.

I'm not able to see their actual faces, nor any light or looks of their eyes, but even I can tell Kirihara is all but eager to answer the question. Yanagi has uncovered something prized, something even Kirihara hasn't realized until now. Something possibly worth more than Kirihara himself.

"I- well, there's really nothing to it, really. Just - just, well," Kirihara's speech stutters; the boy attempts to find the best way to convey his words to Yanagi. Whether he's afraid of embarrasing himself, or whether he just holds no trust to Yanagi all together, I don't know. "I, uhh- well, I didn't want you to lose to me so bad. Seeing as how good I've got and you haven't."

The condescending tone in his voice is fake, counterfeited, and it's not enough to pass Yanagi unnoticed.

"This is coming from the same person who just lost to Yukimura 6-0? Kirihara, I need the truth." His voice is firm, determined. "The real truth. Not the truth you assume it to be, the truth you try to sell to me."

"I wasn't - well, maybe, I…" Another pause colors the air, and neither speaks nor moves. But then, Kirihara talks, rashly and hotly. "Why the hell does it matter, Yanagi?"

Then, footsteps, faster than the ones before. The harsh opening of the door and the loud pound of its closing. Finally, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead.

I hear the slightest of a sigh, and then the faint, weakened voice of Yanagi saying, "you can come out now, Yukimura."

He knows that I've been here the whole time - yet he did not compromise my position at all. He allows me to hear the conversation, and when it ended, he then chooses to reveal me. Did Yanagi permit me to listen because he thought nothing important would've happened between Kirihara and him? Or, did he permit me to listen only because he thought something important would happen, and that I'd be the only person to hear him out?

Strange, how up till now, I have always thought of Yanagi as predictable as he is skilled at prediction. Yet, as captain, as coach, how much do I know about Yanagi? About Kirihara? About the two of them?

"What did you think of that, Yukimura?" He speaks again, even though I have yet to move into his view.

I step out of my hiding place, and walk towards Yanagi, an all-occasion smile on my face, unsure of what might soon be in store. "It was interesting, at the least. I didn't know our little Akaya had it in him."

"Had the ability to challenge you, you mean?" He inquires me, returning my smile with another. I can't read Yanagi right now.

"The ability to challenge you, actually. I expected him to challenge me one day or another. Not you, though." I sit down on the nearest bench, my eyes searching Yanagi's for the feeling I'm hoping to find.

"But he didn't challenge me. You heard him. He refused me on both occasions - the reason and the challenge itself."

"What sort of courage do you think Kirihara had to have to challenge me, Yanagi?"

"A mighty one. A suicidal one too, if that's what you want to call it."

I crack a small grin at his sarcasm, aimed at the realism of the situation, and say, "And, what sort of courage do you think Kirihara had to hold such trust in you?"

"Trust, Yukimura? Did any of that seem like trust to you?"

"All of it, Yanagi." I nod. "Trust in Kirihara's own devilish, demented, childish way. The fact that he never once asks you for a match. That's his type of trust."

"I'm not sure I understand, Yukimura. If he trusts in me so much, why does he not listen to anything I say?"

"Just because he trusts you doesn't mean he's not foolish."

"Kirihara Akaya comes in here, screams at me - more than he usually does -, refuses to answer my one real question, and then stomps out. You don't call that trust." He returns my statement, anger, caused partially by confusion, ruffling his air of calmness. "In fact, last time I checked, Yukimura, I believe it was called hate."

"That boy," I remotely smile, wondering if what I'm about to say is entirely true. "He's kind of like a little kindergartner, isn't he?"

Yanagi gives me a fake look of surprise, and allows me to continue.

"He just seems to tease and make whoever he likes angry, doesn't he?"

Yanagi's attention focuses on me, finally catching the hint in my words. His eyes narrow, unsure of why exactly he's even bothering to listen.

"Just like a little boy insults and annoys the little girl he likes, before asking her out. Don't you think?"

Alright, so I'm just playing around with him now. I can't be blamed for wanting to mess with the sort of man who never lets down his guard, can I?

"Yukimura," He slows down his speech, for the second time today. Yanagi holds his glance at me for several seconds, before speaking again. "You were right."

"About what?" I ask back, partially unbelieving that perhaps my guesses are indeed correct.

"He does have potential, that second year, that Kirihara Akaya."

[bychkova]

2008-03-23T10:19:34Z

HOUSE OF ECHOES
by orpheneritus

Yuushi takes off his shoes at the front door, turning them around to face the door.

'It's ugly,' Gakuto says following him into the house, '…and old.'

'It's affordable,' Yuushi corrects him, plucking the real estate leaflet from his hand and stepping onto the smooth and uneven wood of the hallway.

'What about-'

'Too expensive,' he interrupts. He doesn't have to turn around to know that Gakuto has scrunched his face up in annoyance, but still when he reaches a hand back behind him Gakuto grasps it tightly.

'But the commute-'

'Is only forty minutes,' he says soothingly.

'Yuushi,' Gakuto says stopping and tugging on his arm. He turns to face his lover, looking down into his upturned face. 'It's practically the countryside.'

'Hardly the countryside, it's still in the outer wards of Kobe.' He rests his hand against the side of Gakuto's neck, he can feel the stickiness of his skin in the humidity and the racing of his heartbeat.

'There's a rice field out the back, this place is probably infested with mice,' he says pleadingly.

He smiles and wraps his arms around Gakuto's shoulders, and leans in close to his ear. 'Gakuto… can't you see,' he presses his lips against the shell of his ear. 'It'll be ours.'

His hair rushes against your cheek as he nods slowly. 'Ours.'

Yuushi opens the kitchen windows to let the spring breeze clear out the stuffiness of rooms that have been closed for a time.

'This one's stuck,' Gakuto complains as he grunts and tries to slide the window open. The wood is warped.

They spend the day planing the frames and sanding them back until the window opens with only the minimum of resistance.

That night he fucks Gakuto for the first time in their house. On a thin and worn futon, laid out on the straw matts in the full moonlight that shines through the window, he presses Gakuto's legs back into his shoulders and slides into the tight heat of his body.

Gakuto smiles widely up at him. 'Guess we can be as loud as we want now,' he says with a suggestive raise of his eyebrow.

'Guess so,' Yuushi replies. 'It's our house.'

Yuushi slides the doors back on the runners opening the room to the hallway, letting the light from the windows filter through the soji screens. Gakuto likes the rooms to be open, every thing in the sun.

He sits in the tatami room in the mornings. Cross-legged with his hands wrapped around his teacup. Slowly sipping tea and allowing the sun to creep across the straw mats until it strikes him full in the face, hair lit up to a burning red, he closes his eyes and absorbs the warmth.

Next to him the cat, Tsukime, lays stretched out to her full length. Yellow eyes open only a slit, she purrs contentedly, every so often pressing her claws into the matting in deep satisfaction.

Gakuto reaches out to scratch the cat behind the ears, she presses back against his hand.

Yuushi sits beside him and strokes Tsukime absently. 'She's getting fat.'

Gakuto takes offense. 'She's getting older.'

'Will you be that forgiving, when it's my belly that is getting flabby,' Yuushi asks quietly.

'What do you mean when?' Gakuto replies tartly.

'Hmpmh,' Yuushi grunts in reply, his stomach isn't as tight as it used to be.

'I'm getting soft too,' Gakuto moans poking at his own stomach.

Yuushi glances over and tries to look on him critically, but to him, Gakuto still looks perfect. 'What are you doing?' he asks, touching the navy kimonos that pool over Gakuto's lap.

'Kimonos…' he replies quietly. 'For us to wear.'

Yuushi turns the fabric over to see the stitching Gakuto has done.

Cranes. They stand for commitment.

Yuushi places fresh towels under the counter in the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror.

Gakuto sits on the edge of the bath, hands covering his face. He kneels in front of his lover and gently peels his hands way to reveal red and teary eyes. 'I'm sorry, Gakuto,' he says laying his head in his lovers lap.

He feels Gakuto's long fingered hands thread through his short-cropped hair. 'I didn't think… I shouldn't have.'

'They called me the housekeeper… Yuushi. The housekeeper!' Bitter tears fall onto his head.

'I told them, Gakuto. A hundred times… a thousand,' he clasps his lovers hands tightly. 'They won't listen, they don't want to know.'

Gakuto rubs his eyes angrily and crosses his arms over his chest petulantly. It's endearing. 'If your father brings one more eligible woman around I swear, Yuushi… I swear I'll… Well I don't know what I'll do… but something,' he finishes lamely.

It turns out Gakuto slaps her.

Yuushi pulls the weeds from around the roots of the climbing wisteria. Gakuto planted it the first spring.

The table under the wisteria is filled with their friends, old and new, to celebrate their tenth anniversary. Chairs left empty by those that refused to come are removed quickly and quietly. Yuushi suspects Atobe of orchestrating this kindness before Gakuto comes out.

They wear their navy kimonos.

Gakuto is animated by the company of old friends, and shares his outrageous and sometimes lewd stories into the morning hours.

Yuushi's surprised that everyone brought gifts, but Gakuto's not. 'Of course they brought gifts. It's an anniversary celebration,' he says.

'But we never got married.'

Gakuto leans back into his arms and tilts his head back so he can see you. 'Only because we can't… besides I asked everyone to bring gifts.'

'You asked?' he replies.

Gakuto nods. 'I need to ask for them while I'm still gorgeous enough to get away with it.'

'So I'm off the hook for next year?'

Yuushi draws the box out from the attic space and brushes the dust from the top, before carrying it down to the bedroom.

'Yuushi,' Gakuto's voice calls brokenly from the attic.

He runs up the stairs as quickly as he can without loosing his footing.

'Yuushi, quickly, I found her.'

Yuushi steps onto the ladder behind Gakuto, pressing in close behind his to peer over his shoulder. The three-day search for Tsukime is over.

Gakuto looks at him pleadingly, his hands clutching the ladder.

Yuushi reaches over his shoulder and gently strokes the soft black and white fur. Tsukime is still. 'I'm sorry, Gakuto. She's dead.'

Gakuto sleeps restlessly, until he pulls him in tight to his body. Gakuto sighs and Yuushi knows he's awake, he can feel the wetness against his chest.

'I know,' Gakuto sighs again. 'I shouldn't cry over a cat.'

'I think it's okay,' he replies in a whisper. 'She was a pretty great cat.'

Gakuto gives a choked laugh. 'She was a terrible cat, really. She never caught a mouse, she couldn't walk a fence, and she was always falling off the chairs.'

Yuushi smiled and kissed his forehead. 'I remember the day we found her.'

'Stuck under the oven,' Gakuto replied. 'Do you think she suffered?'

'No, I think she found a warm spot and drifted off into sleep.'

Gakuto rolls onto his side and rests his head on Yuushi's shoulder. 'Sounds okay, I mean… that's how I'd choose to go.'

Yuushi sits on their bed. Creasing the crisp white linen. He reaches his hand across to the empty space beside him, allowing it to come to rest on the empty pillow.

'I'm glad I've come home,' Gakuto says as he laces their fingers together tightly. 'It's great to be here again.'

Yuushi pulls the covers back up over Gakuto's pale legs and then sits beside him on the bed, as close as he can get. He wants to say everything, he wants to say anything, but he can only squeeze the hand held in his tightly.

'I bet you're grateful I insisted on a thousand thread count sheets now,' Gakuto says spreading his thin hand out across the sheets. 'The sheets at the hospital are shit.'

'They are. And I am… grateful. Not just for the sheets, but for-'

'Let's watch a movie,' he interrupts.

Yuushi puts the movie in the player, but it's only fifteen minutes in when Gakuto falls asleep.

He spends the nights with his back pressed up against Gakuto's chest measuring, cherishing every breath. He doesn't even realise he cries until Gakuto's hands ghost across his face to brush hopelessly at the never ending wetness. 'Yuushi, please,' he whispers.

'I'm so helpless,' he cries, pressing their mouths together.

'There's nothing can be done,' he replies. 'I just want to stay with you, be with you now.'

Yuushi opens the box and folds back the protective papers around the fabric, the years haven't faded the brilliance of his work.

Atobe stands in the entrance way to the bedroom, tucking the envelope of papers under his arm unobtrusively. Atobe came the moment he'd called. Filling in paperwork, making arrangements, taking calls.

'The house,' Atobe says hesitantly. 'Will you sell it?'

He shakes his head. 'No. It was our house.' Yuushi finishes covering the fabric with the protective paper. He tapes up the box and slides it over to Atobe. 'Can you put that in the attic before we go?'

Atobe nods and picks up the box. 'Do you think you'll come back? All the memories…'

Yuushi sits back on his knees and slowly stands up. 'I'll come back because of the memories… in the spring.'

Atobe nods and leaves with the box.

Yuushi spreads the kimonos over the bed. The golden cranes stand out against the navy fabric. He'll hang them on the wall, above the bed where they slept.

There is pain in the echoes of Gakuto left behind, but one day there will be only comfort. He can live in their house, together. He can think of nothing better.

[smith]

2007-11-06T18:40:48Z

BEAUTY IN ASHES
by axtar

He's in the hospital, leaning against the wall closest to the window, muscles still aching when Oshitari comes in, lazy smile lingering like a stain across his face, emotions shielded behind his eyes.

Someone says, "It's over, isn't it?"

Oshitari doesn't flinch, merely shuts the door quietly behind him. "Ah…I suppose. If you want to put it that way."

"Hyotei's out of the Nationals."

The smile remains unflickering, the reply abrupt. "Yes."

Two, three, five heartbeats pass as he waits for the person to answer before he realizes it was him all along. His mouth feels dry, his head throbs and all he really, really wants to do is walk over to Oshitari and slap that infuriating smirk off his face.

Unreasonable thoughts, but this is an unreasonable time and his head feels like breaking, exploding, pounding against his cranium in a desperate attempt to deny what he already knows.

In the end, his eyes betray him first and he turns savagely to look out the window, furiously refusing to allow the tears to escape his lashes.

"Gakuto and the others are outside." The low voice remains near the door, grave and tired and at odds with the expression draped across his face. "We all did our best, Atobe."

Our best. The words have never sounded so pretentious before. 'Our best' is not enough; he is supposed to be better than that. Better than the best.

The best of the best of the best.

The silence is almost absolute, crawling across the smudged surface of the floor, polluting the air like a perfume, a stench that suffocates him with its nothingness. Oshitari sighs, breaking it just before it reigns supreme.

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"Do you?"

I do, he wants to say, but his lips are too dry, too cracked to part. Somewhere inside, something uncoils itself and whispers liar like an unending mantra, gleeful and taunting. His hand sticks to the windowsill, too heavy to lift from the chill of the metal biting into his palm.

"That's an interesting hairstyle, by the way."

He snaps then, whirls around, his eyes hard and angry – Oshitari, that thoughtless, insignificant moron-

The scathing retort dies in his mouth before his lips even part.

Oshitari pats Atobe's shoulder awkwardly as his captain sways uncertainly on his feet, hand heavy, a lead weight by his side. "Look, it's been a long day – you'd better get some rest."

He nods mutely and allows himself to be led to the bed. "Tell the others they can go back. I…I'll talk to them tomorrow."

"If you say so. There's the semi-finals tomorrow – you can meet them there."

He does not want to go to the semi-finals; he doesn't need to be reminded of something no longer within his grasp. He turns to tell Oshitari that and for the briefest of seconds, catches sight of Oshitari's eyes. He's not alone, he realizes then, with a start. He's not the only one regretting.

"…You won your match."

Oshitari pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Ah."

Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a firm click, and Atobe sits, thinking of what Hyotei could've been, ashes under his fingers.

A world ends when Hyotei drops out of the running in the Nationals.

There should be earthquakes, he thinks absent-mindedly, bouncing lightly from foot to foot. Thunder, lightning, Armageddon, the works. But no, all they get is a shuddering, silent impact, the rending of a dream denied.

He's never dealt well with losses – he still doesn't, and doesn't intend to change that. But this heavy-heartedness he feels now is a sensation foreign to him, a weight he's only acknowledged at the back of his mind in passing, never carried.

"I doubt students should be up here, especially with break almost over."

"Shut up, Yuushi," he answers automatically without turning around. "Take your own advice and go away."

Oshitari chuckles, a lazy sound infused with too much amusement for Gakuto's liking; seriously, was it not enough to have lost during the Nationals? Did he have to miss the memo that they LOST too?

He doesn't hear footsteps retreating though, and groans when Oshitari comes to stand beside him.

"I thought I told you to go away, dammit."

"Too beautiful a day to stay indoors."

They stand in silence for awhile, watching the rest of Hyotei below from the dizzying height of the roof. Then Gakuto sighs in irritation, pushes himself away from the wall. "We should have won our match."

"You did your best."

"Well," Gakuto snaps, "It obviously wasn't enough, was it???"

"That phrase," Oshitari says, "is getting old." The amusement has bled out of his voice, tempered it with a flat note. "Do you all honestly think there was anything we could have done differently?"

He could have jumped higher, Gakuto thinks heatedly as he whirls around to give Oshitari a piece of his mind. Could have done more Moon Assaults, realized earlier what it was Inui and Kaidoh were up to, lasted longer, press the assault harder, more furious, more, more, more.

"No," he answers finally, small, defeated. "No."

Oshitari shifts position. "So."

The silence this time isn't so charged with frustration as it is with the thoughtfulness that comes creeping over them after all the pent-up feelings had been let loose. It is a change from the tensed feeling of inadequacy, one which Gakuto rather welcomed after feeling awful all last night over how he could have been so much better.

"Maybe I'll really go into gymnastics when we enter high school." Gakuto grimaces, does an impromptu back-flip, balances dexterously as the grit on the tiles bite into his palms. "Less messy. And at least I won't have to deal with annoying doubles partners and bossy captains."

He hears, rather than sees the smile that slowly creeps back unto Oshitari's face. "You don't mean that."

When he bounces back onto his feet and the sky and floor reswap places, his grin mirrors that of Oshitari's. "No," he admits grudgingly, "I don't."

Tennis may be over for this season. But there are always the seasons after, and each year brings new ones after all.

Besides, someone needs to remind that Kikumaru that there are far better acrobatic players than him anyway.

It's sleeping weather again. Then again, it's always sleeping weather, come rain or shine or hail for that matter.

But, Jirou thinks with a frown, he doesn't really feel like sleeping. In fact, he hasn't felt like sleeping since yesterday. Which is strange and vaguely unsettling because sleep is the most important thing in the world.

Well, besides tennis anyway.

He yawns and considers. Thinking about tennis, the next Nationals match should be taking place sometime this afternoon; he had heard Oshitari mention it in the hallway earlier. Something about Seigaku and some other school called Shiten-something.

Eevryone's probably going to be there later; he'd better not be late or Atobe might scold him again for dozing off at all the wrong times. (But it's really not his fault that the benches are so comfortable.)

Besides, Fuji-kun should be super amazing to watch!

With that happy thought in mind, Jirou rolls over and promptly falls aslee-

Nope, still not sleepy. Darn.

Oshitari has always been a dark horse. A careless, graceless, occasionally brainless dark horse, but nevertheless.

"Is there any particular reason why you're currently occupying my chair? In my classroom?"

Oshitari lifts up his head, grins at Atobe as if the frigidness of his tone were merely a welcomed breeze in the stifling weather. "Hello to you too, Atobe."

"If you have nothing better to do than annoy me, I would suggest you-"

"Have you seen the sports submission someone handed in for this year's yearbook already?"

"I assume you have, by means of some underhanded method I do not care to know of. Now if you would-"

"Someone found it amusing enough to do a report on our match against Seigaku yesterday. Only a half-page spread, but pretty impressive nevertheless."

"I see." Atobe doesn't see, and someone in the editorial board is going to be visited by the student president very, very soon.

But not before he chews out a certain tennis genius with a drawl patented to grate on his nerves and had the gumption to interrupt him not once, but twice within five minutes.

"Ironic," Oshitari went on thoughtfully, "that they didn't give much coverage to the matches we played before that. You know, the ones we actually won. Gakuto's not going to be particularly happy about that."

"And this is supposed to matter to me?"

"Perhaps. I'll see you at the tennis courts later then."

Oshitari gets up then and his eyes brush against Atobe's gaze, serious behind lenses he doesn't need. He moves over to the door, past the group of girls who look at him with something like adoration in their eyes and moves out into the corridor.

He doesn't look back, and Atobe's sarcastic message burns within his own subconscious, his eyes quickly shuttered before others see the resentment they harbor. There are other things that demand his priority, he wants to shout. There were important entrance examinations to think about, other pursuits long neglected in favor of the hours of training that had yielded them nothing but broken hopes. Anything rather than watch other teams play out the dream that should have been their reality but isn't.

Instead he sits down slowly, his lips thinning as the warmth of the seat assaults him. Damn Oshitari. Damn him and his damn insidious ideas.

And damn himself for allowing it to even consider them despite everything.

"Eh, Shishido-san! I hadn't expected you-"

The older boy fidgets uncomfortably as he tugs his cap lower over his face. "Yeah, I know, but it's weird not turning up." He turns to look out at the courts, still empty in anticipation of the match to come. "It's still the Nationals after all, even if we're not, well, playing."

Ohtori chuckles at Shishido's scowl. "It'd be good to see how the other teams do, I guess, especially for next year." He blinks once, twice. "Next year. Next year."

"Yes next year, and if you repeat that one more time, I'm going to kick you." Shishido grins suddenly then and leans in confidentially. "There's a rumor that Atobe's gonna make you captain, so don't slack off."

"What, next year?"

Shishido rolls his eyes in exasperation. "No, next century. Use your brains, Choutarou. You better bring Hyotei all the way next year, okay? Y'know, since we couldn't and all. Trounce Seigaku good. And Rikkai and all those other schools. Show them who Hyotei really is."

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Whaddya mean 'you guess'??? Maybe I should tell Atobe to go reconsider Hiyoshi after all."

"I really wanted us to win this year." Ohtori's tone is quiet, his knuckles white where his fingers grip the railing. "All of us."

Shishido glances sideway at his doubles partner. "…Yeah. Guess we weren't expecting that loss. That really sucked big time."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Staring at Ohtori, Shishido snorted incredulously. "We did our best, didn't we? Seigaku just got lucky. Sometimes, it all just comes down to that: luck. And so happens those lucky bastards were well, luckier that day. Besides, we won our match, didn't we?"

"I don't know, Shishido-san, I still feel-"

"Guilty, huh?"

"Kind of. Like I've somehow let everyone down."

"Heh, guess we all feel that way. Nothing we can do about it now though - we lost, Seigaku won, end of story. Still feel like beating myself up inside, but I guess we just have to well, live and learn." Shishido laughs awkwardly. "That came out weird."

Ohtori's lips quirk then and he smiles back at the one person in Hyotei who had probably 'lived and learnt' the most on their tennis team. "I thought that sounded really cool, Shishido-san."

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Shishido mutters, "Overheard someone say it in class and it sounded decent. Kinda makes sense and all. How long does it take to start a damn tennis match around here?"

"Oi, Hiyoshi, over here!"

Hiyoshi starts slightly and turns to look over at an impatient Gakuto, tapping his foot. "Mukahi-sempai."

"You sure took your time; I've been waiting for ages. Am I the only one who still believes in punctuality these days?"

"Stop giving yourself so much credit, idiot – we were here much earlier than you. Right, Choutarou?"

"Ah, well…"

As Shishido and Ohtori approach them from the other side of the stadium. Hiyoshi nods at them briefly in acknowledgement, annoyance flitting briefly over his features. Had he, he wonders, missed something about meeting the rest of the team here today?

"That just leaves Jirou-sempai," Ohtori says, "Oshitari-sempai, and Atobe-sempai and Kabaji."

"Yuushi said he might be late." Gakuto grins, a quick flash of even, white teeth. "That idiot's probably going to show up just before the match starts or something."

As Shishido says something sarcastic which has even Ohtori chuckling, Hiyoshi thinks that perhaps this is gekokujou after all. They've fallen this year, but here they are, still standing, still watching for the chinks in the techniques of others, still waiting for their turn to rise above the others, trampling them beneath their feet.

That will be the sweetest gekokujou of all.

Then Gakuto stumbles into him, grumbles about juniors who can't tell their right feet from their left and Hiyoshi is half inclined to rethink that stand.

He does not know if Atobe will show up, whether he will turn up to watch the semi-finals going to be held at the courts soon.

Still he waits anyway, patiently and steadily. Waits for Atobe as the sunlight dances curiously over a newly-shorn head. Atobe might not be too pleased with what he had done, but it is the least he could do.

Thoughts of his match against Tezuka yesterday tickle his mind and he brushes them away placidly. Atobe hadn't been happy with the loss. It had been a fairly interesting match, but not one of note if it annoyed Atobe.

Time drifts by and he waits, watching the cottony swirl of clouds above form and reform into different shapes as they pass idly by. Waits and waits and waits.

Waits until he remembers that Atobe might want to change into the tennis Regulars' uniform before he heads over to the matches. Classes in school require the students to wear the school uniform, so unless Atobe heads over to the clubroom first before coming to meet him…

Without a second thought, Kabaji begins moving over to where the clubroom is.

He's halfway there when he notices a familiar tennis player, sitting on the bench close to the clubroom, uncharacteristically wide awake as he squints at Kabaji.

"Ah, Kabaji!" Jirou grins before yawning hugely. "Could you wake me later if I fall asleep? Don't wanna get Atobe all mad at me if I miss watching the matches 'fter all."

Kabaji nods once and Jirou beams at him happily. "Awesome~ Thanks, Kabaji!"

The clubroom is cool compared to the heat of the day outside and dark without the lights on. Locating Atobe's locker isn't hard though, and Kabaji opens it easily enough, large fingers dexterously shifting the stuff inside around the small space until they land on fabric.

Jirou is asleep by the time Kabaji exits the clubroom and relocks it behind him, pocketing the spare keys Atobe had entrusted to him. The older boy had asked to be wakened if he fell asleep, so Kabaji prods him once, twice before shaking him gently with his free hand.

When Jirou doesn't stir, Kabaji pauses and thinks. He has to get back to waiting for Atobe. But from past experiences, Jirou will not be awakened easily, leaving him with a small, minute dilemma.

He solves it after a bit of consideration – hoisting the sleeping tennis player carefully over his shoulder, Kabaji walks back to where he had been waiting. Atobe can wake him later if he really wants Jirou to watch the matches and this way, Kabaji can resume what he had been doing without any fuss.

And so Kabaji continues to wait, patiently and steadily.

Shutting the classroom door, Atobe's fingers pause on the handle, his expression cool as he regards the approaching figure, the blue and white of the Regulars jacket clashing with the warm brown color scheme of the walls.

"I take it you're going in the direction of the courts as well." Oshitari ambles up to him. "Mind if I join you?"

"Would it make any difference if I said yes?"

"Well," Oshitari affects the semblance of giving the question his utmost consideration. "I suppose if you look at it that way…"

Abruptly, Atobe turns and walks down the corridor, his footsteps staccato and crisp with exasperation, echoing in the enclosed space. Oshitari falls into step with him quickly though, his long, leisurely strides keeping up easily with Atobe's terse ones.

"I'll be meeting with Kabaji before we reach the tennis courts."

"Should I be surprised?"

"You should perhaps take the hint and go on ahead," Atobe says dryly.

"Ah." Oshitari nods but makes no move to increase his pace. "Did I ever tell you I have a cousin in Shitenhouji?"

"Likely that small unimportant fact slipped your mind."

"Likely," Oshitari agrees amiably as they turn a corner. "Not quite that unimportant though - he happens to be a particularly good tennis player. We used to play against each other when we were younger."

"I see."

"Not really, since I hadn't gotten to the part where I explain why he isn't as unimportant as you assume he is."

"You seem to be particularly vocal today."

"He's a Regular on the Shitenhouji team," Oshitari continues, ignoring Atobe's raised eyebrow. "I always thought I'd be able to meet him in an official match someday. Hyotei against Shitenhouji. And we'd win and I'd get bragging rights for a year."

The silence that suddenly envelops the corridors are stifling, a buzz that fills Atobe's ears as he stares numbly at nothing, feet protesting the unexpected halt. Beside him, the banter dies on Oshitari's lips and he stops, somber, watching Atobe as his captain's fist curls into a fist by his side.

"We should have won."

Looking up with a start, Atobe stares at Oshitari as the bespectacled tennis player chuckles humorlessly. "That's what you're thinking, aren't you? That it's your fault Hyotei's out of the running. You've been thinking that since yesterday."

"Don't be ridiculous," Atobe replies automatically. "It's not any single player's fault when a match is lost. Assuming responsibility for a loss when everyone played their best is…"

"Stupid? Probably. Shame though, I'd always pegged you as intelligent."

"As captain-"

"As captain," Oshitari interrupts coolly, "You organized the team. Decided who plays which slots. Played against Echizen. Unless I missed something in the job details..."

"You don't understand it, do you?" Atobe's voice begins to rise, too loud, almost shrill as it bounces off the silent walls. "I'm the captain of the Hyotei team. I'm the one who played that last match. I-"

"You. You, you, you." Something unreadable flashes across Oshitari's face, hovers around his features behind inscrutable eyes. "It's all about you, isn't it, Atobe? How you lost, how you let Hyotei down, how it's all your fault, your responsibility. How about thinking about something else for a change?"

"Like what?" Atobe snaps, too irate to attempt at even a mediocre grasp on his frustration.

"Like us." Oshitari's tone doesn't rise like Atobe's but drops instead, anger churning suppressed waves beneath the low inflections. "Like the rest of the team. Tennis isn't just a singles match, in case you forgot. There's a reason why we're called a tennis team."

"My match was the deciding factor-"

"So you're asking us to shovel the blame on you? Then what about Gakuto and Hiyoshi? Kabaji? They lost too, didn't they?"

"That's beside the point!"

"Then what is the point? Because no, you're right, I don't get it. See, this is what I understand – we went up against Seigaku. We lost, by an irritatingly narrow margin but still a loss. That's where you lost me because, you see, here's the part where we get stronger and Hyotei grows and plans to hand Seigaku's ass back to them next year."

"And where exactly will we be next year?"

Oshitari shrugs. "In the stands, probably – we'd have other tournaments to look forward to. We all move on, Atobe – it's called life last time I checked. Who knows where we'll go on to from Hyotei?"

It's strange, Atobe thinks as he stares at Oshitari, thinking of what comes after Hyotei. Almost as if looking on a life that isn't his own, merely a spectator. He's planned it all out like a carefully orchestrated masterpiece his parents would have approved of – a symphony of academic excellence with the counterpoint of a brilliant future woven in between the bright certificates and honors.

He doesn't recall factoring in tennis though. Tennis is only a form of curriculum, a sport, the court beneath his feet, the rush of adrenaline, the heady joys of victory, the present. Nothing more than that and everything else at the same time.

Oshitari is studying him, leaning against the closest wall. "Just saying, but the semi-finals started half an hour ago."

"Just for clarity's sake," He hears himself say, and his voice is calm, collected once more, "I still hold the opinion that we should have advanced."

"We should have, shouldn't we?"

Atobe manages a wry chuckle. "Damn that Seigaku brat. And damn you."

"What, so now it's my fault?"

"I'll let you know that Ore-sama has never been interrupted while talking."

"Ah, I suppose I broke that cardinal rule, didn't I?"

"At least four times today. Fifty laps after the Nationals are done."

They are walking again, quickly down the hallway before the bell rings and they are trapped in the mass of students that will swarm the narrow corridors and keep them a moment longer from the Nationals. Because so much could happen in a moment; a match won, a pinnacle gained, or a dream destroyed.

"Atobe," Oshitari's voice is infused with amusement once more as they stepped through the double doors of Hyotei's side entrance. "This isn't the way to the courts."

"I have no intention of turning up without being dressed appropriately." The clubroom is not too far from the tennis courts and while he isn't keen on being any later than he already is, there should be a spare Regulars jacket and uniform in his locker. Hyotei will be represented adequately, never mind that they're only onlookers.

Oshitari chuckles behind him. "If you say so. I think Kabaji may have already taken care of that though."

"Usu."

Flicking his eyes to the right, a smirk flickers across his lips, solidifies as Atobe acknowledges the large second-year. "Ah, Kabaji."

Wordlessly, Kabaji holds out his hand and the Regulars uniform within its grasp. Taking the clothing, Atobe moves towards the closest enclosed area and efficiently shrugs out of his school wear. He steps out in time to hear Oshitari remark casually, "Nice haircut, Kabaji."

"Usu."

Glaring briefly at Oshitari who grins back in reply, Atobe pulls on the jacket and it's not like coming home, but something close to it. As he pulls the zip up, a breeze ruffles his newly-shorn hair and he grimaces discreetly. Yet another reason to dislike that insufferable brat from Seigaku.

"Well," he says, and all the old arrogance is back, smug and confident. "Let's not keep them waiting for us anymore. Na, Kabaji?"

"Usu."

"Well, you guys certainly took your time,' are the first words out of Gakuto's mouth as he taps his feet impatiently, his arms crossed."Singles Three's already begun and Fuji's losing pretty badly."

"Ehhhh???" Jirou blinks awake from over Kabaji's shoulder. "Really?"

"Four to zero so far, it's not looking too good," Ohtori reports, jogging back from where he had been observing the match. "Fuji-kun's triple counters apparently don't work well against Shiraishi-san's technique. Ah, Atobe-sempai, Oshitari-sempai, Jirou-sempai and Kabaji-kun."

"It will be gekokujou..."

Shishido groans in exasperation. "Look, can we go watch the game properly now? Seriously Atobe, after how you harp about punctuality during practices and all those laps, you could've had the decency to show up on time. Y'know, like before the matches started."

"If you're all done airing your petty frustrations," Atobe says with thinly stretched patience, "I believe there's a Nationals match to watch. Na, Kabaji?"

"Usu."

"Typical,' Gakuto mutters as they all move towards the stands."Do we even get as much as an apology for waiting for our captain who doesn't know how to tell the time? Nooooo…"

But he's grinning; all of them are as the roar of the crowd rolls over them and down on the courts, Shiraishi scores another point against Fuji, the simultaneous cheers and groans a cacophony of mounting excitement. This is tennis and anything that falls short of full-blown exhilaration is forbidden here, here in the stands watching as the game unfolds, as records are broken and limits pushed. Here on the courts, playing where each volley is a lifetime and each point is a step closer to the peak.

This is tennis.

"I," Shishido yells over all the noise, "Am going to kill Seigaku if they even think about losing to Shitenhouji. Seriously, after beating us, they'd better have the decency to make it all the way."

And Atobe couldn't help but agree.

Seigaku wrests the win from Shitenhouji today.

Oshitari takes the leisurely way home on a whim, the more memorable of day's events replaying themselves in his mind as he acknowledges the many different, remarkable techniques he had seen. It's been a good day, he reflects. Not an amazing day or even an exceptionally great one, but a good one nevertheless.

His handphone rings just as he reaches home and he slips his hand into his pocket, neatly flips it open and lifts it to his ear. "I told you there was an amazing player in Kantou. Shame your team didn't get to play him properly."

Kenya's voice is crackly with static as it comes through the receiver. "We saw him play alright – he's, well, pretty good, being able to hold his own against Kintarou like that."

Frowning slightly, Oshitari's free hand fiddles with the gate, trying to get it open. "Kintarou?"

"You probably didn't see it; it was after the official matches and all. But…wow."

"Yeah, Echizen tends to do that to people."

"Just a one-point match and those two pulled out more stops than I've seen in any tennis match." Kenya laughs ruefully. "We hadn't expected any less from Kintarou of course, but Echizen…I think Echizen pushed him all-out. Made him bring out techniques even I haven't seen before."

"Sounds like Echizen to me. He gave our captain a royal headache in our matches."

"You gave me the impression that he was in Hyotei when I called you some time back."

"Ah, I don't recall ever saying he was a Hyotei Regular. I thought you had learnt to stop jumping to conclusions." The gate slides open at last and he steps unto the small pathway, his smirk evident even through the phone's tiny speaker. A crackly laugh echoes in his ear.

"In any case, Hyotei's team was pretty strong this year – caught a few of your matches against Seigaku earlier. Missed yours though, sorry. They'll likely air it on TV though, so I'll watch it then."

"Is."

"Huh?"

A smile settles on the edges of Oshitari's lips as he looks up at the darkening evening sky, dropping his bag at his feet as he admires it. "Hyotei is strong, not was strong. You'd better watch out next year; Hyotei just might trample all over you."

Kenya snorts. "Yeah, as if. We'll still have Kintarou on our team."

"And Seigaku will still have Echizen. And," Oshitari chuckles, "Hyotei will still be Hyotei." Hyotei with all its prideful arrogance, Hyotei that hates to lose, Hyotei that does not buckle under pressure, but rather, thrives on it. This is the Hyotei Oshitari had signed up for in his first year, this is the Hyotei he will leave behind after he graduates.

And this will be the Hyotei who just might sweep the Championship back next year.

Kenya's voice is a drone in his ear as he goes on about how the Finals might turn out and how his whole team is looking forward to watching it. Oshitari ignores it as he slips his shoes off, his mind wandering to other more interesting things.

"Hey…"

"Yeah?"

"Before you guys go back to Osaka, how about us having a one-on-one match?"

There is a brief pause before Kenya speaks again, good-naturedly teasing. "Awww, I didn't know you missed being beaten that badly."

"If I recall correctly, you have the facts inversed."

"Oh, really? Maybe it's high time for me to refresh your memory."

"Or me yours." They toss around possible dates and locations before Kenya's phone battery starts to die and he hurriedly hangs up before it gives out altogether. Snapping his handphone shut, Oshitari could only shake his head and pick up his bag again.

"Yuushi?" His mother's voice floats from the direction of the kitchen along with the aroma of dinner as he enters the house. "Is that you?"

"Ah," he calls out in reply. "I'm back."

And as he pads up to his room, a yawn catches him unaware and he stretches leisurely. It's been a long day, he muses. A good day with the prospect of tennis practice tomorrow and those fifty laps Atobe gave him.

He laughs unexpectedly and shakes his head in resigned amusement. So life goes on after the Nationals, after the world seems to have fallen, after losing. And, as one by one, the others realize this too, he knows there's still such a long way to go. Still so much more to achieve and aim for. Still so many matches waiting.

After all, there's always tennis to look forward to.

When a dream dies
We overlook the beauty in ashes
And turn our faces towards the kindling of a new flame.

[pim]

2007-11-06T18:40:37Z

SUONO DI MUSICA
by drphoenix

It was autumn that day, the cold November wind nipping at his pale cheeks and turning them a rosy red. The knitted hat did little to help keep him warm, but the woolen coat helped him feel warm and toasty and kept him humming the same tune that he knew by heart. When the wave of heated air hit his exposed face, he smiled and took his hands out of his pockets before rubbing at his pink cheeks. He could stay here for a few more minutes—just until his hands warmed completely.

---

At the age of ten, Fuji Syuusuke took one of the many worlds on Earth by surprise. At the age of thirteen, he was playing with adults and matching their skill. By the time he was fourteen, he had won countless contests and bested many whom had been playing longer than he had. Now, at the age of twenty-two, he was one of the most well known people in the world, appearing on television all over the globe, charming many females and quite a few males.

At the age of seven, he had been declared a failure at the violin, piano, and flute. By the age of eight, he had been declared a failure at basketball, softball, and countless other things. Even the game of checkers evaded his abilities, one of his teachers would lament to his mother as he stacked blocks into merry shapes and strange color patterns. Fuji was a bright child, but bored easily and distracted by the tiniest things, even if it was a stray thread on his teacher's shirt.

He had taken to stacking the checker pieces in alternating colors while his opponent tried to explain it to him. When they began playing, Fuji wouldn't know the rules, and would leap straight over three or four pieces just to be able to say, "King me," even if it was on the wrong colored square. Then he would take one of his opponent's pieces and place it on top of his own as the 'king'. It seemed, as one of the teachers would sigh to his mother, that being able to king was just about the only thing he knew about the game.

When Fuji was eight and a half, he had turned on the television in his parents' room out of boredom and flipped through the channels aimlessly. He stopped on one, watching the men get into position interestedly. After a few moments, one of them swung his arm and it began. As he watched and listened, his eyes widened, his jaw dropped slightly, and small tears began to inadvertently roll down his round cheeks. His mother entered the room a few minutes later, sat down on the bed next to him, and began to watch as well, patting his back soothingly.

When it was over, she turned to him and smiled; asked him how much he enjoyed it.

He couldn't answer.

She smiled and ruffled his hair slightly before walking off to make a phone call to an instructor in the area. They spoke on the phone for quite a long time and then she came back and hugged him, telling him that as soon as she had heard what he was watching, she knew what he was going to want to begin.

At the age of nine, Fuji Syuusuke was declared a genius.

---

"Sorry I'm late," he called, rushing in to take his place in the circle of chairs, right at the front. "Bus arrived behind schedule," he gave as the excuse, although he had actually walked to the building, opting not to take the already crowded bus. He sat down before lifting the apparatus next to him and its companion. "Does it need—?"

"Ana was kind enough to while we waited," the woman next to him replied testily. "You're lucky our guest is also late, or you would have been in deep trouble. Shall we all warm up now that Fuji is here?" There were collective murmurs of agreement from around the others, and the woman raised her arms. "Then let's start as always."

Taking a deep breath, Fuji ran a hand almost lovingly over the glossy wood of his cello and began to play the short etude.

They stopped a few minutes later when the conductor motioned for them to cut off. She turned toward the door at the far end of the concert hall, at the very back where the seats on the highest floor led into the lobby. As if on cue, it opened and in stepped a tall figure—male, from what Fuji could tell—and stepped down the stairs regally. As he neared, a few girls began to squeal loudly. He caught a few snatches of what was actually low-pitched enough for the human ear to take in, but could make no sense of anything but the words, "Oh my gosh!"

"Quiet, all of you!" The conductor shushed them as best as she could before introducing the young man now standing behind her. "This is Tezuka Kunimitsu, a violinist and conductor. I'll be in Prague until after the big Christmas concert, so he'll be our honored guest and conductor. So be nice to him, listen when he speaks, and pay close attention to what he says. Alright?" There was a chorus of agreement from everyone, who seemed now attentive and alert now that there was a highly esteemed musician present.

Fuji looked at the man interestedly. Sharp features, dark brown hair that was neatly styled so that it was casual but would suit any type of clothing, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose. Tezuka was good-looking; even Fuji admitted it. The steely brown eyes were directed at him, though his face was towards the orchestra. Fuji chuckled and wiggled his fingers at the violinist in a sort of wave.

"This is the seating chart, Tezuka. Feel free to move people around as you wish during your stay here. And although he isn't listed here, this," the conductor gestured towards the honey-brunet, "is Fuji Syuusuke, our guest musician. We're doing a cello concerto, since we were lucky to nab him before the others got to him."

"Yes, Maestra," Tezuka bowed, taking the sheaf of papers and scores.

"Now, just sit down and listen. Get to feel how they play and where it needs to be changed," the conductor gestured to one of the cushioned chairs in the front row. Tezuka nodded, stepping down the stairs and settling into one of the chairs quickly. One chair, Fuji noticed, that had a perfect view of the entire stage. However, as they began playing Haydn's cello concerto, he realized that the pair of eyes was trained solely on him. They made their way through the first half or so of the first movement before the conductor looked at her watch and clicked her tongue, annoyed. She cut them off with a wave of her hand. "Alright, the choir needs the stage in ten minutes, so let's call it a day for now. Remember to practice."

There was the clatter of rustling papers, murmuring from the orchestra, and the sound of cases being snapped shut as the ensemble packed their things and instruments. As Fuji carefully set the cello into its case, he felt the gaze of the other guest on him again. Snapping the clasps down, he smiled at Tezuka before handing the case to one of the students rolling some of the bigger instruments back to the orchestra room. Hopping down onto the carpet without even bothering with the stairs, he tapped Tezuka on the shoulder to get the other to turn around.

"Hey."

"Yes?" The violinist finished gathering his papers and turned to face the cellist. "May I help you?"

Fuji gestured to the door with a tilt of his head. "Want to get a coffee at the café down the street? We can discuss the piece or something. I'll pay, if that helps any."

Tezuka nodded, placing his things in a folder before following Fuji into the lobby and out the door.

They walked to the café side-by-side, neither speaking to the other. When Fuji opened the glass door of the coffeehouse, the door jingled and the only young woman manning the counter looked up from the espresso machine to call out a greeting.

"Welcome to Caffè Musicale!" She smiled at both of them and went back to making the cappuccino for the teenage girl with long braids waiting patiently at the counter. Fuji beckoned Tezuka to follow him to the counter. The barista handed the frothy drink to the girl and held up a finger to the two musicians as she got the woman's change. When the teen walked back to a table occupied by another girl, the barista smiled at them. "Hello, what can I get you?"

"The house special please," Fuji's answer was immediate. "Hazelnut and a sprinkle of cayenne pepper."

"Alright, and you sir?" She looked at Tezuka and gestured to the chalkboard behind her. "We have a large selection of coffees, a few hot shakes, and Italian sodas. Hot shakes are sort of a milkshake, but not made with ice cream, since it'd melt if I heated it. Instead, it has fruit and condensed milk in it to thicken, and is kind of like a soup, because you eat it with a spoon. Maybe I should start calling it fruit soup instead. That probably makes more sense..." She trailed off, thinking. She snapped back a second later, apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry about that. So what can I get you?"

"Black, Columbian blend if you have it," Tezuka replied.

"We have it. Have a seat and I'll bring your drinks to you," the barista gestured to one of the tables near the window and pulled out two cups, both hand-painted. "That'll be 740-yen please." Fuji deposited a few coins into her hand and she dropped them into the cash register. "Thank you, and your drinks will only take a few minutes."

Fuji and Tezuka sat down at the table, chairs scraping against the tiled floor slightly as they settled down. Fuji looked around the café at the others at booths and tables, chatting with their companions. There were a few alone, like the shorthaired teenager listening to music and sipping at her latte while sketching, and the boy wearing a white baseball cap, one that frequented the café, that was scribbling furiously at a paper, pausing to take a long draught of his purple soda before writing again.

When he turned his gaze back to Tezuka, the violinist was looking intently at the barista occupied with making their drinks.

"She's pretty, isn't she?"

"Her hands are," Tezuka answered, not taking his eyes off the young woman that was currently pouring the cup of black coffee that Tezuka had ordered.

"So you have a hand fetish? That's interesting; never met anyone who has a hand fetish before," Fuji turned slightly to look as well. "But her hands are very delicate, aren't they?"

"She's played a string instrument before," Tezuka remarked, turning his head to look at the painting above Fuji's head instead.

Fuji was curious. "And how can you tell?"

"She's not played in a long time, but when she was younger, she was very good at it," Tezuka responded after a moment's hesitation. "The way her left fingers move indicates that she can control them very well, and that comes from playing a violin or viola for a long time. Possibly the cello."

Fuji chuckled; Tezuka wasn't at all attracted to the woman. "Why not the string bass or the piano?"

"Her height." He was intently studying her again as she dusted cayenne pepper over Fuji's coffee. "She would have been too short to play it properly. As for the piano, both hands would be moving similarly, but her left fingers are far quicker."

Just then, the barista walked over with their drinks. "Here you go! One black Columbian coffee and a hazelnut house special with cayenne pepper on the top," she placed the drinks on the table cheerily. "Hope you didn't wait too long."

"Kaya-san, Tezuka-san here thinks that you once played a string instrument. Is he correct?"

"Why," Kaya flushed lightly, giggling softly. "I played the violin when I was in elementary school and continued until the end of high school. It was a lot of fun, but I broke my left hand and couldn't hold the violin properly anymore. But you're correct." She flashed them another smile before hurrying back to the counter as another customer entered the café, sending a cold gust of wind into the room.

"I'm impressed, Tezuka-san, that you could tell just by the way she made coffee," Fuji took a sip of his hot coffee and sighed with pleasure at the taste of cayenne and hazelnuts. He leaned back in his chair and looked out the large window they sat next to.

They discussed the piece of music the orchestra was playing, as well as a few pieces written in the Baroque era. They soon went from the cello to the violin, then to Mozart and Beethoven, followed by the music of Schubert. Fuji finally strayed back to the musical ensemble Tezuka was to be conducting when Haydn was mentioned.

"So what did you think of the orchestra? They're some of the best, aren't they?"

"They are, but there was one person that I thought was lacking."

Fuji turned his eyes back on Tezuka's serious face. "What do they play?"

"A cellist," was the reply.

"And who might it be?" Fuji's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You."

---

It was a dangerous thing to provoke Fuji Syuusuke—even more so when he had a cup of hot coffee in front of him. He wrapped his slim fingers firmly around the handle and resisted the urge to dump it over Tezuka's head. A few moments ago, they had been having a peaceful conversation. Releasing the cup with some difficulty, he smiled as pleasantly as he could.

"How so?" He folded his hands so he wouldn't do anything stupid. "My playing has been labeled as perfect by judges all over the world. I fail to see how it is lacking."

"Your cello is missing something essential that is often overlooked," Tezuka calmly sipped his coffee, as if they had continued their conversation from earlier; as if he hadn't said anything to provoke Fuji.

"Pray tell, what is it?" Fuji's hands had tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning white. "If I don't know what it is, then I can't fix it, now can I?"

"It's something you have to discover on your own," Tezuka's reply was unruffled, adding fuel to the fire of Fuji's anger.

The cellist stood suddenly, making his coffee splash onto the table. "Good day, Tezuka-san. I'll see you at practice tomorrow." Nodding a farewell to the barista, he opened the door, hearing the friendly jingle that now sounded irritating and mocking. The wind had grown stronger during the half hour they had sat in the café, and Tezuka watched as the cold gust of air blew the baseball-cap-boy's papers to the ground, covered in handwritten music notes.

---

Practice with the orchestra was normal. Tezuka was an amazing conductor, and even Fuji had to acknowledge it. He knew where they needed to become a tiny bit softer, louder, or more staccato; legato, where not to breathe, and he even picked out the tiniest places where people were overlapping for less than a millisecond. Even the girls who never looked up at the conductor would glance up every measure, although Fuji presumed that was because Tezuka was good looking. He never slowed even the slightest or picked up speed unconsciously. His conducting was perfect.

Just as Fuji thought of his cello.

The days of orchestra practice passed by, melting into weeks of seemingly endless playing and tuning. Fuji swore one day that his cell phone's ring tone was beginning to sound like the cello concerto, even if it was Beethoven's Unfinished Symphony. Tezuka was still conducting as perfectly as always. Fuji resented that a bit, although with his help, the brass was no longer blaringly obvious in the forte sections; the flutes no longer sounded so windy. Now the music they made was clear and without the fog of a missed breath here or there. The clarinets did not squeak, the trombones no longer sounded weak, and even the violins were improving to beyond what was the requirement to join the top band here. The string section had been the highlight of Tokyo's best young adult orchestra, and it now seemed that the skill of each section was equal.

Fuji hated Tezuka even more for flawlessly helping the orchestra and never making a mistake.

And yet he knew that it was thanks to this violinist that the Tokyo YA Orchestra was going to give its best performance on Christmas Eve, watched by music critics and college scouts from around the world. There would be people recruited to study under some famous musician or another, and they would happily accept and fly off to Prague or Vienna and play their instruments until their bloody little fingers fell off, he thought bitterly. All thanks to Tezuka.

In a small café not far from the concert hall—not the Caffè Musical (he'd lost the will to go there to enjoy coffee, even if it was the best coffee that had ever passed his lips)—during lunch break two weeks prior to the performance, he regretted ordering the soup when the English letters floated to the top and seemingly formed a message.

He rait yu no.

Fuji frowned and stirred the soup, clearing the letters. Tezuka was most certainly not correct about his cello. Why was Tezuka even the first to come to mind when he read that anyway? He lifted a spoonful of thin broth and mushy pasta letters to his mouth and sipped at it, making a face at the saltiness. Probably canned, not fresh, as the menu advertised. It wasn't even chicken soup to begin with.

More letters surfaced and Fuji scowled as he read the next few words.

Sank tezka fo conduktin.

He swirled the alphabet soup around the bowl before setting down his spoon. He'd lost his appetite—not because of the messages, he told himself. The soup here was terrible, and he wasn't coming back. The coffee here wasn't decent enough for a dog to drink anyway. As explanation for the messages, hearing Haydn's cello concerto too many times obviously wasn't good for the mind.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he walked down the street against the wind that now seemed so unbearably cold.

He wished he could believe it himself.

When he sat down again in his spot at the front of the orchestra, he glanced quickly at Tezuka, who was flipping through the score and making marks on where things needed to be fixed more. Did the man ever give it a rest?

By the time Fuji had finished re-tuning his cello, everyone was settled down in their chairs and Tezuka was in place on the podium and next to Fuji. With two taps of the baton against the stand, the entire orchestra was silent and ready to play. When they started playing, Fuji listened intently to everyone else, letting his fingers play the notes he had long ago memorized (he had once woken up with his left hand tapping against the sheets as if he were playing).

It was surprisingly almost flawless. One of the younger flutists was still blowing too hard, and one of the oboists clearly had a cold, but those were the biggest mistakes they made. In two weeks, Fuji expected it to be beyond what Haydn might have imagined it to be. Tezuka had them play the piece over and over again until past six. When he dismissed them, Fuji felt Tezuka's gaze on him for a moment as he walked up the stairs and out of the concert hall to the lobby. There were a few choir girls early for practice, and he nodded to them as he passed by, ignoring the giggles as the cold air hit him.

It was dark out already, with a few stars dusted across the sky, although the smog that always seemed to drape over Tokyo blocked many of them out. His breath came out in puffs of pale steam as he exhaled and tried to hail a taxi. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and Fuji's instincts kicked in. He jerked an elbow back and caught the other in the ribs. He stumbled back with the person holding onto his shoulder but managed to stay upright.

"Listen, I have about 3000-yen on me, so just take it and leave."

"Fuji-san, it's me," the man replied, voice deep and infuriating to Fuji's ears as always. "I'll help you hail a cab."

"No thank you, I can do it myself," Fuji held a hand up as another taxi went by and didn't stop for him.

There was a shrill whistle from behind the cellist as another approached and this time, it drove up to the curb and stopped. Tezuka was holding his thumb and index finger to his mouth and the whistle had signaled the taxi to halt.

"Something you learn trying to go around New York City," Tezuka explained, opening the door for Fuji.

The honey-brunet rolled his eyes as he slid into the backseat and sighed, begrudgingly speaking to Tezuka. "Would you like to come to my apartment for coffee or wine or something? As... thanks."

"Very well," Fuji clenched his eyes closed as Tezuka replied with what he'd not wanted to hear and sat down in the cab next to him. Fuji told the driver his apartment's address and sighed almost inaudibly. The entire way to Fuji's apartment, the two were silent and didn't so much as utter a word until Fuji handed the cab driver the three 1000-yen bills, telling him to keep the change. Tezuka, forever the gentleman, got out first and held the door open for Fuji. They both watched as the taxi pulled away from the curb before Fuji spoke, breaking the silence between them.

"It's cold out here," he said, for lack of a better thing to say.

"It's December."

"I meant, 'so shall we go inside before one of us catches cold?'" Fuji almost rolled his eyes again and walked to the building with Tezuka not far behind. The doorman nodded when Fuji told him Tezuka was his guest and held the door open for both men. The lobby of this apartment building was well furnished and lavish, promising large apartments and very expensive rent. Fuji lived on the top floor, and they rode the glass elevator in silence as well.

Fuji's apartment was large and cozy with a fireplace and soft couches. There was only one pair of slippers awaiting them, so Fuji offered them to Tezuka and opted to walk in his feet with nothing but socks on them. They were clean anyway. Fuji left Tezuka sinking uncomfortably into one of the couches as he went into the kitchen to make coffee because he really didn't want to know how much alcohol Tezuka could hold or what kind of drunk the man was.

He opened his cabinets and cursed at the empty coffee bag.

"Tezuka-san," he said as politely as he could, emerging from the saloon-style doors leading to the kitchen. "I'm all out of coffee. Is wine alright with you?"

"Yes," Tezuka was attempting to look as dignified as possible while trying to sit up straight in the squashy sofa.

"Red or white?" Fuji now highly regretted not buying coffee that morning before leaving for practice.

"Red."

Fuji turned around and pushed one of the doors open. "I have a Merlot and an older Shiraz."

"Either is fine," Tezuka was still struggling with the sofa as Fuji disappeared into the other room. He returned with two wineglasses and a full bottle and sat next to the violinist, allowing himself to sink down into the divan. He set both glasses down and uncorked the bottle with ease. Pouring a glass for each of them, he glanced toward Tezuka uncomfortably. Their eyes met for a split second before Fuji darted his eyes back towards the wine flowing from the long neck of the bottle.

They sipped in silence together after Fuji handed Tezuka a wineglass.

Finally, Fuji made an effort to begin a conversation by asking Tezuka about the orchestra. Tezuka said that everyone had improved greatly, and from there they jumped from topic to topic, brushing over Mozart and the French horn and even spoke about embouchures and the proper way to hold a bassoon. Tezuka was definitely more well studied in instruments, though Fuji knew every aspect about the cello, and they spoke about everything musical that two people possibly could in the span of an hour.

"More wine, Tezuka-san?" Fuji was now enjoying Tezuka's presence more so than earlier, perhaps because Tezuka had not brought up that Fuji was lacking. Tezuka nodded once and held out his glass. Fuji leaned over and poured, but something seemed to push him further than he calculated and the red liquid splashed onto Tezuka's clean white dress shirt. It was not more than a few drops, but Fuji immediately set the bottle down and grabbed a napkin from the table.

Dabbing furiously at the stain, he apologized profusely. "I'm so sorry Tezuka-san. I'll pay the costs of dry-cleaning if it doesn't come out, I mean—" Fuji rubbed at it again. "How much was this shirt?" He looked up fearfully. He knew from previous experience that ordinary dress shirts could often cost a fortune, especially if they were sold in the same store as popular fashion labels.

Tezuka did not look angry at all. His eyes were cloudy and a little bit hazy from the effects of the alcohol. "It's fine," he answered. Somehow, his voice seemed a bit hoarser and deeper from Fuji's close proximity. "It was on sale."

"Still, I'll pay for cleaning costs," Fuji attempted once again to let the napkin absorb the wine, though failing. He looked up again, searching Tezuka's eyes for the slightest hint of annoyance or irritation. Finding none, he breathed a soft sigh of relief and paused at the hand on his shoulder.

Later, they both blamed the alcohol for what happened next.

Fuji was leaning up and Tezuka was bending his head down and suddenly their lips were meeting somewhere in the middle. It began soft, just a light brushing of lips, but Fuji pressed up insistently. Tezuka's lips were slightly chapped, he noted, as his hands—one soft and one with calloused fingers—slipped around Tezuka's shoulders and pulled the violinist closer. Tezuka's hands were on his waist, and his lips parted when Fuji's tongue darted out and just pressed against them once. Their tongues touched and Fuji angled his head slightly so that their noses weren't bumping together.

Tezuka finally broke for air first, just keeping their lips apart as both caught their breath, taking in air heavily. But then they were kissing again and Fuji had lost all train of thought.

"So," Fuji murmured when they parted for the second time, this time keeping their lips brushing together very lightly. Their breath mingled and Fuji thought it smelled like wine.

"Yes?" Fuji left the question hanging and pressed his mouth against Tezuka's hard. His lips were bruised and he was very glad that he didn't play a wind instrument. He pulled his head away slightly, letting his forehead rest against the violinist's. Tezuka's glasses had been pulled off sometime in the first break and now rested on the coffee table, next to their forgotten wineglasses.

"Have I found what I was lacking yet?" Tezuka opened his mouth to answer but Fuji cut him off again, greedily kissing the one he had disliked just an hour ago. Tezuka returned the kiss for a moment before coming to his senses and easing away from Fuji, keeping hands on the cellist's shoulders to ward him off for a moment.

"Yes," he said, and Fuji smiled, leaning in again. The firm hands kept him at bay and he nearly pouted. "In your kisses. However, it is still missing in your cello." Tezuka pushed him away completely and put his glasses back on. He stood, leaving Fuji sitting dumbfounded on the couch. "Thank you for the wine. Have a nice evening, and don't forget to eat dinner. I'll see you for orchestra practice tomorrow at ten." He left the slippers by the entrance as they had been before and took his coat and scarf from the coat rack. Putting both on, he nodded a goodbye to Fuji and left, closing the door behind him.

Fuji groaned and covered his eyes with one hand as he lay down on the couch. His lips hurt and they had bumped their teeth together like teenagers, so those did as well. He could still smell Tezuka's aftershave and feel the weight of lips on his, taking away his breath. He hated the man. Just hated him as much as his heart could muster.

Which, in the end, wasn't much now that he had kissed the man who infuriated him so.

"Are you happy now, God?"

There was the sound of childish giggling, and Fuji took that as a "yes", even if the laughter sounded mysteriously identical to the six-year-old twins who lived next door.

---

The next morning, he blearily sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of instant coffee that he had bought from the local convenience store at about 4 AM that morning. He inhaled the aroma from the coffee and looked at it as suspiciously as he could for someone so tired. It smelled all right, so maybe he wouldn't have to spend so much money on coffee from cafés any longer. Taking a sip, he let the hot liquid move though his mouth before gagging and spitting the coffee back into the cup. Ew.

Fuji stood and upended the cup in the sink, placing the mug down as well once the coffee had drained. He could always afford to do the dishes later, and if he left now, he could settle down in a café somewhere and enjoy a nice cup of freshly brewed coffee that didn't taste like complete and utter crap. As it was, it had been a few weeks since he'd had a decent cup of coffee.

So he put on his coat and his shoes, and paused with his hand on the doorknob for a few minutes, wondering why he hadn't had good coffee for so long. Ever since Tezuka had insulted his cello and told him that he was lacking, he recalled. Now thinking further back, ever since he had discovered the quiet little café, he would take a trip there at least twice a day—once in the morning before practice or for breakfast, and once after orchestra or just in a lazy afternoon—for a cup of the carefully made drink that was now almost an addiction. He dearly missed the Caffè Musical, and wanted so badly a cup of coffee made by the sweet barista.

Making his decision, he left the building, walked the fifteen-minute walk to the familiar café, and entered, the bell above the door giving the happy jingle that signaled that he was back again. As always, Kaya was wiping down the counter and that boy with the baseball cap was seated at the corner booth, carefully marking the sheets of lined paper.

"Fuji-san!" She looked surprised to see him, and gave a welcoming smile. "It's great to see you again; the last time you were here with that other man, you stormed out rather angrily. How long has it been, about three weeks? Are you alright?"

"Sorry if I made you worry," Fuji smiled back and leaned on the counter. "I've been rather busy with the concert approaching. I'm perfectly fine, just suffering from a slight cold lately." Which, of course, was a total lie, but she didn't need to know that. "So, what's been happening in here during my absence?"

"Well, that man you came with last time now visits every few days. Orders the same thing every time: Columbian, black. Just one cup every time, at the same table, and then he leaves without another word. A few days ago, a very tall man with glasses asked for my recipe for hot shakes, saying something about wanting to take them, add in nutrients, and dehydrate them, then use them was tablets that kids won't actually mind taking. After that, it got a little technical, and I got confused," she chuckled sheepishly, and Fuji felt a presence at his side.

"Hey," it was the boy with the baseball cap. "Can I get another soda, ma'am?"

"Yes, it'll just take a minute," Kaya turned and opened the small refrigerator behind her, taking out a glass bottle of purple liquid. She took a towel and placed it over the cap, twisting until there was a hissing sound and the cap came off. She handed him the bottle and deposited the cap in a garbage can under the counter. "How's the symphony coming?"

"It's a concerto," the boy muttered, walking back to the corner booth. She shrugged and turned back to Fuji.

"He's writing a concerto?" Fuji asked, mildly surprised. He looked no older than a teenager did, with his wide eyes and smirk that was worn often by the high school students that carried around lead pipes and didn't hesitate to beat up someone if they so much as looked at them the wrong way. "My, he must be quite a prodigy."

"I'm not sure," Kaya said with a wry smile. "It's been a while since I've been around the music industry, so I'm not sure what the age now for writing music is."

"How often is he in here?"

"Well, he comes in every day now, only leaving for lunch and for the day. Always gets a grape Italian soda; says it helps the music flow. I wish him luck," she sighed before looking up at Fuji again. "So what would you like, Fuji-san?"

"The usual," he said, and watched the barista carefully steam milk and brew coffee, adding in a shot of chocolate syrup and two drops of hazelnut extract after they were mixed in the ceramic mug—white with music notes, Fuji noted, finding it just a little bit coincidental. She carefully piped whipped cream onto the drink, gave it a sprinkle of red cayenne pepper from a small metal container, and set it in front of him. "Keep the change," he said, leaving a 1000-yen bill in her hand.

He walked to his usual table and paused before passing it and sitting at the one next to it.

---

There was little Fuji could do about seeing Tezuka, however, other than acting as if it had not happened. Of course, it was difficult when two girls—a clarinetist and a percussionist—giggled as they made their way to him. Once they were within a two-foot radius of him, one pushed the other forward, and then the other repeated the motion to her friend.

"I won't bite," he said as the clarinet player shoved her friend again. "Now, why don't both of you come here and talk to me?"

They blushed, and took about three steps closer. "Fuji-sama, is there anything going on between you and Tezuka-sama?"

"Well," Fuji thought about the conversation they'd had and the heated kisses they'd shared. He felt the weight of lips crushing his own again, stealing the air from his lungs. "No. Why do you ask?"

The percussionist gave another high-pitched giggle and added another sentence. "Well, Riri-chan and I saw you get into a taxi with him last night."

"There is nothing," he reassured them with a smile. "Nothing going on between Tezuka-san and I. You two should probably get back to your seats, however, because we're going to begin soon." The two girls nodded and walked off giggling and talking behind their hands. 'Nothing that I'd tell you two about, anyway.'

Tezuka walked to the conductor's stand, clapping his hands together to catch the orchestra's attention. The many musicians scurried to their seats immediately, sitting up in their chairs with their backs ramrod straight, ready as soon as the conductor's feet touched the podium.

"Concert master," he said calmly, picking up his baton. "B flat concert scale."

"Y-yes," the violinist stood, positioning his violin carefully. He drew the bow over the strings slowly, watching for any instructions from the conductor.

"Violins, tune yourselves accordingly."

---

A few weeks passed, and the Christmas concert went on without a hitch.

Critics raved, saying, "...and a textbook performance from Fuji Syuusuke-san, while Tezuka Kunimitsu, the guest conductor, did very well in place of..."

"...Fuji Syuusuke-sama was the highlight of the Tokyo Youth Orchestra's concert on Christmas Eve. Nonetheless, Tezuka Kunimitsu-san, taking the place of Ryuuzaki Sumire-san shone brightly as the conductor..."

"Last night's Christmas concert was fantastic, as expected from genius Fuji Syuusuke-san as the featured musician..."

Fuji couldn't leave his home without someone (mainly teenage girls) stopping him on the street and asking for an autograph as if he were a movie star or famous pop star. They squealed and giggled and posted rants online about how "Syuusuke-sama touched my hand as he gave me an autograph!" or "I know we're meant to be~~~~" Even a few middle aged women would smile and congratulate him on a well done concerto, and then ask him calmly for a signature on the new CD they'd bought. As soon as they thought he was out of earshot, though, they acted like their daughters and jumped up and down excitedly.

Soon, though, the buzz died down and Fuji was left alone (for the most part).

A few weeks into January, he recieved a phone call from a music school, offering him a part time job as an advanced cello instructor with a few beginners on the side. He felt the urge to accept, and the next day recieved his schedule and first group of advanced students.

They were all in their teens, and quite good. The music they played was riddled with difficult runs and tricky beats, but they plowed through it like their fingers were a chainsaw and the music was a tree branch. A few of them, like the serious faced boy that always seemed to wear a black baseball cap and the pretty one with blue hair that looked amazingly frail, were nearly up to par with a professional cellist.

His beginners were not so skilled. They fumbled over the strings, unable to even hold the cello for the entire lesson, let alone play a scale the first few times. However, they all worked their hardest to keep the cello upright and hold the bow correctly. Soon, they were able to play a scale and short, simple songs.

Fuji busied himself with teaching until his phone rang again on a cold day in early March. A CEO was getting married, and wanted only the best of the best to play at his wedding reception. There would be a string quartet, and he wanted Fuji to be the cellist.

Naturally, Fuji said, and the deal was made. He was called to the CEO's office where he was informed there would be two arranged meetings for the quartet before the wedding in June, and then handed scores and turned back out onto the streets.

He practiced and practiced when he had time, learning the pieces quickly.

Soon, April approached, and he recieved a new beginner: a bouncy, 10 year-old redhead that seemed extremely eager to learn how to play the cello.

---

"Eiji-kun, play me a D," Fuji said.

The boy nodded and positioned his fingers carefully before drawing the bow over the strings.

The sound he made screeched and scratched at Fuji's eardrums before Eiji stopped and looked up expectantly. Fuji nodded, quickly plastering a fake smile of encouragement onto his face.

"Now, tell me how we keep the cello from screeching."

---

The first meeting day came, and Fuji found himself looking at one all too familiar face when he entered the room.

"Hello, Tezuka-san," he said as cheerfully as he possibly could, and sat down at the table next to a nervous looking young woman. "And Ryuuzaki Sakuno-san, right?"

She was a pretty girl with red hair the color of rubies, but was looking down and staring at her hands. She figeted often, looking up quickly before back down into her lap again. "H-hello, Fuji-san."

They three of them sat in uncomfortable silence until the door burst open and a harried looking young man rushed in. He dressed very casually in a sports jacket and jeans, and his short hair was spiked.

"Sorry, sorry!" He plopped down into the last chair, cheeks red and panting. "Am I really late?"

"No," Tezuke pointed at the clock. "You're on time."

"Oh," he grinned sheepishly at making a fuss. "Sorry anyway."

"Sh-shall we begin then?" Sakuno asked timidly.

"Yeah! Introductions would be good, right? I'm Momoshiro Takeshi," the man pointed at himself with a thumb. "Viola."

"I'm Ryuuzaki Sakuno, and I play the violin," Sakuno mumbled. "Pleased to meet you all."

"Fuji Syuusuke, cellist. Let's put on a good show."

"Tezuka Kunimitsu, violin."

"Fuji Syuusuke?" Momoshiro blinked. "You're the Fuji Syuusuke?"

"Well," Fuji shrugged, "I don't think I've met any others."

"My girlfriend loves you!" The viola player exclaimed holding out a marker and a piece of paper. "Your autograph would make an awesome birthday present for her!"

Fuji looked at the proffered paper and then back at Momoshiro. "Aa, sure..." He took the two things and quickly wrote his name, then handed it back.

"Awesome! Now I don't have to worry if she doesn't like the necklace I got her!"

"Momoshiro-kun," Tezuka fixed his stare on the other man. "We came here to play music, didn't we?"

"Oh, right," Momoshiro seemed to shrink under Tezuka's glare and held up his viola. "Shall we begin then?"

As they four of them played, they were able to synch up and take silent cues from each other without much effort. The CEO had chosen well in the musicians he wanted at his wedding.

The next meeting was the same, with the four of them playing and playing and playing, until the time was up.

Fuji tried to avoid looking at Tezuka.

---

"Play me a C."

The note was terrible, and Fuji wanted nothing more than to stuff his fingers in his ears until the lesson was over. The thin string of patience he had left for the student was being pulled tighter as the month wore on, and was about to break.

"Fuji-sensei, am I getting any better?" Eiji pulled the bow away from the strings and looked down.

"Of course. Play me an E."

The note seemed to bang on Fuji's head with a hammer.

The string's tension tightened.

"Now a G."

The cello screamed in the soundproof room.

The string stretched harder.

"An A?"

Fuji's head felt like it was going to explode with the note.

The thread snapped.

"Are you sure?" Eiji frowned. "I don't think I've improved very much, have I?"

"To put it lightly, Eiji-kun," Fuji said irritably, "no."

Eiji's head snapped up to look at the teacher.

"You've been coming here for nearly a month and you can't play a note without screeching and scratching. My other beginners have already begun short pieces, yet you're still on the basics. You haven't any talent for the cello, so why bother playing on? You're only going to quit in the end, because you can't advance if you can't play a single note correctly!"

His words hung in the air for a long time, and the room was silent.

"Because I love it," Eiji finally spoke after what seemed like eternity.

"You what?"

"I love playing the cello. When my fingers touch the strings, and my hand draws the bow over the cello's strings, it feels like something magical happens. I remember why I wanted to in the first place. I watched that Christmas concert you put on, and was in love with the cello from the very first note you played. I wanted to someday be able to do that too, to play on a stage with everyone watching and love what I did."

"Eiji-kun..."

"Fuji-sensei, you started the cello when you were eight, right? And look now: one of the most famous cellists in the world, right up there with Yo-Yo Ma. But how could you have done it without playing and practicing until your fingers were sore? One wrong note and it wasn't worth it anymore? When you started, didn't you love it too? Weren't you passionate about it?"

Passion.

That was what Tezuka had told him he was missing. Passion, of all things.

For a moment, he went back to the time he first began playing the cello, after watching that magical cello concerto. He'd loved it, every second of it, and every note he made seemed like magic to his ears. He would practice until his mother scolded him and made him go to bed, and wake up the next day with sore arms and fingers, but would wrap the appendages in bandages and continue to play.

"Fuji-sensei?"

And he was brought back to the private practice room, with two cellos, two stands, and a young boy staring down at the floor.

"Yes, Eiji-kun. Now, play me a C."

Eiji seemed encouraged, and played the note as loudly as he could.

The C was loud, discordant, and far from perfect. It screeched and scratched and was off-key, but to Fuji, it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

At the end of the lesson, Eiji packed up his cello and began to leave, stopping at the door to look back at his teacher.

"See you next week?" It was more of a question than a goodbye, and Fuji nodded.

"2:00 as always. Don't be late."

And Eiji smiled, wheeled his cello out the door, and called out a happy, "Bye, Fuji-sensei!"

---

The wedding reception took place in a garden, filled with beautiful flowers and a fountain. It was warm, partly cloudy, and there was a slight breeze that made the ribbons attached to the bushes and tents flutter like butterflies in the wind.

They set up near the front, and tuned while they waited for guests to begin arriving.

As the people slowly trickled in, they began to play the first piece at the secretary's signal.

The groom arrived with his beautiful, blushing bride that had the air of someone who would break easily, and they were soon the center of attention.

Fuji listened to the chatter of the guests, the CEO's smooth voice, and the bride's annoying, high-pitched giggles. His fingers moved of their own accord, having memorized the notes and rhythms already.

His mind drifted, and his thoughts meandered aimlessly until he remembered the last lesson with Eiji.

"Weren't you passionate about it?"

Slowly, he began to play with his eyes closed, actually listening to the sounds his cello made, and noticing for the first time in a while the quirks he had while playing. His fingers would jump instead of slide on a specific note, the A he just played was slightly off, but sounded beautiful all the same, and the way he sometimes turned the bow while playing Cs.

He felt like a human playing the cello instead of a well-oiled machine.

His fingers stopped for a second as he smiled and felt grateful toward the young boy.

Hastily, he began again, grateful that it had been a violin part and he was only the background rhythm.

His eyes scanned over the crowd, landing on the CEO. His eyes were narrowed, and he had clearly caught the mistake. However, he resumed speaking to the older man next to him after shooting Fuji an angry glare.

As they finished the first piece, the secretary handed them each a bottle of water and gestured towards Fuji.

"Atobe-sama wants to see you, Fuji-san."

He followed the woman to the groom, who was standing behind one of the larger tents.

"What were you doing out there?" Atobe sniffed. "You missed that note."

"My mind wandered for a moment, Atobe-san," Fuji bowed apologetically. "It won't happen again."

"It'd better not, or your music career is over." he replied, pointing to the rest of the players. "Go back, and make sure you keep focused."

"Yes, sir," Fuji kept his head bowed until Atobe had returned to his bride, plastering on a loving expression for show. However, he threw another glare at Fuji when he had the chance.

Fuji made his way back to the rest of the quartet, where Sakuno and Momoshiro looked at him with sympathy.

"Did Atobe-san scold you for missing that C?" Momoshiro asked immediately.

"Momoshiro-san," Sakuno tried to hush the viola player, but Fuji chuckled and waved it off.

"Of course."

"Don't mind it. We all make mistakes, Fuji-san, right?"

Fuji flashed a smile at the red haired woman, and she blushed, playing with the hem of her dress. "Thank you, Ryuuzaki-san." He looked over at Tezuka, who had not yet said anything. "So, Tezuka-san? Are you going to scold me as well?"

"Places!" Atobe's secretary called to them, and they picked up their instruments. "Play Crosswinds!"

As they positioned their bows and Tezuka tapped his foot to set the beat, Fuji watched as his lips moved, forming four simple words.

"No, you played perfectly."

And the music began.

There were cool breezes, colorful flowers, and snow-capped mountains woven into the piece. It had been inspired by something beautiful, and turned into something of the same caliber. Fuji closed his eyes again, listening to the others' parts intertwine with his.

Somehow, music sounded even better than before.

[sedgman]

2007-11-06T18:40:25Z

MARKED HEARTS
by darkmeira

At that moment, the most difficult thing to do would have been to say no.

[ August 15 ]

I cannot believe my luck. What was supposed to be the escalating point in my career ended up like this. The story of course, is simple enough. I was scheduled to perform tonight for the President of the United States of America as a representative of the Tokyo Academy of Magic, the best magic academy in the entire world. And of course, as their number one student, I was given the honor. However, my supposed “arrogance,” as the director had said, had cost me my slot. Now, at this exact moment, my unofficial rival, Tezuka Kunimitsu, is out there performing my routine. Of course, he can never do it to the extent of perfection that I am able to achieve. My masterpiece – stolen from me by a petty fool who cannot even perform it correctly.

I can’t even duplicate the performance here. There clearly is a difference between performing in a stadium for the President, and performing at a birthday party for seven-year-olds. The Atobe family, no matter how rich and influential they may be, could not afford to have me performing here for the same price as Tezuka. They paid for a first-rate magician, and while Tezuka is, I am simply beyond that.

“Echizen Ryoma,” a voice resonates throughout the room. The sound is deep and rich, and the sound causes the glass on the chandelier to sway slightly. The glass in itself catches its own light, and glitters as if it is its own star in my magic show. But the voice continues: “Mr. Echizen is a student at the Tokyo Academy of Magic, and will be performing for you his world-renowned magic. Will you be able to discover the secret to the magic? Pay close attention and you just might!”

I try hard to avoid rolling my eyes. The chances of a bunch of seven-year-olds figuring out the secret to my magic are about as slim as Tezuka Kunimitsu surpassing me in talent and renown around the world. That is, after I regain my dignity and position at the Academy, which in reality, should not take that much time at all. After all, I am Echizen Ryoma – great master of magic!

For seven-year-olds, there is no need to pull out my best magic. They can and will simply be amused by me pulling a quarter out of an ear, or by guessing the card that one of them picked. Vanishing was my specialty though – and I would have loved to perform it. However, this was not my stage, and the Atobe ballroom was no place to be drilling in secret compartments and lifts in order for me to be able to escape. I’m sure that if I had even attempted to drill into their floor, this family would have attempted to take my life in the most painful way possible.

Sure enough, I am right. All these titchy little children can do is squeal, gasp, and squeal again over the simplest tricks in their high, annoying voices. A few of them actually get up when I perform a trick in which I make a dove magically appear, and start chasing after the poor bird. My eyes widen and I almost slap myself for ever doing anything that merited being stuck with people like these all night. They say that everybody has to sometimes do jobs that they didn’t want to do, but something like this has absolutely no merits to its name. Not even the pay.

It takes a while before I am finally let off the stage. I am almost finished packing up my equipment before my employer, Mr. Atobe, comes up and asks me to stay for an encore. It is general courtesy for us magicians to never refuse a first encore, and simply perform some simpler tricks that we hadn’t before. But when I accept, he smiles and tells me to go back on the stage in an hour, since it’s time for cake, but I’m welcome to mingle with the guests. I’m impressed by how well he knows how to torment a commercial magician.

I stand at the edge of the room out of general courtesy, but refuse the cake I am offered. I avoid speaking and making eye contact with anyone, until a voice comes up by my side. “Your magic really isn’t very remarkable.”

The voice has a sense of charm about it. It is a male voice that can almost be mistaken for female if someone isn’t been paying close attention. Normally I would simply turn around and walk away, but this time, something about this voice makes my head turn, until I am face-to-face with this verbal assaulter. My eyes blink as I look up into his. His eyes are a bright, unearthly cerulean blue. This brightness did not match his face, which looked oddly sinister with his eyes staring out of it, strange as it may sound. But before I can get a closer look at his eyes, he closes them and smiles at me. The sinister feeling that emanated from his face only moments before is now replaced with a sense of charm that has a possibility of winning anyone over. I suppose I may have had a chance of liking him judging by his charm alone, but in all honesty, I don’t take criticism too well.

“Fuji Syuusuke,” my assaulter says, extending his hand and shaking mine. “I know your name already, so no need to introduce yourself. It’s a pleasure to see someone manipulate the senses so well, yet so poorly. Normally I only see either the best, or the absolute worst, but you’re the first I’ve met in the middle.” I note that Fuji is very direct in his remarks. There is something about his tone that is satirical, so I cannot piece together the meaning from his words. He makes my head spin.

“What do you mean by that?” I reply, my head dizzy. I tell myself it’s because I haven’t eaten much today, because I’m stressed from the loss of my job, because his original gaze was so intense and sinister that I cannot think any longer. My head is dizzy because he is evil and I have an odd feeling that he can almost read my mind.

“Your magic is okay, but there is just simply so much more that you can learn,” he smiles. I vaguely wonder how he can see with his eyes closed. Perhaps he is a snake of some sort, and if he opened his eyes again they would piece through me like the venom of a rattlesnake, leering as if he only had snake slits for eyes. No, this Fuji is much more like a cobra. He is elegant, refined, and ominous. And his hand is still grasping mine.

I can feel myself pulling away from his grasp. “I am the number one magician at the Tokyo Academy of Magic, and soon to be the number one magician in the entire world. Do you honestly think that you of all people can teach me magic?”

“As a matter of fact, I can,” Fuji replies. His eyes open and I can almost swear that they flashed red for a moment. Or perhaps it is only a fraction of a moment. My head spins and I have to place my hand on my speakers in order to stay standing. “But you’d better get ready. Your encore should be coming up soon.”

He walks away, and I stare at his retreating profile. Perhaps my vision is just blurry, but I can almost swear he disappeared in the middle of the room in plain sight. The strange thing is, looking around, I don’t think that anyone else noticed that a certain guest vanished.

[ September 09 ]

I can hear a faint rustling noise at the foot of my bed, even through the hazy mist in my dream. My eyes blink open, and I realize that I am awake. My alarm clock reads three in the morning, and I am cursing myself for even disturbing my sleep before I hear that rustling noise again. I look up in the direction of this disturbance, only to let my eyes connect with another pair. A pair of deep blue eyes.

“So you’re finally awake,” the eyes say. I recognize that voice easily, as it has been his voice haunting my dreams ever since I performed at the Atobe home. Fuji Syuusuke’s eyes blink slowly, and I wonder if he even is human. “Come with me.”

He is suddenly next to me, and I can feel his hand grasping mine, pulling upwards in an attempt to get me to rise. My body begins to move of its own accord. My head is spinning. I follow him through my own home, out the door, and into his car. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I can feel myself thinking that I should not be following him, that this was dangerous, and his intentions obviously aren’t the most benevolent, since he showed up in my room in the middle of the night. I try to open my mouth and speak, to say anything, but I am unable to. I vaguely think that this is one of those paralyzing dreams, and if I try hard enough, I will be able to escape its grasp. My body resists me.

The car begins to move, and my eyes are locked upon Fuji’s face as he drives. I attempt to move them away and look somewhere else, anywhere else, but find myself unable. I wonder if this is his charm.

We drive for what feels like an extremely long time before he stops, and motions for me to get out of the car. My body feels as if it is synchronizing itself with Fuji’s movements. My steps match his. I can feel my own breathing matches his breaths, however fast he is moving doesn’t matter. I follow suit regardless. We move as one. I begin to think we are one.

He stops next to the edge of a cliff, and I stop as well. He motions for me to move forward. There is a flickering, dancing light down below. I step until I am parallel to his body, and look down.

There are people dancing down below. My eyes can only gaze, following their movements. The figures are wearing masks, so I cannot make out their faces. They are twirling, spinning, and waving their arms wildly in the air. Their voices are screeching, singing in tongues I cannot understand. The music is seemingly completely out of tune, but its melody is almost harmonious, and utterly bewitching. I almost want to dance with them.

I can feel Fuji’s fingers ensnare with mine. I realize that his hands are smoother than silk, and colder than ice. It is almost like he is not human. He and I become one again, and we fall off the edge. My back arches, and I feel as if I am flying. I can hardly believe I land smoothly on my feet, when the jump had to be more than a hundred feet. It is because when I am one with him, I am not human.

The dancers look toward us, their movements slowing, and eventually stopping. Their singing becomes silent. Once their eyes rest upon Fuji, I can see them blink slowly, before they turn back, and begin dancing once again. The chorus escalates, and their movements become wilder than ever. I am utterly entranced.

My head turns, and my eyes lock with Fuji’s. Our actions are simultaneous. I can almost swear his eyes turn red.

“Dance with me.”

I cannot respond. My voice has left me wholly and completely. We join the circle, and soon we are moving together once again. He begins to sing in a similar style to the others. But soon he is left soloing, and the crowd echoes. Their melody is different than his. I cannot understand the words they speak. This is their tongue.

There is a cauldron hanging over the fire. The potion inside glowed red with Fuji’s eyes. He sings and he burns with more fire than I have ever expected out of him. The bubbles of the potion follows the rhythm of their music.

And now it is my music as well.

Because he and I are now truly one.

[ September 10 ]

I wake in what is apparently a tent, with Fuji’s arm draped around my waist. I can feel his eyes fluttering open next to me. His grip around me tightens for a single moment. His breathing synchronizes with mine. The heat of his body feels like I have stepped into the fire that we danced around the night before.

He drives me home. I am left sitting in my room alone. I can feel his eyes burn.

I hope I never fall in love with him.

[ September 19 ]

I cannot get him out of my mind, even though I know he is evil. Because he is evil, I am evil as well. We together are Lucifer in the flesh.

I have never been so sure that it is a spell that binds us together. I have never been one for religion, but I am sure it is witchcraft. There was something in the potion that I drank – something that bound me to the world of magic. Never before has my magic been better. I ousted Tezuka within mere moments of our performance in determining who will perform for our next commission. My vanishing magic has almost become real. Tonight, I will perform for the Prime Minister of Britain.

I am magical.

It is only moments before my performance is ought to begin. I breathe deeply and focus on how I am going to escape within moments. This is going to be my most spectacular performance ever.

“I see the spell has taken effect,” a voice whispers behind me. I spin around to face a pair of cerulean eyes. I am happy to see him. He still makes my head spin, even though this is the worst possible time that my mind can slip off of my task at hand. I can no longer breathe.

“Come with me,” he continues. “Let’s watch this world undergo metamorphosis, together.”

I can only imagine the audience’s reaction when the curtains opened, and we vanished before their eyes.

[ September 22 ]

I am terribly confused. We are no longer dancing. There is no more singing. This world is silent.

So it turns out that witchcraft really is real. Fuji is not only the leader of the phenomenon, but also exists in my world as a high school student, and the Atobes’ babysitter. He says that everyone, in reality, exists in my world as somebody else. Only at night do they reveal themselves as the creatures they really are. Or as they prefer, “witches.” Almost everything they say about witchcraft, minus about half of what exists in Harry Potter, is real. After two nights with them, I almost believe they are savage.

My eyes narrow as I observe the room I am sitting in for the thirteenth time this day. I have been here for what feels like far too long, the imminent threat of death around me preventing me from leaving. I am not religious, yet I can see how magic truly is evil. These witches are capable of killing at a moment’s notice. They are sadistic, with nothing making them happier than watching crimson blood trickle down the blade of a glimmering, sharp knife. They have this sick sense of perversion that even the worst murderers would cringe before.

I can hear voices echoing in the next room. These creatures are saying that they are not powerful enough to do another vanishing spell at this moment. Because I am human, it will almost be easy to track us down. Yet I cannot leave, because that in itself presents much more danger to their faction. They are speaking of revolt and mutiny. Savage indeed.

They argue for so long that I am almost glad when I hear the sound of sirens outside the house I am currently staying in. I am almost glad when I can see officials barging their way in, arresting these witches. I am almost glad when I can see Fuji being dragged out the door with handcuffs, his eyes glowing red. Apparently witches cannot use magic under the presence of such restraining devices. When the police bring me in for interrogation, I purposely neglect to mention this fact. I know it as truth because I can feel the fear, anger, and hatred in Fuji’s body, even with him far away from me.

But association has rendered me guilty, and I can hardly believe it when I am placed under arrest for witchcraft. Even though I am a human, and cannot perform magic to save my life.

[ September 29 ]

Because this trial has finally begun, I am truly afraid.

We are tried together, these people and I. However, I still do not understand why we are tried under the same charges, when we are clearly so different. However, the mere fact that we are cannot be changed.

The entire world is screaming witchcraft, even those that do not believe in the phenomenon. I do not understand why. I do not understand how this was suddenly revealed to the world, when quite obviously it had been hidden constantly for millennia. Even way back when in America, when the Salem Witch Trials took place, they still had no scientific proof to declare witchcraft present. However, now, they suddenly apparently did. This was no longer a cry for execution because of a return to faith, but a sheer cry for execution because of fear. There are no underlying reasons to this. It is only because now that this phenomenon is clearly real and present in everyday society, my kind has become afraid. Such a witch hunt scares me.

Fuji does not defend me when he takes the stand. He is no longer under restraints, so I have no idea why he has not yet escaped. His face is paler than usual, and his eyes perfectly normally closed. If I did not know that he is a witch, even looking closely at him, I will not be able to tell that he is not human. He looks just like the first time I saw him. He looks beautiful.

When the plaintiff asks him about my association to him, he simply smiles and states the truth. I joined them for one night to dance. However, he reveals the purpose of that dance – it was a full moon, at the height of their power. By dancing, drinking, and singing, they were able to enhance their power. I do not know if he is simply stupid, or absolutely foolish. All the questions asked from that point on are all attacking him. He answers them truthfully. I know he does.

He is sadistic, evil, perverted. He has not only betrayed me, but those of his kind as well. I do not understand why they are not angry with him.

I almost faint when the jury declares us “Guilty,” with a punishment of “Execution.”

[ October 10 ]

We have been in jail for more than a week now, and I am furious. I know that I have done absolutely nothing wrong, except for letting myself be bewitched by these creatures. I am a victim of association, and it is by sheer bad luck that I have been stuck in this situation. Regardless of whatever, I should not be here. I should be back at my home, getting ready for my next performance. I should be back at the Tokyo Academy of Magic, facing off head-to-head with Tezuka, to see who will get the next performance slot, even though I know that I will be the one to acquire it. Hell, I should be performing for the Atobe family again at their next social event, because they love me just that much.

I glare at Fuji’s backside, as he reads the book he had lazily plucked off the prison bookshelf earlier tonight.

“Would you like to know the other purpose of why I brought you with me that night?” Fuji whispers. I blink, surprised. Without waiting to see what my answer is, he continues: “We were attempting to merge our world and yours. By presenting a human as a mediator between the two, we were able to succeed. We are all magic users, and we finally felt it was time to present magic more fully to your world, to the point where it is as visible to you as it is to me.”

“Yet you are so selfish that you neglect to see whether or not it actually will affect us positively or negatively before you did so?” I almost yell back. My face flushes red. “Humans are fearful of your magic. All you ever do is kill, be evil, and are simply stupid enough not to realize that we are so different. Our worlds are so different that we cannot possibly be merged. We are not magical, regardless of what you say. Your magic on the other hand, can only hurt others.”

Fuji blinks. I cannot read his expression.

Before I can stop myself, my built up frustration escapes me: “It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t dragged me into your hideously evil world, this would have never happened in the first place.”

I regret saying those words almost immediately. The world is silent for a few moments, before he slowly turns around. The book clatters to the floor, its pages shattering and disfiguring as it collapses. It is almost as if my world has turned to glass. It is all because of this magic.

“Our hearts aren’t marked like your cards are,” Fuji spits, almost vehemently. His normally cerulean eyes shifted colors, to an almost devilish red. It always did that when he was angry. And I suppose he has every right to be angry with me.

“There is so much magic in this everyday life,” he continues, his eyes refusing to meet mine. “Look out there. Look at all the beauty in the world. Like a red-tailed hawk circling over a glittering blue pond and a stand of pine tress, the smell of salt water wafting through a breeze next to a shimmering ocean. A full moon hanging silver in a black canvas of night. The melody in a symphony rising, falling, and vanishing until it rises again and finally climaxes, filling the room with a reverberating essence of what is called music. Those are the most basic forms of magic, and yet you condemn magic so.” His eyes finally turn and look deeply into mine. Those orbs are so red that they are almost black. “Not all magic is evil. We are simply those that manipulate that essence in this world, and make it much more visible. We witches simply exist in order to change this world, for the better or worse. The only reason that you are so afraid of us is that we use forces differing from those that you use. You use political reforms, diplomacy, and war to change the world, and we are the exact same way. Simply, we use magic as well. Magic is unexplainable by your laws of science, so you automatically revile it, along with its users. You humans are all the same – you all are so closed-minded that you are absolutely incapable of seeing any chance of something existing that is inexpressible with scientific proof, and that of it actually being good. Miracles by your Gods are nice, but because we are actually presented before you in the flesh with miracles to spare, you present to us loathing and spite.

“Are you so incapable of seeing that not all magic is evil? Look out there. The best and most brilliant doctors of the world use magic as well – the magic of hope. You as well are a magician. You utilize your own skills, cards, and human perception in itself in order to present to others an optical illusion that amazes your audience. Your magic in itself is used in order to deceive your audience, by making them believe that things that would normally be deemed impossible, are actually possible. You can really pull a rose out of midair. You can really vanish and escape from a glass cage. You can really read a person’s mind and tell which card they are holding. We do the exact same thing. Yes, we are murderers, exorcists, and believers. So are you. So why are witches so incredibly different that we must be feared?” he finishes.

I blink slowly, unable to comprehend what he is saying. I do not understand how someone so evil can be relating his own magic to mine.

By the time it finally dawns on me, Fuji’s eyes have left mine, his back turned to me, facing the wall of our cell. He is asleep. I finally understand that we have not been one since the day I began doubting him. We were connected for one night only, and I am the one that has destroyed it. Our perceptions of the world are more than oceans, no, universes apart.

My condemnation of him has forced me to give back much more than just an apology, or a life, to be able to achieve forgiveness. I wish that I can only send over to him everything I wish to say to him right now, but I know that he will not listen. This is the magic of love, the magic that can be dispelled in less than a single moment. I wish that he will listen soon enough.

I mouth the words “I’m sorry” to his back, but I know that no matter how hard he listens, he will not be able to hear.

But when I mouth the words “I love you,” I can almost swear that his eyes no longer glow red in this dead of night, but instead fade back to their regular blue.

[ October 31 ]

It’s almost fitting that today is Halloween. The “Day of the Dead” has truly become a day of death. But it’s not like children will be out there having fun anyways – with real witches present in the world, parents are terrified to let their children go trick-or-treating tonight, for fear of being snatched away by a disastrous, terrible witch. I can almost grasp their feelings well enough, as they only want the best. But their fear of death has overpowered all sense of morals and reasoning. Today, the world is a place for a day of grief instead of celebration.

After all, today is the day I will be executed under the charge of witchcraft.

The rattling of bars on my jail cell wakes me. I turn my head to look at Fuji. He is still sleeping with his body turned to face the wall. It has been almost three weeks since I angered him, and we haven’t spoken much since. Whenever we speak, his tone is icy and unforgiving.

“Wake up!” a voice barks at the door of our cell. “Time for you guys to get up and get ready for your death. You have about an hour before you’ll be executed. You’d better pray really hard to your pagan Gods or whatever. Or hop on your broomstick and fly away like the little witches you are!” He walks away cackling at his own joke, dragging his beating stick along the bars of our neighboring cells. The sound echoes through this almost empty hall, and finally the echoes reach my heart. Although I will never admit it to anyone, I am scared.

“He sounds more like a witch than any witch I know,” Fuji mutters, pulling the covers over his face.

My eyes widen slightly. Fuji has cracked his first joke since as long as I can remember. It is almost like he is no longer angry. Before I know it, I am laughing. I am laughing so hard that it is completely uncharacteristic of me to do so. As for Fuji, I can see his smile from beneath his covers. I have his forgiveness in these last moments where we both live. I suppose we have been stuck together long enough that I know him better than I know myself.

“Echizen,” Fuji starts after I calm down. He gets up from his bed, his feet landing on the floor soundlessly. Any mirth I had suddenly disappears. There is something oddly sinister about Fuji today, even more so than usual. He walks over to my bed, and leans his head in towards my face. His lips land next to my ear, and whispers so lightly that I can barely hear him, with his breath ghosting over my skin. The goosebumps on my arms and legs are suddenly raised. I cannot figure out why. “Do you know why I have not used magic all this time?”

“Why?” Knowing Fuji, yet despite my curiosity, I am almost apprehensive to ask.

“I’ve been waiting for the opportune moment.” He smiles next to my ear, and I can feel him opening his eyes. Perhaps he is a snake after all. I wonder what people passing by our cell would think. His proximity still makes my head spin. My head is spinning is because I haven’t eaten much today, because I’ve been stuck in this jail cell for the past month, because Fuji just foreshadowed the use of his black magic and I am not ready to see anything that has to do with magic again anytime soon.

I can feel his lips moving, so close that I have to strain my ears to hear what he is saying. “Come with me.”

He faces me head on, with my eyes staring straight into his. I wonder how I have never noticed how deep his eyes truly are. Full of knowledge and understanding and evil, yet hidden behind them, I can see traces of something good. Our eyes are still locked as his lips brush mine.

I’m absolutely positive that the black, white-tipped, plastic magic wand I felt fall from Fuji’s pocket is the only sign that anyone had ever occupied this hell.

[petra]

2007-11-06T18:40:11Z

YELLOW FUZZ
by issen4

They met him at the front doors of the restaurant. It was one of those exclusive restaurants that they both privately hated from the bottom of their hearts--a local burger place, even MacDonald's, would have been preferable--but it had become difficult in recent years to eat out in public except in places where the service had more pomp and ceremony than the entire Wimbledom, and where the cost of a meal still made Momoshiro's simple soul shrivel up in horror.

But Chef Kitamura was pretty good about grilling hamburgers for them, though it clearly pained his gastronomic soul, and it tasted good, even if he had to serve it with a salad arranged so precisely that Momoshiro thought that measuring tapes were involved. The fries were arranged like a tiny Jenga tower.

Still, there was no one to bother them about autographs and requests for pictures, and they were in a good mood as they left the restaurant. And that, Momoshiro thought without irony later, was just tempting fate.

They were just leaving, and he was walking up the steps towards the grand entrance. They did not even notice him until they almost walked into each other.

Echizen stiffened--though anyone who had not known him for the last twelve years would not detect it--even as Momoshiro grabbed his arm, the gesture open and even possessive in a way that the media had been trying to catch for years, and said, "Hello, Tezuka."

Tezuka ignored him. He was looking at Echizen.

Momoshiro tried to ignored the sense of discomfort filling him. It was almost like all those years ago, when Echizen and Tezuka would exchange those looks in the tennis court, mutual staring fests that shut everyone else out. Conversation often muted when this happened, and as he waited for them to stop, he would glance around, and study the way that Sakuno girl just stood there and looked more and more miserable with each second that passed.

He knew how she felt.

Finally, Tezuka glanced away, breaking the moment. "Momoshiro," he said, looking directly at him for the first time. The lenses of his glasses glinted under the bright sunshine as he turned, almost too sharp to look at directly. "And Echizen."

"Tezuka-buchou," Echizen said, his voice hoarse.

They were in the car when Momoshiro spoke again. "Are you all right?" he asked, resting the tips of his fingers gently on the steering wheel, wishing he felt as calm as he looked. "I know you haven't seen him for a long time--I haven't seen him for months, too--it must have given you a shock-"

"I'm fine," Echizen's tone, curt and clearly irritated, filled the confines of the car.

Momoshiro managed to bite back a retort, but the silence that followed was perhaps worse.

Almost imperceptibly, Echizen sighed. "Let's go home," he said, looking down at the seat as though in apology--it provided a way for him to hide his expression too, Momoshiro thought--and fell silent. It was best to to leave him to it. He was used to Echizen becoming quiet when he needed to work out his thoughts.

Momoshiro started the car and drove out into the main roads, stealing glances at Echizen as he negotiated the traffic while trying to remember if they needed to stop at the store for more Ponta. Somehow, although he had run into Tezuka now and then whenever they were back in Japan, as far as he knew, Echizen had never seen him again after that Paris Open tournament. Momoshiro had wondered once or twice if that was just coincidence, or just wilful avoidance on Echizen's part; whenever he was in Japan, Echizen spent most of his time at home--never in the park near Seigaku, or in the country clubs--or anywhere he could run into their former captain.

Echizen's former boyfriend.

It had been there for them to see all along--some in Seigaku chose not to see, but others, like him, saw only too clearly. He remembered the dismayed reaction among Echizen's female fans that year when the rumour began winding itself around the tennis courts, the clubhouse, the classrooms and the grounds of Seigaku. There were, as expected, plenty of rude remarks and not a little prurient speculation about what went on during their dates from the more immature students in the school. Momoshiro had beat up a few of them, until Oishi came across him trying to stuff a first-year into a dustbin.

"Tezuka has already graduated from Seigaku," Oishi had told him. "He's in Waseda now; what they say here can't hurt him."

"But Echizen-" he had protested, only to find himself oddly speechless at the look on Oishi's face. Oishi had always been known for his caring nature, but the open sympathy on that familiar face made him uncomfortable. "I-" he had tried to explain that it was important, that it was wrong to hear people say that about Echizen. It could affect his career! After all, he had just gone professional and image was everything-

"Echizen is not at Seigaku. It doesn't matter to him what people say. You know him best, I think." Oishi had said.

It struck him much later that Oishi had not said, "Tezuka knows him best."

Yes, the sole consolation in those years was that he still met up with Echizen as often as their schdules allowed--Echizen his training schedule and Momoshiro his preparations for the entrance exams of Tokyo University--they went for burgers, played tennis games in which he was defeated and where Echizen became unbearably smug, and even, on one memorable and unrepeated occasion, to the public baths where he had an unexpected eyeful of a naked Echizen that fueled years of masturbation fantasies.

Echizen did not mention his relationship with Tezuka at those times, and Momoshirou--cowardly--refused to ask. Let Echizen think that it was not a big deal to him; no, let Echizen think that he was homophobic, so that the topic would never surface. He didn't care to know. So they were dating. Cool. Fine. After years of staring at each other across the tennis courts, they were finally together.

They seemed happy. No, Echizen seemed happy. (He admitted that he didn't really care about Tezuka.) But Echizen seemed happy; yes, he really did. That had to be enough. He didn't realize then that it wasn't enough--that it hadn't been enough for a long time.

And now meeting Tezuka had brought all of that back. Momoshiro bit his tongue; a glance at his passenger showed that Echizen was still brooding. He drove slowly, negotiating the heavy traffic of downtown Tokyo with mechanical patience. Maybe he should try talking to Echizen...

"We're out of Ponta," Echizen said. He had been watching the sideview mirror, seeing the traffic speed past them in it, but now he looked up at Momoshiro, his face expectant.

"I hid a couple of cans in the bathroom," Momoshiro replied automatically.

"I found them last night," Echizen said.

"And you've finished them already?" At Echizen's nod, Momoshiro groaned, "Oh man, Sarah is going to kill me," he said. Sarah Mitsuhara was Echizen's nutritionist. "I thought she said one can per week!"

Echizen looked sulky.

Momoshiro made a face. "All that sugar and caffeine isn't good for you. It just makes you-" A mental image of Echizen on his knees before him rushed into his mind. "Wait a minute, last night--that was a Ponta high?" At Echizen's glare, Momoshiro amended hastily, "I mean, not that I'm objecting. I mean-" he swallowed against the memory and wrestled his libido back under control. "I'll stop by the supermarket," he said weakly.

The phonecall came sooner than he expected. He woke to hear the constant "beep-beep, beep-beep" that sounded like neither of their mobile phones. Not the alarm clocks either; all the three that they owned had alarms that could double for the sound of a pneumatic drill.

The apartment phone. That was the only thing he could think of, and as it turned out, he was right. He gropped the bedside table--it had to be there somewhere--and his fingers wrapped around a piece of plastic that seemed to be the right size and weight. He pulled it to his ear. "Momoshiro-" he said, remembering at the last minute to be polite (it could be Echizen's coach--or even worse, Sarah).

There was no answer on the other end. Momoshiro frowned, and woke up a little bit more, before he removed the object from the proximity of his ear and stared at it. Plastic red telephone receiver (Echizen's choice), yep, still with its curly phone line connected to... somewhere. He replaced the object. "Hello? Good morning?" he tried again.

Beside him, hidden so that only one sock-clad foot was sticking out from under the thick blanket, Echizen growled and mumbled something that was probably 'Shut up'.

Watching as Karupin leaped onto the bed and began chewing on the exposed foot, Momoshiro said, "This is Momoshiro Takeshi. If you have the wrong number, please don't call it again. I'm going to hang-"

"Momoshiro."

His throat turned dry instantly. "Tezuka!" he whispered, an eye on the lump under the blanket.

Karupin heard, he suspected, for she immediately stopped trying to groom Ryoma's foot and gave him a dirty look. Momoshiro could empathise.

"I'm sorry for calling you so early in the morning," Tezuka said, his dry tones coming across clearly, and so familiar that Momoshiro found himself sneaking a guilty look at the beside clock. 11 am. It was a good thing Ryoma's coach never insisted on that so-called Spartan regime of waking up early every morning to train.

"Uh... it's all right," Momoshiro said, feeling silly and gauche.

Then again, Ryoma would have never accepted anyone who tried to push a training regime, nilly-willy, on him. When he needed to, Ryoma could push himself hard, but the season had ended--thus the relaxing of the Ponta rule--and anyway, given Ryoma's prowess these days, it was difficult to say for sure what else Coach Thompson could do. Gentle guidance, rather than outright orders, seemed to work best.

"I was under the impression that this was Echizen's number."

Momoshiro shivered, before he looked down to see Karupin licking his bare foot. "It is," he said. "I usually answer the phone on his behalf," he explained, wondering at the feeling of protectiveness that welled up in him at that. It was a good way to mislead reporters, who could usually be tricked into thinking that they had called the wrong number. "Um, did you want to speak to Ryo-Echizen?" For the life of him, he could not explain why he suddenly switched to last names.

Karupin dug sharp claws into his foot.

"Ow!" Momoshiro glared at the cat, twitched his foot back under the blanket, and missed hearing Tezuka's answer. "Excuse me, Tezuka, I didn't catch what you said, the cat scratched me."

"I said, yes, I would like to speak to Echizen."

Tezuka still sounded as though he was in the running for most stoic person of the year, Momoshiro thought meanly, then shook his head. No point putting off the inevitable. "Just a minute, please." He put a hand over the the receiver, and pulled off the blanket with his other hand.

Echizen grumbled, and pulled the pillow over his head.

"It's Tezuka," Momoshiro said as he shook him.

Ryoma remained unmoving.

"Come on, I know you're awake," he said. He suddenly felt irrationally angry that Echizen was still blissfully asleep when he, Momoshiro Takeshi, was dealing with reality. He pulled off the pillow and thrust the the phone against Echizen's face. "Here, talk to Tezuka. I'm going to make breakfast." He stepped out of bed and left, telling himself how stupid he was.

He should have just told Tezuka to call later, and disconnected the phone. He doubted that Tezuka could get their mobile phone numbers; they were a closely-guarded secret. But part of him knew that he was just delaying the inevitable. He went to the kitchen and started opening drawers and cabinets, setting out pots and pans and the rice-cooker.

Forty minutes later, Echizen entered the kitchen. He was already dressed, Momoshiro saw, with a painful neatness usually reserved for reporters. He stopped short when he saw the food on the table, and suddenly looked uncertain. "Takeshi-"

Momoshiro gave him a knowing look. "He invited you for lunch, huh."

Echizen nodded slowly, his eyes still on Momoshiro's face.

"Great!" Momoshiro said, speaking louder than before, turning away towards the stove. "You haven't seen him for years, you probably have a lot to talk about. I've heard that he's doing well at that law firm--probably made partner already."

"He is."

Momoshiro whistled. "Tezuka is good at everything he does," he said.

"I'll be back late."

Momoshiro nodded. "I guessed that," he said. "Oh, are you going to play a game as well? Your racquet bag is-"

Echizen's face looked pinched suddenly.

"-under the couch," Momoshiro continued, and could have kicked himself. It was an automatic question; whenever one of Echizen's friends invited him--or more usually, both of them--the racquet bag went with them. "But not if you're going to a nice restaurant," he went on, as though the pause had never been there. "And if you are, it might be nice to offer to pay," he lectured, aware that in a stuggle between Echizen's indifference in non-tennis matters and Tezuka's sense of duty, there was no contest. "After all, you're the Grand Slam superstar."

Echizen was starting to look irritated, as he always did at the reference to his fame. "I'm going to go now."

Despite himself, Momoshiro followed him to the door. "Drive carefully! Remember that we drive on the left side in Japan-" A kick at him made him yelp as it connected with his shin. "Hey!"

"I know." Echizen hesitated, as though he wanted to say something.

Suddenly panicking but hoping that he could hide it, Momoshiro blew him a kiss in the most exaggerated way he could manage. "Goodbye!"

Echizen pulled his cap over his head, hiding his eyes from view. " 'bye."

And he was gone.

After feeding Karupin, Momoshiro sat down to deal with the paperwork. Being Echizen's manager was hardly as glamorous as it looked, just a lot of wrangling with tournament organizers, travel agents, and sponsors. It had been a hard slog when he first started--everything was in English, for example--but now it was only moderately irritating. It was also an excellent form of distraction.

He needed badly to be distracted.

He also needed to forget how he had found Echizen that day in Paris. It was exactly forty hours after he barged into Tezuka's home, demanding an explanation why he had abandoned Echizen to one of the most important tournaments of his life alone. Knowing that they had broken up one week ago was, ironically, no consolation--the intense public speculation over Echizen's increasingly erratic playing style had been worrying him for months. No one, not even someone of Echizen's temperament, could remain unaffected by it. He had assumed that Tezuka would be there...

He found Echizen on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower.

"They say it's as tall as Tokyo Tower," Echizen had said, once he had seen that it was Momoshiro.

"Tokyo Tower is slightly higher," Momoshiro corrected him. "I think the builders wanted a replica that was even better than the original."

"I wish I had been to Tokyo Tower," Echizen said.

"Oh? Why?"

Echizen looked down at the city of Paris at their feet. "I want to know if being up here is like being up there in Tokyo."

"I've been to Tokyo Tower," Momoshiro volunteered, feeling awkward.

That got him a look of genuine interest.

"Two ti-no, three. No, four." Momoshiro counted back in his mind, and listed them aloud. "The first time was with my family. Then in my first year of junior high, and another time, er-" on a not-quite-date with Tachibana Ann, but he didn't say that. "-with friends. And the last time was with classmates in university." He was proud of himself for stumbling only once.

Echizen raised his eyebrows, but he only asked, with a look at the view. "Well, is it like Tokyo Tower?"

Momoshirou glanced up and down the scenery. "Not really."

"Che."

The sound of that familiar dismissive sound gave Momoshiro the courage to approach him then. "Well... when we get back to Tokyo, we can go there. Together." He started to say 'as friends', but the words stopped in his chest.

It was a long time before Echizen nodded agreement.

He dared to put an arm around Echizen's shoulders then. Echizen would never be tall--a fact that annoyed him greatly--but just in that moment, Echizen felt much smaller to him. After a group of tourists had come and left, he realized that Echizen was leaning against him, fast asleep.

In his darker moments, Momoshiro wondered if he was merely an opportunist who saw an opening and took it. After all, he had appeared on the scene at a time when Echizen needed someone to be at his side, to sit him through the barrage of publicity that came from suddenly backing out of the Paris Open, to cajole him through the breakup, and to play tennis with him.

Play tennis. Momoshiro had assumed that there would always be tennis betwen Echizen and Tezuka, until the day he learnt that there wasn't.

He remembered the conversation he had overheard once while he was at the Echizen family home. They hadn't realized he was within range, and their voices carried. At least, Echizen Nanjiroh's did.

"'He doesn't play tennis with you, he doesn't come to your games, and he doesn't train with you, either-" Echizen Nanjiroh's voice was roughened with age and annoyance. "Damn it, boy. No one's that good a fuck."

Echizen's answer was inaudible, but he had stalked out a moment later.

Momoshiro had made sure to play tennis with Echizen from then on. He was not the challenge for Echizen the way Tezuka was, but he thought that there were times when Echizen just wanted to play for thefun of it--he wanted to enjoy tennis too--and he would help with that.

That his role as a supporter had grown into something more made Momoshiro glad yet uneasy at the same time. It was perhaps not too much to wonder if Echizen had turned to him merely as a substitute, right? He was no Tezuka, but even someone like Echizen could be lonely. The worst of it, Momoshiro sometimes thought, was that there was a part of him that didn't even care. He had had time--years of it--enough to know that harbouring a secret passion for another person was frustrating, tiring and about as comforting as a hole in the head.

His phone--his mobile phone, not the apartment one--started to twitch and burst into song, and Momoshiro grabbed it, glad of a distraction.

"This is Momoshiro."

"Are you aware that your boyfriend is having lunch with Tezuka?"

There was real annoyance in the speaker's voice, something that occurred with the same frequency as a leap year. Momoshiro said in surprise, "Atobe?"

"Is there something wrong with your hearing?"

"Yes... I mean, no, I heard you perfectly well. And yes, I know that Ryoma is having lunch with Tezuka."

"Ah." Atobe sounded as though the wind had been taken out of his sails. "I wondered."

So do I. In a way, it was almost sweet of Atobe to be concerned. "We met Tezuka coming out of a restaurant yesterday. They haven't met for years, you know."

"No reason why that state of affairs couldn't have continued," Atobe sniffed. He had recovered from his bemusement--however muted--almost immediately.

"Atobe Keigo." He was one of the very few people who had won the privilege of addressing the man by his full name, and he used it now with relish.

"But if you need to," Atobe continued as though he hadn't spoken, "I can be amenable to a similar invitation, but at an establishment considerably more upscale than 'The Steakhouse'."

To make Ryoma jealous? "There's no need for that. But thank you. Besides, I wouldn't want to be the cause of domestic disharmony."

There was a significant pause. "Ah, Takeshi. You're still holding irrational grudges."

Momoshiro tried not to sigh; he hadn't meant to bring up the past. It was typical of dealing with Atobe Keigo that one managed to end up owing him a favour even when he was--technically speaking--ruining one's carefully cultivated plan to appear as a hetrosexual male to the object of one's crush.

So it had only been one kiss. But it was in the days when Echizen was still with Tezuka, and it happened right in front of the two of them. He had been too surprised when Atobe leant over and kissed him to push him away, but he had wanted to. Just as he wanted to rebut Atobe for saying "For old time's sake, Takeshi," with a significant glance at Echizen and Tezuka. Just because he and Atobe had dated briefly and disastrously--an eternity ago--didn't mean he wanted Echizen to know that he dated men.

He didn't, because there had been that spark of wild hope, however irrational, that turned rapidly to anger when he realized how foolish it all was.

Though he had felt vindicated that night Atobe had phoned and said that he hoped Momoshiro was happy because he, Atobe Keigo, had been relegated to the couch.

Momoshiro had scoffed and said if the incomparable Atobe Keigo didn't have a guest room in that great big mansion of his, he would be very surprised.

Atobe said it was the principle of the thing.

Momoshiro said that it seemed to him that Akutagawa Jirou didn't seem to have a great deal of trust in his lover, and could that be because Atobe went around kissing his ex-boyfriend and trying to persuade onlookers that he was still involved with said ex-boyfriend?

That marked the one and only time he had heard Atobe use a rude word.

"I'm not holding a grudge," Momoshiro said. A polite scoff let him know how unconvincing he was. "It's just lunch," he said. "It's all right." He had his insecurities, but he was not deluded enough to think that a single lunch appointment (not a date) would be enough to change things between them.

Well, maybe if Tezuka begged and grovelled. Momoshiro lost himself briefly in a pleasurable fantasy of Tezuka beating his head in the dust and announcing 'I'm a jerk' to Echizen over and over again, but had to admit that it sounded about as likely as flying pigs.

"I'll take your word for it," Atobe said, managing to insert just the right enough amount of doubt to hint that he also doubted Momoshiro's ability to dress himself.

"Thanks," Momoshiro said, rolling his eyes. They would not be in Japan long enough to matter anyway; they were going back to the US as soon as Nanako's wedding was over. They exchanged only a few more comments before the conversation ended, and Momoshiro put down the phone with Atobe's superior tone still in his mind.

It was just lunch, Momoshiro told himself again, before he glanced at the study clock, which read 15:00. And if they talked a little longer than usual, well, that was the way of those who had known each other for a long time.

In one of his masochistic moments a long time ago, Momoshiro had tried to imagine Echizen and Tezuka on a date, and found that it hurt his head more than his heart. Both of them were just so... well, he knew Echizen to be taciturn. But Tezuka was not someone of many words either, and for all that he commanded unthinking respect from the tennis team--and his classmates--he was not a person who automatically put one at ease with his warm manner. Not that Tezuka was a disturbing or unfriendly person; far from it. His passion for tennis burned so strongly, one ached to watch him. It was rare--and a true honour--to meet someone who had something so pure.

Which made Tezuka's refusal to play professional tennis something of a puzzle.

And it made interpersonal relationships a little stiff, at least to Momoshiro's way of thinking. One of the reasons he had assumed that Echizen would get along well with Tezuka was that their non-communicative natures matched.

Sometimes he wondered if Echizen longed for that quietness, and tried to talk less himself. But his and Echizen's relationship had started off on a friendship where he was the talker, the communicator and he couldn't see it changing.

All right, so he was wondering what they could be talking about. Momoshiro growled in his throat, glaring at the clock, which now read 15.10, and resolved not to look at it anymore.

The phone rang.

"I just saw Echizen with Tezuka," Fuji announced without preliminaries when Momoshiro answered. "I assume you know of this."

Startled at hearing that voice, Momoshiro stuttered, "F-fuji-senpai?"

"You do, right?" Fuji's cool, amused voice abruptly grew less so.

Momoshiro tried to shake off a feeling of d éjà vu. "Yeah... I mean, yes. We met Tezuka by accident yesterday and he called today."

"He hasn't seen Echizen for four years," Fuji said slowly. "I suppose it's safe enough."

Momoshiro tried to process what he was hearing. For a moment it sounded as though Fuji was afraid that Tezuka and Echizen would get back together. Just on the basis of one meeting? He swallowed. It was frightening to hear that his darkest fears, the irrational thoughts whose existence he tried to deny, being spoken by another person. And by Fuji, of all people.

Rather than going into professional tennis or photography, as those who knew him had expected, Fuji had gone into advertising. Privately, Momoshiro thought the ability to manipulate large, unthinking crowds into embracing the most ridiculous fads was a tailor-made vocation for someone of his senpai's temperament. And Fuji had been the first to suspect about him.

Not that it was such a big secret, Momoshiro acknowledged with chagrin whenever he looked back to his high school days. He had been genuinely fond of Echizen as a teammate, not imagining that he felt anything else except friendship, but Fuji and a few others had already known. The year that Echizen left school to go professional in the US, it was Momoshiro who went about organising farewell dinners, gift exchanges and collecting photographs of the Nationals and their various opponents to make a present for Echizen.

Fuji had given him a knowing smile, once, and when he came to Momoshiro's home to deliver a package of photographs, said to him, "You should go with him."

Momoshiro had looked down at Fuji's stack of photographs about the tennis team having fun--at Kawamura's shop, at the beach, at the celebrations for the Nationals (but never playing tennis)--and said, "What?"

Fuji had said nothing more, and only smiled mysteriously.

And later--it was Fuji, in Paris, who told Momoshiro where to find Echizen. Still, it was a little insulting that their relationship was thought so fragile. "Fuji-senpai, I know you're concerned, but-"

"I'm being nosy?" Fuji asked, all innocence.

Momoshiro backpedalled. "No! Of course not, Fuji-senpai!" he exclaimed.

A chuckle. "I'm being paranoid. Tezuka sometimes dwells on things he shouldn't," Fuji said. "But Echizen doesn't have that problem."

"Uh... right."

"We should go out for dinner sometime," Fuji said. "Seeing that you're in Japan. I want to see you and Echizen."

Momoshiro reminded himself that Fuji's powers of manipulation were now used for the power of the light--at least, on unthinking consumers, who deserved all they help they could get--and that it was all innocent. "Of course," he said warily.

"It's not all personal, believe me," Fuji said. "Echizen is still open to endorsement deals, right?"

"Not for Ponta." Echizen personally felt that it was unfair that the only product--other than tennis equipment--that he wanted to endorse was something that was forbidden to him. The most surreal thing about dietary restrictions, Momoshiro thought, was having to buy Ponta in secret during the game season and wrapping it in newspaper at the checkout counter.

Fuji said, "Nothing that tempting. I'll tell you more in a few days' time. How much longer will you be in Japan?"

"Another two weeks," Momoshiro said. "Nanako--that's Ryoma's cousin--her wedding is next week."

"Right. I'll call you in a few days' time."

"Yes, Fuji-senpai. And-" he coughed, "thank you for calling. About Tezuka and Echizen."

"I wanted to." And then Fuji hung up.

Momoshiro went back to his work. Possibly out of a desire to compete with Tezuka--in some small way--he had studied law at university as well. It was good preparation for becoming Echizen's manager, though he had to hire an English translator for the first few months.

Echizen's old manager had done an adequate job, but it was soon clear to Momoshiro, that he was not someone who understood Echizen and what was more, felt increasingly bewildered by the way Echizen seemed to be coming apart as his relationship with Tezuka continued.

Though he had refused to ask at the time, hints still came to him from time to time. Especially after Echizen's star began rising. The international tennis circuit conquered their astonishment at a Japanese boy who was also the son of the Samurai, whose mouthy attitude drew detractors and admirers alike, and who played--not perfect tennis, but astonishing tennis--and followed his burgeoning career with interest. He rose fast, but after he got together with Tezuka, there were odd upsets as well. At first it was just a game in twenty, then one in a dozen, then one in six. Echizen's brilliance kept him ahead of the curve, but the whole thing was unpredictable and worrying.

Momoshiro still didn't know what went wrong between Echizen and Tezuka. But as Fuji had reminded him, Echizen was not a person who dwelled on the past, and that he guessed, would have to be enough.

He worked until it grew dark and he couldn't ignore the clock anymore, which said 18:40, and he fed Karupin again, before he made dinner, ate it and fell asleep in front of the television. His last thought before his eyelids slipped close was that perhaps they were going to have to find a new restaurant, one where they wouldn't run into Tezuka even by accident...

"Hamburger Haven." Momoshiro sat up with the nonsensical words on his lips, and realized that his phone was singing. Blearily, he noticed that the television was still on (a cooking programme of some sort) and switched it off. He groped for his phone in the dark--after all, he had brought it to the couch with him--found it.

"I forgot my keys."

"Ryoma! You're outside?"

It should have been impossible, but he swore he could hear Echizen rolling his eyes over the phone. Where else could he be? Momoshiro asked himself. "Sorry, I was asleep." He walked to the front door and opened it. The phone connection cut off, and he was looking at Echizen at the door.

Momoshiro glanced at his phone as Echizen walked in. It was 20:16. It had been more than eight hours.

"I'm hungry," Echizen announced.

"I made dinner for myself," Momoshiro said, responding on autopilot, "but you're welcome to my leftovers." There were a lot of leftovers, he thought belatedly; he hadn't eaten much just now.

"Okay." Echizen made his way to the kitchen, switched on the lights and sat down expectantly.

Despite himself, Momoshiro chuckled and started to take the covered plates out of the refrigerator, before putting the first one in the microwave oven. "You want me to feed you?" he asked. "What am I, your manager?"

Echizen clearly thought that didn't deserve a reply, but there was a hint of a smile on his mouth.

He sat down to watch Echizen eat, and stole his food as he realized that he was hungry again. Echizen let him, surprisingly enough.

"Oishi-senpai called me just now." Echizen said after about ten minutes of silent eating.

"You too?" Momoshiro said, before he could stop himself. "I mean," he said when Echizen looked up in curiosity. "It's just that Fuji-senpai called me too."

"Really? Why?"

"Oh, just about an endorsement," Momoshiro said quickly. "We arranged to discuss it in a few days' time," he added.

Echizen's gaze grew suspicious. Perhaps he, like Momoshiro, harboured misgivings about Fuji's influence on the public now and then. "Endorsement for what?"

Momoshiro was forced to admit, "I don't know."

Echizen's look of disgust was eloquent.

"Anyway. It's probably something fashionable and strange and will have thousands of teenaged girls rushing to the shops. Never mind, why did Oishi-senpai call you?"

"I think he wanted to know if we were breaking up."

Momoshiro was too surprised to say anything other than a strangled "What?"

"He didn't say so, but I thought that was what he meant. He said he saw Tezuka-buchou and I having lunch by accident."

Momoshiro doubted the 'by accident' part of that.

"Then Inui-senpai called me."

Momoshiro let his head thunk onto the table.

"He said the same thing," Echizen said. Momoshiro looked up in time to see his brow wrinkle slightly. "At least, I think he did. There were too many numbers."

Inui was highly successful in his career as an investment banker--Momoshiro trusted him whole-heartedly with Echizen's money--but the more ennumerate he was, the more difficult it was to understand him. It was really very pleasant that one's friends thought he and Echizen were on the verge of a breakup, he thought sarcastically.

"What... what did you say to them?" Momoshiro asked.

"I said no." Echizen gave him a strange look, as though wondering what else he could have said.

"Uh... right." He didn't know else what to say, so he asked, "So... how is Tezuka?" What did you talk about, he wanted to ask.

"He's... fine." Echizen suddenly bent all his attention to his food, unwilling to look him in the eye.

All Momoshiro could think about was, I shouldn't have asked. It seemed as though, even after all this time, Tezuka still hurt him.

"We had lunch and we talked a little, for a long time."

Momoshiro reflected that only between Tezuka and Echizen could a description like 'talked a little, for a long time' not sound ridiculous.

"I went for a walk after that," Echizen said. After a long time, he continued, "I think-" and looked down.

Momoshiro waited, his heart thudding.

"I think we should go to another restaurant next time."

[mckinley]

2007-11-06T18:39:59Z

GUARDIANSHIP OF A CAT!
by mimineko_chan

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Echizen Ryoma growled for the nth time in ten minutes. “Che, this is boring.” Even frowning and growling, Echizen Ryoma was a very good looking young man. Well, if by Tennis Pro, he was on the top ten list of the most gorgeous men.

Momoshiro leaned forward on the park bench to roll his sleeping son back and forth in his stroller. The child was obviously adopted since neither Momoshiro nor Kaidoh could have children. They tried it through and went to see many specialists, but nothing could give them a child of their own. Momoshiro blamed everything on Kaidoh, like always when there was a problem between them. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t want a change of sex. So they turned to adoption.

“Maybe if you stop hitting that wall...” Momoshiro was interrupted by Ryoma’s growling. It was a very loud growling and it made Momo think of an unsatisfied tiger after a meal. He gulped. And he pitied that wall as well. He could even see cracks on the wall Ryoma was hitting. It sounded like Ryoma was using Kawamura’s power shots.

“Maybe if you would take a racquet and hit balls with me. Beside, it’s all that monkey king’s fault. Baka monkey king. I cannot believe it…” It was rare for the tennis prodigy to rant like that, except of course, when it concerned his ex-boyfriend. Momoshiro could not count the number of times when his best friend called and complained about Atobe Keigo. The worst was when they were all in high school. It was even worst than phone calls too. Momoshiro had to face a scowling Ryoma almost every time.

“I know exactly how you feel.” Momo patted his recently just waxed hair. “Last night, that stupid mamushi didn't leave the center until after eight o'clock because of some kid. And I had specifically told him I was going to be preparing an apple pie for dinner.” Kaidoh Kaoru was a great kindergarten teacher, even if he did not look it. Everyone was surprised at his choice of career and the first was Momoshiro.

“You cooked an apple pie for dinner ?”

“Hey, I was watching TV and there was that cooking program. It’s not my fault they were presenting how to cook apple pies. The mamushi installed a cable at home. Have some pretty good stuff. The kid likes to watch Naruto.”

“Che, Prince of Tennis is so much better.” Ryoma was still hitting the tennis ball to the wall. The sound of hitting the wall was so powerful that it seemed that the wall was shaking.

“So, euh, what is the problem this time? I thought that the two of you were over?” Momo asked. The best way was to get directly to the point and get it over with. If it could ever end. He sighed.

“The baka monkey king decided to hold Karupin hostage.” Momoshiro’s eyeball came out of his head after hearing Ryoma’s problem. Everyone knew that the Himalayan cat was Ryoma’s precious baby and the only thing that he was obsessed with other than tennis.

Instead of growling again, Echizen Ryoma flipped open his cellphone, a very shiny and expensive cellphone, and pressed a button.

“Welcome to voice dial. Who would you like to call?”

“Call stupid monkey king at home.” He pronounced each word carefully to ensure that the computerized voice would understand.

“Calling…stupid monkey king…at home. One moment please.”

Atobe Keigo picked up on the third ring. “You are speaking to the wonderful ore-sama.”

“Give me back my cat, you stupid monkey!” Momoshiro covered his hands over his son’s ears but that was a bit difficult since he was holding the kid in his hand.

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Since Ryoma was tired of waiting for Atobe to answer, he just went straight to the point.

“I’m at the tennis court. You will bring me Karupin today.”

“I won't be.”

“What?” Yelled Ryoma over the phone.

“He is ore-sama’s cat.”

The rant began once more, but this time, nobody could hear it. ‘What the f*ck? Wait, I’m not supposed to swear in front of the kid. Wait damnit! This is my mind and I can think however I want!’ Ryoma’s voice was talking to in his head, and that was giving him a headache… again! ‘Where the hell did I put that big bottle of aspirin?’

“Keigo… if this is another one of your sick joke…” Ryoma growled. He seemed to be doing a lot of growling recently.

More silence.

Panic started to come to Ryoma since this was concerning his most beloved possession. “We’ve agreed that I will have my cat back when I move out.”

“You are obsessed with ore-sama.”

“What the f*ck?” It seemed that Ryoma finally snapped and that was not a good thing. An angry Ryoma was never a good thing, especially for the opponent. For now, it seemed that the opponent was one rich Atobe Keigo.

“You've been using Karupin as a means to get back together with ore-sama’s magnificent self. Ore-sama is putting an end to your obsession by keeping what belongs to ore-sama in the beginning.” Atobe said it in a very calm voice, through there seems to be some sort of smirk in the voice, but that was probably Ryoma’s own imagination.

“Wait a minute,” He stood up and started pacing. An old woman walked past him and cast a worried glance. “My relationship with you is over. Remember? We broke up. It was agreed on both sides. We all know that it was some stupid mistake, some high school crush and lust. But you can’t take Karupin away. We may be over, but Karupin is mine even before we began our relationship.” Ryoma put much emphasis on each word of the last sentence. Nobody was going to separate him from his Himalayan cat.

“Ore-sama has decided that Karupin shall remain with ore-sama.”

After Atobe’s sentence, the line went dead.

“That stupid monkey hung up on me!” Ryoma exclaimed with disbelief.

Another growl was heard. Momoshiro kept rocking his kid back and forth. Maybe putting the child under the influence of that ‘brat’ was not really a good idea after all. Nope, not a good idea at all. He should have listened to that mamushi of his and put the kid into his care. But alas, he wanted to play father today.

Echizen manually stabbed the digits that constituted the monkey king’s number so forcefully that it almost broke the cell phone. Sadly, it was his machine that answered.

“Monkey king, I don’t know what you are playing at, but you must know that I'm not going to just walk away from Karupin. I'll give you the end of the week to hand over MY cat or…” A blank mind was never a good thing.

“Say that…you’ll sue his ass off.” Well, you could always count on your best friend in the worst moments.

“I'll sue your ass off, baka monkey king, I want MY cat… Mada mada dane.” Hmm, that was a good finish. That would tell him that he was dead serious.

Wait a minute…

Sue his ass off?

What was he thinking?

Oh right, he wasn’t.

Ryoma turned his head in his friend’s direction. Momoshiro gulped.

“Sue his ass off? Are you crazy Momo? That’s Atobe Keigo we’re talking about! How the hell can we sue one of the richest men in all Japan ? He probably has an army of lawyers ready to kick asses. No wait, he does have an army of lawyers.”

“Euh… Call buchou?”

Momoshiro was happy that the only thing he received was a glare from his so called best friend. Since when did he become best friends with this anti-social brat? Oh yeah, that doubles game they played when they were in junior high school. Since then, they went to school together… it was more like he giving the brat a lift every morning so that he would not be late. Then after school, they went to eat burgers… come to think of it, it was always him paying for the food too and Ryoma was a big eater as well. And that brat wasn’t even polite, always challenging everyone in tennis. He should be asking Echizen to pay for burgers now with all the money that the so called ‘prince of tennis’ makes. Why didn’t he just do that? Oh yeah, Inui’s menu. Inui still made them menus. It was understandable in junior high… they needed to grow strong and fast. It was comprehensible in high school because it was the best regiment that would help them win tournaments and it was the sensible thing to do. It was reasonable in University because they didn’t give up tennis yet and stayed in form. But after that, they were all adults and entered the working world. Inui continued sending them training programs and what to eat everyday. And damn that mamushi for posting that menu on the fridge. He had to say goodbye to his burgers too. That mamushi was still listening to Inui’s training menu. Inui probably made some sort of eating order for the kid as well. Come think of it, the child was still too young to eat real food. Momoshiro made a mental not to let Inui juice near the house. He would not drink another Inui juice even to save his life… maybe to save mamushi’s and the kid’s life, but he would not put his on the line!

“He is going to come to his senses, right?” Ryoma asked quietly after awhile. “He wouldn't really try to separate me from my cat, right?” The only time Momoshiro would see Ryoma with some kind of emotion, it would always concern the Himalayan cat, and this was one of them. He remembered the first time Karupin left home. Ryoma needed comfort and he was his best friend. He must say something encouraging.

“Of course he'll give him back. Atobe's not crazy enough to start a war over a cat.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He will do anything to piss me off. And he has the money to back himself up.”

Ryoma touched the tip of his hat only to remember, once again, that he did not have one anymore. He lost that habit in high school. Momoshiro did not understand his love for the cat. The link between them was special.

His mind flashed back to the day HE first came into his life. Ryoma was but a child… rather a tennis-obsessed, anti-social, boring, no-expression whatsoever child. But a child nonetheless. His mother was worried that Ryoma would become a perverted tennis-obsessed player like his father, so she bought him a cat to teach Ryoma that there were other things that could be just as wonderful as beating his father in a tennis match.

Now, after the break up, Karupin was the only thing that he cherished. Well, that was except grape Ponta and tennis of course, but they weren’t real things and he couldn’t cuddle them. Through he could bath in Ponta only and hug his racquet to sleep… It just wasn’t the same thing without Karupin in his bed.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ryoma flipped through the pages of Tennis Pro as he waited in the lobby of Tezuka Kunimitsu’s office. It seemed that he got himself on the cover once again. He never bothered to read those articles on him. They were all stupid anyway and wrote some crappy lies too. He wondered if buchou read those things. After some thought, he gathered that since they were in the waiting room of his office, then yes, he did read them. He felt a strong twinge in his heart, but ignored it.

“Echizen Ryoma?”

Said person looked up from the magazine and he froze. The man standing in from of him was tall, distinguished, with sandy hair that begged to be toyed with and eyes hidden behind glasses that made him look serious, but gorgeous. Tezuka Kunimitsu didn’t look just good, he was perfect. Always had been and it seemed that he always would be.

“Che, I thought lawyers were supposed to look old with a big stomach.”

“It was not easy to meet you on such short notice.” God, even his voice had gotten sexy. It was deep and he was not talking loudly either. Though Ryoma could bet his favorite red racquet that whatever Tezuka Kunimitsu said, everyone would listen. The authority in his voice didn’t lessen over the years. Ryoma would still run laps if Tezuka ordered them even now.

“Che, you did meet me anyway.” There was that usual smirk on Ryoma’s face. He had that smirk whenever he pulled a special move that shocked his opponents. “Buchou.”

Tezuka Kunimitsu regarded him with a stern look, turned around and went to his office. Ryoma took that as a sign to follow him, the smirk never leaving his face.

It seemed that Tezuka didn’t want it to look too personal. Echizen was just another client. However Tezuka also knew that it was impossible to stop Echizen from considering him as anything but his buchou. After all these years, he should have known at least that, if nothing else. The first time Tezuka Kunimitsu saw Echizen Ryoma from the window of his class in junior high school, he thought that Echizen was a brat. After knowing him, he concluded that Echizen was a stubborn brat as well and that thought seemed to carry out through out the years.

The office was fairly well furnished, if you liked purple walls and old furniture from Louis XIV or something. Ryoma was never an expert in interior decoration. Comfort was his only need.

Tezuka gestured for Echizen to sit as he took his place behind a big wooden desk. “I’ve been reviewing your case and I have a few questions to ask.”

“Shoot right away.”

“Ah, is there a possibility that…” Tezuka shuffled through his notes, even if he knew the name by heart. “Atobe will back down if we send him a couple of threatening letters?” There was no expression at all on his face. Some things didn’t change.

“Che, like that stupid monkey will back out from that.” Ryoma snorted. Tezuka’s only change in facial expression was the rise of an eyebrow at the name of ‘monkey’. He thought that after the years, Echizen would have grown out of using that name.

“Hn. We will mail him a letter first and see his reaction.” Tezuka flipped through some papers again. He took out his favorite pen and a new pad of sheets. The pen was given to him by his grandfather when he graduated law school. He used it only for signing important contracts. He refilled the ink many times, but the signification of the pen was not lost. It meant that he had succeeded.

“Tell me your relationship with Atobe Keigo. Do not leave anything out. Even minor details can significant when going to court.” It was his duty to ask that even though he knew almost everything about Atobe and Echizen’s relationship, how it started to how it ended. He was witness to the beginning of their love, if it could be called that. He admitted that he was jealous when Echizen stopped asking for a match every day. Rather, he spent his time with Hyotei’s buchou, playing tennis and doing other things in the locker room. Oh yes, he was aware of their time in the school’s locker room when Atobe came for a surprise visit at Seigaku’s Saturday morning practice.

“…chou… buchou.” Tezuka’s thoughts were interrupted when Ryoma put his hand on Tezuka’s. It sent him a jolt of static. He thought that some blue spark came out of that one simple touch. Ryoma was only trying to get his attention since he was daydreaming. It seemed that there was a first time for everything. He never daydreamed. Ever. Tezuka took his glasses off, wiping them with a piece of cloth he took out of his many drawers.

“Gomen Echizen. I was thinking which course of action we should take.” Which was a complete lie. He kept, what others had always called, his poker face, though it seemed that Ryoma knew him better than anyone.

“Che, we are going to get Karupin back. Simple as that.” Ryoma crossed his arm and a scowl came on his face. He was determined to get his cat back no matter what.

“What has caused the… misunderstanding between you and Atobe?” Tezuka must keep his professionalism. Otherwise, he would not be able to represent Ryoma and that would lead to not seeing him at all except at the occasional gatherings by Oishi. Since the story with Atobe was finished, Tezuka wanted to take a chance with his little pillar. He would not let this chance slip away like before. Ryoma was not his responsibility and kouhai anymore and he was not his buchou. Even if Ryoma would say otherwise.

“Che, the monkey king thinks that my tournaments take too much of my time. And he thinks that I don’t spend enough time in his bed.” Ryoma shrugged his shoulders lightly and added, “Like I would give up tennis for Monkey sex.”

Tezuka blushed at Ryoma’s last sentence. That led to Ryoma liking his former buchou’s red tint on his cheek.

Tezuka’s coughed a bit. “Well, this is going to be a bit different since Tokyo does not consider pets as individuals who need to be cared for. To the judge, he will see that this is a battle of property and that it’s just another relationship gone bad.”

The corners of Ryoma's mouth turned down enough to emphasize his frown lines to indicate his displeasure at hearing Tezuka say that.

Tezuka sighed once more and explained to Ryoma. “This is not some American soap Law and Order. In front of the law, Karupin does not have the same rights as a human being. Atobe is not violating anyone’s rights by keeping Karupin.”

“Buchou watches American series?”

“What I mean is that this is not television, Echizen. You do not win with good intentions.”

“Then what do we do?” Tezuka liked the sound of the word ‘we’ and he hoped that this word would come out of Ryoma’s mouth more often.

“We will get Karupin. I promise you, Echizen.” Tezuka would get Ryoma’s light back. He made a promise not only to Echizen, but to himself as well.

A grateful smile came upon Ryoma’s pink lips.

Yes, he would get Karupin back, even if he had to take it with his own two hands. That smile would be enough as a payment.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

“So, buchou is your lawyer now?” Momoshiro asked even as he leaped into the air to do his dunk smash.

It was their weekly encounter whenever Ryoma was back in Tokyo . They would spend the day together playing tennis and going to some arcade for old time’s sake. This time, Momoshiro listened to his mamushi and didn’t bring their kid. He missed those matches with his best friend during the last few months when Ryoma went to England . Or was it the US ? Maybe it was in France for the French Open? He always forgot where Ryoma was going and that brat never brought him a souvenir either. Above all things, during their time together, he was still the one paying for Ryoma’s food. And boy, a young tennis professional ate a lot. His wallet was suffering each and every time Momo went out with Ryoma.

“Mada mada dane.” Ryoma said his catch phrase as he did a drop shot.

Momo sprinted from the baseline to the net and prepared to send the tennis ball back over to the other side of the court. However, the ball did not bounce, but rather rolled backwards.

“Using Tezuka-buchou’s drop shot, Echizen?” It always amazed Momo how that ball just rolled backwards. It was impressive when his former buchou did it and it was still amazing when his best friend did it.

“Che, it helped me win the US Open.”

They went to get a bit of water after their match. They decided that it would be no use counting the points. Both of them knew that Ryoma won the game hands down.

“So when are you leaving Japan ?” Asked Momoshiro between heavy breaths.

“After I get Karupin.” Came the curt reply.

Momoshiro sweat dropped. It seemed that the brat still had a one track mind. He usually appreciated and even admired Ryoma’s frankness and abrupt way of talking, but some other times, it was uncalled for and unnecessary. He sucked in another deep breath and returned his attention to the so called ‘prince’ of tennis.

“So you and Tezuka-buchou are going to Court?” This was a touchy subject, but Momoshiro always loved gossip and loved having one up to Kikumaru. And having such a juicy gossip about not one, but two of their most antisocial friend was rare.

Before Ryoma could answer his friend, his phone vibrated inside his tennis bag. It looked quite comical from the outside since the cellphone was making the bag shake a bit.

“Buchou.” Ryoma answered. He had memorized Tezuka’s number even without realizing it.

“Echizen. Atobe refused an arrangement. We are going to Court.” Tezuka went straight to the point. There was no chit chat, no greetings. And that was exactly why Ryoma appreciated Tezuka so much. Neither of them liked to waste time on small and useless, in Ryoma’s opinion, conversations. But Ryoma liked to hear his buchou’s deep and calming voice, which led to a rather confused Ryoma. But he never took time to analyze his feelings, he just followed his instinct.

“Okay.” What else was he suppose to say?

“If we could set a meeting before the Court’s day…”

“How about now, buchou? I’m not busy.” Momoshiro raised an eyebrow at that. He guessed that it could not be helped. Tezuka-buchou would always come first. He actually found it quite amusing that Ryoma would reschedule anything, or more like leaving everything, just to be with Tezuka. This would be a juicy piece of gossip to share with Eiji.

“Yes, I know where that is. 6 o’clock? I’ll be there buchou.” Ryoma flipped his cellphone shut and began packing his things.

“Got a date, Echizen?” Momoshiro asked with a wide grin.

“Che, I’m going to eat with buchou.” Not denying that it was not a date, Ryoma began to think of the possible clothes that were clean. Was his favorite purple shirt still in the dirty laundry basket?

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The restaurant was very nice. That was the first thing on Ryoma’s mind. It was an old fashioned Japanese restaurant. The lights were not really bright and the atmosphere could be called as romantic. Even though Ryoma made an effort to arrive earlier, Tezuka was already at their table and was waiting with a glass of water.

“Buchou.”

“Echizen.”

Both their faces were as expressionless as ever. The waitress came upon them to ask for their orders and exclaimed loudly.

“Oh my God, you’re Echizen Ryoma. I’m really a big fan of your tennis.” The girl was barely out of high school. She was wearing a traditional kimono as required by the establishment. “Can I have your autograph? Oh, I must have a tennis ball somewhere.”

“Che, I’m Horio, with 2 years of tennis experience.”

But unfortunately, Ryoma’s lie didn’t sound plausible as it was used many times already. The latest Tennis Pro magazine even told the public that it was ‘cute’ that Echizen Ryoma tried to hide behind a secret identity. Besides, Tezuka’s glare on Ryoma was sufficient enough for Ryoma to correct himself. Ryoma took out a tennis ball from his pocket; which resulted in a screech from the waitress. He took the pen that was offered to him and signed the ball.

“Oh thank you sooooooo much.” The girl’s voice was seriously getting annoying in Ryoma’s ear. But since he was in Tezuka’s presence, he refrained from commenting. To top it all, she simply left without taking their order. Tezuka and Ryoma were left blinking at each other. Five minutes later, the waitress came back, her face as red as a tomato. In Ryoma’s opinion, she looked like someone who had eaten too much wasabi.

In the end, neither really talked much during dinner. They ordered and simply stared at each other. The silence was neither awkward nor bothersome. They merely enjoyed each other’s company. The matter of Atobe and Karupin wasn’t even questioned. Both of them knew that they would have to fight, and hard the battle would be. Atobe would not let it go so easily.

Ryoma asked for a coffee whereas Tezuka ordered tea after the dinner. Ryoma raised an eyebrow at Tezuka’s obvious choice of green tea. In contrast, Tezuka raised an eyebrow at Ryoma’s the unexpected order. He did realize that Ryoma put a lot of sugar in his coffee.

“Helps me keep awake during tournament season. Got used to it.” Was Ryoma’s answer to Tezuka’s silent question.

Neither of them spoke as they enjoyed their beverages. Well, it was Tezuka who was enjoying the flavor of green tea. Each time Ryoma took a gulp, he winced a bit as the coffee taste exploded in his mouth.

By the end of it, Ryoma finally asked “So what do we do now, buchou?”

Even though that sentence could have been interpreted in many ways, Tezuka knew him like the back of his hand.

“We are going to Court.”

“Oh.” There was not really anything else to add to that. Tezuka was representing him to get his cat back and that was all. Why did it feel like something more to Ryoma?

After they finished their supper, they began to leave the restaurant. Ryoma didn’t know what to say. He felt like he had to do something. It was itching him, and he felt a bit awkward standing there, in front of Tezuka. He didn’t feel like that the first time Tezuka asked him for a match.

Tezuka was the one to break the tension in the air. “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Huh?” His mind was a bit slow with the uptake.

“Tomorrow. Could you come to my office? There are a few papers that you must sign in order for us to go to Court.”

“Oh, that.” Why did he feel that there was more to that offer? “I have to practice a new serve, but I don’t have much to do.”

“You are staying in Japan until you have Karupin back, correct?” They begin walking. In which direction? Neither one of them knew. It was a nice night. It wasn’t too hot nor was it too cold. There was a light breeze that flowed in the air.

A grunt was the only response Tezuka got from Ryoma. They walked untill they reached a park. The night was still young… well young to teenagers. Some boys were playing ball. It was not tennis, but basketball. Both Tezuka and Ryoma sat on the bench to watch the match. They watched the game, but not truly following. It was a reminder of what they had back in junior high school and high school as well. Tezuka remembered the first time they had won the nationals when he was fifteen. The matches were incredible. Both Seigaku and their opponent, Rikkai Dai, grew with each match. Even though he was not the one to bring victory, he had put all his faith in his successor and he was not wrong. And when they were reunited in high school, they were the invincible team once more. It was like a repeat of when they were three years younger, but stronger. Their rivals were stronger as well and that made them reach new limits.

Ryoma got up from the bench, causing Tezuka’s thoughts to halt. “I’ll see you tomorrow buchou.”

Tezuka give a nod. “Come at 11 o’clock. Do not be late Echizen.”

The way Tezuka said the last sentence reminded Ryoma of Tezuka’s favorite catch phrase which was to not be careless. Ryoma threw a smirk to Tezuka and made a small “Che.”, turned around and went in the direction of his house, or his parents’ house more like.

Tezuka watched Ryoma’s back get smaller and smaller until he turned a corner. He got his attention back to the players that were short of a few members from when he first sat there. They were young and had lots of potential. Even though Tezuka was a former tennis player, he was aware of other sports. Tennis wasn’t life and he had learned that in harsh ways. Back in junior high, he had first strained his arm playing against Atobe. Then he worsened it by playing against Sanada. He had to go through another extensive therapy for many years. But even then, he had continued to play in high school. In third year, he had been made buchou once more. But the biggest surprise was when Echizen came back from America to play with his sempai again. They went to grab the nationals once more. He could still remember the gasp, the hanging of the jaws of many tennis players from other schools when they saw that they were all reunited again. But in his last year, when he had given his all to the team he cared for, his arm could not keep up with the level of his rivals’ tennis. His left arm finally gave out, but not before giving his team a chance to victory. And yet again, he went to a rehabilitation center, but the doctors could only do so much. He still played, but even at three sets, it became a strain to his arm. He had to give up his dream on becoming a professional tennis player and concentrated on his studies.

Tezuka sighed and came back from memory lane. With one final look at the few boys who remained playing with the ball and shooting, he left the park and went home.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A ringing sound woke Echizen Ryoma, who was having a pleasant dream, up. A hand went out from the blue covers to smash whatever the annoying sound was. The hand pushed the alarm clock to the floor making a crashing sound. The peace and quiet came back to room. With a satisfied sigh, Ryoma soon went back to sleep. But right before entering the gate of dreamland, the ringing sound came back. The hand came out of the covers to shut his alarm, but touched nothing. In his state of mind, Ryoma forgot that he already threw his clock away and did not realize that the ringing did not come from his alarm, but his cell phone. It was then that a green haired head also emerged from the blue covers to situate where the ringing sound came from. Sitting up and getting his cell phone, Ryoma answered abruptly, as it was his nature, but more because someone dared to wake him up when he was having such nice dreams.

“What?”

“Echizen.” The simple pronunciation of his name made Ryoma rigid. He straightened up like a soldier ready to meet his commander.

“Buchou?” Just three syllables were said, but Ryoma knew his buchou’s voice from anywhere and even if it was just a whisper, Ryoma always had an ear open when it concerned Tezuka Kunimitsu.

“Ah.”

“Is there a reason that you called? It’s not 11 yet, is it?” Ryoma looked down at his clock. It was broken, that was for certain. The thing must be replaced, again. Thinking back, Ryoma must have replaced his alarm clock more times that he could count. He thanked whoever was out there, or just his manager, that the hotels he was staying in during his tournaments always had a shop which sold alarm clocks.

“I have the date of the hearing changed. The judge is willing to hear us today.” Tezuka said that with his emotionless voice, which did not surprise Ryoma at all. His buchou always had an emotionless voice, but to him, it was like a warm blanket that covered him during the coldest moment of his life.

“Oh.” There was not much that he could say. He did not know a thing about all of that. All he knew was tennis and it was fine with him. Besides, for all those legal things, he now has buchou and he knew that he could trust buchou no matter what. It has always been like that and always would be. That darn monkey king could not change that over the years, and he would not change what he and buchou now have. Well, maybe they could improve the relationship they have now as former teammates and current lawyer- client relationship to something more. Before Ryoma’s mind could conjure more possibilities for the something more, Tezuka interrupted his thoughts with a very strict voice.

“Echizen, be at the courthouse at 2 o’clock this afternoon. Do not be late.” The last sentence was said very severely and Ryoma knew that he would have to run lots and lots of laps even though, officially, Tezuka stopped being his buchou years ago. If Tezuka wanted his team to run laps, he still had the power to make them run, whether they liked it or not. That was a trait that was imprinted in them and Ryoma would not change it for all the gold in the world. He didn’t need the gold, but if it was ponta, that was a whole other thing. And Ryoma would have to negotiate for grape ponta as well.

“Usu.” As it was Ryoma’s usual answer.

On another side of Tokyo , Tezuka put away his phone and sighed. He hoped that the affair would end soon. Looking at the memo that he asked of his secretary, Tezuka once again hoped that he had made the right decision. A selfish part of him knew that he could put the trial longer than it could take. This way, Ryoma would stay by his side all the way. But he knew that it was not honorable to do so. He would win this case just like all the others and would think of the consequences once more. Taking another folder, he concentrated on his other clients as Ryoma was not his only client, but he was his favorite until now and would always be. Of that he was sure.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ryoma arrived 10 minutes in advance as he did not want to run the numerous laps that he knew Tezuka would give him if he dared to show up late. Tezuka was already there, dressed in a black suit, tie and shining black shoes, talking to another person. The old man did not have much hair left except on the side of each ear. His hair was white, and the top of his head was very shiny as the sun reflected from it. He too was wearing a black suit. They seemed quite wrapped up in their discussion because Tezuka was moving his lips more than Ryoma ever saw. They were standing in a more secluded part outside the court house. Ryoma, having another can of grape ponta in his hand, strolled slowly near his buchou. His left his tennis bag at home as he did not think that he could convince Tezuka to play today. A smirk appeared on his face as he was thinking of challenging Tezuka to a match after this whole ordeal. He hoped that Tezuka still practiced. He practically growled thinking Tezuka didn’t play tennis anymore. No, his buchou would never give up that sport. Even that damned monkey king still tried to keep in shape, though in Ryoma’s opinion, he failed miserably.

Tezuka saw that Ryoma has arrived and felt proud that Ryoma arrived earlier. He bid good day to his colleague and went to great Ryoma.

Each stood in front of the other, neither saying a word. A nod of the head was all the acknowledgement.

“This way.” Ryoma followed Tezuka as he was probably leading him to the room where his case would be held. The walls of the courtroom were completely wood-paneled to give them a traditional appearance.

Upon entering the courtroom, the first thing that caught his eye was not the design of the room, but the man seated high in his chair. The man was young, actually too young to be a judge. Weren’t judges all old and grumpy? Ryoma turned his head in the direction of his lawyer.

Tezuka, feeling Ryoma’s questioning gaze, nodded and a suffering sigh escaped from his lips.

On the opposite side of where Ryoma and Tezuka were standing, a light brown haired judge was talking softly to what seemed to be the jury. Even from afar, Ryoma could hear what was going on as the courtroom was very silent. The guard at the door was looking at them, a menacing frown on his face. Ryoma turned his attention to the familiar face sitting behind the raised desk. He placed a finger to his chin and was deep in thought but after hearing what the judge was saying, Ryoma almost fell down on his butt, a very cute butt in Tezuka’s point of view. The judge in the courtroom was actually a person whom Ryoma would never forget and thinking about him always made him shiver. Actually, one of his most dreaded dreams was the appearance of this very guy, Fuji Syuusuke, who was currently sitting on the bench. The judge dressed in the black robe was in fact the former tensai of Seigaku. Another shiver passed through Ryoma’s bones.

“Saa, what was your name again?”

The purple haired guy was actually twitching in his seat. Ryoma recognized him even after so many years as the guy who went to the same school as Fuji ’s little brother (whom he had beaten) and who was beaten by Fuji . It made perfect sense in Ryoma’s head even if anyone else would just look at Ryoma and shake their head.

“I’m sure that I saw you somewhere.” Fuji had not lost the smile that he wore during middle school and high school. “Oh well, I’m sure it’s not important if I forgot.”

The purple haired guy dressed in lilac shirt with lots of lilacs on it twitched again and was twirling a finger in his hair.

“Now, you, euh, well, I declare that you are indeed at fault in this whole ordeal and I declare that you are going to have 4 years of imprisonment.” Fuji , the judge, sounded very happy indeed as he banged the gavel.

“What? But you can’t do that!” The lawyer of the purple guy exclaimed. “That’s not your jurisdiction to give imprisonment.” The opposition only shook his head as a signal to the ignorant colleague. But unfortunately, the lawyer did not see the hint his colleague was giving him and began to complain and also question Fuji ’s ability as a judge.

Fuji only had to open his eyes and gaze at the lawyer of the unnamed purple haired man to make his point. The lawyer made what seemed to Ryoma, a whine of some sort before darting out of the courtroom as fast as possible.

The smile went back on Fuji ’s face as he looked at the paper in front of him.

“Oh, Echizen Ryoma against Atobe Keigo for custody of Karupin. My, this is going to be entertaining. And representing Echizen is… my my, God certainly likes me… Tezuka Kunimitsu.” Saying Tezuka’s name, Fuji ’s blue eyes made contact with Tezuka’s brown eyes through his glasses. A very big and sincere smile broke on Fuji ’s face.

“Tezuka. I have not seen you since you represented… what was his name? You certainly look well.” As Fuji was saying that, he waved his hand at his subordinates to leave him alone because he was getting reacquainted with an old friend. His subordinates only whimpered and left the judge alone until the next case began. “And Echizen is here as well. My my, you sure have grown up. And congratulations on all your wins. Saaa, did you come across my younger brother in the circuit by the way?”

Echizen pulled his cap down on his face. Did he meet the younger Fuji ? If he had, he clearly did not remember and answering negatively or positively could mean his death, and that was not including Fuji as a judge. Echizen glared at his buchou. This was his fault, he was certain of it.

Since neither Tezuka nor Echizen would be talking much to Fuji , the former tensai began a one way conversation with a slight nod from Tezuka or Echizen indicating that they were listening. If not, the repercussions could not have been imaginable and both of them wanted to keep their lives and sanity intact.

“So, it would seem that the two of you are going to court? Whatever for? Don’t tell me that the two of you want me to get you married, ne?” Fuji was having so much fun. He just loved this job. Every case seemed to be brightening his day. The look on both Tezuka and Echizen’s faces were priceless. The lighting in this room was perfect to catch the tint of pink on Tezuka’s cheek, but the cap on Echizen’s head was not beneficial to the picture. Fuji put a slight frown on his beautiful face, pursed his lips a bit and said, “Echizen, caps are not allowed in the court.” Immediately, Ryoma’s hand went to take off his cap before something worse than Fuji pursing his lips would befall. A slight glare in his buchou’s direction indicated that he was displeased, but seeing the suffering face of Tezuka lightened Ryoma’s glare.

A lady came into the room and declared the court to be in session. She announced the cause and gave the necessary information to the judge who took everything with a pleased smile on his face.

“Well, let the session begin.” A small chuckle could be heard coming from behind the raised desk as he played with the gavel. “Hmmm, well it seems that we are missing some people here. Now, what shall we do with that, ne?” Fuji opened his eyes and set them on the guard near the door on the left of his chair. The guard gulped and answered so fast that hardly anyone could understand. “I’llberightbackwiththemyourhonor.”

“We won’t wait long for him. No worries.” Another sound of the gavel and Fuji put a satisfied smile on his face.

Tezuka was shuffling through his papers when the door at the back of the courtroom opened with a loud bang. Ryoma turned his head only slightly to look over his shoulder. First, a very familiar man with an expensive suit came in followed of course by that baka monkey king. Ryoma put a scowl on his face. The man accompanying Atobe had blue hair and round glasses with a very big luxurious briefcase. Ryoma could not, for the life of him, remember where he saw that man before. He snorted. If he didn’t remember, it meant that this man’s tennis was mada mada dane.

“Well, Fuji , what a surprise.” Atobe’s lawyer said with his Kansai accent, though even if he didn’t say it was a surprise that Fuji was the judge; he clearly didn’t mean a word he said. There was arrogance in his voice as well, and maybe a slight bit of competitive streak? Ryoma wasn’t sure, since he was never good in judging someone’s character if it was not related to tennis.

“Oshitari. It is such a pleasure to see you once more.” Fuji ’s voice was just a pinch higher than usual and Ryoma had a feeling that there was something that he was missing. There were words underlying there that even though it might be quite a juicy piece of gossip, Ryoma wasn’t in the slightest interested. That had always been Inui’s and that other data tennis guy’s (who was Inui’s childhood friend whose name Ryoma did not remember) forte.

Tezuka made a slight movement and said quietly to Ryoma, “His name is Oshitari Yuushi. He is Atobe’s representative and he was also his teammate back in junior high school.”

Ryoma replied with a thankful nod. He never really met Atobe’s employees and he didn’t really care, but it was nice of buchou to tell him who that guy was. He has a few snaps back when he was twelve and he remembered the competitive streak between Seigaku’s tensai and Hyoutei’s tensai.

“Ah Tezuka.” Atobe flicked his hair. There was a nod that held more meaning than anything. It was some kind of nod between former buchous. Atobe marched to the other table, sneaking a glance at his former lover, but without acknowledging him in the least. Oshitari set his documents right beside him and took his place.

“Well, since everyone is here. Let’s begin.” It seemed that Fuji’s assistant wanted to say something, but that person knew, after working a few time with this particular judge, that skipping the formalities would be preferable than to have those crystalline blue eyes on his person.

Everything became a blur at that point for Ryoma. There was a time where he had to go up and testify, answering Tezuka and Oshitari’s questions. He kept his answers brief and tried to be courteous, since this was Karupin’s future on the line. What he remembered most was Tezuka’s voice when he was pleading for his cause. Atobe’s representative was like an annoying squeak in Ryoma’s ear which reminded him of annoying fans that were loud as fishwives. It was actually weird for Ryoma to hear his buchou calling Fuji “Your Honor”. And Fuji in a black robe didn’t make him more distinguished, only weirder than ever in Ryoma’s opinion. At some point, there was a battle concerning cactus. Ryoma wasn’t paying attention, but there was a chill in the courtroom after the mention of the word ‘cactus’ by Tezuka. Buchou was comparing his pet to cactus, while Oshitari was saying that cacti were just plants that had nothing to do with pets. That was when Fuji , the judge opened his crystalline blue eyes. After both parties finished pleading their cause, Fuji tilted his head to one side and had one finger to his chin. Without following the procedures, he grabbed the gavel and made a loud bang. He then got up and swiftly left the room.

Ryoma turned his head in Tezuka’s direction, who had given a loud sigh. He looked tired but felt Ryoma’s gaze on him.

“ Fuji will give his decision tomorrow.” Explained Tezuka. He had worked with Fuji as a judge many times already, too many in his opinion, to know his character.

“We will have to be here tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.”

“Hai.” Ryoma prepared to leave with Tezuka.

Since it was near dinner time, they both decided to go to a traditional sushi house. Coincidently, it was one of Kawamura’s shops, but it was an affiliate so neither saw their former teammates. They had a small table and ordered their choice of food, preferably, without any of Kawamura’s volcano special.

Tezuka was eating a salmon sushi when he felt something, a pressure on his feet. His eye brow went slightly up and gave a pointed look in Ryoma’s direction. The younger professional tennis player continued to eat his sushi and the noodle soup like there was nothing wrong. Another pressure on Tezuka’s feet made him retaliate. Ryoma’s eye opened in shock when he felt Tezuka’s feet touch his own. Their dinner continued like this, playing foot foreplay while eating in silence, though there was some pointed glance every once in a while.

The walk home was short. Tezuka felt that it was his duty to walk Ryoma home. They walked barely apart, but they weren’t holding hands either. The slight touching of their hands was not intentional, but they had to walk side by side because the sidewalk was not wide enough. That was Tezuka’s own explanation. They arrived at Ryoma’s house soon enough. They stood in front of each other, neither saying a word, only looked at each other.

Tezuka gave a nod and turned around and was ready to go home when Ryoma called his name. But what shocked him the most were the words that followed it.

“Kunimitsu. Stay with me.” Tezuka turned to face Ryoma. It was the first time the young man had used his first name, though he guessed that it was not the first time it came out of those cherry lips. With a pull, his lips came crushing on Ryoma’s.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Birds were chirping. Tezuka awoke with a contented feeling. He had not slept that well since, well he could not remember sleeping that well. Ever. Opening his eyes, he took in his surroundings. Last night had been wonderful; no it was even better than his dreams.

What he remembered the most was skin against skin. The taste in his mouth. The way Ryoma moved under him, up against him.

Tezuka was actually surprised that he woke up so early after what happened last night. They clearly didn’t have much sleep and the bed was quite messy as well. But it was still the best night of his life. After dreaming of it for such a long time, Tezuka still found it hard to believe that last night, and also earlier in the morning, was real. It was real, if the messy greenish hair attached to a very cute face and a killer body which was currently latched on to him, was any indication. Tezuka didn’t mind at all to have a weight on him in the morning. He would enjoy waking with such sight every day. It would be even better than his morning coffee. Much better.

He remembered how they had stumbled into Ryoma’s room, lips locked together, and hands trying to take off each other clothes. He remembered how Ryoma pushed him on his large bed and the source of his fantasy, without a shirt and showing his years of training in those six packs, straddling him. It was such a sigh that he took note to ask Ryoma to have that seductive move again. Maybe he ought to ask for a lap dance for his next birthday. He knew that this was not a one night stand. There were no words spoken between them regarding that matter, but words have never been necessary. Actions were enough and since last night, a lot of actions would be the reflections of their feelings towards each other in the very near future.

Tezuka closed his eyes and remembered how Ryoma went to him. He was beautiful… desirable, his eyes mirrored his own needs. Even now, thinking of it made him want Ryoma again; heat went up between his legs. Ryoma’s hand moved and began drawing circles on his chest while sleeping on. Tezuka remembered how he arched when this very hand was touching him and later replaced by a hot mouth. There was also that tongue, oh that beautiful red tongue and how well he used that tongue.

He remembered Ryoma’s breath catch, and then release. He remembered feeling the faint, almost delicate, trembling of passion still restrained. He remembered spreading his fingers, skimming them up so that his palms slid over Ryoma’s jawline, his cheekbones, his temples, until his hands were caught in his silk like hair. He remembered the purr that came out of Ryoma, just like a cat. Their gaze never faltered from each other. Ryoma’s lips parted, in both an invitation and an acceptance of what was to come as he leaned closer. No single word could have lit a fire that quickly when their mouths met in an earth shattering kiss. Tezuka remembered tightening his fingers in those greenish black hair. He remembered the hunger he felt, he was still desperate to feel that hunger.

He remembered how Ryoma’s hand was trapped between their bodies. They flexed, impatient, not for release, but to take as he was taking. They spread like fire on his chest. Ryoma’s lips left his as he began nipping his neck then going lower and lower. He remembered moaning again and again as Ryoma’s hand and then mouth drove him crazy to the edge of reason and beyond.

He remembered how Ryoma said his name, “Kunimitsu”, like a prayer then transforming into a moan as he was touching Ryoma’s chest. Through layers of drugged pleasure, their mouths found each others. Gasps of pleasure could be heard in the room. Ryoma stroked and explored his body just like a cat discovering his mate. It was like their hunger grown insatiable at the heat of flesh meeting flesh. He remembered how their legs tangled together as they pushed each other from brink to brink.

Tezuka remembered gripping Ryoma’s hips, reason shattering as rhythms matched. They were rocking together, through earth, through the sky, through space and time. He remembered the taste, even better than anything he ever had. It was addicting.

As more memories of last night began unveil in Tezuka’s eyes, Ryoma’s golden eyes began to open up.

“Good morning.” It was said slowly, murmuring. Tezuka turned his head slightly to give a sweet kiss in response.

Though neither wanted to get up from the bed, there was still a battle to end. They had all the time in the future to show their love.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A loud bang could be heard when Tezuka and Ryoma entered the court room. It seemed that the judge was having a fit over a blooming Echinopsis, some kind of ugly cactus in Ryoma’s opinion. Ryoma didn’t realize the day before that there were many cacti in the room. Fuji gave glares to the poor guy who looked like he just wanted to be swallowed by the earth, which wouldn’t be so surprising if he was. Fuji had always been unexpected.

Fuji went to his high seat and declared the court to be in session. He then explained some of his decision quoting some weird names, which were past jurisprudences that were related to their cause. Tezuka had enlightened Ryoma on it.

Ryoma got distracted as Fuji went on and on about things that he did not comprehend and looked over to the opposition’s side. Only Atobe’s lawyer was there. Earlier, he explained that Atobe had some unfortunate business reunion that could not be put aside. Ryoma gave a mental snort. The monkey king was just a sore loser.

“And I declare that Karupin belongs to one Echizen Ryoma. Atobe Keigo only kept the cat to put Echizen Ryoma through a traumatized situation. Therefore, Atobe Keigo also has to pay Echizen Ryoma punitive damages.” And Fuji raised his gavel and bam, the decision was made. Both Tezuka and Oshitari stood up and thanked his honor. Oshitari packed his things, gave a slight glare in Fuji ’s direction (the judge was chatting with the nice secretary though) and left swiftly.

“Buchou.” Ryoma’s voice was small, but Tezuka could detect that there was a lot of emotion behind that one word. “Arigato.”

Tezuka put his hand on Ryoma’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze to show his response.

A ring could be heard in the court. The guard there was ready to throw that person out. Upon discovering that it was the judge himself, and after receiving a stare, he backed down.

“Yuuta, I’m very happy to hear from you. Are you coming to my party? I’m having some wasabi sushi ordered straight from Taka-san himself. Yuuta? Yuuta?” Fuji regarded his phone with a puzzled look. “Hmm, it seemed that the connection here is very bad.” The guard gulped as Fuji ’s puzzled look turned into a glare in his direction.

“I’ll go inform the technicians immediately, your honor.” The poor guard crawled away.

“Oh, Tezuka, Echizen, do you want to come to my little party ? It’s going to be really fun. I even made the dessert myself.” Ryoma and Tezuka both twitched at the same time. Fuji itched to get his camera but soon remembered that he left it in the office.

“No? That’s really such a shame. Hmmm, let see, who are the next on the list? Oh, Kirihara Akaya represented by Sanada Genichirou. Saaa, this should be interesting. I really do like this job.” Since Fuji was planning another torture session, Ryoma and Tezuka slowly walked out of the courtroom. It did not concern them.

“Buchou?” Ryoma faced Tezuka and gave one of his best innocent looks.

“Hai, Echizen?” Tezuka would never tire himself looking at his new lover.

“I know a good place to go camping.” Ryoma’s grin should have worried Tezuka, but he was feeling too happy with his luck. Whatever they did, as long as they did it together, Tezuka would be contented.

Hand in hand, they strolled out of the court house.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Omake

“Saaa, it seems that no one wanted to come to my little party. Looks like it’s just you and me, Yuuta.”

“Baka aniki. Why are all the lights switched off? Where are mom and dad? You told me it was a family gathering. What the… Arrrrrrrrrrgh!”

“Do you like the pie? I made it especially for you, Yuuta.”

Somewhere else, far far away from the Fuji household, two people were contently sleeping in one big sleeping bag. They were spooned together and the stars were the only witnesses. They were situated in the backyard of a big house. The sleeping bag was on smooth green grass and a tennis net was not far away.

“Meaow.”

Karupin strolled outside of the house and looked at his master sleeping with his mate. He sniffed the bottom of the sleeping bag before curling himself into something akin to a tennis ball and dozed off, content to be home where he belonged.

---THE END---

[mcenroe]

2007-11-06T18:35:42Z

RIDE THE LIGHTNING

Part Three

Yuuta'd expected to have time to help Echizen look through the stacks of paper his friends downstairs had put together--after all, he'd had nothing but time for the past few weeks--but after the press conference, every lesser monster and petty supervillain crawled out from beneath their rocks to cause havoc. "What the hell is all this?" he complained to Taka-san after the fifth straight mess that they'd had to clean up--no one had ever told him that being a superhero was hard work, on top of everything else.

"It's you," Taka-san said, with a shrug. "You're new. Everyone's hoping to get you."

"Get me?" Yuuta asked.

"Kill you," Kaidoh-san grunted. "They're testing us. If they manage to kill you, they get prestige with their scummy little cronies and it's obvious that Seishun isn't as powerful without Tensai."

"You're joking, right?" Yuuta asked them, but they just shrugged.

"They were joking, right?" he asked Echizen later, while he sifted through the paperwork that itemized Aniki's movements in the days just before he disappeared.

"No," Echizen said, absently. "Same thing happened when I came in. Didn't really stop till I kicked whatsisname's ass. That guy from Rikkai. Big quiet one."

Yuuta stared at him, appalled. "You mean I have to fight and beat someone like the Emperor before anyone takes me seriously?"

"Less talking, more working, please," Echizen said.

"When we find Aniki I am retiring and never looking back," Yuuta muttered. "Mark my words."

Echizen laughed like he didn't believe him.

Tezuka-taichou didn't seem quite as blasé about the sudden uptick of activity, and when Yuuta saw him--which was less often these days, now that one small team or another was out patrolling at all times--looked tense around the eyes. "What's he so worried about?" he asked Oishi-san when they both happened to be in the canteen.

Oishi-san shrugged, noncommittal. "Could be anything." Yuuta doubted that, very much, so he waited, until Oishi-san stopped fiddling with his chopsticks and added, "He's worried there's someone out there behind all of the little fish. A big fish. Or a shark."

"Oh, great," Yuuta said. "That's just what I want to hear."

"It's probably nothing," Oishi-san hastened to assure him. "You know how Tezuka gets."

He relayed it to Echizen anyway, and watched Echizen frown. "That's... that's interesting," he said. "I don't know why I didn't think of that myself." He snorted. "I just thought he was worried about that stick up his ass."

"That's probably because you go out of your way to avoid him," Yuuta said, adding "Big shark?" to his list of Possible Reasons Aniki Is Missing. He looked up just in time to see the thunderous expression on Echizen's face. "You do. Are the two of you only a thing when Aniki's around?"

"That's not any of your business," Echizen snapped.

"Take it that's a yes," Yuuta murmured. "We'd better find Aniki fast, just so you two can stop snapping at each other every time you meet."

"Have I ever told you that you talk too damn much?" Echizen growled, and buried himself in his notes.

"Yeah, whatever." Yuuta bent back over his work, and added, after a moment, "I'm just glad I don't have to be the one to run this place. I'd kill you all at the first staff meeting." Although that was probably being too generous.

"Not if we killed you first." Echizen flipped one folder closed and added to a stack. "He's never had much problem doing his job." The line of his mouth was set.

"Yeah, and that's why I'd suck at it. Can you imagine having to be that damn responsible all the time?" Yuuta snorted. "I'd lose my fucking mind."

"Who ever said you had a mind to lose in the first place?" Echizen retorted. "And seriously, you're wasting time."

"Right, right," Yuuta said, and figured that was as much pushing as he ought to do in a day. Echizen was frowning at his paperwork like there was something bugging him, anyway, so maybe it was a start.

Later that week, when he saw Echizen and Tezuka-taichou sitting together, eating lunch and not saying a word to each other, he was careful not to smile--at least not until he heard Oishi-san mutter, not-quite-under-his-breath, "It's about damn time."

* * *

When progress finally happened, it happened all at once. Oishi-san, Kikumaru-san, and Momo-san were out on patrol, and Yuuta and Echizen had just finished up a practice session when sirens started going off. "What the shit?" he demanded, when Echizen dropped his towel and started running for the door. Yuuta chased after him. "Echizen, what the hell?"

"It's a big one," Echizen said. "Or someone's in trouble. Or both."

"Crap," Yuuta swore, and followed him through the twisting hallways, up a flight of stairs, and another, where they fell in with Inui-san--all the way up to the roof, where Tezuka-taichou already had the jet warming up.

"What is it?" Echizen asked, sliding into the copilot's seat.

"Oishi tagged his distress beacon." Tezuka-taichou's fingers flew over the switches, and the moment Kaidoh-san and Taka-san sprinted up the stairs, he pulled back on the throttle and they lifted off as the two of them belted themselves in. "I haven't been able to raise any of them since."

"Shit," Echizen said. "Do we have--"

"Nothing," Tezuka-taichou said. "Inui?"

Inui-san was balancing a laptop on his knees, typing furiously. "On it," he said.

Yuuta sat in his seat, fidgeting, not sure what--if anything--he ought to be doing. Taka-san and Kaidoh-san were doing the same, so he guessed there wasn't anything he was supposed to do but wait for them to get there, and try not to throw up from air sickness or nerves.

"Whatever it is, it's big and nasty," Inui-san said. He tapped a few more keys. "Tough, too."

"That's the best kind," Taka-san said, keyed up in the way he only ever got when he was about to fight. He was rubbing his hands together. "Sounds like a good time."

Yuuta scooted a little further away from him.

"Did I mention it was big?" Inui-san asked.

"You don't really need to," Echizen said, sounding resigned. "Look."

Yuuta craned his head around the seat in front of him to get a look, and nearly choked at the sheer size of the--well, it looked like it was part lizard and part rock and all pissed-off. "What in the--"

"That idiot Momoshiro ought to be able to handle a Godzilla rip-off in his sleep," Kaidoh said, frowning.

"I don't like this," Tezuka-taichou said, right before something hit the jet.

They lost altitude fast and hard enough that Yuuta's stomach was in his throat and there wasn't enough time to be either terrified or sick. Inui-san swore as his laptop slid out of his grip and smashed against the deck while Tezuka-taichou fought with the controls, leveling them off again. Someone shouted a warning to brace for impact, just before they touched down, bouncing and skidding to a halt.

Echizen was the first to speak, voice raspy over the moaning metal of the jet's frame and the dying sound that the engine was making. "Any landing you can walk away from."

"Can we all walk?" Inui-san asked, and there was a scuffling of seatbelts as everyone checked themselves and each other over.

"What the hell hit us?" Yuuta demanded.

"I don't know," Tezuka-taichou said. "Inui?"

Inui-san was looking at the ruins of his laptop. "I had something." He gestured at the floor. "It's just a hypothesis, but I suspect the big nasty is just a decoy."

"You think?" Echizen snorted, and stretched an arm over his head. "It's a trap and we took the bait. Only way out now is through." He glanced at Tezuka-taichou. "Usual split?"

Tezuka-taichou took a moment to answer, like he was trying to decide, before he nodded. "Usual split."

Taka-san grinned and cracked his knuckles. "All right, let's go." He went to the door, and when it wouldn't open, pried it open, and jumped down to the ground. Inui-san and Kaidoh-san followed after.

Yuuta hesitated. "Um. So where do I--"

"With us," Echizen said, and grinned, sharp. "You're our honorary Shuusuke."

"Great," Yuuta said, under his breath, and fell in with them as they jumped down from the jet.

At first he thought they'd just landed in a quiet part, but then he realized that no, they'd landed--well, it looked like a commercial district, but it was deserted. The buildings were silent and dark, and he frowned. "What's up with--"

"Shh," Echizen murmured. "Low profile." He snorted. "Not that's going to stop the whatever-it-is from coming and finding us."

"What do we do then?" Yuuta asked, barely above a whisper.

Echizen's grin was positively feline. "Kick its ass till it runs home crying for mommy, and follow it there."

"And hope that 'mommy' isn't bigger than the three of us can handle," Tezuka-taichou added, tone dry.

"I used to think you'd have to be crazy to want to work a desk job," Yuuta muttered. "Suddenly I can see the appeal." Just to reassure himself, he reached out to the power grid of the city, wrapping a coil of it around himself--

And not a moment too soon; something that was huge and winged and vaguely reminiscent of a monkey came shrieking out of a top-floor window. Echizen lashed out with a gout of flame, and it plummeted to the street in flames--but there were more behind it.

"Behind me," Tezuka-taichou ordered, and lifted a bulwark from the street, asphalt and concrete buckling up and forming a wall for them to shelter behind.

"Ugly things, aren't they?" Echizen observed, wrapping a fireball around two that were flying too close together. "Mad scientist, you think?"

"Almost certainly," Tezuka-taichou said, gesturing; a spike of earth shot up, skewering another of the flying monkey whatevers. "On staff if nothing else." He frowned. "Looks like--"

"Yeah, it does," Echizen agreed. "But they're all in prison."

"Copycat, maybe," Tezuka said.

Yuuta wondered whether they knew how cute it made them look (albeit in a weird, fireball-throwing, laconic kind of way) when they dropped into that mode of finishing each other's sentences, but then another wave of the whatevers came screaming down at them, and he had other things to worry about.

One part of him felt vaguely guilty to be sucking on the city's grid this hard, lashing out at whatevers, knocking them out of the sky to fall in stinking piles. Surely there were people cursing the sudden blackouts just now, wondering what in the world was going on to make their lights flicker.

On the other hand, he couldn't care too much, because no matter how many whatevers they killed, more kept coming, until Yuuta was panting for breath, and even Tezuka-taichou had drops of sweat standing on his forehead.

And they still kept coming. "When's the part when they run home to mommy?" he asked, picking off another two, slower and more clumsily.

"I'd like to know that myself," Tezuka-taichou said, clipped.

"We're doing our job," Echizen said. "They're the ones who aren't playing along."

The worst of it was that there wasn't the space to even think of an alternative solution, barely enough space to breathe. Yuuta propped himself against Tezuka-taichou's bulwark to save himself the energy of standing. "Guys," he said, "I'm running out of steam here."

He wasn't the only one, either, not if the pinched look of Tezuka-taichou's mouth and the way Echizen was laboring for breath were anything to go by. "Do the best you can," Tezuka-taichou told him. "That's all you can do."

This wouldn't be happening if Aniki were here, would it? There would have been a clever plan to get them out of this. Too bad he wasn't Aniki--just an Aniki stand-in. Yuuta zapped another of the whatevers, and another, and reached for the grid to zap a third, but fumbled the connection. "Shit," he said, as he felt his knees starting to give out.

The last thing he heard before he slipped under was Echizen saying, "Shit, we've lost Raitei--"

* * *

Every joint in his body hurt when he woke up, and he was tied up, hand and foot, and his cheek was pressed against something cold and metallic that hummed faintly.

To make matters worse, someone was gloating. At length. Something about how this was justice for the years he'd spent locked up, and who was laughing now, Seishun?

Yuuta forced his gummy eyelids open, but all he could see was shoes pacing back and forth--nice ones, leather-soled and polished to the point of gleaming, attached to someone wearing a nice suit, if the tailored details of his trousers were anything to go by--and beyond that, a few more sets of boots that looked like they were henchman-grade at the very least, and valued henchmen at that--they were all leather too, and nice-looking wool uniforms on top of that.

"Can't anyone shut the Monkey King up?" someone--Echizen--groaned, which brought Nice Shoes up short.

"You know," Nice Shoes--Monkey King? Yuuta liked that--purred, "I've had a lot of time to think about all the ways I could make you pay for saddling me with that delightful little nickname."

"I wouldn't advertise being such a slow thinker, if I were you," Echizen said. Sounded like he was coming from somewhere... somewhere higher than the Monkey King was. "Makes you look pretty bad."

Yuuta winced at the meaty sound that followed. Not so high that someone couldn't hit him.

"Stop provoking him," Tezuka-taichou said, sounding as tired as Yuuta felt. "Atobe, what do you want this time?"

Atobe--no, actually, Monkey King was much better--sighed, heavily. "Weren't you listening?"

"You tend to drone," Tezuka-taichou said. "Sorry," he added, not sounding sorry at all.

"It," the Monkey King said, slow and ominous, "is not at all too late for me to open up the shark tank, you know."

"A shark tank, huh? That wouldn't be so bad--it almost has style. Have you been letting Mizuki tutor you?" Echizen again, sugar-sweet.

"Oh, it won't be for you," the Monkey King purred. "I had someone special in mind." He snapped his fingers. "Kabaji."

The biggest set of henchmen boots moved, shuffling past Yuuta's nose, giving him a bad moment, when he thought that special someone was going to be him. All bravado aside, being eaten by sharks wasn't really high on his list of the ways he wanted to die. But the giant boots kept moving past, and he sighed with relief. Something rattled behind him, like a padlock being unlocked, and then a door being pulled open, and--

Echizen made a sound, small and hurt, and Yuuta knew who the special person was after all, especially when Tezuka-taichou whispered, "Shuusuke."

"Can you imagine how lucky I felt when the first thing I found after my escape from prison was him with his guard down?" And the Monkey King was back to gloating. "I don't think he ever realized I was there." He chuckled. "Would you like to watch me feed him to the sharks? I'm afraid I can't let him sober up, of course--having him awake for the experience would be perfect, but giving his proclivities, it's simply not feasible."

Yuuta bit down on his lower lip to keep from growling. The Monkey King was dead. Dead. He just had to figure out how to make it happen.

"What do you want?" Tezuka-taichou asked, raw and hoarse. "What is it, Atobe?"

"More than you can afford," the Monkey King purred. "I'm done with world conquest, you see. All I want now is revenge."

The floor--the deck--whatever it was--hummed underneath his cheek. Every fiber of him was exhausted, but he could feel the energy running through the wires underneath him. All he had to do was--

All he had to do was force his exhausted resources past their limit to reach out for it, find enough strength to pull in enough of it to matter, and more strength to shape it enough that when he used it, he only hit his chosen targets. Oh, yeah, piece of cake. He'd have to get right on that.

The Monkey King snapped his fingers again. "Kabaji. The sharks."

Shit, he really did have to get right on it. Yuuta sucked in a breath and closed his eyes--he'd been unconscious for a while; that had to count for resting, didn't it?--and tried to find the reserves that would let him do what he needed to do.

It was difficult, and the effort made him want to gasp for breath, but he couldn't risk drawing any attention to himself, not when one shot was all he was likely to get. He teased out strands of electricity, slowly--so slowly that Kabaji was wheeling a tank into the room by the time he felt like he had enough energy to do the job.

And meanwhile, Tezuka-taichou and Echizen were--talking. Begging. Apologizing for things that the Monkey King had taken offense at in years past. The Monkey King was drinking it in, swallowing it down, practically purring with gratification. "I've never heard you quite so eloquent, Echizen," he said. "Or so humble. It looks well on you."

"Thank you for saying so," Echizen said, every syllable throbbing with sincerity.

Enough was e-fucking-nough. "Hey, Monkey King," Yuuta rasped, and waited just until the man had figured out who was talking to him. "Go to hell."

It broke just about every rule there was to shoot first--although he was a prisoner, so maybe there were exceptions for the good guys, if they were trying to escape. It shattered them into pieces to shoot to kill. Yuuta figured that a better person probably would have cared, even with the Monkey King starting to sneer down at him. It was just too bad that he wasn't a particularly nice guy, especially not with his family on the line, he decided, and turned loose of the lightning that he was holding.

The results were short, and unpleasant, and likely to keep him vegetarian for the rest of his life--and he didn't even want to think about the nightmares he was going to have. What was worse was the fact that the exertion left him too limp to move even enough to look away, even after it was done and the screaming had stopped.

"Oh my God," someone said, voice weak. "Just what kind of barbarian did you get to replace me, Kunimitsu?"

Yuuta closed his eyes.

* * *

Fortunately, the cavalry--consisting of Taka-san in berserker mode, Kaidoh-san, and a somewhat worse-for-the-wear Inui-san--burst in just about then, and Aniki's question got lost in the ensuing confusion as they bustled around, undoing shackles and taking the last couple of surviving henchmen into custody and sussing out where Oishi-san's little team was being held. Yuuta let the fuss go on around him, too tired to move and glad to sit out of the way while Seishun crowded around Aniki to welcome him home.

Aniki wouldn't look in his direction, either, and when Ryuuzaki-sensei sent helicopters to get them home, contrived to be in the one that Yuuta wasn't, which meant that Yuuta rode back to Seishun's headquarters sandwiched between Momo-san and Kaidoh-san, both of whom were uncharacteristically quiet until they touched down on the helipad. "Look," Kaidoh-san said, abruptly, while Taka-san helped Yuuta out of his seat, "back there, with Atobe--did you do that?"

"Yeah," Yuuta said. "He was going to feed Aniki to the sharks. I had to stop him."

"There's stopping someone, and then there's stopping someone," Inui-san murmured.

Yuuta looked away from the four of them. "I know, okay? I wasn't really cut out for the superhero thing. I was just filling in for a little bit." He jerked his head in the direction of the other helicopter. "You've got Aniki back now to be the real thing."

"But you killed--" Momo-san started.

Yuuta looked at him, too tired to even think about holding back. "Why do you think I even asked to join Seishun in the first place? It sure as hell wasn't for the tights. I wanted to--"

Taka-san stopped him before he could finish the thought, surprising him. "I wouldn't go around advertising that," he murmured. "Some people don't understand doing what's necessary."

"Especially when it's family," Kaidoh-san said. He jerked his head in the direction of the door. "Let's get out of this wind."

"...yeah," Momo-san said. "Let's go. I'm starving."

Yuuta did his best not to grimace and let them help him inside and downstairs, wondering at them all the way, at least until the point where Oishi-san appeared at his elbow. "You're needed in the main conference room," he said, and the look on his face was enough to tell Yuuta what he was needed for.

"That didn't take long," he muttered, and limped his way down another level, through the atrium, and into the room where all of this had started and was probably about to end.

Tezuka-taichou was there, and Echizen, both of them damn near hovering over Aniki, who was thin and pale but seemed to be in good spirits--at least right up until Yuuta came in. Then he frowned. "Do we really need to do this now?" he murmured.

Yuuta pulled out the closest chair and collapsed into it. "Might as well get it over with," he said, and pulled off his mask so he could run his fingers through his sweat-stiff hair. "So what's it going to be, taichou? Am I just kicked out, or is it going to be a trial?"

"Yuuta?" It came out strangled, like Aniki didn't know whether to be angry, appalled, or just plain stunned.

"Hey, Aniki. Take any cool pictures lately?" So maybe he wasn't completely over the whole secret identity thing just yet, after all.

Aniki made a choked noise, and it sounded suspiciously like Echizen was laughing into his sleeve.

Tezuka-taichou, though, stayed serious. "I suppose that really depends on you," he said, after a moment.

"Yeah? How do you figure that?" Yuuta settled back in his chair, too tired to do anything but slouch there and ignore the quiet hysterics that his brother seemed to be having across the table from him.

"Why did you ask to join Seishun?"

He wanted to laugh at having this conversation again so soon. "Originally? Because I wanted to find the person who'd murdered Aniki and kill him." But Tezuka-taichou already knew that, and should have done since the beginning.

"Originally?" Tezuka-taichou repeated, brows lifted.

"When it seemed like there was a chance Aniki wasn't dead, all I really cared about was finding him." Yuuta shrugged. Whatever. He could play along for Tezuka-taichou, if that's what the man wanted. "And I killed the Monkey King because he was going to hurt Aniki, and I couldn't see him ever changing his mind about that, no matter how many times you guys captured him and threw him in prison." He paused. "And, to be completely honest, because I'm frigging exhausted and I'm not sure I could have controlled myself enough to knock him out without hurting him, anyway." He snorted. "Not very heroic, huh?"

"Heroism tends to be a matter of circumstance," Echizen murmured.

Yuuta rolled his eyes. "Got any other fortune cookies up your sleeve?" He looked down, turning his mask over in his hands. "Way I figure it, I did what I joined up to do. I don't really belong here, you know? So if you need to throw me out, I won't let the door hit me on the ass when I go." As for the other... he'd cross that bridge if Tezuka-taichou made him. "Besides, you've got Aniki back, so you don't really need me."

"Be that as it may, I'm not inclined to throw you out," Tezuka-taichou said. "Or are you looking for excuses to leave?"

Yuuta glanced at Aniki, whose expression was suffused with--well, it was Aniki, so several somethings. "Maybe."

"That would be a shame," Echizen said. "And a waste."

"Yeah, well." He looked away from Aniki, back to Tezuka-taichou. "You're not going to kick me out?"

"As Ryouma has said, it would be a waste." And then he smiled faintly. "And I'd rather have you where I can keep an eye on you, to be frank."

"I see." That put things in a new light. Yuuta tipped his head back and studied the ceiling for a bit, and then looked back down. "Think Aniki and I need to talk to each for a bit. You mind?"

"Of course not," Tezuka-taichou murmured, and he and Echizen withdrew, but not before they'd both managed to squeeze Aniki's shoulder (Tezuka-taichou) and ruffle a hand through his hair (Echizen).

Might as well get the easy stuff out of the way first. "So congratulations," Yuuta said, after a moment. "They're nice guys. Better than the ones you used to date."

Aniki flushed. "You, ah, found out about that?"

Yup, that was Aniki, all over. Good to know the Monkey King's drugs hadn't destroyed his basic personality. "They were basket cases about you, in their own dysfunctional ways. It was kind of hard to miss, Aniki." Yuuta sighed, and swiveled his chair around to look at him full-on. "If you ever feed me a line about how brothers don't keep secrets from each other, I'm going to kick your ass so hard your waist'll be up near your ears."

Aniki looked embarrassed, at least. "I did mean to tell you," he said, and waved a hand. "About all of it."

Yuuta propped his chin up on a fist. "Yeah? When?"

"Oh... when you were thirty or forty, maybe. It's..." Aniki's voice trailed off, and it was quiet when he spoke again. "Well, you've seen. It's dangerous, sometimes. I didn't want you to be involved. I don't think I could stand it if I lost you, too."

Yuuta snorted. "Yeah? You ever think about how I might feel if the tables got turned?" Not likely; Aniki never thought about bad things happening to himself. Never had, as far as Yuuta could remember.

"Not hard enough," Aniki said. He turned back. "I'm sorry, Yuuta."

Yuuta nodded. "Accepted." So much for the easy parts. He looked down at his hands, away from Aniki, flexing them slowly, watching the leather shift. "So am I really a barbarian?"

Aniki sucked in a breath. "You heard that."

"Yeah." He wasn't likely to forget them, either, no matter what Aniki said next. Well, he wasn't likely to forget anything that he'd done or seen or heard today. Yuuta looked up. "It was pretty--bad, wasn't it?"

"I... yes. And no." Aniki hesitated, and Yuuta looked down again, not wanting to see the indecision on his brother's face. "It was... awful. But not as awful as I thought it was when you weren't--personally involved. If that makes sense." He paused again. "If our positions had been switched... I would have done something similar. So you're no more a barbarian than I am."

Yuuta looked up at him. "You mean that?" Because Aniki could be pretty lenient sometimes, and if he was making excuses just because it was Yuuta who'd done, not some other superhero--

Aniki met his gaze straight on. "Yes."

Yuuta sighed as his gut finally unclenched. "Okay, then."

They were quiet for a moment, until Aniki cleared his throat. "Are you going to quit?"

"I don't know. You think I should?" Life would certainly be more interesting if he stuck around--if by interesting he meant full of people trying to kill him.

"I'd like it if you did," Aniki said, and smiled crookedly. "I want to keep an eye on you, too."

"Are you trying to persuade me to stay, or get out as fast I can?" Yuuta retorted. "I'm a little old to need babysitting."

Aniki didn't rise to the bait. "To stay," he said, quiet and serious. "So I can work with you. So we can get to know each other properly."

Yuuta's breath caught. "You mean that?"

"Yeah, I do. No more secrets," Aniki said. He looked rueful. "This time for real."

"...be pretty hard to say no to that," Yuuta said, "so I guess I won't."

Aniki smiled. "Good," he said. Yuuta grinned back, and they sat there like that for a moment, until Aniki cleared his throat. "There's just... one small thing," he said.

"Yeah?" Yuuta asked, suddenly wary.

Aniki hesitated, and then plunged in. "Is there a reason you're wearing a uniform that makes you look like a rentboy?"

the end

previous part

[mcenroe]

2007-11-06T18:35:30Z

RIDE THE LIGHTNING

Part Two

"This is Yuuta-kun," Tezuka-taichou announced. "He's going to be taking Fuji's place for the time being."

Seven pairs of eyes stared at him with varying levels of blankness. Yuuta refused to fidget, and stared back, until Echizen-san pushed his chair back and planted his hands on the table. "This is bullshit," he told Tezuka-taichou, and walked out.

There was an uncomfortable pause, before Oishi-san ventured, "It does seem--premature. We didn't replace Fuji during those years when he was, ah, absent."

"We knew he was planning to come back," Inui-san pointed out. "This time it's different." He studied Yuuta. "Still, Tezuka, are you entirely sure that replacing him this soon is a good idea? Especially with someone who's just a rookie?"

"Yuuta-kun has enough raw talent to make up for his inexperience," Tezuka-taichou said. "I tested him myself."

And he had, at length. Yuuta was sure that he had bruises on top of bruises from their sparring session.

Kaidoh-san sat back in his chair. "Good enough for me," he said, folding his arms.

"It would be," Momoshiro-san muttered.

"You saying his word isn't good enough for you?" Kaidoh-san growled.

Momoshiro-san scowled. "No, just you--"

"Momo! Kaidoh!" Oishi barked. "Cool it." He took a breath. "Tezuka, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Noted," Tezuka-taichou said.

"And overruled, I take it." Kikumaru-san cocked his head. "Or am I wrong?"

"Since when is this a dictatorship?" Momoshiro-san asked. "No offense, taichou, but you've been weird ever since Fuji bought it."

"Show some respect!" Kaidoh-san elbowed him.

Momoshiro-san elbowed him back. "I'm trying, but saying that some untried kid off the street can replace Fuji is just stupid."

"So try me," Yuuta said, tired of being bickered over like he wasn't even there. "Decide whether I'm good enough to replace Aniki after you've seen what I can do."

"We all saw the infirmary," Momoshiro-san said, at the same time Kawamura-san said, "Wait, 'Aniki'?"

"Ah," Inui-san said. "It seems that superpowers must run in the family." He pushed his glasses up, studying Yuuta. "Interesting."

Kikumaru-san tapped his chin. "That puts a different spin on things, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't matter who his brother is. He's still a rookie," Momoshiro-san said.

"Yes, but..." Kikumaru pursed his lips, and then clapped his hands. "All right. Practice room." He bounced to his feet, grinning. "Let's see if you're as much fun to play with as Fuji was."

"Oh, like this is even going to be a contest," Momoshiro-san muttered, just barely audible over the creak of chairs and other murmurs as everyone stood.

Yuuta let them sweep him along, through the maze of corridors on what Tezuka-taichou had explained were the private floors of Seishun's headquarters, trying to summon up everything he knew about Kikumaru-san. It wasn't much: he went by Kuroneko in the field, and moved and fought like a ninja. He was fast, that much Yuuta knew for a fact, and when he fought with Oishi-san, nearly always deadly.

Judging from the frown on Oishi-san's face, Kikumaru-san was fighting alone today. Yuuta told himself that that was a comforting thought. He'd probably be able to draw things out for a little bit. Thirty seconds, maybe.

"Bet you a month's worth of KP duty that Eiji knocks the kid out with one hit," Momoshiro-san said to Kaidoh-san.

Kaidoh-san glanced at Yuuta, eyes heavy-lidded and thoughtful. "You're on."

Great, no pressure or anything. Yuuta swallowed hard and surreptitiously wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Echizen-san was already in the practice room, pounding on a punching bag, when they came in. "What's this?" he asked, eyes sweeping over Yuuta like he didn't even exist.

"A demonstration's worth a thousand words, Ochibi," Kikumaru-san said, kicking off his shoes and stepping onto the mat, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You mind?"

Echizen-san snorted. "Not at all. I could use a good laugh." He stepped off the mat and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

Maybe Echizen-san and Aniki had been mortal enemies, and that was why Echizen-san had adopted this hate-on-sight approach. That made as much sense as anything.

And this really wasn't the time to worry about it. Yuuta shook out his arms, kicked off his shoes, and stepped onto the mat, watching Kikumaru-san warily.

Kikumaru-san was watching him just as carefully, for all of his exuberance, and they circled each other slowly. Yuuta waited for some sign that Kikumaru-san was about to move, some tension in his muscles or maybe a shift in his expression.

Kikumaru-san didn't give him any such warning; one moment he was prowling across from Yuuta and the next he was lunging forward, hand balled in a fist. Yuuta wasn't sure how he managed to dodge it, but there was some shift in the air that was just enough to be perceptible, and he danced out of Kikumaru-san's reach.

"That was one month of KP duty, you said?" Kaidoh-san said, as they went back to circling each other. "Want to make it two?"

"Shut up, Mamushi."

All of the staring made his skin prickle--no, focus on Kikumaru-san, pay attention to what he's doing--there! Yuuta danced away from a kick, getting out of range a bare instant ahead of the foot that sliced through the space where his head had been.

Kikumaru-san laughed. "Well, he knows how to duck." His eyes were gleaming. "Don't you know how to attack?"

"Maybe," Yuuta said, and swung at him. It was a futile blow and he knew it, and what's more, Kikumaru-san knew it, and was out of range before Yuuta could even think of connecting. "Fuck."

Kikumaru-san clucked. "Tsk, language, Yuuta-kun. Did Fuji let you get away with talking like that?"

Kikumaru-san meant for that to make him angry, and it worked; Yuuta's skin prickled with the sudden surge of anger, and the lights overhead dimmed just a bit. "Aniki didn't much give a damn how I said things," he said, softly. "He was more interested in me knowing what I was talking about."

Kikumaru-san looked briefly uncertain--had he expected angry to mean out-of-control? He was a good decade too late for that. "Is that so?" he asked, and punctuated the question with another kick.

Yuuta felt the air crackle just ahead of Kikumaru-san's foot, and got the inkling of an idea as he dodged. "Yeah, pretty much," he said, trying for another ineffectual punch.

"Well, at least he tried," Kikumaru-san sighed, and lashed out with a palm that would have caught Yuuta in the solar plexus if it had connected.

Yuuta slid out of the way and seized Kikumaru-san's wrist, and sent a surge of the electricity he'd gathered up his arm--a little more than he'd strictly meant to use, because Kikumaru-san jerked back and went down hard, twitching. Yuuta followed him down, and had an elbow at his throat before Kikumaru-san could do more than groan. "I'd say Aniki did a damn fine job, thanks."

"Could have done a lot worse," Kikumaru-san said, teeth chattering, and tapped out. "Kind of on the raw side, I guess," he announced to the room at large, once Yuuta'd let him up. He looked at Yuuta. "But there's some potential there."

Echizen-san snorted. "Please. You didn't even push him very hard." He pushed away from the wall and stepped onto the mat. "I want to see a real match." He lifted a hand, bouncing a bit of fire in his palm. "You game?" he asked Yuuta.

Yuuta swallowed hard--Kikumaru-san had been luck, more than anything else. Echizen-san--Echizen-san was the kind of person who negated luck. "Sure," he said.

He almost didn't brace himself in time; Echizen-san attacked before Kikumaru-san was even off the mat, ignoring his yelp and lashing out with a thin line of flame that Yuuta had to track with his eyes alone. "No electrical field in a flame, is there?" Echizen-san asked, as he scrambled out of the way.

"Haven't found one yet," Yuuta said, and decided to save his breath, because Echizen-san fought aggressively, never letting up on his attack and not pulling any punches the way Kikumaru-san had. It was very nearly all he could do to stay out of the way of that wicked lick of flame, and he was conscious of the stink of burned hair from the times when he didn't quite make it, and the fire singed the hair off his arm.

"I'm not seeing much potential here, Kikumaru-senpai," Echizen-san murmured, as Yuuta got another singe across his arm. "Are you sure you're not just slowing down?"

"You're mean, Ochibi," Kikumaru-san said.

Echizen-san's grin was sudden and fierce. "Yeah, I am."

Great. Just freaking great. Yuuta took a breath; if he was going to go down anyway, it might as well be with some style. "I'll have to remember that," he grunted, and launched his counterattack with a flurry of kicks and punches. All he needed was to land one, just one--

--but Echizen-san had been watching, pretty closely, and wouldn't let him. "I don't think so," he said, and blurred into motion.

Something slammed into Yuuta's gut and swept behind his feet, and the room spun until he landed on the mat, breath whooshing out of his lungs, and there was a hand on his throat, squeezing just enough to make him freeze. "He knows how to dodge," Echizen-san said, eyes glittering a feline sort of gold as he looked down at Yuuta. "And that's about it."

Yuuta tapped the mat twice; Echizen-san held him a moment longer and then let him up, and turned away, stalking past the rest of his silent team. "This is still bullshit," he said, as he went past Tezuka-taichou.

"I heard you the first time," Tezuka-taichou said, just as chilly.

Echizen-san paused like he wanted to say something else, and then shook his head and stalked out.

"Hey," Kikumaru-san said, artificially jolly. "I think he's cheering up."

Yuuta bit his tongue against saying something about Echizen-san that he'd regret.

* * *

He'd figured his showing against Kikumaru-san and Echizen-san would be enough to prove that he wasn't cut out for Seishun after all, but apparently they'd seen something they approved of in those matches. No one seemed inclined to argue his place on the team afterwards--at least in places where Yuuta could hear them, and he was allowed to stay on and try to fit himself into the superhero lifestyle somehow or another.

He supposed that was about the best he could hope for, given the circumstances, and did his best. There wasn't as much fuss as he'd expected; his crappy job at the convenience store didn't even protest when he resigned, and there were only a few boxes of things from his apartment that were worth carting downtown to the rooms allotted to him. Most of his new teammates ignored him as he went about his business, spending hours each day in the training rooms, working with his newfound powers, refining his control and exploring his limits. Inui-san took the most active interest in him, observing his training and offering suggestions from time to time, but Yuuta suspected that it was more from scientific curiosity than any kind of personal interest.

That was fine. Inui-san knew his stuff, the training regimens he suggested helped, and all Yuuta really needed to do was stick around until they (or more precisely, the floors of support staff whose jobs were to track the criminal subset of the metahuman world) figured out what had happened to Aniki. And Yuuta had long since learned how to be patient.

But there were the things he didn't expect at all, like the uniform. Oishi-san was the one who talked to him about that, catching him one day after he'd come away from practicing. "Your uniform came in," he announced. "Want to try it on?"

"My... uniform?" Yuuta echoed.

"Your uniform," Oishi said, nodding. "Come on, we need to see if it's going to need alterations." And he dragged Yuuta downstairs to one of the many support departments that Yuuta hadn't ever visited, before Yuuta could even protest.

It was worse than he'd feared. Tezuka-taichou--well, he had the presence to carry off a cape, no question. And most of the rest of the team had been athletic for years, and had the legs to wear tights. The spandex unitards... well, at least there was solidarity to them.

All three put together on him just looked ridiculous.

Yuuta stared at his reflection and shook his head. "No."

"It doesn't fit right?" the wardrobe lady asked, already swooping in with pins and a tape measure.

Yuuta shook his head again. "It fits fine. I'm just not going to wear it." He undid the cape and tossed it aside.

"You have to have a uniform," Oishi-san said, aghast.

"Not this one, I don't," Yuuta told him, trying to skin out of the unitard; it was fighting him, and the wardrobe lady--what was her name? Osakada-san?--wasn't helping as she tried to check the fit of it across his shoulders.

"Yuuta-kun, it's required." Oishi-san, or so he'd discovered, was a bit of a stickler for following the rules.

Yuuta managed to get the unitard off, and planted his hands on his hips. "Is the cape required?" he demanded.

"Well... no. Not exactly," Oishi-san said.

"It just looks nice!" Osakada-san chimed in. "All swishy. Very dramatic."

Yuuta shuddered. "Okay, well, are the tights required?"

"Not as such," Oishi-san said, after a moment. "They're just... traditional."

"Uh-huh." Yuuta pointed at the unitard. "So is the spandex required, or is it just traditional, too?"

Oishi-san hemmed and hawed for a moment, and muttered something that sounded very like "traditional" to Yuuta's ears.

"I thought so." Yuuta folded his arms. "Just what, exactly, is required?"

"A mask and the team insignia," Osakada-san volunteered, while Oishi-san looked uncomfortable.

"I rest my case," Yuuta said, grim. "I'm not wearing that crap. I'll come up with my own damn uniform."

"You don't really have the time," Oishi-san said. "Or rather, Tomoka-chan doesn't. The press conference is tomorrow."

"What press conference?" Yuuta demanded. "This is the first I've heard of any damn press conference!"

"The one where they introduce you to the world, silly." Osakada-san patted his shoulder. "It's been a long time since we've had one... not since... well. It's been a long time."

"Oh holy fuck," Yuuta said.

"I'll just leave you to your fitting, then," Oishi-san said, and slipped out.

"I really don't have time to do a complete costume, Yuuta-kun," Osakada-san said, a bit apologetic. "If I'd known you didn't like the traditional stuff--"

"I didn't even know I was getting a costume," he said.

"You didn't?" She blinked. "But I sent a message to you about it a week or two ago. Echizen-kun promised he'd get it to you. When I didn't hear from you, I just assumed you wanted something in the classic mode."

"Ah... huh. I guess the message must have gotten lost," Yuuta said, carefully. Holy fuck, what had he done to piss Echizen off this much? "I'm just kind of... careless, I guess."

"Well, you can wear this tomorrow, and I'll do something better up for you later--" she started.

"What if all you had to do was make some alterations?" he asked.

Osakada-san opened her mouth, and then closed it, looking thoughtful. "Just what are you thinking?" she asked.

Yuuta grinned a little and told her, and was beyond pleased when she started nodding.

And Echizen could just sit on that and rotate, he thought.

* * *

Oishi-san looked scandalized and Kikumaru-san couldn't stop laughing, and Ryuuzaki-sensei just looked like she had a headache.

"Nice pants, kid," Momo-san told him. "This isn't an idol show, you know."

"You're just jealous that I make these things look good," Yuuta told him, and hooked a thumb in the belt loop of his pants (black, and leather, and tight enough that Osakada-call-me-Tomoka-chan had asked him, worriedly, whether he was concerned about having children).

"You look like a hooker," Echizen-san said, not even looking up from his book. "A cheap hooker."

"A hooker who isn't wearing tights," Yuuta retorted. "Or spandex."

Echizen opened his mouth, but Tezuka-taichou broke in. "It's time," he said.

Yuuta dutifully fell in at the end of the line as they filed into the auditorium that was stuffed full of flashing lights and people--holy fuck, who knew there were so many people who cared about what the caped weirdoes got up to?

He tried not to look amazed, or intimidated, and frowned into the middle distance while Ryuuzaki-san made a short speech about how Seishun welcomed its newest member with much pleasure, blah blah blah, sure to be a fine addition to the team etc. no further ado, presenting Raitei.

Wait, was she talking about him? Yuuta did his best not to look startled; Echizen must not have had a hand in picking his codename out, because it was actually kind of cool.

He made his way to the podium to the accompaniment of camera flashes; afterwards, he couldn't even recall what he said, except that it had to do with how honored he was to be a part of Seishun and how he looked forward to learning from his esteemed colleagues. Or something like that. Fortunately, he didn't have to talk long, and got to surrender the stage to Tezuka-taichou for the questions afterward.

And that was when things got hairy. One reporter wanted to know where Aniki was. Another wanted to know whether his absence signaled another in-group schism. Still another wanted to know how Seishun justified the expense of another member when there wasn't much need for their services. Tezuka-taichou answered them all diplomatically enough, mentioning Tensai's need for another sabbatical--no, he couldn't say when Tensai would return; Tensai was rather temperamental, and no, of course Raitei wasn't a replacement, he was an addition to the team, and as for their expenses, he'd like to think that they'd justified their existence several times over by now.

Yuuta tried to look attentive, or at least not too obviously bored, as the questions and answers dragged out forever, until Ryuuzaki-san stepped in and called an end to the conference, and they could all file back out again.

"And now you know why we let taichou answer the questions," Kikumaru-san told him, while Momo-san groaned and rubbed his neck. "Pretty boring, huh?"

"Not as bad as watching paint dry."

Kikumaru-san laughed. "Yeah, I guess not."

* * *

He'd made it to his room when he realized he had left his gloves in the conference room. He nearly left them for the night, but they were the only pair he had, jerry-rigged by Tomoka-chan, so Yuuta turned back around to get them.

The conference room wasn't empty; raised voices spilled out into the hall. "--you liar."

That was Echizen, and Yuuta stopped short, held up by his curiosity.

"I didn't say anything today that wasn't true." Tezuka-taichou, sounding testy.

"You're still lying." Echizen sounded bitter. "I'm the only one who thinks he's still alive."

"Ryouma, you know I have to be practical--"

"Kunimitsu, it's Shuusuke! How can you be practical when it's Shuusuke?"

"I don't have a choice, you know that--"

"There's always a choice--"

"--damn it, Ryouma, do you think I want to believe he's dead?"

"You sure as hell seem pretty eager to replace him."

"Yuuta has his own reasons for being here. They don't have anything to do with being a replacement."

"I wonder." Echizen sounded cynical.

"I'm not going to have this argument again. Good night, Ryouma."

Yuuta had just enough time to hide in one of the smaller conference rooms before Tezuka-taichou stormed out, jaw set in irritation.

...wow. He should have just left the gloves, definitely. But--Echizen didn't think Aniki was--

This promised to be all kinds of awkward.

He squared his shoulders anyway, and let himself into the main conference room. Echizen was sitting in his chair, hunched over and looking (for once) as small as he actually was. "I thought you said we weren't having this argument--" he started, and then looked up. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Do you really think Aniki is alive?" Yuuta asked.

Echizen's mouth twisted. "So what if I do?"

So what? Yuuta clenched his fists. "So you think you're the only one who loves him?" he asked from between clenched teeth. That startled Echizen enough that his face unbent a little. "Oh yeah. I noticed, Echizen. And since you didn't notice, Aniki was--is--the only family I have. I'm only here because I want to find whoever it was that killed him, and make him suffer for it, so if Aniki is--if he's not--" Echizen was staring at him, and he'd gone unreadable again. "Oh, fuck it. Never mind." His gloves were in the chair where he'd left them, and he scooped them up.

"Everyone else gave up." Echizen's voice was softer than normal. "When a couple of weeks had gone by and we hadn't heard from him. Everyone figured his luck had run out."

Yuuta frowned and looked at him. "That's not what I heard from Ryuuzaki-sensei." She had argued with Tezuka-taichou, right?

"She doesn't believe it. If she really believed there was still hope, she wouldn't keep trying to get me into counseling." Echizen's smile was mocking. "For my unresolved grieving issues, you see."

"I..." Yuuta sat. "I do see." He hesitated. "Tezuka-taichou--"

"Kunimitsu had to choose between... between us, and between being taichou." Echizen's mouth twisted. "He chose being taichou."

Yuuta chalked another one up to the list of things Aniki hadn't thought was worth telling him. "Got it." He twisted the gloves in his hands. "So what makes you think he's still--"

"I would know."

Yuuta studied him--hell, maybe Echizen would know. There were superpowers, and there were superpowers, and Echizen definitely fell into the camp of people with more useful knacks than any one person could possibly make use of. "All right. So how do we find him and get him out of trouble?"

Echizen stared at him. "How do we--" He laughed, short and harsh. "That's it?"

Didn't Echizen get it? "I'd rather believe you when you say Aniki is alive than everyone else who says he's dead. So how do we find him?"

"I've got a couple of guys downstairs who are working on this on the side," Echizen said. He sighed. "There's just not enough to work with. Nothing we can make a pattern out of."

"I can look too," Yuuta said. "Or maybe I can be a fresh pair of eyes? Ones that might catch things other people have overlooked?"

"I don't think there's much--" Echizen stopped. "But it couldn't hurt."

"That's what I figured." Yuuta stood. "I'll start in the morning."

He'd almost made it to the door when Echizen spoke up again. "You don't mind?"

He turned back. "Mind what?"

Echizen made a gesture. "That the three of us are--" He stopped, looking as embarrassed as Yuuta'd ever seen him.

"What's there to mind?" Aside from the fact that Aniki hadn't bothered to tell him about it himself, that is.

That self-mocking smile was back. "Nothing, I guess. Good night."

"Night, Echizen."

* * *

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[mcenroe]

2007-11-06T18:35:14Z

RIDE THE LIGHTNING
by lysapadin

Part One

Aniki had been gone on some assignment or another for a couple of months (as best as Yuuta could tell, given the way his brother tended to come and go) when the two goons showed up on Yuuta's doorstep one Saturday at what he considered an unwholesomely early hour of the morning. Yuuta figured they had to be goons, because no one normal was that tall or hulked that much. "Yeah, whaddya want?" he yawned, scratching his stomach.

The goon on the right flashed a badge at him, too quick for Yuuta's sleep-deprived eyes to really focus on it. "We'd like to speak with you, Fuji-san."

That woke Yuuta up more effectively than even coffee could. "Who are you? What's this about?" he asked, straightening up and thinking frantically, trying to catalog what he might have done within the last week or so to warrant a visit like this.

The goon on the left said, "We're not at liberty to say, sir. If you'll just come with us, they can explain it downtown."

"I didn't do anything, and I'm not talking to anyone without a lawyer," Yuuta said, promptly, the way Aniki had taught him to do, after the first time something like this had happened. "And I'm not going anywhere unless you have a warrant, and can I get a look at those badges again, please?"

The goons exchanged glances of the worrisome we're so not legitimate sort, and that made a cold sweat break out on Yuuta's forehead. Fuck, he'd told Akazawa that they ought to just pay off the yakuza guys. Fuck Akazawa for being a cheap bastard, fuck fuck fuck. "You're not in trouble, Fuji-san," Goon One said, after a moment. "We just need to talk with you for a bit."

If he slammed the door, could he make it to the fire escape before they managed to break it down? Probably not; he was still in his pajamas, and only had house slippers on. Fuck. "Look," Yuuta said, as placating as he could manage, "I'm really not sure what the problem is, but I'm sure we can work it out." Could he make it? No, but damned if he wasn't going to try.

He was tensing to slam the door and lock it when Goon Two said, "It's about your brother."

Yuuta froze. "What about Aniki?" he whispered--Aniki, who'd disappear for weeks without a trace on one of his jaunts to photograph exotic things, and heaven only knew where he went when he did, except that he always came home with pictures of strange places and people. Yuuta's gut clenched. Two official-sorta goons on his doorstep, here about Aniki, could only mean one thing. "Oh, fuck. He's dead, isn't he?"

The goons exchanged uneasy glances, and Yuuta swallowed. Oh, shit, Aniki was--fuck. "I'll get dressed," he said, and turned away so they wouldn't see the way his eyes were wet.

He didn't recall much afterwards about the car ride; the Goon Twins took the front seat and he rode in the back, hunched over and miserable, mourning for the impractical photographer brother who'd finished raising him when there'd been no one else to do it. Is it dangerous, when you go on these trips? he'd asked Aniki once, and Aniki had only smiled and changed the subject in reply.

Yuuta supposed he had his answer now.

Neither of the goons said anything to him or to each other, so he didn't rouse from his stunned grief until they turned in at a garage, flashing a badge at the attendant in the booth, and then winding their way down into a labyrinth of dim yellow lights and rows of empty parking spaces. "Where the hell are we?" Yuuta asked. This didn't look like the kind of parking lot that ought to be under the police station.

The goons exchanged glances again, and if he weren't so goddamn heartsick, he really would have been tempted to let himself get pissed off by that. "They'll explain upstairs," Goon One said, and that was apparently that.

They herded him into an elevator, more or less literally, since Goon One took his left and Goon Two took his right like they expected him to bolt off into the dimly-lit garage, and kept a wary eye on him while the elevator ascended to the tenth floor--the highest number on the buttons.

They emerged from the elevator into a hallway of what was probably a busy office during the week. It was silent and dimly lit this morning, with only the emergency lights to show them the way. The Goon Twins kept him moving, not giving him much time to examine their surroundings, until they found another set of elevators, more impressive than the ones that came up from the parking garage. The floors for this one went up all the way to thirty, which was the floor Goon Two pushed. As Yuuta studied his reflection in the mirrored walls (scruffy twenty-something, red-eyed and a little hungover, pretty much completely out of place), he started wondering just what kind of trouble Aniki had gotten himself into before he'd gotten himself eaten by crocodiles or whatever, because this didn't seem to be like any police station he'd ever been in.

The elevator chimed its way upwards, the ascent smooth and rapid, and let them out into an atrium that was as deserted as the office twenty floors below. Here, though, the lights were on, shining on the gently revolving sculpture of the globe in the center of the room. Yuuta had seen that sculpture before, in a documentary, and suddenly the question of where he was came clear, and a dozen others took its place.

He turned on Goon One. "What are we doing here?" he demanded, taking refuge in bravado, because panic (as Aniki had pointed out once) was never productive, and there was no way he was going to believe that Aniki had had anything to do with the Japanese branch of the Bureau of Metahuman Interests.

"Just a little bit further, Fuji-san," Goon One told him, and steered him around the sculpture to the double doors on the other side of the atrium. There he laid his palm on a pad; after a second, a light flashed green and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh.

"You have got to be kidding me," Yuuta muttered, when they motioned him inside, but he didn't have any conviction to put behind it, not when there was a stirring of something tiny and fragile in his chest that might have been hope. What if Aniki wasn't--

The room was large and dominated by the long table ringed by high-backed executive chairs. There was a bank of screens against one wall, and light poured in from the wall of windows opposite, silhouetting the figure of the man standing at them, looking out across the Tokyo skyline. He turned, cape swirling around him, as the door whooshed shut behind Yuuta, and Yuuta swallowed hard, because he was standing four and a half meters from one of the most venerated superheroes in Japan.

"Fuji-kun." The man they called Hashira, who had headed up the Seishun division of the League of Super-Powered Beings for years, and had defeated more monsters and supervillains than Yuuta could keep track of, inclined his head. "Thank you for coming."

Yuuta bowed, quick and jerky, the surrealism of being thanked by Hashira-san for his presence enough to push him into numbness, because otherwise all of the overwhelming emotions of the morning would have tipped him over the edge into outright gibbering. "Sir," he croaked, mouth too dry to allow any more than that.

Hashira-san gestured at the table. "Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink?"

"No, I'm... I'm fine," Yuuta said, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting before his knees could give out on him. He'd seen this table before, in that documentary he'd watched until Aniki had called it trash and turned it off--this was where Seishun had their meetings about... well, whatever it was superheroes had meetings about.

Hashira-san poured him a cup of coffee anyway and took the seat across from him, gloved hands wrapped around the mug casually. Funny; Yuuta had never really pictured him as the coffee-drinking type. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here," he said, after a moment.

The coffee mug was normal and so was the coffee in it; Yuuta drew some equilibrium from it. "Just a little bit," he said. "They said it had to do with Aniki." He took a deep breath, and asked the hardest question first. "Is he--all right?" Hashira-san was silent for a beat, and another beat, and by the third beat, Yuuta knew. "He's not, is he?" he asked, voice cracking.

"...no," Hashira-san said. "I'm sorry."

"You're not an orphan," Aniki had said. "You've still got me." Only now he didn't, not anymore. Yuuta squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip till it stung, trying to keep from embarrassing himself. It didn't work.

Hashira-san looked away, politely, until he got himself back under control, scrubbing his sleeve against his cheeks. "What happened? He get caught in some kind of stupid crossfire between you and your arch nemesis?" he asked. Boy, that would piss Aniki off if he knew, given how much he despised the superheroes.

Hashira-san hesitated. "No," he said. "There are things about your brother that he didn't tell you, Fuji-kun."

"You're wrong," Yuuta told him. "Aniki didn't have any secrets from me."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," Hashira-san said. "Your brother worked with Seishun."

"What, was he the official photographer or something?" Yuuta asked, and shook his head. "No way. He didn't even like you cape people. Said you were a waste of resources and energy."

The corner of Hashira-san's mouth kicked up, ever-so-slightly. "That," he said, "was because he found it convenient for you to think that."

Yuuta tried to quash the sudden spike of anger, white-hot against the dull fog of grief. "You think you knew my brother better than I did?" This wasn't the time or the place to get upset, he told himself. It wasn't. Anger throbbed in his temples anyway.

"I mean that your brother was a member of Seishun," Hashira-san told him. "You're sitting in his chair, in fact."

That distracted him from his anger. Yuuta couldn't help himself; he laughed at the thought of Aniki being a superhero--Aniki who'd sneered at the people he called costume-wearing lunatics at every opportunity, and who had never stopped being bitter that Yuuta towered over his slender frame. The idea was ludicrous, and he managed to gasp as much out as he teetered on the edge between mirth and hysteria.

Hashira-san let him laugh, sipping his coffee until Yuuta slouched lower in his chair, breathless. "I see he was good at keeping you from ever suspecting," he remarked, once Yuuta had caught his breath.

"You could say that, yeah," Yuuta told him, staring at him across the table. The man certainly seemed convinced that Aniki had been--Tensai-san. He ignored that small, practical voice. "Look, I think I would have noticed my brother being a superhero, all right?" This was such a ridiculous conversation to be having when Aniki was--but it was diverting, and he clung to that. There was no way Aniki would have been a superhero, so maybe Hashira-san was just messing with him, and Aniki was off photographing stuff like normal, and would get a good laugh out of this when he came home. All he had to do was humor the crazy superhero for a little while, and then he could go home and forget this whole thing.

Hashira-san must have seen some of what he was thinking on his face. "Everyone says that," he said, tapping the table--no, tapping the buttons that were integrated with the surface of the table. "If you'll look at the footage, please."

Behind him, the screens flickered to life with footage of Seishun in action, clip after clip of newscast footage that showed Tensai-san fighting monsters both literal and metaphorical, giant lizards and supervillains, weaving and dodging and flicking them aside with a wave of his hands--what was Tensai-san's power, anyway? He tried to recall as he watched, but it seemed like Tensai-san was impossible to pin down. "This is all pretty interesting, but I don't really see what this has to do with anything--"

And then the footage changed from the professional-grade to something clumsier; the camera bobbled around as the fight raged on around it. It looked like the end of the fight; there was dust and rubble everywhere and the bad guy--whoever he was; Yuuta didn't recognize him--was looking pretty battered by the time Hashira-san-on-the-screen cold-cocked him. "That was careless," he told Tensai-san.

Tensai-san laughed, and a cold chill went down Yuuta's spine. "I'm out of condition," he said, and turned in the direction of the camera. "Did we have to record this? I'm going to burn the footage," he added, reaching to turn it off, and the image froze on the close-up of his face.

He was shaking his head even before the screen split and a photo of Aniki went up next to the still of Tensai-san. "It's not true," he whispered, even though side-by-side, the resemblance was unmistakable. "It's not--"

Except it really was, and even as Hashira-san was murmuring platitudes about how understanding he was of how difficult this must be, the anger was making his temples throb again. "Why didn't he tell me?" he demanded. "I'm his brother. I'm his only family. Why didn't he tell me?!"

Hashira-san rocked back a little. "I don't know," he said, after a moment. "All I know is that he felt--strongly--about keeping you out of danger."

"How would me knowing about--that--" Yuuta gestured at the twinned images on the screen "--have put me in danger?" He'd been upset ever since the Goon Twins had shown up at his door, and he was a hair's breadth from losing the tenuous hold he had on his temper. In the back of his head, he heard Aniki's ghost whispering to him, reminding him to keep control of himself, that the price of letting go was a migraine and that wasn't worth it, but Yuuta was beyond caring.

"He had his reasons," Hashira-san said.

"Yeah, so what were they?" Yuuta demanded. When Hashira-san hesitated, he shook his head, even though the back and forth motion made him queasy. "You don't actually know, do you? Don't bullshit me, Hashira-san, I'm not in the mood for it." He pressed his fingers to his temples. "You got anything else you wanna lay on me? Otherwise, I wanna go home." Home, where he could crawl into bed in a nice dark room, be as angry as he wanted to be, and let it take its toll.

Hashira-san was looking at him funny. "Interesting."

Yuuta gritted his teeth. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Shuusuke took a leave of absence to care for you," Hashira-san said, slow and thoughtful. "And did everything he could to keep you away from all of this. I wonder if he did have a reason after all?"

Yuuta glared at him as best as he could from between slitted eyes. "Either get to the point or call your goon squad to send me home." Fuck, his head hurt--

"Did you know it's possible to--" But he lost track of the rest of what Hashira-san was saying as the lights began to flash behind his eyelids, off-on-off-on in time to the beat of his pulse, until they went off and he slid down into unconsciousness after them.

* * *

He woke up in a dim room, hooked up to a machine that was monitoring his vitals, and groaned softly. Aniki was going to kill him for ending up in a hospital again--

No. Aniki wasn't going to do anything, was he? Aniki was dead, and had been a superhero, and hadn't told him even though they weren't supposed to have any secrets from each other.

He was limp and drained from being angry, but that wasn't enough to stop the stir of another anger-headache. Yuuta pressed his palms against his forehead, trying to focus on something else, anything else.

The door opened and light spilled into the room. "Awake, I see," said a pleasant female voice.

Like that. Yuuta peered at her from under his hands. "You the doctor?" he hazarded, looking at her lab coat.

She smiled. "I'm a doctor, yes. Ryuuzaki Sumire, and you're Fuji Yuuta." Her smile dimmed. "I'm very sorry about your brother."

"Can we not talk about him?" Yuuta asked, cringing at the stab of heat behind his eyeballs, and tried to focus on her instead. Ryuuzaki Sumire--she was what, the woman who'd first founded Seishun, back before there was the governmental support for metahumans, right? Apparently this was his day for getting to meet living legends.

She hesitated, and then nodded. "Of course." She picked up the chart hanging from the end of his bed. "Tell me, Fuji-kun, how long have you been getting these headaches?"

"Since I was twelve."

Her eyebrows went up. "That's young."

"Was in a car accident. Had a head injury." And he'd gotten off light, with just the lingering migraines. He was still alive, after all. The rest of the car hadn't been nearly as lucky.

"Ah, I see. Precipitated by trauma, then." Ryuuzaki-sensei made some notes on the chart. "Do you find that they're triggered, or do they happen at random?"

"Triggered," Yuuta said. "When I get--upset. Pissed off. Aniki always tells--told--me to just keep a grip on my temper, and then I won't get them."

Ryuuzaki-sensei's pen stilled. "Did he," she said, slow and careful. "That's very interesting. I wonder what his logic on that might have been."

"I don't know," Yuuta said, digging his palms against his skull more firmly. "Can we not talk about him, please? It's making my head hurt."

Ryuuzaki-sensei set the chart down and leaned over him. "Are you getting another one?"

"Yeah, the start of one, yeah." He reached for calm, but it eluded him. "Fuck..."

Aniki would have told him off for swearing in front of a lady, but she didn't seem to even notice. "I wonder if there might be a way to stop them," she said.

"Sedation usually works," Yuuta grunted. "Or a good shot of whisky."

She huffed softly. "I meant for good."

"Not possible," Yuuta told her. "Aniki said--oh fuck." He squeezed his eyes shut, because even the dim light over his bed was too much for his eyes.

He heard her take a quick, sharp breath. "I could kill him myself," she said, softly, and then a cool hand was resting over his fingers. "Fuji-kun. Yuuta-kun. I think I can help you, but you're going to have to relax and let me. Can you do that for me? Will you?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, because what could it hurt? If she thought there was something she could do, even though the headaches were from the accident--

"Relax," she told him, and he had just long enough to feel the pressure of cool fingers, picking at the knot of pain inside his skull and start to panic before everything came apart.

* * *

He was in the back seat of the car, leaning against the window, watching the lightning flash across the sky, followed by the steady rumble of the thunder. The lightning was close, bright enough to light the world in stark white for an instant, with every shadow so sharp that he could have cut his fingers on them. Kaasan and Tousan were talking in the front seat, a steady murmur against the thwip-thwip of the windshield wipers.

Oh fuck. He didn't want to be here. He knew what was coming next.

"I don't know what it is about a little water on the road that makes people drive like idiots," Tousan said, as the car behind them hit the gas and tried to pass them. "I mean, honestly, we're going perfectly fast enough--"

"Maybe they're in a hurry," Kaasan said. "We really can't know--"

Another car started to pull around them; Tousan growled something that Yuuta knew he wasn't supposed to have heard, and carefully filed away; he'd ask Aniki what it meant later, because Aniki would tell him. "Now what's this guy's excuse--" he started, but he never finished it, because that was when the truck in the oncoming lane came around the curve in the road ahead of them.

Time slowed down; the whole car jerked as Tousan hit the brakes, and again when the wheels slid on the pavement, spinning them around. Yuuta tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't, and had them fixed on the opposite door when it struck the car that was trying to pass them and began to buckle. Someone was shrieking; it might have been him or Kaasan, or it might have been the scream of the brakes, for all he could tell.

Then the truck was on them with its horn blaring, and all he could do was stare at the glare of the headlights until the sickening crunch of impact.

Everything after that was a welter of pain and sound and terror and the sound of thunder, peal after peal of it while lightning lit the sky again and again, close enough that he could smell the ozone and feel the electricity making the hair rise on the back of his neck. It was too much; he'd done his best not to remember this moment for a reason, why was it coming up now? He tried to retreat; he'd done it before--

"No," someone whispered. "Not this time, Yuuta-kun. You're strong enough to face it."

He didn't feel strong at all, no matter what anyone said, but with that pressure at his back, inexorable for all its gentleness, he held on and endured the cold of the rain, and the pain in his arm--broken in three places, that was what they were going to tell him later, after he woke up at the hospital--fuck, this was confusing. Meanwhile the lightning kept leaping down from the clouds, too close, and when the police and ambulances showed up, they kept a distance. Why weren't they coming any closer?

"It's the lightning," that someone whispered. "They can't."

Well, what was he supposed to do about that? The lightning hadn't stopped until--until--

Until Aniki had come and calmed him down, and put him to sleep, and he'd forgotten all about it by the time he'd woken up again. Only this time, Aniki wouldn't--couldn't--come.

Yuuta nearly panicked again, and the lightning cracked loudly, even closer than before. "No," his guide said, "you can control yourself now. You know how."

Yuuta gritted his teeth; that was easier said than done. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath anyway, and another, trying to focus on the air moving in and out of his lungs to the exclusion of everything else, trying to find some semblance of calm. Breathe in, breathe out, slow and even, until the lightning slowed down, and then stopped, and the rapid beating of his heart evened out.

"There now," Ryuuzaki-sensei murmured. "I knew you could do it."

"I didn't want to remember that," Yuuta told her, and opened his eyes--and stared. The room was in ruins, monitors smoking and half a wall simply gone. "What the hell happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," someone else said, standing in what had previously been the door. "Ryuuzaki-sensei, what on earth is this?"

"It's what we like to call a breakthrough moment," she said, climbing to her feet and offering Yuuta a hand up. "If you'd stop by and talk to me sometime, perhaps you'd--"

"Stop!" Yuuta said, urgent, as she started to step away from him. "Don't move--" He reached out, like he could stop her from stepping down on a live wire just by willing it.

She stopped, but not before the electricity, which had been waiting, ready to reach out and bite her, came meekly to heel, coiling back on itself. "Ah," Ryuuzaki-sensei said. "Thank you."

"Huh. Who brought the latent in?" the other guy asked, as Yuuta stared at his fingers, not entirely sure he believed what he'd just done.

"Tezuka did," Ryuuzaki-sensei said. "This is Fuji Yuuta, Echizen."

Echizen-san's face went stiff. "I see." He turned on his heel and stalked away without another word.

"Took that well, didn't he?" Ryuuzaki-sensei said, but Yuuta got the feeling that she wasn't talking to him.

Just as well. "What--" He waved his hand and the coil of electricity he could feel, even if he couldn't quite see it, moved with his gesture. "What's going on?" His voice rose on the last word, nearly cracking; but he'd more than earned the right to a bout of hysteria, and didn't particularly give a damn.

Ryuuzaki-sensei's smile was sympathetic. "Tell me, Yuuta-kun, have you ever heard of latent talents?"

"No," he said.

"It's when someone has powers that are dormant," Ryuuzaki-sensei said. "And they stay dormant until something wakes them up." She surveyed the ruin of the room. "But perhaps we should discuss this somewhere else." Her mouth quirked. "Tezuka wanted to speak to you once you were up and about again, anyway."

* * *

Ryuuzaki-sensei took him back to the conference room he'd been in before, and she and Tezuka went through the explanations of what it meant to have superpowers. Mostly it boiled down to the fact that the superheroes themselves were mostly making it up as they went along. Even after the better part of a century, no one really understood why some people cropped out with strange powers, and Yuuta got the impression that the main difference between a hero and villain was that the heroes had a code of conduct and stuck to it. "So," Yuuta said, once he'd digested that. "What happened to Aniki?"

Ryuuzaki-sensei and Hashira-san (Tezuka-san? did he get to call him by his real name, now that he was part of the metahuman club?) were silent for long enough that Yuuta looked up from his hands. "He disappeared," Tezuka-san said, finally. "Just over a month ago."

"Doing civilian things," Ryuuzaki-sensei clarified. "We didn't know he was gone until he didn't show up for a meeting. We found his car, but it looked like it had been abandoned, not like he'd been in a fight." She glanced at Tezuka-san. "And there hasn't been a body."

"That doesn't mean anything." Tezuka-san's tone was clipped. "We all know what happened to Yamato."

Everyone but Yuuta, that was. "What does that mean?"

Ryuuzaki-sensei hesitated. "It means that sometimes there isn't a body."

Yuuta looked down again. "That means you think there ought to be one," he said, and felt the web of electricity running through the table and the walls and the ceiling pulse in response. He quashed the surge of emotion; now was not the time to get upset. Later, when he found who'd taken his brother, that would be the time to get--upset. At length.

"Not all of us do," Ryuuzaki-sensei said. "It's possible that--"

"It's been a month," Tezuka-san said, perfectly even, and in that instant, Yuuta hated him for not caring about Aniki, who'd been his fucking teammate. "Shuusuke is more resourceful than this. If he'd been captured, he'd have escaped by now."

"And I think you're being too pessimistic," Ryuuzaki-san said. "Everyone with the kind of resources it takes to tackle Tensai is already locked up, and has been for months."

"All that means is that there's someone out there that we don't know about," Tezuka-san said; it sounded like he'd made this argument before. "We need to spend our energy preparing for them."

"No one could be that powerful," Ryuuzaki-sensei said. "We'd have noticed--"

Tezuka-san cut his eyes over to Yuuta. "We didn't notice him before today."

Ryuuzaki-sensei bit her lip, and didn't say anything.

"So. Aniki's dead." Yuuta was distantly proud of how level his voice was. "What I want to know now is how I find the bastard who killed him."

That got their attention away from their argument. "We've been wondering that ourselves," Ryuuzaki-sensei said. "And we've been working on it--"

"I want to help."

"I'm sure you do, but--"

Tezuka-san interrupted her. "I think you have that right."

"What?" Ryuuzaki-sensei went from soothing to scandalized almost instantaneously. "Tezuka, have you lost your mind?"

He carried on. "We do have a gap in the team, and you really can't stay neutral, not with the way you're oozing potential," he said. When Ryuuzaki-sensei squawked, he raised an eyebrow. "You think we should let him run around loose, and hope he gets snapped up by Abare instead of someone worse?"

"He's not even trained," Ryuuzaki-sensei pointed out.

"I learn fast," Yuuta volunteered.

"You'll have to," Tezuka-san said, "because you'll be just as dangerous to us as our opponents until you learn how to handle yourself."

"Tezuka, you can't--I know you're upset, but this is--"

"I know what I'm doing," Tezuka-san said, interrupting. "Wasn't that why you put me in charge?"

"I'm starting to rethink that decision," she said, and stood. "I do not approve of this."

"I'll take full responsibility for the decision," Tezuka-san said, looking up at her. "Like always."

That had all the weight of an insult, coming from Tezuka-san like that. Ryuuzaki-san's lips went white, and she walked out of the conference room without another word.

Tezuka-san let her go; once the door had swished shut behind her, he looked at Yuuta. "It's going to be dangerous, especially for someone who's not trained."

Yuuta met his eyes. "So what have I got left to lose?" He looked away again, out the window to the curve of the sky. "My brother's dead because someone decided to kill him. If you don't let me help, I'll go out and find whoever did it myself." And then he'd--

"Ryuuzaki doesn't understand that."

There was something in Tezuka-san's voice that made Yuuta look at him again--some undercurrent, a tension that he hadn't seen before. Perhaps Tezuka-san wasn't as dispassionate as he'd thought. "She doesn't have to," Yuuta said, after a moment. "She just has to stay out of my way."

They shared a look, one of mutual understanding, and then the corner of Tezuka-san's mouth ticked up just a bit. "I can see to that."

Yuuta settled back in his seat. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

"Yes," Tezuka-san said, "I think we will."

* * *

next part

[lacoste]

2007-11-06T18:34:59Z

IF ANYTHING WOULD BE ALL RIGHT
by lumelle

My first memory ever is of you.

I was not that old back then, myself. In fact, I was so young it is a miracle I remember anything. Perhaps I don't even remember anything; perhaps it's merely a wishful dream my imagination has woven from the stories I have heard, from all the pictures I have seen of you and I as children. Nevertheless, I treasure it as I would the most precious gem.

There's you in the memory, as I said already, and me, of course. There's our mother, too, and she's holding onto your hands as you're still just learning to walk, taking your first staggering steps.

”See, Syuusuke?” she says in the memory, and smiles at me. ”Yuuta is still very young and doesn't know a lot. It's your duty as his brother to teach him everything and to make sure he is safe while he is still learning.”

”Of course, mother!” I say, beaming, for I do love my little brother and want to teach him everything, want to teach you everything. ”I want to teach Yuu-chan to fly!”

They laughed then, my mother and sister, thinking it just a child's imagination. It wasn't until later that they realized their blunder, drilled into their minds as frantic screams as they saw me trying to push you out of the second-story window. I didn't want to hurt you, of course, I'd never want to hurt you, but I wanted to teach you to fly and the only way I knew of was how birds taught their young – by pushing them off the nest.

After that, it was a long, long time before I was allowed near you unsupervised. Later on they realised I wasn't a young psychopath jealous of the attention you received or whatever they had assumed me to be, merely a loving but thoughtless big brother, and after a stern lecture on how babies are not supposed to fly I got to play with you again. Of all this I have no memories; I'll just have to rely on what I've been told. My memories from that period of time are somewhat hazy, as are, I believe, everyone's memories from their childhood, if such memories even remain. Only that one memory, that one image remains, sticking to my mind even as everything else fades.

I still do want to teach you how to fly, Yuuta. And I still do love you.

Not only the first memory but almost all of my most important memories are about you. That in itself is no wonder; after all, we grew up together, two brothers, playing and laughing and competing all our lives. It's expected, loving your brother, and it's because of my love for you that I remember everything in relation to you, how everything affected you and not me.

Another time I remember, as we both were older, we were playing outside. I don't remember what we were playing, exactly, but I do remember that you saw a butterfly, then, a strange butterfly the like of which I'd never seen before. It was black and silver, looking so very fragile and beautiful, just like you. You could walk already, and run, and you tried to run after the butterfly and catch it in your hands, and you laughed.

I didn't know the name of the butterfly, back then, and I've never since seen one like it after that, either, but I remember the butterfly now, I remember the butterfly and how you tried to reach it. At that moment I wished I could have taught you to fly, indeed, I wished so badly to be able to help you catch it. I don't think anything could have made me happier at that moment.

The butterfly flew away, never caught by your eager hands, and you couldn't fly with it. You grew up, then, you grew taller and stronger and even more beautiful, yet you still could not fly.

I was a good brother, wasn't I, loving and caring and protecting, and I would have died rather than ever done something to hurt you. I loved you more than anything, Yuuta, I still love you more than anything or anyone – and that is exactly the problem, isn't it. For I love you too much – or, rather, in the wrong way.

It's not the kind of love a brother should feel for another, I know. There is the protective feeling, yes, the one I feel for our sister, but there is something else, too. Something dark, though I feel it shouldn't be, something sinister. Something dirty, certainly.

It's not unusual in itself, my love – just targeted wrong. For it's the kind of love that makes my heart race, my cheeks burn, my groin flood with blood even as I think about you. It's normal love, love and lust, but you are the target of that for me, have always been, and that makes me an evil person.

I'm sick and twisted and simply evil, and if I really cared about you I would leave and never come near you again. I'm past caring, though, I just love you, love so desperately I never thought something like this would be possible.

I am selfish, Yuuta. Forgive me. I am selfish and thus I will stay.

I never loved anybody else in such a way, you know. I never had any schoolboy crushes, no puppy love dates with pretty girls or boys, none of your usual teenager routine. It was always you, for me.

And for you, it was always Mizuki Hajime.

Meeting him was probably the worst thing ever to happen to you.

When you left for St. Rudolph's, I thought my heart was going to break. Not only were you changing schools; you also moved out and I got to see you no more. My selfish wish for you to come back, though, was soon replaced by a feeling of bitter hatred for your new team's manager as I discovered what he did to you.

I tried to stop him, Yuuta, I tried and so tried many others. However, we had no effect on him, we couldn't stop his greedy aim for success and victory at the expense of your health, your future. This is my greatest shame, Yuuta, my greatest shame and your greatest misfortune.

Tezuka sacrificed his arm for the team, now never able to become a professional, and that's okay. It's stupid but it's okay, because he chose to do so. You never chose that, Yuuta, it was chosen for you – Mizuki made the choice, not asking you, he never asked you if you wanted to make such a sacrifice. His exercises destroyed your arm, one by one, and in the end it was beyond repair, and you'll never play tennis again. You'll never surpass me, Yuuta, never achieve any of those grand dreams of yours, and it's the sole fault of that one man who knew this and never told you or stopped you.

Yet you love him and not me, and I wonder why you do so, why you repay his abuse with love and for all my love only give me scorn.

As I think of this, I sigh, wishing I could somehow right the wrongs of this world. My eyes wander around, settling on a framed photograph sitting on my desk.

Of course, there are several photographs there, and even more pinned all around my walls, most of them of you. This one, however, is of Eiji, and it's one of my favourite pictures. We were young back then, still in middle school, young and so full of energy and dreams. I'd only just recently realised my love for you wasn't entirely appropriate, I hadn't gotten so bitter yet, and Eiji was still the cheerful bolt of energy I remember with wistful fondness.

It's that Eiji grinning at me in the picture, the Eiji who'd do a backflip as soon as somebody else takes a step, the Eiji who'd laugh and grin and hug people for no reason. It's the Eiji I'd like to remember, the Eiji I draw strength from and summon forth from the back of my mind when everything else goes wrong, the one thing that kept me sane all through high school. Whenever I look at the picture I remember him, I remember his cheerful voice, and more than anything I remember the conversation we had the day I took the picture.

The memory is sound and clear, and perhaps I wouldn't even need the picture to remember it but I don't want to take the chance of losing it by misplacing the picture. Eiji's grinning as I take the picture, as I both see and remember, and as soon as I put my camera away he bounces off the bed, full of life and noise and energy as always.

”Nyaa, you sure take a lot of photographs, Fujiko,” he says, and I hear every word in my mind's ear, and the memory could just as well be from yesterday except he doesn't talk like that anymore. "What do you even do with them all?"

"Why, of course I keep them," I say, smiling as I brush my fingertips gently over the closest photograph lying on my desk. "I enjoy looking at them later on. They bring back memories." You look at me from the picture, your gaze defiant as though challenging me even in your unanimated form. It's strangely amusing, I find myself thinking, and at the same time so very endearing.

”You really do love Yuuta, don't you,” Eiji says as he sees my actions, doubtlessly noticing my gentle expression, and his voice is soft and wistful as though he's wishing he could have the same thing for himself. Silly Eiji, who has Oishi, his precious Oishi all to himself, and in Oishi more love than I'll probably ever receive from anyone. ”You'd probably die for him, wouldn't you?”

He laughs a bit, a somewhat nervous laugh, as though he doesn't want to acknowledge what he just said, as though he's playing it down. I take it as a serious question, though, as this is a serious conversation, and because he is my very best friend I decide to answer seriously, too, honestly and truthfully.

”I wouldn't only die for Yuuta,” I say, and the smile I'm wearing is one of the most genuine ones I've ever showed to anyone. Eiji, if anyone, should be able to tell the difference. ”I would kill for him.”

A shadow seems to cross Eiji's face, a shiver of something strange and unfamiliar, and I almost wish I hadn't said that. Then, though, I realise I can't regret it, because it's true and it won't change.

There are other people I would die for, like Eiji and nee-chan and even Tezuka on a good day, and even more people I would hurt for, hurt badly and maim and abuse. However, you are the only person I ever would kill for.

We change topics after that, steering away from the dangerous ground, neither knowing just why it's so dangerous but both sensing it. We talk about school and life and everything, and whatever we are talking about Eiji always somehow manages to bring Oishi into the matter, his eyes shining at the slightest mention of that name. He's so obvious, so painfully obvious, and it's a wonder neither he nor the thick-headed vice-captain of ours have realized what everybody else has known for ages.

The next day I tell Oishi to confess to Eiji or I'll do it for him, and he does gather his courage, and then he seems almost ridiculously surprised as his feelings are returned. They are so sappy after that, sweet enough to make your teeth rot away, and while I'm genuinely happy for them I can't help but feel a bit jealous as well because I know with utmost certainty I'll never feel that happiness myself.

If I ever did confess, after all, you would hate me forever.

That happiness is such a fleeting thing, I've come to notice. The Golden Pair was supposed to be a real life fairy tale, a happy story of love reigning everafter, something the rest of us could only dream of and perhaps secretly feel envious about. And that it was, for a while, all fluffy stuffed kittens and pink cotton candy, sweet and light and almost unreal. We should have realized it couldn't last, it was too good to be true, but we were all young and naive and willing to hope for the impossible. After all, no might in the world could have possibly driven them apart.

For some time it seemed we were right, that the Golden Pair would remain forever and ever, growing old together until they finally moved to another level of happiness together, slowly cooling hands still holding onto each other. Nothing else ever crossed our minds; as far as we were concerned, they were meant to be.

Looking back at those days now, at the pictures in my secret folders of shy kisses and warm hugs, I wonder how much I'd give to turn it back into that and decide it's quite a lot. Nothing I could give would change anything, though, for it's out of our hands and anybody's hands, and nobody and nothing ever can make Eiji meow like that anymore.

I remember how Eiji cried when he got the news, how he tried to put on a brave face, how he tried to be the epitome of a strong and supportive boyfriend even though he was still just a kid, we all were. I also remember how it hurt Oishi, how many times he wished Eiji'd just let it all out and stop pretending, be honest with him. They both knew how painful it was, yet they both tried to spare the other from the pain, for the thing they loved the most in the whole world was always, always each other.

I remember Oishi's smile, so weak and fading as the time passed but never less gentle, I remember how every time I went to see him his grasp on my hand was a bit weaker, and I remember how I regretted not being able to help. I wanted to take it all away, for Eiji's sake if not for anything else, but neither I nor anybody else could do that. It was his burden, and through him Eiji's as well, and I would have given so very much for it to be otherwise but I couldn't change a thing.

He faded away slowly, oh so slowly, and each day there was a bit more desperation in Eiji's smile, a bit more tears in his laughter, and then the laughter ended and the smiles too. The last time Eiji laughed they laughed together, tears flowing down their cheeks even as they were smiling and laughing, and I felt like an intruder watching that, the bittersweet recounting of memories. They held hands all the time, Eiji not letting go of Oishi's even as Oishi no more had the strength to hold back, and their fingers entwined so tightly I wondered if they could ever be separated again.

It was Oishi's last good day, the last time he talked and laughed and cried like that. After that there were more tears, but no more together, tears of mourning and bitter loss and quietly whispered prayers for one more word, one more gaze, anything. He got that one word, Eiji told me, after several days of struggling on the edge, a warm gaze and a quiet whisper of, ”Eiji.” It was a confession, I was told, one last sigh telling of all the love there was and would have been in the days to come, reminding him of all the dreams they had shared and would never fulfil.

Then Oishi spoke no more, and the hand Eiji held went lax, and soon after that it was all over.

It shouldn't have happened to them, we all thought. No two people could have been less deserving of such a pain. But it doesn't choose its victims, does it, and Momo even managed to make a weak joke out of how he always expected Oishi to die of a heart attack with all the worrying he did, all that stress couldn't be good for him after all. Eiji said it might have been better that way, for even if he wouldn't have had time to say goodbye it might still have been more pleasant than all the pain of seeing Oishi fade, and why is it that the man can go to the Moon but not cure a simple disease.

We couldn't answer him, none of us could, because we didn't understand it ourselves. We weren't even out of high school yet, stupid and young and inexperienced, and we couldn't understand something so enormous and overwhelming. Cancer was supposed to be for the old, we thought, not for somebody as young and strong and kind and nice as Oishi, and what would now happen to all the years he must have had left but could not spend? So we held Eiji instead of answering, letting him cry and crying as well, because even if we were only minor characters in their big beautiful fairy tale we'd still loved Oishi like you only love a dear, dear friend.

After that Eiji has never meowed, not even once, and his smiles and laughs are a rarity that ought to be recorded and showcased. His energy seems gone, as though he had shared Oishi's weakening, and nobody our age should have eyes such as he does because it just isn't fair. He's supposed to be still young and strong, somewhat naive and innocent in the ways of the world, yet he has the gaze of somebody far older than his years.

Eiji's also convinced he'll never find a true love again, that nobody can be to him what Oishi was in those few short years, but I wish otherwise. It would be so unfair, wouldn't it, if somebody like Eiji didn't have anybody to love him, to cherish him, to show him there are still things in life worth smiling at. His heart is too big, too warm, not to share it with somebody else. I almost wish it could be me who brings that happiness to him, for I do love him, but my love is that of a friend and we both know it. Eventually he'll get over it, I hope, and although he'll never forget Oishi maybe he can move on.

I can't move on, myself. My only love is not dead, Yuuta, but they could just as well be, for my confession would only be welcomed with scorn and dread and I'd become an outcast. I didn't wish for it, for I'm no masochist, yet sometimes I wish I had indeed brought it upon myself so I could at least have somebody to blame for my misery. However, I didn't choose, and I know better than to blame my heart for something that's been there for as long as I can remember. Maybe I was born that way, twisted from the cradle, destined before my birth to lead a miserable life of wrongness and twisted love for my one and only brother, my feelings never to be returned.

The memories are agonizing, I decide, and it feels as though they are choking me. This is a different room, different house, and nothing except for the pictures reminds me of my old room, but suddenly I imagine I can see Eiji, again, sitting on my bed and grinning just like he does in the photograph. I blink and he's gone, yet I know he's there still, a memory if not a ghost, something I cannot flee from no matter how hard I try.

By the time I realise what I'm doing I'm already pulling on my coat. No conscious thought stops me as I flee from my apartment, intent on getting outside, out in the open air where such old visions cannot haunt me with their bittersweet lure. If only I could back to those days... I wouldn't hesitate a moment, would I, but it's impossible and I know it, and the only thing I can do is run away and hope no memories follow me for the time being.

A sudden feel of chillness makes me look up. The house I pass has been empty for years now, ever since it burned down. The damage done by the fire has since then been repaired, but nobody wants to live in it anymore. It's cursed, people say, it brings bad luck. Perhaps it is even haunted. Nevertheless, just a step inside will convince anyone they do not want to go further. Nobody has gone further than the hall ever since, although none of the people who have set foot inside can explain exactly what is holding them back.

As I now glance at it, in the moment of dusk, I could swear I see somebody moving behind an empty window – the small figure of a boy, light and skinny. It must be just my imagination, I tell myself, my mind weaving illusions according to the story I know, for how could I not know?

He was such a sweet child, Dan-kun, always so eager to please and forever, forever happy. While I do not deny the existence of the supernatural, that he would choose to haunt the place of his death is just ridiculous. Surely he couldn't be so cruel to those left behind? No, it must be my imagination again, playing tricks on me.

I remember the news all too well, how they were told far beyond the boundaries of schools. Everybody knew Dan, it seemed, had seen or heard of him at least, and the story brought out morbid curiousness even in those who had never even heard his name before. By the time the firemen got there it was too late to save him, we were told. They tried to, they did try their very best, but by the time they got to the room they only found his body on the floor, already dead for a while from the lack of oxygen in the smoke-filled room. This is probably where the rumours started, I believe, since just moments before the people outside had seen him in the window, calling out something though nobody could really make out the words over the roar of the fire.

The fire had likely begun from a cigarette, they said, apparently not purposefully but by accident. This is very strange, since neither one of Dan-kun's parents smoked. The next day, Akutsu Jin ran away from home, never to return.

A gust of wind brushes my hair, and I could swear I hear a quiet whisper of a distant voice. My imagination, again, I decide – for why would the wind be calling out, ”Save me, senpai”?

I glance towards the window and find it empty again.

It seems my attempt to escape the memories is in vain. There are memories everywhere, after all – if not my own, then those of other people. I cannot flee from them, for they will always come back to haunt us, the past we can never simply put behind ourselves. Surely you, too, have these ghosts of times gone, things you simply cannot forget no matter how much you would like to? And if you do, is there any way I can free you of them? To think of you suffering pain such as mine hurts me twofold.

I have reached the river, now, and look out into it with unseeing eyes. Memories, always memories, for even if it wasn't this very same river – or at the least not the same spot – it, too, draws up painful memories. The memories are holding me prisoner, it feels on days like this, and though I try to push them away I again find myself drowning in them for it is more comfortable than accepting the harsh truths of reality.

It was something we could have stopped from happening, I used to think, if only we had paid enough attention. None of us ever thought far enough, I fear, we never paid any mind to the warning signs that were there. We just took them as new eccentric tendencies not worth further thought. We all had those, and thus felt the others were entitled to them, too, even if in reality we should have been alarmed.

It was the loss to Echizen first, I think, and hitting his knee afterwards. It seemed almost ridiculous back then, as though he was punishing his body for doing something as pitiful as losing to a first-year. Only later would we take it for what it was – a sign that he was, indeed, prepared to punish himself when things went wrong. Useless, yes it was, yet perhaps it help him deal with the disappointment, having something to take it out on even if it was himself.

I called Inui last week. I believe it was the first time since that day our dear data man has managed to get through an entire conversation without mentioning him or succumbing to incomprehensibility.

Inui blames himself, as I well know, and much though I'd like to, I can't entirely disagree. He never wanted it, anything else, and neither did Momoshiro. Yet it was the two of them, the mere fact that there were two of them, that finally pushed Kaido over the edge.

His letter didn't explain much, I fear; it was hardly even comprehensible, what with how he crossed over and rewrote everything a dozen times, very much uncharacteristic of him. The main part of the message was still clear, though, and I'll never forget what Momoshiro looked like when he heard the message, how pale he was, as though he had seen a ghost. He could just as well have, couldn't he, what with Kaido's voice coming back to haunt him from behind the grave through the few curt yet polite phrases.

Had it been only Inui or only Momoshiro who approached Kaido, everything might have been fine. But they both did that, both tried to pursue the object of their affections, never knowing about the other who had set out on a similar mission. For a while Kaido tried to struggle with this, confused with his own feelings, until finally he came to the fateful conclusion that he was unable to choose and the two would hate him for this. Of course they wouldn't have hated him, they never could have hated him despite Momoshiro's repeated claims otherwise, but Kaido believed they would and that was enough of a reason for him.

Poor Kaido could not choose. I wish I had a choice, myself, yet my heart is stubbornly stuck to loving you. I cannot change that, I cannot even settle for a "second best", for to me everyone is the same as they can never be you.

It seems memories are not about to leave me alone no matter where I go. The wind, too, seems stronger now – and is that a rain drop falling on my cheek? Or am I crying?

It is the rain, I notice, pulling the hood of my coat over my head as I hasten to return, resigning myself to the self-appointed prison of my home so as to escape the chill and dread outside.

I expect no sleep tonight.

Suddenly, though, a voice makes me freeze. "Fuji-san," says somebody, and I know and hate and loathe that voice, and I turn around to face Mizuki Hajime.

"Mizuki-san," I reply, and wish with all my might he was dead.

*

The day is grey and gloomy, the clouds hanging heavily overhead as I walk through the quiet streets. For once, I have a clear destination in mind – one I'd rather not have, but one that cannot be avoided. I've walked all the way to this point, Yuuta, and there is but one way forward. That is the way I must take, much though I wish otherwise.

It's the river in front of me, again, and I swear I could hear a quiet hiss in the wind, yet I ignore it. My eyes linger on the ground before me instead of the water, and for once it's not Kaido I think of as I pass this place. There are signs of struggle by the river's edge, not well visible but still there if you know what to look for, and I smile faintly. Why is it my feet have once again led me here, to this exact spot? Surely there would be other routes to reach my goal?

I have to go forward now, though. There's no time to linger – what little time I have is running out, and fast.

Eiji is my best friend, and I know him. I know how his mind works. I know that somewhere, wherever he is, he soon gets the news, and as he does a memory will surface. He'll remember my words, spoken with such sincerity, and the look on my face as I spoke them. Of course, he'll brush it off at first, not believing such a thing true, not wanting to believe. It'll bother him, though, and a couple of times he finds himself holding a cell phone, dialling the number almost, but always putting it away.

In the end, though – on the fifth attempt, perhaps? Or the sixth? It's the details, the details are so difficult to predict – he does make the call, and it's your voice at the other end of the line, tired and drawn and hoping for anything to hold onto. And he crushes your hopes, telling of our conversation, telling what I said of you and then hurrying to remind it's all he knows, all he's heard, and it's just absurd anyway and never mind. After that he'll feel better for a while, and then guilty, because even though he knows he's done the right thing it also means he's betrayed my trust, his best friend's trust, and Eiji is cute like that.

I forgive him, though, because it's such an Eiji thing to do, and because I love him as a best friend and don't want him to suffer for keeping it a secret. I forgive him, and if I never call him again it's to save him from the pain of lying to me, not because I blame him for it.

Mizuki was bad for you, Yuuta. He abused you and used you, but you failed to see that because you loved him. For you he was Mizuki-senpai and Hajime-kun and Hajime, and love, too, and he couldn't do such wrong things because you loved him and he loved you. Maybe he did, too, but I loved you more, and to me he was just the Mizuki who hurt you and you are better off without him.

I never meant for him to die, Yuuta. I just wanted to hurt him, to make him pay back for all the times he hurt you, to make him leave you so that you could finally be truly happy.

I didn't even kill him, not really, I just didn't help when he needed it and that's almost as bad if not worse, standing by and calmly watching as somebody struggles for their life. I didn't help and let him die, let him drown like he drowned your dreams, and I enjoyed watching as he ceased struggling.

I continue on my way, hastening my steps. I have to act before Eiji. His words will reach you soon enough.

Dan-kun's old house is to be torn down, I hear. A somewhat daring couple had thought of buying it, and somehow they managed to make their way past the main hall, but when they went to have a look at the upstairs, a horrible smell alerted them to a corpse in one of the rooms – the very same one Dan-kun supposedly haunted, even. The corpse had been there for a while already, it seemed, and not much of him was left – rats or something similar had apparently got to him at some point – but he was still recognizable enough.

After all, there haven't been too many young men disappearing without a trace who had silvery hair and a Yamabuki uniform.

Perhaps that was the reason for the haunting, rather than any lust of revenge, I muse. It wouldn't have been Dan-kun's style anyway. Perhaps he was asking for help, there, for somebody to come and find his precious senpai?

Of course, after such a discovery, nobody is willing to live in the house. I heard they are planning to build a playground in its place. I'm sure Dan-kun is happy.

There's nobody in the window now, as I pass, the wind carries no voice. I hope they are happy, wherever they are.

My cell phone rings, suddenly, unexpectedly. The ring tone is one I rarely hear, yet eagerly await, for it's the sign of your call. It's with mixed feelings that I flip my phone open, answering the call.

"Aniki," you say, and the tone in your voice tells me everything, I wasn't fast enough. "Aniki, I – Kikumaru-san called."

"I expected him to," I reply, trying to get calmness in my voice. I already see the building I'm heading for, now. It won't be long anymore. "Please, do tell him I do not hold it against him."

"Why don't you tell him?" you ask, and I hear suspicion in your voice, the kind of suspicion that is begotten by distress and fear, and my heart almost breaks just by that. "You didn't do it, did you, aniki?"

"Saa," I reply, and the smile on my lips is more bitter than ever as I reach the doors, entering the code. "Did I? It depends on how you define 'it.'"

"You know what I'm talking about, aniki," you say, and your voice almost catches in your throat. "You didn't kill Hajime, did you?"

"Saa," I say again, heading for the lift. "I wonder."

"Aniki!" you call out, distressed. "Aniki, where are you? I – I have to talk with you. Properly."

"But we are talking already, Yuuta," I reply, and a ghost of a smile dances over my lips as I select the destination floor. "Or do you mean face to face?"

"Cease the riddles, aniki," you sigh, and the weariness and heartbreak in your voice tear apart what little is left of my own heart. "Just answer me."

"Ah, I guess I should," I say, and smile genuinely for a second, now – I'll still get the chance to see your face once more. "I'm in your house, now."

"What? Are you coming here?"

"Now, I never said that, did I?" My eyes scan the rapidly changing numbers until they finally reach the one I'm looking for. "Come up, Yuuta. We'll meet on the roof."

"Roof?" you echo, suspicious again. "Aniki, what are you up to?"

"Nothing special, Yuuta dear," I assure you, falsely of course. "I'm just going to remove an obstacle from your life." The greatest obstacle of all, even.

There's wind on the roof, and it tosses my hair around as I close my phone with a snap. Walking forward, I look over the edge, to the streets below. I both look forward to hearing the sound of the door and fear it, for while I yearn to see your face again, I couldn't bear to see any more hatred in your eyes. And hatred there will be, I know, for I did as good as kill the one you loved the most.

I take another step, reaching the edge.

I hear your voice, then, and it's calling for me. It's not ”Aniki”, this time, or even ”Syuu-chan” like when we were young and innocent, oh so innocent. It's your voice, not a boy's anymore but that of a man, and it's calling for me.

”Syuusuke!” you shout, calling for me, and I smile, regretting that I didn't get to hear it more than once. It sounds so nice, coming from your lips, and I'm more convinced than ever that it's meant to be so, it's meant to be your voice calling my name.

Turning around, I smile at you. ”Yuuta,” I reply, though I'm not sure if you can hear me anymore, for it's merely a whisper and you are so far away, out of my reach, always just out of my reach, ”Yuuta, I love you.”

Still smiling, I take a step backwards, and if there are tears in my eyes it doesn't matter since you won't see them, nobody will ever see them again, and the last thing I ever see is you since I close my eyes as I start to fall. For a moment, I'm not falling at all, I'm weightless like a cloud, a little butterfly of black and silver that's fleeing from your reach once again because I love you and I want you to be happy and there's no place for me in your happiness.

It's funny, isn't it, that in the end the one who learnt to fly was me.

[kodes]

2007-11-06T18:33:10Z

WARMTH, WORDS AND VICTORY

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Back in his own room, Rin thinks about telling Kite. Rika's at a friend's place and for once the house is silent, but somehow the silence after all the yelling is just a different form of noise. Rika's taken to avoiding their mother lately, which is buying them all a little quiet, but how long can it last? Something's got to give, eventually.

Rin sighs and rolls over, and doesn't want to think about it.

Tennis, then. Sure, they lost Nationals. But there'll always be a next time, and next time they'll be even better. The high school division of Higa actually has a tennis club – but according to what Kite's dug up they're not exactly fantastic either. Next year. They'll all graduate middle school together and next year they'll stand on the green courts again and they'll work harder and this time, no Saotome and none of his tactics and they'll play hard and win hard.

He thinks of playing tennis. The slice of the racket, the impact of the ball. The lunges and the stretches, the shikuchihou and whether he can get as good as it as Kite. Kite, with his impeccable balance. When Kite plays on the court he's amazing, better than any of them. Rin lies there in the cold darkness of his room and thinks about the way Kite moves – the strain of muscles under the skin as he smashes the ball into the return court, the look in his eyes as he takes point after point after point, the way the sweat trails down his neck to pool in his collarbone, the way his shirt rides up to reveal the hard ridges of a hipbone, the glimpses of his stomach. The heat of him after a tennis match, when Rin hands him a water bottle only to have him pour it over his head, and Rin swears he can almost hear the slight sizzle Rin fantasises about what Kite would look like if he'd just ditch the damned track pants and wear shorts – strong calves and thighs, and damnit –

Rin reaches down and jerks off, quietly in the darkness, hoping his mother won't hear his muffled breaths and sighs. He thinks of doing this with Kite, in the locker rooms after everyone's left. Thinks of being held by Kite and Kite's warmth. His hand moves faster and he rubs the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock, biting his lip. Kite. Kite.

Kite.

Rin comes harder than he's ever done before, but as he lies there with his own spunk cooling on his belly, the room he no longer thinks of as 'his' just seems colder than it ever did.

*

He doesn't tell Kite. Spring comes and they settle into the rhythms of high school life, the uneasy unfamiliarity of going from being seniors to freshmen, but they soon carve out their own places and tennis continues as usual. He agonizes about it and occasionally Kai will give him an exasperated look but nothing changes, really. Fifteen is not too different from fourteen – except –

Everyone's more hormonal than ever. Sex becomes another illicit topic in school, the sort of thing that can ruin good reputations, that can make people the butt of cruel jokes about pillow-biting and hairy hands. Rin tries to act unaffected, and he supposes he succeeds, because no one bothers him, but –

He jerks off more than ever now, lying at night in bed restless and unable to sleep, every tendon in his body wound tight like a violin string thrumming to the thought of Kite. It's taking more and more effort to look Kite in the eye and not blush, and he's stopped going to Kite's house. He tells Kite that his family's quietened down.

Not true. In high school Rika's ditched her old set of friends and joined up with a new gang. She's not in the high school division for Higa, she didn't make the entrance cut-off, and now Rin can't keep an eye on her either. Her new friends are girls who wear bubble socks and go for fake tans (Rin can't understand why they don't just get a real one. This is Okinawa, not Tokyo, for heaven's sake) and ditch school to go for karaoke. Rika wants to quit school and join a hairdressing course. Their mother is threatening to lock her at home.

Rin doesn't dare go home. He studies in public libraries, and when it gets late he goes to fast food restaurants, Wendy's and MacDonalds' and Burger King, the scent of fries and grease and oil thick in the air, the chatter of people and children all around him. And sickened by the smell of fat and recycled repackaged food, he goes walking under the streetlamps, till it's midnight and he can trudge, exhausted but not sleepy, back home, to his bed. The nights are getting warmer but he's still cold.

He's dreading the emptiness of summer break, but then an unexpected distraction shows up.

*

In between tennis practices, Rin works as a tour guide during summer breaks. The foreigners like the idea of having a native-born tour guide – the only problem at first is that he doesn't look like one, but his life story's generally good to interest the women. He earns more in tips than he does in pay, guiding various foreigners around Okinawa's beaches and bringing them to the snorkel-and-scuba shop that Kai's mom runs.

Foreign tourists are common, but there are Japanese tourists too, from the mainland, Tokyo people who are completely awed by Okinawa's natural beauty, which is completely absent from the city.

This particular couple is rather interesting. Rin can swear he's met them somewhere before, both of them boys, one taller with dark blue hair and frameless glasses, the other one with his eyes shaded by Gucci sunglasses, his voice drawling something about ' – why Okinawa, anyway? We could have gone to Greece, you know – not as if I can't afford it –'

'Ah!' Rin snaps his fingers in recognition. Now he knows where he's seen them before. 'Oshitari Yuushi! And... what's your name again?'

Oshitari stifles what seems rather like a snicker. The other boy removes his sunglasses and glares at Rin. 'Atobe Keigo,' he declares with a toss of his head. Rin resists the urge to tell him that that kind of gesture only works if you have long hair and breasts. 'And you are...?'

'Hirakoba Rin. Tennis Nationals, remember? I'm your tour guide for the week, so, it's nice to meet you.'

Oshitari nods, stepping forward. 'Nice to meet you too. Higa Chuu, right?'

'Higa High, now.' Rin grins. 'And you were the one who got your head shaved by Seigaku's brat, no?' he directs at Atobe. 'I see your hair's grown out.'

Atobe flushes a light pink as Oshitari stifles another chuckle. 'Yuushi,' Atobe threatens. 'If you don't stop, I swear I'm going home. I don't even understand why I agreed to come out here at all.'

'Because you love me?' Oshitari smirks, slinging an arm around Atobe's waist. Atobe glares but doesn't say anything more. Oshitari glances in Rin's direction and winks. Atobe balls a fist and punches Oshitari in the stomach, before stomping off. Oshitari shoulders the bags (Louis Vuitton) and follows, still grinning.

Rin laughs. This looks to be an interesting week.

*

Watching the two of them on the beach is hilarious. Oshitari flirts with anyone who's attractive, male or female. And this is Okinawa in summer, gorgeous people are everywhere . Atobe, on the other hand, has brought a book along, and is amazingly unconcerned. Rin flops down on the sand beside him. 'Is he always like that?'

'Yes,' Atobe answers, rolling his eyes and reaching for the sunblock, slathering it all over. 'I don't mind. Help with the sunblock, please.'

Well, at least he bothered with saying please, even if he did it after shoving the bottle at Rin and turning. Atobe's skin is perfectly smooth, warm from the sun beneath Rin's palms, and he slowly relaxes as Rin works the lotion in, making a small humming noise. 'You don't mind your boyfriend flirting with anything that moves?'

'Hmm?' Atobe murmurs. 'It's fine. I've got more self-confidence than that.'

Well, Rin can agree with that. Atobe has enough self-confidence to feed a Third World country, and self-confidence isn't even edible.

'If you're trying to make me jealous, Atobe,' comes the sudden, amused voice of Oshitari, 'I assure you I am. Hirakoba-kun, do you mind doing my back too?'

Atobe rolls his eyes and flaps a hand at Oshitari. Rin can only oblige, fighting back laughter as Oshitari leans back exaggeratedly into the touch. 'Ah, that's right. You have very talented hands, Hirakoba-kun.'

Atobe's gray eyes narrow, looking at Rin. 'He does, doesn't he, Yuushi.' Rin sees himself through Atobe's eyes all of a sudden – attractive, clearly not uncomfortable with all the flirting, and theirs for the week.

And the look in Oshitari's eyes is just as predatory. 'Why yes, Keigo, he does.'

Rin looks at the two of them, then shrugs and tosses caution to the winds. 'I'm done,' he says, running a hand down Oshitari's back. 'Your turn.'

*

Rin didn't think things would get this far, but with Oshitari's lips on the nape of his neck and Atobe's on his mouth, it's beginning to look like he didn't think hard enough. Though something's definitely hard enough – all three of them are, and he's horny as hell and miserable from thinking about Kite and gnawing at his pillow for months and hell, Oshitari's a very good kisser. So's Atobe, for that matter. So he let's himself be pulled and guided to the massive hotel bed, falling onto it in a sprawl and laughing as Oshitari playfully shoves Atobe down as well.

Atobe rolls over to nibble the edge of Rin's ear, and Oshitari joins them on the bed, slow, languid fingers sliding over Rin's stomach, smooth as his drawl. 'You're alright with this, Hirakoba-kun?'

'Mmmm,' Rin agrees. 'S' alright.' Oshitari and Atobe aren't serious about him anyway – they're too serious about each other, but they're obviously fine with the situation, so there won't be any emotional baggage. They obviously know what they're doing, which is more than Rin can say for himself. There are worse ways to lose his virginity, Rin figures.

'It's been a while since we've had a virgin, haven't we, Keigo?' Oshitari comments, reaching down to palm Rin's cock. Rin gasps and shakes and nearly comes there and then – he hadn't known it could feel so different, another person's hand, or maybe it's just Oshitari and his lazy sexy drawl and the way his dark hair falls over his eyes –

Atobe's slender fingers tangle in his T-shirt and pull it over his head at the same time as Oshitari yanks his pants off in one smooth move and tosses them halfway across the room. Rin yelps in surprise and then disintegrates into a mindless confusion of pleasure as the two of them start touching him in earnest.

Later, all three of them sated and boneless and fresh from a hot shower, Rin lets Oshitari and Atobe link hands, their arms resting on his body as they fall asleep. He's too exhausted to think much and far too satisfied to be aroused again, but he wonders, if it was this good with them, what would it be like with Kite? Kite and Kite's eyes and Kite's hands and Kite's cock –

Rin shudders and presses his face into Oshitari's collarbone. Oshitari looks at him for a moment, sleepy-eyed, then wriggles his other arm free of the press of bodies to stroke Rin's hair for a moment.

Rin sighs and shuts his eyes determinedly.

*

Rin's never had very much money.

Atobe Keigo, on the other hand, is used to having a great deal. And used to spending it.

Rin protests, at first, when Atobe buys him things. The tennis racket, yes, because Atobe doesn't want his opponents 'handicapped by inferior equipment'. The hair clasp – a slender line of silver and onyx – he let Atobe buy in a moment of weakness, and after Oshitari fixes it in his hair he can't very well return it. The cell phone and the phone plan is stretching it, but Atobe brushes his objections aside by saying that he'll want to contact Rin at some point in the future and that would be easier with a phone, and Rin doesn't know how to refuse him very well. But Atobe's browsing iPods now, and it doesn't matter how rich Atobe is, it's just too much.

Oshitari grabs him before he can actually say anything, though. 'Don't,' he warns, overriding the beginnings of Rin's protests. 'You'll only hurt him if you refuse it. You're not getting treated any differently from anyone else Atobe considers a friend – except that you're getting the presents all at one go because he figures he won't see you too often.

'And don't misunderstand. Atobe doesn't try to buy friends – or sex, for that matter – with money. And he can tell when you're trying to befriend him for it. Just let him be generous and do what he wants. He'll do it anyway,' Oshitari adds wryly.

Rin acquiesces.

*

Atobe and Oshitari are four days from returning to Tokyo when Atobe demands to play tennis. He says, 'Call that captain of yours.'

They meet at a street court, and Rin does the introductions. Kite's eyes have that glint that says he's looking forward to a good match, and Atobe looks just as interested.

Rin offers to referee. Oshitari says he'll sit out this round. Kite walks to his side, Atobe struts to his, as if he's hearing the sounds of the Hyotei cheers, fast and furious in his ears. Kite, on the other hand, is poised at the edge of the court, waiting, intense.

'One set match,' Rin says. 'Hyotei's Atobe to serve.'

The Tannhauser Serve is what Atobe calls it – an intense drive of a serve that slams into the court and plows forward in a straight line, dragging up a line of dust as Rin calls, '15-0.'

The second and third are the same, but Rin's not worried. By the fourth Kite has his measure and the breath catches in Rin's throat, just a small gasp as Kite blazes forward with the shukuchihou, catching the serve before it hits the ground, sending it richocheting back to Atobe with a force that the other boy doesn't expect, a grunt escaping him as he sends the ball back, but it wavers and Kite returns it easily, and it's 40-15 and Rin hasn't seen Kite play tennis like this in a long, long time.

They play a long, drawn out game, point by point by point. The volleys are to Kite's advantage, Atobe racing back and forth across the entire length of the courts as he tries to keep up with Kite, but the smashes are Atobe's specialty, and the game inches forward as the time ticks slowly away, 1-1, 2-1, 3-1, 3-2, 4-3, 4-4, 5-4, and Kite's in the lead.

One game. They change courts and as Oshitari hands Atobe a waterbottle, Rin walks over to Kite and grips a sweaty, warm shoulder and wishes him luck. Kite grins and says that luck has nothing to do with it, and Rin's rather inclined to agree.

Atobe takes his place at the other side of the court, and he's still smirking. 'You're good, Kite. Tezuka said you'd be.'

'Tezuka?' Kite asks, but his concentration doesn't slip in the least, if that's what Atobe is looking for. But if anything Atobe's smile only grows a little wider and a little harder, as if Kite's passed some test.

'Yes, Tezuka. He mentioned some of your tactics, though,' Atobe tosses offhandedly across the net, bending low to serve. It's not a Tannhauser but it's a powerful serve none the less, and Rin is never going to feed Atobe's massive ego but it's true that Atobe is a fantastic player. One of the best, Rin should think, and he feels a surge of pride in Kite, for playing Atobe to this kind of standstill.

'Those tactics, Atobe-san, are long over. If you will kindly pass a message to Tezuka for me–' Kite sends the ball right back, low, barely clearing the net, where Atobe struggles to return it, his voice level as he speaks. 15-0 to Kite. 'Tell him I regret it. The next time he and I play it will be different.'

Atobe laughs delightedly. 'You're not that bad after all, Kite Eishirou. Pity this game is mine.'Koori no Sekai – Atobe's World of Ice, the one he'd used against Echizen Ryoma a couple of years ago, at Nationals, the one that enabled him to see every possible blind spot. It sounds impossible even now, but watching Atobe take point after point after point, there's no way Rin can deny it. And there's no response Kite can give to it. Rin vaguely remembers that Echizen had used the Tezuka Zone, but that's not a move that's open to Kite.

Atobe wins 7-5, but as they shake hands across the net, Kite's lips are turned ever so slightly upwards at the corners, and Rin grins to himself. Atobe's just going to have a far harder time when Higa meets Hyotei again. But then again, Atobe probably likes the challenge. The low chuckle and eye-roll from Oshitari only confirms his suspicions.

After they part ways with Kite, though, Atobe pins Rin with an unnerving, intense stare. He says, 'You're in love with him, aren't you.'

'What – how –?'

Atobe snorts at the flabbergasted look on Rin's face. 'Please. If you think something as obvious as that would slip past me, you're stupider than I thought.'

'You know, Atobe, you could make more of an effort to be tactful,' Oshitari jabs verbally. 'What he means, Hirakoba-kun, is: why haven't you told him?'

Rin tells them everything over dinner. Oshitari makes sympathetic noises in all the right places, while Atobe just listens in simple silence, quiet for once, without the smart remarks that Rin has come to think as characteristic of his behavior.

When he's finished, Atobe bluntly tells him, 'Tell him, you fool.'

Oshitari nods slowly.

Rin doesn't know what to say, or do.

*

He sees them off at the airport with a genuine tinge of regret. Chances are they next time they'll see each other is at competition, as opponents, and while he's looking forward to that too, the last two weeks has been absolutely fantastic – heady and genuinely fun. He'd given pleasure received it, and he'll miss their company.

Rin smiles to himself. Maybe he'll visit Tokyo one weekend.

*

Summer segues into autumn, and the world turns a rich golden-brown. Club hierarchy means that he can't be captain till next year, for propriety's sake, and neither can his entire team be on the Regulars. Kite frowns but accepts it. They make it to Kyushu finals but one of their senpai messes up and loses a crucial match. No matter. There'll be next year. And next year will be his year, he vows to himself. Next year will be the year he takes Higa to Nationals and then he'll be able to play Atobe Keigo and Tezuka and all the rest of them, the stars of the tennis circuit.

He knows it's partially his own fault that he's not particularly close to the current team, the one that includes some of the second and third years, but for him there'll only be one Higa team – his own. The team that they'd all built from scratch.

He sits down at his desk, getting ready to clear away the backlog of homework – year-end examinations are drawing close again and he can't afford to let his grades slip, or else his father might decide that tennis wasn't worth it. He's just starting on a chemistry equation when a glint of metal catches his eye.

Rin's earrings are still with him, Kite realizes.

He picks up a stud. They're all identical, simple dull silver, and he has no clue which one is the one that he'd taken out of Rin's ear ages ago. Rin must have left them here by accident, and he'd never noticed until now.

Rin. Kite sets his pencil aside – redox reactions can wait for that much longer – and stares at the earring, wondering. It could just be him, but Rin and he – he feels as if they've been growing apart. Rin doesn't visit as often anymore, and then there was Atobe and Oshitari over the summer, and other tourists to take around the island. Maybe it's his own fault, for going to Rin's house that night, for intruding where Rin clearly didn't want him. Though for a moment there, he'd thought differently.

The comfort that Kite could never give him, when Rin was in his own house, this house – Kite had thought, then, that Rin had taken comfort from Kite's being there. That Rin had wanted – liked – having Kite there. That Rin had wanted him to be there.

Apparently, though, he had been wrong.

He sighs and sets the earring down, picking up the pencil again. It doesn't matter. There'll be tennis next year, and the intensity, the sheer thrill of competition, and the easy camaraderie of being a team. If nothing else, there'll always be that.

But he doesn't give the earrings back to Rin, and occasionally, sometimes when he's doing his homework, sometimes when he's reading a book, his eyes will flicker to them, and he'll pick one up and remember the feeling of Rin's skin, warm against his hands.

He buys Rin a goosedown comforter for Christmas that year, but on impulse swops it with his own. He doesn't think too deeply about why he does it – just that this way, maybe, in some roundabout manner, he's keeping Rin warm.

*

Rin bundles himself in the blanket each night. It might be his imagination – wishful thinking – but he can swear that he can smell Kite on it, a scent that's musky and warm, and some nights it turns him on, makes him achingly hard, but some nights it makes him want to cry. Damn Atobe and his insight and his straightforward, incisive words, because now whenever Rin looks at Kite the yearning is more intense and more bittersweet and it's not as easy for Rin to think that it's enough just to be friends.

Rin lets the tears soak into the fabric and meanders uneasily into slumber.

*

The seasons turn again, and Kite reassumes his rightful position as captain, and Higa is back in action. The buzz of excitement is in the air, the unsaid words hovering like birds – our year, this year, we're going to win –

They practice till the sun goes down, and then they all troop into the clubroom, chattering about everything and nothing, like excited sparrows. Rin's laughing about something with Kai when suddenly he freezes.

Rika. Rika.

Fear. Pain, lancing through his nerves, tight and sharp and not his, not the ache of his own muscles but the slicing pain of wounds, an immediate burn, but he's not hurt, and along with the phantom pain, the panic.

Rika!

'Rika,' he gasps out. The team is silent around him but he doesn't see them. 'God, it hurts, Rika – Rika–'

They used to have this, this capacity for each other's pain, but it got rarer and rarer as they got older and older and this is a complete shock to him – but his concern – she's terrified, panicking, and for all she acts tough Rika's no match for anything, really – it drives him to his feet, stumbling forward –

He slams into a firm body. Kite grips him by the shoulders and gives him a brutal shake. It rattles all the way down to his bones and clears his head, and he gazes at Kite in wide-eyed panic and blurts, 'It's Rika – she's in trouble, I know it – I have to find her –'

And all the while the pain and the fear and the horror isn't stopping and his sister is hurting and he tries to push his way past Kite, blindly. Kite grabs him by the arm and it's the pain of Kite's grip that brings him back to himself, that and Kite's dark concerned eyes, and Kite's words - 'We'll go with you.'

*

Rin moves. He heads for the high school Rika attends – and as he gets closer the fear gets stronger, the bile rises in his stomach and Kite holds him as he trembles – Rika, Rika – and they all pour off the bus and Rin lurches into a run, feeling more than seeing Kite easily keeping pace at his side, everything in him focused on finding his sister –

The gates have been locked. Rin clambers upwards, scrambling to find purchase on the vertical iron bars. Kite grips his foot and gives him a boost up, then calmly follows. The rest of the team is somewhere behind them – Tanishi is probably having trouble, but Kite can hear Kai hauling him up and for now the important thing is not to lose sight of Rin, who's still running, led by some unerring instinct that's bringing him ever-closer to his sister –

Rin rounds the corner, Kite races to keep up with him – and runs even harder as he hears the sudden impact of a fist meeting flesh.

Kite gets there to see Rin flailing with fists and feet. He's too furious to remember the martial arts that they've all been trained in, but his body remembers – but there're six of them – and god – the girl cowering in the corner looks heart-wrenchingly like Rin with short hair, tears streaked down her face and her skirt and shirt pushed up and a gag in her mouth and blood all over her thighs and Kite knows just what's happened –

He jumps in without another thought, blocking a punch that was heading for Rin. He grabs one of them by the back of the neck and slams him head first into the wall – there's a satisfying crunch of bone and the other guy slumps, unconscious –

And then Kai's there, Chinen's there – Aragaki, Shiranui, Tanishi –

It's over soon enough, and Chinen's calling the police and an ambulance, and Rin, still alive with rage, is still raining kicks on the downed bodies, a savage, disconnected light in his eyes. Kite lets him do it, they deserve it. He steps over to Rin's sister – Rika – and plucks the gag from her mouth and carefully helps her to her feet, careful not to spook her. Her eyes are wide and frightened and Kite doesn't like the look of it, but he says, 'I'm Kite Eishirou. Rin's friend. You're safe now, it's alright.' Empty words, of course, but she reacts to her brother's name, some of the daze clearing from her eyes.

'Rin,' Kite says, and then when there's no reaction, 'Rin. '

Rin looks at him, then, and he looks at Rika, and he's there in a heartbeat, holding his sister and saying, 'It's okay, it's okay.' The rest of them can only watch.

*

Kite waits for Rin at the police station, waiting for the police to finish taking Rin's statement. The rest of them have gone home already, various worried parents coming to pick up their children.

He calls his mother and tells her everything. She listens to him and says that she'll come pick them up, and tells Kite to take care of himself, and of Rin. Kite promises.

Rin stumbles out and sees Kite, and crumbles. He just crumbles, but Kite grabs him, holds him upright and Rin's sobbing into his shoulder, silent, angry tears, and Kite half-drags half-guides him out of the police station and into the night air, to wait for his mother.

It just seems right to stroke Rin's hair, to tell him that it's alright, that Riza will be alright, that he got there in time, that he shouldn't be guilty about not being able to stop them before they – not being able to stop them earlier – and despite his reassurances, Rin's sobs continue, unabated, silent, Rin's whole body shaking against his.

'It's okay,' Kite whispers. 'I'm here.' He presses his lips to Rin's temple, and repeats it. 'I'm here, Rin.'

And miraculously, it's as if he's found the magic words. Rin calms down as Kite repeats the words, and by the time Kite pushes him into the backseat of the car, Rin is composed if still a little pale. Kite laces their fingers together and doesn't let go.

*

Most of it's a haze to him. Rika, the pain, the rage, the incoherent statement to the police, and through it all, images of Kite – Kite running by his side, Kite helping him in the fray, Kite guiding him out of the station, Kite holding him, Kite pulling him up the stairs, Kite handing him a change of clothes, Kite pulling the blankets over them –

'Eishirou?' his voice cracks a little as he regards the sleeping face beside him. It's warm again, not unlike the cold fear of yesterday night and the freezing rage, and his eyes feel sore, as if he's been crying. Maybe he has been.

Kite opens his eyes. 'Rin,' he greets. 'Are you alright?' he asks, sitting up.

Rin nods. 'Yeah.'

'They took Rika to the hospital and they probably called your mother. You should go see them,' Kite says, running a hand through his hair. 'Skip school today. I'll explain to the teachers for you.'

It's only then that Rin notices that they've slept on the same futon. He remembers clearer now, Kite sliding onto the bed beside him, holding him as Rin pressed against him, telling Rin that everything would be alright –

I'm here.

The words echo, still, and Rin flushes horribly. 'Eishirou– I –'

Now or never. 'I like you,' he blurts, and then stammers, 'I know – if you don't –'

Kite walks over and kneels down on the futon and kisses him.

Rin leans into it immediately, arms moving to pull Kite that much closer. He's not about to think this is a dream because he knows he's awake and no dream is this incredible, this coherent, this real. And besides, if he were dreaming they wouldn't have morning breath, but it's kinda wonderful anyway because this is Kite – Eishirou – and everything he's ever hoped for.

Kite smiles softly at him, and touches Rin's cheek, and says, 'I like you too.'

*

He can't help the retarded, huge grin on his face throughout most of breakfast, but he sobers up fast enough when he heads to the hospital and sees Riza propped up on the bed, their mother by her side, both faces ashen-pale.

He lingers at the door for a moment and watches them. Their mother's crying – he thinks he can see her lips form the words for 'I'm sorry', again and again – but his sister's saying the same thing, and maybe, maybe there's some good to be had from all this.

He walks in and slides his arms around both their shoulders.

*

Loving Kite –

He has a place to go now, Rin figures. He no longer feels like an interloper, an outsider, in his own house and Kite's as well. Kite will be there and he'll let Rin tuck his legs up and press his toes to Kite's thighs. Kite'll hold him and kiss him and each time the kiss turns longer, harder, more demanding and Rin has never wanted anyone so much in his life –

But first, there's this – Kyushu Regionals, and the team arrayed around them as they step forward – bow to their opponents –

Tanishi and Chinen. Six games to none.

Aragaki and Shiranui. Six games to none.

Rin warms up with Kite, his hands against Rin's back, pressing Rin forward, and the movement reminds Rin of sex. It makes him think of bending forward, of letting Kite take him – he reaches back and kisses Kite, hard and fast, tongues sliding against each other – a promise of victory.

Someone clears his throat and they break apart, startled.

Oshitari and Atobe, and the glimmer of bright amusement in their eyes. 'We came to wish you luck,' Oshitari says. 'But it looks like you don't really need it.'

'In which case, we're here also to check out the competition,' Atobe adds. 'We'll see you at Nationals, Hirakoba. Kite.' And without further ado, they walk away, Oshitari's lazy wink tossed over his shoulder at Rin.

Rin laughs, and kisses Kite again, for luck.

He steps onto the court, already certain they'll win.

previous part

[kodes]

2007-11-06T18:32:59Z

WARMTH, WORDS AND VICTORY
by ataraxistence

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Rin yanks a change of clothes from the chest of drawers, stashing it in the duffle bag without regard for wrinkles. He tosses in the work that's due the next day and grabs his tennis bag, then takes a deep breath and steps out of his room.

The decibel level immediately goes up, and Rin's forehead wrinkles into a frown.

It's been an hour, and they're still shouting. Rin could hear the faint scorch of their words even when he was in his room with the door tight shut, sprawled out on his bed with a pillow over his head, wondering when they were going to start slinging objects. And now that he's out in the open, he can actually hear what they're saying, which only makes him feel worse.

'– Don't give me that –'

' – not as if I've ever been any good at school anyway! Not like Rin –'

'Your brother is a different case, we are talking about you, Rika –'

'Why is it that you think we both owe you something? Just because you didn't have an abortion? Because you decided to keep us? I don't have to do anything just because you want me to do it!'

'If you want to keep living under my roof, this is my house, if you want to keep eating the food I put on the table –'

'I wish I didn't have to! Does that make you so great? You're never at home, you never ask me what I want, it's always about you! You let Rin do what he wants –'

'Your brother at least –'

They're in Rika's room, so it means he can edge past them and slip out the front door unnoticed, hopefully. Rin knows what the latest outrage is, 'Kaa-san found a box of condoms in Rika's underwear drawer, and assumed the worst. Rika's told him – she said it was a dare, and honestly Rin's more inclined to believe her, but if their mother sees him she'll chew him out for not telling her earlier.

He makes it to his front door and leaves at stop speed, still working his feet into his shoes as he closes the door. He doubts they've heard him leave and anyway he doesn't care.

He's always the bone of contention. His sister resents their mother's double standards – what behavior she condones in Rin as boys, it's typical (staying out late, leaving the house without telling her, piercing ears, fighting, the experimental cigarette) she punishes – harshly – in Rika.

Rin grins a little to himself, remembering the day his thirteen-year-old Rika came home from a supposed project meeting with her neat blond five-year-old-type pigtails sheared off and with her shock of short hair streaked pink. The dye had washed out, but the haircut didn't. The peace and quiet of the Hirakoba household fell to pieces.

At that time he was proud of his sister, resonating with her exhilaration, but now, a year later, every step of the way a fight, he's kinda tired of all the mud-slinging. The tennis tournaments are looming, their graduation examinations are looming, and he's sick of the constant shouting. Their mother can't see that her twins are too alike, she can't help but superimpose her ideas about how girls should be behave and about the consequences of what she calls 'bad behavior'.

One consequence is having to bring up two little children single-handedly, of course. Which is why the condom stunt is totally freaking 'Kaa-san out, because the thought of her daughter ending up like her is probably what she's been trying to avoid all along. But Rika's not stupid, and Rin's not stupid, and it won't happen like that.

Now if only they could tell her that.

Rin shrugs to himself, gazing idly round the bus stop. It's old, the paint on the pillars peeling in some places, all kinds of graffiti scribbled on it, and there are notices tacked hodgepodge all over it. His eyes follow them in no particular order – left, tuition classes. Rika refuses to attend hers. Above, piano classes, which, like the ballet lessons, ended when they couldn't afford it. A couple flats for rent – even at those prices, Rika won't be able to move out like she threatens, and they all know it, 'Kaa-san uses it as ammunition and Rika swears that one day she'll be desperate enough to sleep on the streets and become a prostitute (if that ever happens Rin will club her on the head and drag her home by her short hair). Some flats for sale. A missing Shih Tzu by the name of Akiko and a reward – Rin can't help but think that a dog that pretty, if not found by now, would have been totally bashed up by the neighborhood dogs. Just like Rika, who's all bark and no bite.

The bus rolls up, resplendent in a cloud of dust particles and exhaust and setting sunlight, and Rin gets on. If only 'Kaa-san would just see that Rika isn't a little girl anymore, Rin thinks. And if only Rika would stop doing things just to piss 'Kaa-san off. She likes brushing Rin's hair so much that Rin knows she likes long hair, only that 'Kaa-san likes it too, so she's keeping hers short, which to Rin's mind is just stupid.

Rin sighs and leans his forehead against the windows.

*

It's only early spring, and the night breezes are icy-fresh against Rin's skin by the time he gets to Kite's house, and his cheeks are a fine pink and his feet and fingers are frigid as he buzzes the intercom.

'Kite residence!' It's Kite-san, Kite's mother, who speaks in dulcet tones, like a balm to Rin's ears after the shrieking he's endured in his own home.

'Ah –' there's a moment of hesitation, there always is. This isn't his home, after all. 'It's me, Rin. I'm sorry for disturbing, you, Kite-san –' And it's kinda strange, and Rin can't exactly explain this yearning in him, this awkwardness when he's usually straightforward and direct and unafraid to tell people what he wants.

'You're never a bother, Rin-kun! Come right in, then. Have you had dinner?' It doesn't matter if he says yes or no, Kite-san will feed him anyway, because she believes growing children can never have too much nourishment. Honestly, Rin thinks she's an amazing woman. She looks like Kite, or rather, Kite looks like her, except that she doesn't have Kite's bizarre (he'll never say it to Kite, though) cowlick. Instead, her hair falls down her back in luxuriant waves, and she doesn't look in the least like she has a fourteen-year-old son. She was a university professor in biology before she decided to stay at home, and very importantly, she cooks absolutely fantastic food.

Rin's half in love with her as she ushers him into the house – three storeys and a garden and a backyard, installments probably fully paid off since Kite's father is a chemistry Ph.D. working with a major pharmaceutical, two cars in the driveway, and it's so warm. They probably have some funky central heating system, because honestly Rin can feel the parquet of the floor warming his frozen toes, and he can't help but compare it to his own dingy apartment. He can remember first coming here when he was twelve, and admiring the Chinese calligraphy on the wall and the light-colored wood that featured so predominantly in the Kite household, and the plush cushions in velveteen, and there's an elegant timelessness about this house that Rin just adores.

He's glad that he's welcome here, and even gladder when Kite-san sets a bowl of seafood stew in front of him, saying, 'Eishirou's in the shower, and we've already had dinner. I was just about to clear that away, so you can eat as much as you want, Rin-kun.'

Man, he doesn't need her to tell him that! It's fantastic. Convenience-store food has nothing on this, and he says so.

She laughs, taking the seat beside him. 'It's good to know you enjoy it. It's nice that Eishirou has a friend like you. He's always so... serious, and he never really gets into trouble. When I was younger I had all sorts on theories on child raising. I was a rebellious teenager too –' To Rin's immense surprise she sticks out her tongue, and Rin realizes she's had her tongue pierced before. It's not a very... motherly thing, and she laughs again, this time at the look of complete shock he's probably wearing. 'So I wanted to make sure I didn't make the mistakes my parents made with me. But Eishirou's so like his father.'

'Mother,' Kite says, and Rin jumps in his chair, barely managing not to splash the soup.

'Ara, Eishirou,' she smiles innocently at her son, as if she hasn't been talking about him at all. 'I'll cut the two of you some fruit. Are peaches alright with you, Rin-kun?'

'Sure,' he answers.

She busses her son on the cheek. Kite accepts the caress and sits down beside Rin, falling gracefully into the chair his mother recently vacated, watching Rin eating. Only he and Kai and Chinen know that Rin has family troubles – it's not something Rin wants broadcast, and Kite can certainly understand that. His mother knows, but Kite has long resigned himself to the fact that his mother is disturbingly insightful. He's never said a thing to her about Rin's situation and she's certainly never pried, probably because she somehow already knows.

And recently, Rin's been coming over to his house more and more, almost two days out of three, which can only mean it's getting worse. As captain and classmate, Kite knows Rin needs the peace and quiet, to actually study and rest and be prepared for the upcoming tournaments and tests, and because of that it's his duty to let Rin come over when the bickering at home gets too bad. As a friend, as a best friend, Kite wants to be able to help Rin, because he knows that while Rin adores being in his house, Rin also hates the fact that it's not his house. That he'll never be more than a guest. Kite wants to tell him that Rin should feel welcome to be here. That Rin's not a guest in this house, that his mother loves having Rin around and Kite certainly doesn't mind the company and Rin is welcome to take whatever he wants.

But instead, all he can say is, 'Did you bring the work for class tomorrow?'

Rin nods, swallowing a mouthful of squid before he replies. 'Yeah, I did. Haven't finished it, though, and if there's a quiz tomorrow I'm probably gonna fail.' He stretches, and his feet brush against Kite's.

Kite hisses and draws away. 'Are those your feet? They're cold!'

Rin shrugs. 'I get cold easily, especially my fingers and feet. It's already warmer in your house, they'll be fine soon.'

Kite looks at Rin, notes the yearning in his voice when he says your house, and stretches out his feet, putting them on top of Rin's. Rin glances sharply up at him, but Kite doesn't acknowledge it, instead choosing to say, 'I made notes. I'll lend them to you.'

Rin looks at him for a moment longer, then wriggles his toes into the arches of Kite's feet with a little contented sound. They're so cold they barely tickle, more like a numb sort of burning where they touch. If Rin's feet are this cold now, they must have been terrible before.

'Thanks, Eishirou. You're the best,' Rin says, and smiles. There's a bit of vegetable stuck in his teeth, and it ruins the tableau a little, but Kite appreciates the sentiment anyway, and smiles back. 'How's doubles with Chinen?'

'It's going good,' Rin answers, taking more leisurely bites of the dinner now that the first edge of hunger's blunted. His toes are getting warmer. 'Better than you and me, anyway.'

'You and I,' Kite corrects absent-mindedly. 'Yes, our doubles combination was quite bad.'

'Quite bad doesn't even begin to cut it,' Rin snorts. 'We were awful, Eishirou. You ran straight into me!'

'And you did the same,' Kite reminds Rin, raising an eyebrow.

'Whatever,' Rin answers. 'But Chinen and I – ' Rin drawls sarcastically '– will be in fair doubles shape, and there's Aragaki and Shiranui, so it should be fine.'

'Should be isn't good enough,' Kite warns.

'Hai, hai, buchou,' Rin laughs. 'We will be. Better?'

In the kitchen, Kite-san listens to the sound of laughter and smiles as she slices peaches with a deft hand.

*

'Shit,' Rin swears, tilting his head at the mirror and glaring, his hands at his right ear. 'Eishirou!'

Kite looks up from his book. 'Yes?'

'Help me,' Rin says, walking over and plopping down on the edge of the futon. 'The stud's caught, and I can't pull it loose from this angle.'

Kite looks at Rin's ear and says dryly, 'Which one?' Rin has three metal studs in his ear, and Kite has no clue which one he's talking about.

Rin makes a little huffing noise. 'The third one!' He taps the earring.

Slightly bewildered, Kite moves a little closer to peer at the earring – ah, now he sees what Rin means. Instead of going straight through the backing, the stud's canted to one side and probably not moving as it should. 'Hold still,' he instructs, trying to find a way to get a good hold of the earring. He's used to a tennis grip and fists in the dojo – the smallest things he ever handles are usually chopsticks or pencils. Earrings are new.

Rin waits patiently as Kite fumbles with the earring. It's an unexpectedly nice feeling, to have Kite so close to him, hands pressed against Rin's cheekbone and neck. It's warm, which has to be the best thing about being here. It's certainly more than he can say for his family. He and Rika may be twins but they've been growing apart, surely but steadily, and their mother's never been a particularly demonstrative person.

Family. Funny how Higa – even Tanishi, and certainly Chinen and Kai and Kite – have been become more of a real family than his sister and mother. How much more he enjoys being with them.

Kite eventually wedges a blunt fingernail between Rin's ear and the metal and pulls it apart, getting the earring loose. Rin makes an exaggerated wince and laughs as he takes the earring from Kite, putting it on the desk with its fellows.

'Goodnight, Eishirou,' Rin murmurs, snuggling down into the blankets. More warmth. Fluffy, rich goosedown comforters, not like the cotton at home, which is all his mother can afford. Beside him, Kite's already returned to his book, but he murmurs, 'Goodnight, Rin.'

Probably he's just read something amusing, but Rin would like to believe that Kite's quirky little half-smile is directed at the rumble of satisfaction that Rin makes as he buries his face into the pillow.

*

Rin wakes up warm. He's completely curled up in the blanket and there're all these delicious smells in the air and it's warm.

It's brilliant. Rin rolls over and the whole blanket rolls with him. It's still early – the sun's barely risen, but Kite's already up, he can hear the sounds of movement and the futon beside him's empty, and he closes his eyes again. He'll stay here a bit longer till Kite comes to wake him, and pretend that this is where he belongs.

But it seems like all too soon that Kite's got one hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. 'Rin. Wake up.'

'Nnnngh,' Rin says, and uncurls himself from the blankets unwillingly. 'Don't wanna.'

'I'll make you run laps.'

'Do you have to be so mean early in the morning, Eishirou?' Rin grumbles, unfolding himself and getting up.

Kite's lips move upwards in a half-smile. 'My mother and I made pancakes.'

Ah. That's a different story altogether. 'Okay,' Rin says. 'I want second helpings.'

'Certainly,' Kite says. 'I'll see you at the breakfast table.'

Rin tidies himself up and charges downstairs, hair barely brushed and curling around his shoulders. Kite-san doesn't seem to mind, greeting him with a smile and a plate of fat pancakes liberally coated in butter and honey.

If he were at home it would be bread and peanut butter or dry cereal with a glass of milk, him and Rika standing at the kitchen counter and eating mechanically. His mother would have left for work a great deal earlier. Here, it's pancakes and cocoa and more fresh fruit, and they're all sitting at the dining table (Rin's family doesn't even own a dining table) and there're moments when jealousy sours the food in his mouth, jealousy at Kite and all the things he has in life. And then he feels guilty, because he has no right to think that about Kite, especially since he's the interloper here. And then he figures that there's no point thinking about it, so he just takes another bite of the pancakes, and tries to focus on how wonderful this is, here and right now.

*

Other than Kite's house, Rin's only escape is tennis and tennis practice.

They collapse on the beach. Every muscle in his body is burning, Rin thinks to himself. It even hurts to breathe.

Damn. He hurts.

'You got that right,' Kai groans. 'Running on sand sucks.'

Rin agrees, though he can't find the air to actually say it. He'd never thought he'd see the day when he actually disliked Okinawa's beaches of soft, white sand, but running on it – there's no resistance, no feeling of solid ground, it feels like every step you take you slide back half a pace. It sucks.

Running on sand sucks. Stamina training underwater sucks. Tug of rope sucks. Swing practice in the sea sucks. And he's got an essay due tomorrow, which also sucks.

But it's tennis, and they have the first round of the prefecturals coming up soon, and Rin tells himself firmly that he's doing this for the day they'll step onto the tennis courts and demolish their opponents. Without tennis he'd only have school and home, one uninspiring and the other one depressing. He'd be lost without tennis.

Kite staggers to his feet. 'Let's go,' he says quietly, and the rest of them get up without any further complaint. Kai offers him a hand, and Rin takes it gratefully. 'Morning practice tomorrow. Anyone who's late is going to be doing a thousand push-ups.'

Kai drops back down to the sand and begins an excruciatingly slow push-up, dragging out the 'Onnnnneeeeeee...' mournfully. He flops back down, rolls over and offers Kite a grin. 'Making a down payment first. Do you take IOUs, buchou?'

In answer, Kite places a foot square in Kai's side and shoves. Kai rolls over and says, 'Twoooooo...', but doesn't bother attempting the push-up. Rin giggles, too exhausted to laugh, and somehow it's kinda hilarious because suddenly everyone else is giggling, chortling, chuckling, guffawing, and Kite's firm mouth is quirked in a half-smile as his hysterical team laughs and laughs and laughs.

Yeah. There's tennis and Kite's grand crazy plans to go to Nationals and somehow, Rin knows it sounds crazy but the exhaustion and the pain and the hard work's kinda fun and kinda worth it , and he likes it, loves it.

*

Victory is sweet. They sweep the gold trophy at Kyushu Regionals, and now it's on to Nationals, and they're training like crazy because it's Nationals and by now everyone knows their name. They've come a long way from being absolute unknowns, and it's great to be famous for being champions and right now it feels like they're unstoppable. Rin loves the nickname they've given Kite on the tennis circuits: Hitman, very apt for Kite's ruthless, driven style on the courts, and Rin thinks it's pretty cool even if Kite himself won't admit it. Rin teases him about it all the time in the hopes of getting a rise out of the ever-implacable Kite.

And Rin enjoys training more and more. Their entry to Nationals means that they all spend more time at tennis practice, which, for Rin, means less time in the house. He leaves the apartment whistling in the mornings, and smiles all the way to school.

It's just another morning, one day closer to the Nationals date but otherwise a typical one, but this time, Rin pauses in mid-change of shirt, staring, arrested, at Kai's swollen face. The right cheek's entirely puffed up, making him look comically lopsided. 'Whoa! What happened?'

'Got slapped. Twice.' Kai answers, wincing as he touches his cheek, which is rapidly going from dark red to plum-purple.

'By two different girls,' Aragaki adds, coming in behind him.

'You were watching?' Kai demands angrily, whirling around to face his teammate.

Aragaki scoffs and turns to his locker, grabbing his racket and beginning to wind grip tape around it. 'Kai, half the schoolyard was watching. Your homeroom teacher was watching. Hell, I think the principal was watching.'

'You deserved that one,' Kite points out from his spot on the floor, stretching. 'We did try to tell you this would happen.'

'Bu-chou,' Kai whines. 'Take pity on me! Let me off practice today?'

'No.'

'I'm injured!'

'Some injury,' Rin snorts as Aragaki laughs, ignoring the glare Kai sends his way.

'Someday, Hirakoba Rin,' Kai proclaims, 'You're going to get slapped too. And when that day comes, I'm gonna laugh at you. And you too!' he snaps at Aragaki.

'Please,' Rin dismisses the idea. 'I'm not stupid enough to two-time. And besides,' he adds slyly, 'There's only one person I want to date.'

'There's someone you want?' Kai gasps, his anger forgotten. 'Oh my god, Rinrin, who?'

'Don't call me that.'

'I know! Takahashi Mayumi from Class C, right? She's totally into you!'

'Of course not.'

'Who, Rin, who?'

'Buchou,' Rin calls. 'I'm going to run laps.'

He waits for Kite's answering nod before setting off with a self-satisfied little chuckle, Kai still hot on his heels. There's no one he wants to date right now. He gets love letters from girls, yes, but unlike Kai he never bothers to answer them, even to reject them. Right now he just wants to focus on winning at tennis and being with his friends, and that's enough.

*

They lose at Nationals. Nobody knows what to say on the plane trip back to Okinawa. No one says anything at all. It's markedly different from the atmosphere when they left, when they were all chattering and fighting for the aisle seat or the window seat or the last bag of vacuum-sealed peanuts and Kite uncharacteristically permitted their antics, made indulgent by success. Rin tries to sleep but fails – but he just keeps his eyes closed and pretends anyway. At least that way he has a reason not to be saying anything. At least that way it's less obvious that he doesn't know what to say.

Seigaku beat them six sets to none and it's a shock to their collective pride, their undefeated record crumbling under the might of Tezuka Kunimitsu's team. And now they've seen the matches – Hyotei against Seigaku, Seigaku and Shitenhouji, Seigaku and Rikkai, and Rin is never going to forget those matches because they were completely awesome, but what rankles is the fact that they were never going to win anyway. Rin's prideful, not stupid, and he knows they would have been owned. The amount of talent in the Kanto region is terrifying. Compared to them, Kyushu's teams were just the tip of the iceberg, and they hadn't realized it, and they'd crashed their ship.

No matter, though. Now that they know it's there they'll watch out for it in future.

Kite, though, continues to brood over the next few days, and so does the rest of the team – except for maybe Kai, who's like the ocean, taking whatever comes with an easy, graceful acceptance. Kite's determined but in a black way, with a storm-cloud expression on his face, and Chinen, Tanishi, Aragaki, Shiranui – they're just depressed. There's none of the drive they had in practices before. Sure, they do them, they run laps and swing and play matches but there's something intangible gone from the air, and it's pissing Rin off, majorly.

Rin stomps into the locker room one morning and sees Chinen with his head bent at his locker and damnit, it's such a dejected posture that Rin just throws his tennis bag against the wall and kicks the door shut behind him and everyone in the room jumps and stares at him as he folds his arms and yells, 'Can we please stop acting like someone's just died?'

No answer, only blank faces and empty looks, as if they don't know what he's saying. It only goads Rin's temper more.

'Sure, we lost. Yes, Eishirou lost. Seigaku's a better team than we are! There! Said it! Now we'd bloody better start improving and stop moping about it!' Rin hollers. The door creaks. There're probably freshmen outside with their ears pressed against the wood, but he doesn't care. 'Sure, tennis is over for this year. There's always next year! And if you want to be better next year, if you want to go somewhere next year, we have to start improving because if you think Rikkai's moping cause they lost to Seigaku you're probably wrong!'

Rin stands there and smokes, like a gun that's just been fired, letting the words sink in. Tanishi – of all the unexpected allies – says, 'Rin's right. Marui was telling me that Yukimura's working them all twice as hard as he used to.'

'See?' Rin smiles the self-satisfied smile of the vindicated.

'Rinrin's right,' Kai says, over the annoyed automatic 'Don't call me that' from Rin. 'We should be working harder.'

Rin watches in satisfaction as the spirits lift. There's no actual difference but who cares about actual differences? They feel different. Warmer, stronger, closer for what Rin's just said. Defeat can bond a team as strongly as victory, Rin realizes. Maybe even more.

*

Kite walks to the clubroom still carrying the baggage of Nationals, and Tezuka Kunimitsu. Try as he might he can't see any other way their match might have gone. Seigaku irritates him, them and their charmed tennis careers. Their freshman against Yukimura Seiichi, reigning prince of the tennis courts – Kite would never have expected Yukimura to lose. But he did.

But Echizen Ryoma's not the point. The point is Tezuka Kunimitsu and Yukimura Seiichi and the rest of the third years who will be right there again next year at tennis Nationals. And he's got a year to think of how to beat them – cleanly this time. None of the desperate tactics.

That's one thing he's not proud of. He won't tell his parents and he won't tell his grandfather anything about that, because he can see now, how pointless it is to win by crippling an opponent. By hurting the other side's coaches. By throwing grit in his opponent's eyes. If he had a way of contacting Tezuka he'd call and apologize for it, even if he had to throw away every last inch of his pride in doing so.

But he doesn't know how to contact Tezuka, so for now he settles for running laps like they're a punishment, for working at the bench presses and the weights till every inch of him is sore, like it's some kind of atonement. Until next year, when he can play Tezuka again and play him properly and show him that Higa can win without playing dirty.

No guarantees on the violence, though. No coaches, and no dust, but he's not about to tell his teammates to stop being intimidating. He's not going to tell Tanishi to stop using the Big Bang to hurt his opponents. As far as Kite's concerned, once you've stepped onto the tennis courts you're fair game for anything, including injuries.

As he wraps his hand around the doorknob, he hears a familiar voice scream 'Stop moping about it!' Raising an eyebrow, he opens the door a fraction and slips in noiselessly. Some eyes widen at the sight of him, but he gives them a definite shake of the head, closing the door soundlessly and leaning against it. Rin's standing in front of him, completely oblivious to his presence and yelling fit to burst.

Rin. Willful, headstrong Rin, who'll play his game his way regardless of orders from captain or coach. Rin, who's been working harder than ever and now, Rin, who'll apparently yell at the team in Kite's absence. He listens to Rin's words and smiles a little to himself, watching Rin's confrontational stance, the way he tosses his head as he gestures to make a point, blond hair falling down his back. Rin, who without knowing it is encouraging Kite, warming him, as much as it's galvanizing the rest of them. And as he watches them respond to Rin, he's suddenly so proud of all of them, even despite their loss.

They've tried hard. They've come a long way, even if they've lost. He shouldn't have lost sight of that.

Kite grins and steps forward. 'Fifty laps, all of you. And if you ever lose again, it'll be five hundred.'

Rin whirls around in surprise and then breaks into a massive smile when he sees him. 'Eishirou!' he exclaims. 'When–'

He cuts across Rin's question. Not now. 'And the freshmen listening outside! Swing practice, go to it!'

Higa will be stronger than ever for this.

*

'Come to my house tonight,' Kite offers. As Rin hesitates, Kite adds, 'My mother's cooking udon.'

They walk back to Kite's house together, silent for a while. Tennis season's going to be over soon, Rin thinks. Winters in Okinawa are rarely very harsh, but soon the courts'll be closed and it'll be endless repetitions of exercises in the gym amidst the end-of-year examinations. Hopefully there'll be time for ice-skating, though.

'I heard what you said today,' Kite says, interrupting their silence. Rin flushes a little.

'Thank you for saying all those things,' Kite continues, his dark eyes intent on Rin. 'I should have been the one to say it, I know.'

'Eishirou–' Rin begins, then stops. How to say this? What to say, what won't sound like a platitude even if he' s sincere in saying it? He's not like Kai, who has a good instinct for when to say what to say. He's not like Chinen, who can say something without actually saying it. Rin envies the two of them.

He eventually settles for: 'We believe in you.'

Because those are the words he used when they first started to play tennis. They're unoriginal and not enough, not enough to convey his faith in Kite and his trust in Kite's leadership and the fact that without Kite there, there wouldn't be much of a them at all, and that they need him.

'We always have, Eishirou. I always have,' Rin says softly, looking at Kite, willing him to understand. 'And we always will.' The words are all he has to offer.

Finally, Kite dips his head in the slightest of movements, the smallest of smiles creasing those full lips, easing away the compressed lines that Kite had been wearing ever since their return to Okinawa without the medal they'd wanted. 'Thank you, Rin.'

Rin smiles to himself, and the rest of the trip back is taken up by talking about plans for next year's tennis.

The words are enough, then.

*

It's the last practice of the winter season when Shiranui appears at morning practice covered in bruises. Kite takes one look at him and demands the whole story. Shiranui tries to demur but by now all the Regulars are gathered in the clubroom, all of them serious, none of their usual jokes and good-natured ribbing. The story comes out – Shiranui's younger brother being extorted and bullied by a gang of thugs, high school dropouts – the whole tired old story, and by the time Shiranui is done, Rin is cracking his knuckles and Chinen's smile is just a little bit feral, and Kite has that look. It's the look that none of them can actually describe, but it's the look that earned Kite the nickname Hitman.After practice they gather by unspoken accord in the clubroom, waiting till everyone else leaves. Kite looks squarely at his team and says quietly, 'If any of you get hurt, I'll have you run laps till the middle of next week.'

An answering ripple of 'Hai, buchou,' rumbles throughout the room.

'Let's go,' Kite orders.

No one messes with his team.

*

Kite asks, 'Can I go home with you tonight?'

'Huh?' Rin asks. Has he heard wrong? He did get punched but it shouldn't be affecting his hearing.

'I don't want my parents to see,' Kite explains, and Rin nods, comprehension dawning on him.

Kite feels a rush of gratitude towards Rin. If he goes home like this his father will give him hell to pay – slight bruises, scraped knuckles, blood though it's not his own. Rin's mother – according to Rin – is far less likely to care, and even if she has the explanation she won't be too concerned, especially if Rin can explain the reason. His father, though... The injuries aren't anything that can't be explained away by a hard tennis practice, anyway, but Kite doesn't think he's in any mood to lie – or even demur – right now, certainly not enough to fool his father. He's still high on adrenaline and flushed from the fight, and his father would know something was off in an instant.

Rin knows, Rin understands, Rin's own blue eyes still glittering queerly as they pick a back road, where they attract fewer wary stares. There's a rip in Rin's jersey and a fine bleeding line on Rin's arm. Not a deep cut, but it was a blade they hadn't expected. It was a good thing Rin had good reflexes, and Kite, furious and seeing red, had broken the guy's arm so many ways that he doubted he'd ever be able to hold a knife again.

When Kite mentions the wound, Rin shrugs it off, laughing; Kite fixes him with a stern look. 'You were lucky,' he admonishes.

'Not lucky,' Rin corrects him. 'I would've ducked his next one, you know that. And besides, you were there.' He slings the uninjured arm over Kite's shoulders, and after a moment, Kite does the same.

Rin grins. 'That's right. Ain't no one ever gonna beat us, Eishirou.'

*

Rin gets a great deal more hesitant as they get closer to his house. He pulls away from Kite, stuffs his hands in his pockets and slows down, his steps shuffling against the concrete. 'My place – well, it's not like yours,' he says, not looking at Kite.

'It's fine,' Kite answers. He thinks he has a good idea of what he can expect.

It's better than what he'd thought, actually. The flat is small but clean and neat if a little bare. There's none of the elegance of his own house and a lot of the furniture is the cheap, flimsy sort, but it's not haphazard and it's nothing to be ashamed of. Rin introduces him. She looks stressed, tired, old, but again that's nothing Kite doesn't already anticipate. She says a few polite words and then Rin pulls Kite down a corridor and into his room.

As Rin disappears to get the first aid kit from the bathroom, Kite looks around the room itself. Closet, bookshelf, desk, bed. It's fairly neat, with only the books spread across the desk, the blanket not tucked in properly into the bed. Kite's seen Kai's room. It looks like a tornado. Clothes closest to the door are the filthy ones, clothes further in on the floor are cleaner. The only thing you can find in Kai's room is his tennis racket, which he places on a rack on the wall.

Kite sits himself down on the floor and leans against the Western style bed.

Suddenly, a door slams. There's a call of 'Rika!' – he assumes it's Hirakoba-san – and suddenly, footsteps echo down the corridor. Rin enters the room hastily and shuts the door, leaning against it for a moment before he approaches Kite and sets the first aid box down between them.

'Are you drunk?' Hirakoba-san again, her voice rising, incredulous on the last word. 'You're barely fifteen! Where – who did you get the liquor from?'

If Rin's twin – Rika – makes an answer, Kite can't hear it. He douses the line on Rin's arm in antiseptic, but Rin doesn't wince. He does wince, however, when his mother begins shouting, and looks away.

Kite flushes. He'd thought he could have anticipated what the quarrel would be like. But the reality of it is quite different, he feels the shame of a voyeur who doesn't want to watch this family air their dirty laundry in public, not quite shame for himself but for them – and suddenly he feels a surge of sympathy for Rin, who must feel like an interloper in his own house, nowhere to belong except maybe at school and at tennis, not even in Kite's own house. It's no wonder that he likes visiting his place, if this – Kite flinches involuntarily at a high-pitched female scream of outrage, the fury joined by another voice in a rising crescendo – is what he has to face daily.

On impulse, he sets the cotton pads aside and shuffles closer to Rin, rising to his knees to pull him into an awkward sort of half-hug half-pat. He's not good at physical contact but he's even worse at words, and Rin is the sort of person who responds to being touched. To warmth.

Rin holds still for a moment, as the shouting continues. Then, as Kite doesn't let go, he relaxes and burrows closer, trying to muffle the words. Kite shifts and he shifts and they end up in a proper hug, bodies pressed together with a soothing arm around his shoulder, the kind of hug that Rin doesn't know that he's been craving.

It's not just the central heating or the lovely surroundings and all the wonderful things that make Kite's house warm. It's the people. It's Kite, because Rin's never been anything but cold in this room but this once, just this once, it's warm and Kite's arms are warm and he doesn't want to let Kite go.

When Rin wakes up the next morning, the two of them are curled up together on the bed with the thin blanket thrown over them and his feet are caught between Kite's calf and the bed and his toes are wonderfully warm. A thought occurs to him:

He's in love with Kite Eishirou.

*

Rin struggles with it. He struggles with it and doesn't dare tell anyone, not even Rika, who can sense that something's up with him but she doesn't ask him and that tears at Rin too, because it wasn't that long ago that they were willing to tell each other everything. It's different now, though. Rin finds himself writing Kite's name in the middle of a sentence on history or literature or something, and he doesn't dare hand up his essays without proofreading them several times anymore. He doesn't know what to think of this feeling, like a girl, really, and that's another thing, because they're both boys and Rin's not stupid enough to think that that's all right.

He keeps it to himself for about a month and then can't bear the pressure anymore.

He has to tell someone. Anyone, to talk it out with. To actually hear the words that keep resounding in his head and maybe then he can tell if they sound true or false and if they're true maybe then, then he can try to deal with it.

He decides to tell Kai.

Kai gets into a lot of shit with girls because of his easygoing attitude (that, and the fact that he's too in love with the ocean to be very in love with them). They think he doesn't take them seriously, they think he treats everything too casually, including his relationships, half of which end in slaps, or tears, or both. But it's not that he doesn't care, honestly. It's just that Kai's a relaxed person, that he accepts things and doesn't let them ruffle him too much.

Even so, even knowing that much about Kai, Rin hesitates to tell him.

But as he sits on the sand and watches the waves and knows that Kai's somewhere out there, still swimming until the last light disappears, Rin remembers how Kai taught him and Rika to swim. How the sea had seemed frightening at that age, until Kai came along, an exuberant seven-year-old who'd almost been swimming before he started walking.

It would have been more typical if he'd done something like push Rika into the water. But instead, he'd cocked his head at Rin and Rika and asked them if they knew how to swim.

And when they said that they didn't, he'd spent the rest of the day teaching them (as best as he could).

Trusting Kai. Trusting Kai not to drown them, trusting Kai not to give him away. Wasn't it kinda the same thing?

Rin waits till Kai wades out of the ocean, golden in the dying light. He waits till they pack up and start back towards home.

And then he quietly gathers up his courage, and asks, 'Kai?'

'Hmm?'

'I think I'm... I think I don't like girls. I think... I might be in love with Eishirou.'

Kai doesn't react immediately, though his face becomes more thoughtful – the slight wrinkling at the corners of his eyes, the unfocused look – and Rin doesn't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing so he settles for being more anxious than ever although he tries his best not to let it show, but the thought of losing Kai, losing a best friend –

He won't compare it to the standard clichés, like losing a limb. He'd rather lose a limb than Kai.

Finally, Kai nods. 'Yeah, you might be.'

Relief.

It's overwhelming. It's all Rin can do not to stumble and keep pace with Kai. 'What do you mean, might be?'

'You probably don't like girls. You've never thought even one of them was cute, right?'

For a moment, Rin wonders, does Kite's mother count? He loves her, but not in that sense, more like, she's the mother he's always wanted but never actually had, so if he can't really love his own mother he might as well love her. And if she's the best example of women he's ever seen, no, none of the simpering girls in school are anywhere near cute or lovable. 'No.'

'And honestly, Rinrin, you're quite vain.'

Rin's face rearranges itself into a highly indignant look as Kai chuckles. 'You take longer in the shower than anyone, you use more sunblock in a month than I use in a year, you condition your hair, you moisturize. That's... really kinda girly. Sorry to break it to you.'

'I can't help it if I sunburn easily. And I wouldn't want to have hair like yours,' Rin snipes half-heartedly.

Kai merely grins mischievously. 'You break my heart, Rinrin. But anyway, if you don't like girls, then you like guys. And honestly, if I were you there're only so many guys you could be in love with. There's me, of course.'

'Come off it!' Rin laughs, swattting at Kai's arm. 'No way!'

'And honestly, you and Eishirou are very close, aren't you? And even I think Eishirou's hot and charismatic – hell, we all think he's charismatic – and I don't even bat for your team.'

'Yeah,' Rin murmurs. 'He is.'

'Do you want me to tell him?'

'What?' Rin yelps. 'No! Of course not!' There's no way he'll tell Kite – what're the chances of Kite liking him as well? Kite might not even be as accepting as Kai about the 'don't-like-girls' bit, and Rin has the sinking feeling that if he tells Kite, they'll never be able to speak naturally again. There'll always be the awkwardness between them. And he doesn't want that, ever.

'Yeah,' Kai agrees, and Rin sighs in relief. 'It's probably better to tell him yourself.'

Rin blanches.

*

next part

[johnston]

2007-11-06T18:29:44Z

STOP, DROP AND GO
by dynastic

+ + +

It’s Saturday.

"Yuuta-kun… We’re going to Rikkaidai today," Mizuki says as he bursts into Yuuta's room at ten o'clock in the morning.

"… Huh?" Yuuta murmurs sleepily, shying away from the disruption.

"No excuses." Mizuki slams the door shut.

+ + +

"Mizuki-san?" Yuuta asks suddenly after a few hours of simply sitting there.

"Yes, Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki answers distractedly, not turning around to face his kouhei.

"Why are we are we in the Rikkaidai locker rooms again?"

"To collect their data, of course. Why else do you think we’re here?" Mizuki quirks an eyebrow at his favorite kouhei and rests his camera on his lap.

Yuuta makes a face and puts his binoculars down. "Mizuki-san. I thought we had all of Rikkaidai’s data."

"We do, Yuuta-kun. This is just some - some fine tuning of the data I’ve already collected."

"Oh."

"Mm."

"Mizuki-san?"

"Yes?"

"What if someone comes in while we’re in here? We are in their locker room. I mean, isn’t it against the rules or s-"

"It’s not against the rules," Mizuki says abruptly, obviously lying.

"But what if they come in?"

"They won’t."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Do not question me."

"Mizuki-san?"

"Yes?"

"Are we just here to see Rikkaidai shower or something?"

Mizuki does not answer him.

Five minutes pass and Yuuta becomes impatient.

"Mizuki-san. I have to pee."

No answer.

"Mizuki-san. It is five o’clock. I have to go home for dinner. Nee-san is making pie. I really, really want to have some pie, Mizuki-san."

A hand waves in front of Yuuta‘s face, "Not right now, Yuuta-kun."

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta whines as he furrows his brow at his sempai.

"Shush."

"What?"

"Quiet," Mizuki tells him as he waves his free hand again in front of Yuuta’s face.

Yuuta scowls at this and is about to brush the older boy’s hand away when suddenly the door to the locker rooms slams open, banging into the wall with a loud clatter. Several people hurry inside with their tennis sneakers slapping on the hardwood floors; Yuuta feels his blood rush to the bottom of his feet.

Mizuki sits up on his knees with the binoculars poised over his eyes. This is all very exciting to him, watching people in their natural habitat - inside the tennis team locker room. He holds his breath as one by one, players find their respective cubby holes and start to strip off their sweaty tennis uniforms.

Yuuta looks away from the group of now-naked Rikkaidai players. He smells the sweat and hard work permeating off their bodies. How Mizuki-san can sit and watch a bunch of guys change is completely beyond Yuuta; vaguely, he wonders if his presence is absolutely necessary as Mizuki seems to be doing all the work in their "investigating."

The locker room door opens again and someone new walks in. Yuuta squints to see the newcomer

Suddenly, Yuuta hears Mizuki gasp and shift hastily in front of him, blocking his view. Yuuta frowns and slides back so he leans against the wall.

"Yo!" A voice calls out, resounding throughout the room.

"’Sup, Aka-chan?" Someone responds with a twinge of amusement in his voice.

"Don’t call me that!"

"Heh."

"Dick."

"Ooh, someone learned a new insult. Too bad he doesn‘t know how to use it."

"Shut up, Niou-sempai."

"Niou-kun, don’t insult Kirihara-kun - he doesn’t know any better."

"Tarundoru!"

Silence. Yuuta frowns a little more as he tries to remember who the heck is on the Rikkaidai regulars; he knows Mizuki has droned on and on about the various members and their interesting lives to him on a number of occasions. Yuuta is not surprised that he cannot remember anything Mizuki told him about Rikkaidai; it is not as if he listens all the time to him.

"Yuuta-kun," a voice hisses at him.

Yuuta turns around and looks at Mizuki. "What?

"We have to-"

"Oh ho! I do believe I have just found more than just dirty laundry," says an amused sneering voice.

Yuuta looks up and a silver haired person stares back at him with a large smirk on his face. Oh shit, he thinks to himself. He blinks but doesn’t respond to silver hair‘s statement.

"Oi, Sanada-fukubuchou! I think we’ve got some spies in here," the silver haired boy calls out.

Glancing frantically over at Mizuki, Yuuta gives him a "you-had-better-have-a-good-plan-to-get-us-out-of-here" look. Mizuki does not look back at him; instead, he is staring rather amusedly at the group of people now surrounding them.

Someone yanks back the laundry cart and Yuuta tries to pretend he is invisible. Better yet, back in his dormitory room, nestled in his bed and sleeping like a little baby.

But, oh no, he’s sitting on the floor of the Rikkaidai locker room with his crazy sempai - who’s just gotten themselves caught by some of its tennis team members - and he’s got a massive wedgie in the back of his pants from sitting on the hard floor.

Although, Yuuta would rather inhale Yanagizawa-sempai’s stinky tennis shorts after practice than admit it can be worse. It can always be worse.

The silver haired boy stoops down to their level and asks Mizuki, "Which school sent you guys?"

Mizuki says nothing and grits his teeth, obviously trying to think of a clever (or not so clever, as Mizuki’s plans tend to backfire) plan to get them out of here without dying an early death.

"Oh, not going to talk, are ya?" Silver Hair asks them rhetorically.

"They’re from St. Rudolph," a kid with bubble gum pink hair answers, pointing at the school emblem on Yuuta’s shirt.

Yuuta nods at this, feeling as if he could already sense the sinking pain of the consequences for their actions to come.

"I hope you realize that both of you are technically trespassing onto Rikkaidai school grounds. And into an area reserved for people belonging to the Rikkaidai tennis club," another person says.

"Tch," Mizuki murmurs while biting on his thumb and still trying to think of a plan.

"Stand up," the hat guy commands, obviously irritated by Mizuki and Yuuta’s presences.

Yuuta stands up and looks sheepishly at the floor. Really, this had not been his idea. He glances at the tall guy in the hat and figures it’s probably Rikkaidai’s captain.

"Heh. So, what do we do with these goons?" A boy with messy black curls with a large smirk on his face says to the taller guy wearing a hat.

"Let Yukimura deal with them," the tall guy says as he looks down at them with a face of utter annoyance.

Yuuta does not know who Yukimura is, but he hopes he is not a teacher or a coach. Or someone who has a connection with the nuns back at St. Rudolph and willingly tells them of his and Mizuki’s escapade.

"Deal with whom, Sanada?" A confused voice asks. Then, a blue haired guy steps out of the shadows with a white towel around his waist and a green headband in his hand. He stops a few feet from Mizuki and Yuuta, looking at them before saying, "Oh. I see we have some visitors. Or better yet, some trespassers."

Yuuta thinks that this must be Rikkaidai's captain. Judging by his appearance, he doesn’t look very scary or very threatening - especially if one considers who brought him there in the first place - and Mizuki-san can be really creepy when he wants to be.

Then Yukimura smiles at them, as if the whole situation entertains him. "You," he nods at Mizuki, "with the goofy perm. You’re Mizuki Hajime from St. Rudolph’s tennis team, yes?"

Mizuki blinks at Yukimura before giving him a simper of an answer. "Oh, so you know of my fame, Yukimura Seiichi?"

Yukimura raises an eyebrow at Mizuki. "Oh, I’ve heard of you alright, Mizuki Hajime-san." He glances at the guy in the hat for a moment before sliding his gaze back to Mizuki. "I’m not surprised you’re here, actually."

Mizuki folds his arms over his chest. Yuuta silently prays that Mizuki does not do anything remotely stupid at this point; he really, really does not want this sort of trouble on his near perfect permanent record,.

"Oh, is that so?" Mizuki asks Yukimura innocently.

Yuuta sees Mizuki reach into his pocket for a small slip of paper. He gulps and looks nervously about the room full of tall, muscled tennis players. They could kick my ass, Yuuta thinks, these crazy freaks.

"Yes, it’s very so, Mizuki-san," Yukimura says sarcastically. "Now, I assume, the infamous Mizuki Hajime-san knows the rules for trespassing on Rikkaidai grounds, hmm?"

Mizuki opens his mouth and then promptly closes it before giving Yuuta one of those looks. "I have a reason to be here, Yukimura-san," Mizuki says, his eyes focusing on a row of lockers nearby.

"Oh, really?" The hat guy asks them as he takes a step closer. "Then would you mind telling us so we don’t have to report you?" He looks at Mizuki with curious, yet suspicious eyes.

"I have a cousin who goes here," Mizuki states matter-of-factly. "He’s-" Mizuki clears his throat. "He’s in the tennis club - I was merely looking for him."

"What’s his name then?" the curly haired kid asks Mizuki.

"His name?" Mizuki repeats, sliding his eyes to look at the curly haired kid. "Ah, yes." Mizuki chews the inside of cheek and glances at Yuuta again with a surprisingly calm expression on his face.

Yuuta simply stares back at him, the desire to walk out of there pressing harder at him. The Rikkaidai people probably will not care that much if he just leaves and never comes back. Although, and Yuuta knows this, Mizuki-san will drag him back sometime or another in the future - regardless of Rikkaidai’s no trespassing policy - which may or may not actually exist because the Rikkaidai players probably made it up just so they’d leave and - okay, he’s thinking too much about this entire situation. After all, wasn’t it easier to grab Mizuki and drag him right through that locker room door?

"Well?" Curly Hair leans in to hear Mizuki’s answer; there is a smirk on his face and Yuuta can tell he is just waiting for his captain to throw them out. "Did you forget his name, princess?"

Mizuki raises an eyebrow and laughs coldly. Yuuta knows he knows that nobody calls his sempai a "princess" unless the unlucky bastard wants a death wish clearly; Curly Hair wants a death wish.

Mizuki clears his throat and gives Curly Hair that look before moving his gaze over to Yukimura again. "My cousin’s name is Hamada - Hamada Genki. He’s a third year," Mizuki says, his tone deadly sweet and firm.

Yukimura looks Mizuki over as if he is trying to decide whether he is lying or just passed gas - Yuuta hopes it is neither. "Oh?" He says quietly. "Hamada Genki is his name you say?" Yukimura turns to Hat Guy. "Sanada. Do we have a Hamada Genki in our club?"

Hat Guy ¾ Sanada adjusts the brim of his hat and then shakes his head. "Not that I can recall, Yukimura. Shall I have Renji check?"

"That will not be necessary, Sanada." Yukimura waves a hand. "I think Mizuki-san is lying anyway," he says with a sadistic smile.

Yuuta pretends that he’s asleep in his big, warm bed back at the St. Rudolph dorms…

+ + +

Yuuta opens his eyes and the Roger Federer poster stares back at him in an alien, omnipotent way. Sunlight streams in through the window and music blares from beyond the door. Something pokes him in the side and he looks over - Kaneda’s wide eyes look down at him.

"Oh, you’re awake," Kaneda says, quirking a smile. "Mizuki-sempai said you passed out on the return bus ride."

"Huh?" Yuuta blinks, then he recalls his location - his room back at the dorms. He glances around the neat room and wracks his brain, trying to remember how or why he made it back to St. Rudolph in one piece - he remembers Mizuki-san’s hand reach for his own and sitting together on the bus - but nothing else.

"Where’s Mizuki-san?" He asks the first thing pops into his head.

"I think he went back to his room." Kaneda moves away from him and plops down into his desk chair across from Yuuta. "He dropped you off and told me to watch you until you woke up." He shrugs and then swirls his desk chair around, facing his work desk instead of Yuuta.

Yuuta sits up, heaving a sigh. "Oh, then I’ll see him at dinner or something." He rubs his head and glances out the window. The dorm room he shares with Kaneda is on the third floor; there is not a whole lot of scenery aside from a few buildings in the distance and the blue-grey sky.

"Are you worried about something, Yuuta-kun?" Kaneda asks, his back still to Yuuta.

"Huh? No, no. I’m fine," Yuuta says, getting up from his bed and walking over to his closet. "Why do you ask?" He opens the door, pulling out a fresh pair of track pants and a clean t-shirt.

Kaneda just shrugs and opens out his biology textbook. "No reason."

"Right." Yuuta yanks off his uniform pants and puts on the track pants, struggling for a moment because he puts them on backwards at first and then finally he puts them on the proper way - tags in the back, dumbass. He puts the t-shirt on properly, though, and straightens himself in front of the door-length mirror hanging on the wall next to the closet.

"Going out?" Kaneda speaks as his eyes glance over at Yuuta, a pencil poises in his hand and he looks curious.

"No," Yuuta says, sitting back down on his bed. "What’s with all the questions, Kaneda-kun?" He asks the other boy, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

"No reason, Yuuta-kun." Kaneda shrugs again and turns back to his homework.

Yuuta flops back onto his pillows and sighs inwardly - his t-shirt is on backwards.

+ + +

It's Sunday.

Yuuta stumbles into the school cafeteria. He’s starving and the smell of pancakes wafts from the school kitchens and God, he’s really hungry. He sits down at one of the tables and yawns languidly - Sundays are his favorite day of the week because on Sundays he does nothing all day long and he’s perfectly fine with doing so, unlike his sempai, who thinks it’s¾

"Good morning, Yuuta-kun," a voice behind him says.

Yuuta’s thoughts dissipate as he glances over his shoulder and his eyes widen for a moment.

"Good morning, Mizuki-san." He almost groans knowing that Mizuki-san will make him do something productive today when he’d much rather lie around on his bed and eat pie.

"How’re you today?" Mizuki’s voice is cheerful; his wakeful blue eyes focus in on Yuuta’s sleepy grey eyes, as if to urge him to wake up more.

"Sleepy, Mizuki-san," Yuuta answers groggily, wanting to fall back asleep again, but his hunger drives prevents him from lying his head down on the table and closing his eyes.

"I see," Mizuki remarks, resting his hands in his lap. His eyes move away and he looks out the window.

Yuuta sits in silence beside him, unsure of what to say to him. His own eyes wander and his stomach growls, his thoughts lingering on how once he gets food, he’s going to lie on his bed for the next solid twelve hours and watch re-runs of Hana Yori Dango.

Idly, he recalls yesterday’s situation and wonders if Mizuki-san feels bad for the mishap - highly unlikely, considering Mizuki-san probably got the data ¾ if they were even there looking for data in the first place. Yuuta begins to think they weren’t. He doesn’t ask Mizuki-san, though.

"When is your history project due?" Mizuki asks.

Yuuta looks over at him. "Tuesday - I think."

Mizuki nods. "I assume that means you are going to work on it today - yes?"

Hesitation. "I wasn’t planning on doing it, no." Yuuta looks away. "Probably tomorrow or something."

"Oh." Mizuki’s voice becomes lower. "Procrastination isn’t a good habit, Yuuta-kun."

"Mizuki-san, you’re not my mother," Yuuta says gruffly. "I’ll get it done." His stomach grumbles and he can’t stand it any longer, so he gets up from the table. "I’m going to get breakfast," he mutters as he passes by Mizuki and gets into the breakfast line.

Yuuta shoves his hands into his track pants pockets and yawns again. The smell of pancakes gets stronger and his nose is overwhelmedwith the scent. His thoughts about Mizuki-san disappear as he picks up a lunch tray and slides it along the counter, while he tries to decide whether he wants orange juice or apple juice. He knows that Mizuki is watching him as he slowly skates down the breakfast line, the smell of pancakes more prominent than ever.

"Pancakes?" The breakfast woman asks him as he slides in front of her.

Yuuta nods at her and she puts three large slabs onto his plate while he grabs a little package of butter and a mini-container of maple syrup. He turns and faces the half-filled cafeteria; Mizuki’s vibrant purple polo shirt sticks out like a sore thumb and Yuuta hesitates before walking back to the table.

"Did you get me some?" Mizuki asks when Yuuta sits down.

Yuuta blinks. "You didn’t ask me to get you some, Mizuki-san," he answers confusedly.

Mizuki sighs and looks away in mock-frustration. "Whatever, Yuuta-kun."

"Mizuki-san…" Yuuta begins. He looks down at his tray of steaming hot pancakes, orange juice, and milk, then shoves the tray in front of Mizuki carefully. "Just have it. I wasn’t hungry anyway," he lies as he gets up from the table.

"I’m going to finish that history project now," he says with his back to Mizuki, heading for the exit.

Mizuki watches Yuuta leave the cafeteria out of the corner of his eye; the plate of warm pancakes in front of him sit uneaten.

+ + +

It’s Wednesday.

"Yuuta-kun, we’re going to Hyoutei today," Mizuki says during breakfast.

Yuuta almost chokes on his bacon. "What? Why?"

"No excuses." Mizuki resumes looking over his math notes.

+ + +

I really wish I peed before we left, Yuuta thinks as he and Mizuki-san creep past the security guards, cameras, and hounds into Hyoutei’s pristine school grounds.

Fountains, cherry trees, and neatly trimmed bushes line the various gyms, playing fields, swimming pools, and of course, tennis courts. Yuuta knows that they stick out because of their St. Rudolph uniforms - another thing Mizuki seems to forget about whenever they go anywhere - yet, nobody approaches them as they stride (Mizuki walking proudly in front) together towards Hyoutei’s locker rooms. He wants to ask why they’re even here to begin with, but Mizuki told him not to ask questions.

Instead, Yuuta stays quiet as they (Mizuki, really) pick the surprisingly complicated lock to the Hyoutei locker rooms, walking inside the freshly scented, large room. He looks around and notices the floors are buffered and shiny, no wavering stench of smelly tennis jerseys or even a speck of paper on the floor. Yuuta looks down at his beaten sneakers and hopes they don’t make marks on the nice, clean floor.

Mizuki’s spotless white sneakers flop quietly against the parquet squares floor. "Yuuta-kun, this way."

Yuuta looks up. "Um, I’m coming," he murmurs, speeding up his feet to catch up with Mizuki. "Mizuki-san, why are we-"

"Shush," Mizuki says, holding up a hand to quiet his kouhai. He crouches behind several identical laundry carts near the gleaming blue rows of lockers as the door to the clubhouse swings open.

Yuuta freezes up despite the fact that he’s crouching down beside Mizuki. He fondly remembers their last excursion to a rival school and he sincerely hopes Hyoutei won’t confront them so hostilely.

"They’re coming in," Mizuki hisses to Yuuta, tugging at his shirt sleeve. "Where are the binoculars?"

"Err." Yuuta grabs his school bag and rifles through it, trying to recall if he even brought the binoculars. "Hang on, I know they’re in here, Mizuki-san," he says, his frustration mounting - he knows that Mizuki will be angry if he doesn’t find his binoculars, the ones that his parents bought him for his fourteenth birthday.

"Yuuta-kun," Mizuki hisses again, finally looking over at Yuuta. "Where are my binoculars?"

"Why do we need them anyway?" Yuuta asks, still digging through his school bag. "We’re in close enough range to see them, aren’t w-"

"I’m flattered you want to see me up close, but visiting hours are after five o’clock," a amused voice interrupts.

Yuuta looks up and there’s the infamous Atobe Keigo standing three feet away from him, arms folded over his chest. He opens his mouth to respond but promptly closes it.

"May I ask why you’re here, Mizuki Hajime and Fuji Yuuta?" Atobe asks them.

Mizuki laughs, he laughs and stands up, brushing off his clothes even though there is no dirt on them. "No, you may not ask why we‘re here, Atobe Keigo," he says, trying not to smirk about his own impertinence.

"Still the same smartass from the prefecture tournament, aren't you? I don‘t date smartasses, Mizuki." Atobe says, moving the laundry cart from out in front of them. "Get out of here before I call security."

Mizuki looks venomous; his eyes narrow at Atobe, his fingers flex into fists, and he leans forward ominously (or not). He says nothing, just simply looks at Atobe with the most threatening face he can make.

Atobe stares back at Mizuki, their eyes lock in a maddening battle of The Blue Eyes. Mizuki doesn’t blink and neither does Atobe.

"There are scuff marks on my floors," Atobe says.

"They’re not your floors," says Mizuki.

"I paid for them." Atobe stares harder at Mizuki.

"I’m sure you did," Mizuki answers, his gaze refusing to falter against Atobe’s.

Yuuta can’t do anything else other than stay quiet - not that staying quiet won’t keep him from getting in any more trouble, despite the fact that this is all Mizuki’s doing. He wants to pipe up and say that they should just leave before Atobe’s personal body guards take them out. His school bag sits at his feet and he wants to pick it up just to distract himself from the situation for a minute.

"Well?" Atobe says, raising an eyebrow at the pair. "Why are you still here?" He refolds his arms over his chest, looking more impatient than before.

Then the locker room door slams open and several pairs of sneakers flip-flop across the floor - the rest of Hyoutei arrives at the scene.

"Oi, Atobe. What’s going on?" Shishido Ryou says, walking up to the three of them with Ohtori, Oshitari, Kabaji, and Mukahi behind him. He stops when he sees Mizuki and Yuuta. "Oh, it’s St. Rudolph," he sneers.

"Yes, it’s St. Rudolph, Shishido and they were just leaving," Atobe tells him, glaring in his direction. He turns his eyes back to Mizuki and Yuuta. "Aren’t we?"

Mizuki remains silent, blissfully silent, with his hands at his side.

Yuuta wishes that he’d simply stayed his bed that day and ignored whatever stupid, stupid thing Mizuki-san wanted him to do. Yes, if he had stayed in his bed, none of this would have happened. What’s worse, Yuuta thinks, is that Mizuki-san isn’t doing anything and-

"Kabaji, escort them off the premises."

"Usu."

+ + +

Yuuta collapses on his bed after he staggers through the door, exhausted from the trip to Hyoutei. His limbs ache and it is dark inside the room when he collapses on his bed. There is no sign of Kaneda at all and for a moment, Yuuta is glad that his roommate is not there.

He groans and rolls over onto his side, closing his eyes. His legs ache from walking home since he and Mizuki ended up missing the bus to get home after Kabaji-san escorted them off the Hyoutei grounds. He re-opens his eyes, sighs and looks out his window, the diminishing sunlight falling behind the horizon.

Today could not have been more embarrassing, Yuuta thinks. It’s embarrassing to go out with Mizuki-san; it’s embarrassing to be kicked out of places with him. Why do I have to go with him anyway? It’s not like any-

There’s a knock on the door and Yuuta sits up immediately. "Who is it?" He calls out to the door.

"Oh, Yuuta-kun, do you need to ask?" A voice answers impatiently.

Mizuki-san.

Yuuta sighs. "No. Come in, Mizuki-san."

The door opens and Mizuki steps inside the dorm room. He smiles pleasantly at Yuuta and then closes the door behind him. Mizuki is wearing his purple track suit, the one his sister bought him for last year‘s Christmas. "Are you ready for your night training?" He asks Yuuta; a finger in his hair twirls a lock of his black hair.

Yuuta blinks; he doesn’t recall anything about night training. "Umm, what night training?"

Mizuki frowns. "The night training you said you would start doing - we spoke about it when we were in lunch the other day, Yuuta-kun. Surely, you must remember this."

Night training, Yuuta forces himself to think, when had Mizuki-san said anything about night training? He sighs inwardly; the past days’ events blur in his mind and he figures that Mizuki-san probably had brought the idea up casually, only to never mention it to him again.

"Well? Mizuki asks him, tapping his foot. "We have to start now before the gym fills up and-"

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta begins, "we just got back from Hyoutei. Can’t we take the night off?" His eyes look hopeful and tired, wishing his senpai would just leave him alone for once.

Mizuki stares at Yuuta as if he told him to go jump off a bridge or eat dog poop, annoyed that anyone would suggest such a thing to him. "Take the night off? Take the night off?</i>" He sighs sadly as he stops twirling his hair. "Yuuta-kun, we’re burning daylight by sitting here. We have to train for the next season now that we have data on other t-"

"Mizuki-san, please."

Mizuki shuts his mouth, tightening it into a single line. He sucks in a breath and turns around to leave. "Fine. Be that way, Yuuta-kun," he murmurs, opening the door again and leaving the room. The door slams hard when he closes it behind him.

Yuuta sighs and flops back down onto his mattress, listening to it creak underneath his weight, when he notices that he’s wearing his t-shirt backwards. Again.

+ + +

Yuuta receives a note and a wrapped box on Thursday afternoon.

Yuuta-kun,

I apologize for acting so hostile towards you yesterday. Are we still on for Friday’s night training? See you tomorrow at practice.

Sincerely,

Mizuki

P.S. I hope you liked the homemade raspberry icing on the cupcakes.

The cupcakes taste better than his sister’s homemade pies - but only by a little bit.

+ + +

It’s Saturday.

"Yuuta-kun, we’re going to Seigaku today," Mizuki says casually during lunch.

Yuuta doesn’t answer him this time and just stares into his soup. There’s only one reason why they’re going there: Aniki.

+ + +

Yuuta remembers the last time he was at Seigaku - it was his last day there before he left for St. Rudolph and he had half-hoped it was his last time at Seigaku for possibly the rest of eternity.

He knows they’re only traveling to Seigaku to see Fuji Syuusuke, the tensai - his older brother. He dreads this meeting as he rides on the train with Mizuki. He doesn’t know what Mizuki wants to do when they get there and he doesn’t want to know.

They get off the train together, only a block from Seigaku’s grounds. It’s a quiet, sunny day - a perfect day for tennis - and Yuuta still dreads this.

Mizuki leads them to the front entrance of Seigaku, dragging them around to the back of the grounds to where the tennis courts are located. Practice for Seigaku is in full swing and Yuuta knows their appearance might not be welcome. Mizuki brings them over to a line of bushes.

"Now, Yuuta-kun, just wait here," Mizuki tells him, crouching down behind the greenery. "First of all…"

Yuuta tunes him out; instead scanning the area for his brother. Several matches are in progress, freshman practice their swings and collect balls, Tezuka-san yells orders at the regulars and then there’s his older brother; he stands there at one of the end of a court, ready to return a ball from the Echizen kid.

"Are you listening to me?" Mizuki asks, poking Yuuta in the side. "We have to create a diversion," he says.

Yuuta turns to look at him, his eyes blink in confusion. "A diversion?"

"Yes, a diversion." Mizuki nods at him. "So, here’s what we’re going to do…"

Yuuta tunes him out again as his attention focuses on the courts - his brother is gone. He frowns and scans the rest of the tennis courts. "Mizuki-san," he begins to pipe up, trailing off once he realizes that his brother probably went to go play on another court. He lies down on his back and looks up at the sky as Mizuki continues to ramble on in the background. His eyes close.

There’s an island - a snow-covered island. He’s walking along a white path lined with frosted palm trees that sway in the sweeping breeze. The smell of sand - snow-covered sand - rushes to Yuuta’s nose. It’s cold, so very cold and Yuuta shivers. Large piles of coconuts sit beneath the palm trees, their brown shells stand out against the icy ground. Yuuta shudders, the cold air trembles through his body and he sees a small figure isolated in the background, near the edge of the snow-covered shore. He stops to squint at the blurry figure - when something brown and hard flies towards him at an unstoppable speed…

"Yuuta?"

It’s a familiar voice - are the coconuts talking to him? Yuuta asks himself. There’s a break of light, Yuuta’s eyes burst open and in front of him sits his older brother. "Uh…Aniki…" He begins, sitting up.

"Hello, Yuuta," Syuusuke smiles down at him. "What’re you doing here?" He asks Yuuta, kneeling down beside him like a mother caring for a little child.

Yuuta rubs his eyes and looks at him properly. "Er, I was here with-"

"Me. He’s with me," someone finishes for him.

Mizuki-san.

"Oh?" Syuusuke turns around and faces Mizuki.

Yuuta face palms; a battle, he knows, will soon begin. Or more likely, Mizuki will do something embarrassing and Seigaku will kick them out in hopes that they never show up again. Yuuta wishes for the latter.

"Fuji Syuusuke," Mizuki purrs madly as a grin spreads across his face.

"Mizuki-kun, wasn’t it?" Syuusuke asks politely.

"Ah, that would be me, Fuji-kun." Mizuki twirls a lock of his curly, black hair.

"Yuuta, why are you here?" Syuusuke turns toward Yuuta, smiling his classic, enigmatic smile.

"We’re here to see you, obviously," Mizuki answers immediately before Yuuta can say anything.

Syuusuke raises an eyebrow, lip twitching. "And why is that, Mizuki-kun?"

"I want to play a re-match, Fuji-kun," announces Mizuki.

"The first time wasn’t enough?" Syuusuke’s eyes open for a moment, revealing his vibrant blue eyes, before closing quickly again.

"I’d like to play you again if that’s acceptable." Mizuki stares right into Syuusuke’s face, his confidence rides on his sleeve. "In fact, we should play now."

Syuusuke considers this, switching his gaze from Yuuta to Mizuki to his teammates playing happily in the background. "Alright, Mizuki-kun, I’ll play you."

The next twenty minutes are a blur to Yuuta. He remembers watching his older brother keep his serve against his senpai. He remembers his senpai promptly hitting a double fault and then losing his serve. He remembers the rest of Seigaku’s cheers boom through the entire court and he remains silent, routing for Mizuki inside the sanctity of his mind.

When it’s all over, Mizuki’s on his knees and his racket lies beside him on one side of the net, utterly defeated. Syuusuke stands on the other side of the net, composed and cool.

Yuuta waits for Syuusuke to say something impolite to Mizuki but he never does.

The rest of Seigaku watches as Mizuki rises from his knees, grabs Yuuta’s hand and walks away from the courts - leaving the binoculars by the bush.

+ + +

The train ride home is quiet and strangely peaceful. Yuuta sits besides Mizuki with his school bag on his lap. He looks out the dirty window at the passing city scenery, trying to find something interesting; he doesn’t find anything, though. Then some fat guy blocks his view, crowding rudely in front of him. He glances at Mizuki, just so he can look at something much nicer.

Mizuki is silent, oddly silent. Yuuta wonders if Mizuki is in one of his thinking moods, but he’s not twirling his hair or rubbing his chin in thought, so he’s not sure what Mizuki is doing. He’s just sitting there with a blank expression - something Yuuta doesn’t see very often with Mizuki.

Yuuta looks forward again - fat ass stands in front of him still - he sighs and fixes the school bag sitting in his lap. He wants to go home, sleep and pretend that he never got up today. And then possibly never look at his brother ever again.

Or perhaps he’ll move to Antarctica and live with the penguins in an igloo - alone.

The train stops for a minute and more people pile on, squishing into the tight confines of the car. Yuuta holds his breath and plays with the zipper on his school bag anxiously, as if he’s just waiting for something - a sign, something that will break this silence.

"Yuuta-kun… I want you to come home with me during winter break," Mizuki says suddenly, breaking the silence between them finally. He’s looking at Yuuta; his blue eyes are soft and serene, unlike any other look he’s ever given him.

Yuuta stops and looks over at Mizuki. For just a moment, his heart speeds up and he knows, he knows that this isn’t an order - it’s a request, an invitation.

Then it really hits him. Yuuta realizes something as his heart races a little and the train bumps along its track - he realizes that his senpai simply cares; he cares enough to let Yuuta watch him embarrass himself in front of others; he cares enough to help Yuuta when he needs help; he cares enough to apologize to him because their friendship means something. Yet, it takes over five thousand words, three rival schools, ten cupcakes, a history project and two backwards t-shirts for Yuuta to realize this. Yuuta wants to say "yes" to his senpai. It’s an invitation to continue their friendship and after all, nothing could be worse than having - no, nothing could be better than having Mizuki-san as a senpai.

"I’d like that, Mizuki-san," Yuuta says, meeting his gaze finally.

Mizuki smiles at him. "I knew you’d say ‘yes,’ Yuuta-kun."

Yeah, Yuuta’s sure that no matter how many embarrassing things that he and Mizuki do, how many times they get into trouble, or how many tennis matches they lose, there really is nothing worse than Yanagisawa’s smelly gym socks after tennis practice.

Okay, maybe there’s the apocalypse, but Yuuta figures that won’t happen for a while and Mizuki-san will keep him company through it all anyways.

[hadow]

2007-11-06T18:26:52Z

THE NIGHT SOCIETY

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Mizuki cringed upon entering the apartment, barely crossing the threshold before a look of horror crept over his face. Kirihara wasn’t paying all that much attention and so, didn’t notice the dark-haired man’s distress until the screaming started, “What in the hell is this!?!”

Kirihara turned around, startled and confused. “Huh?”

“This-this-this fucking room! You can’t seriously fucking live in this-this filth!”

Kirihara looked around himself, a little confused, “It’s not all that bad, really.”

“Not all that . . . not all that bad?!” Mizuki shook his head violently, “Whatever, just, whatever.” He was holding both hands up as if to push the room away from himself, and his eyes were firmly closed.

Kirihara shrugged a little self consciously and admitted silently that perhaps his room was just a little bit of a mess after all. “Would you like to sit down or something,” Kirihara asked, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he attempted to change the subject.

“No!” Mizuki shouted eyes snapping open at once before he took a deep calming breath allowing them to slip closed once more. “I mean thanks but no thanks.”

“My bedroom’s not as messy if you’d like to sit down there,” Kirihara offered bracing himself for the sexual barb he knew would be thrown back in his face.

The queen shuddered, “If I wasn’t quite so turned off by this pigsty you call home I might take that as an offer, as it is, I would rather die than commit any type of sexual act in this.”

Kirihara didn’t have the energy to be offended he just shrugged and threw himself down on his couch wincing as something jabbed harshly into his lower back. He reached an arm around and pulled out the offending object, only mildly surprised to have found a DVD case to the movie Suicide Club. He tossed the case to the side and dragged his eyes back over to Mizuki. “So, you gonna talk anytime soon?”

Mizuki opened his eyes and nodded shortly, “Where was I?”

“I don’t know; bullshitting something about fringers?”

“Ha ha, fucking hilarious smart ass. If you’re sceptical at fringers I hardly see the point of continuing any further.”

“Touchy little bitch, I saved you from a bullet in the head a little while ago, a little respect and gratitude might be nice.” Kirihara had always suffered from a bit of a short temper and it was beginning to show through.

“Fuck, whatever, sorry. I’ve just never had to explain this shit before. It’s not that fucking easy, okay?” Kirihara nodded, feeling his temper back down a little bit to a more manageable level. “About thirty years ago a corporation called ‘Oujisama’ appeared in Osaka . No one really knew what it did, or why it was there. It was a bit of a mystery,” the dark-haired queen began, grabbing that piece of hair once more and twining it around his finger again and again. “Within the year it had several branches - Yokohama , Kyoto , and even one here in Tokyo . Still, no one knew what they were all about. They never advertised, and never hired. A chairman for the company would sometimes go out to the big charity get-togethers but no one could find out what he was hiding. Some people speculated black-market arms dealings, or drugs, but it was something else altogether.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Kirihara asked, intrigued despite himself.

“I’ll explain if you’ll be silent.” Kirihara nodded and made himself more comfortable on the couch. He had a hunch that this would take a while.

“So what was this ominous something else?”

“Death. Or, rather, the cure for it.”

“That’s bullshit,” Kirihara snapped, temper flaring again.

“Quite.”

Kirihara blinked, startled; he obviously hadn’t expected Mizuki to agree.

“It was what the government believed was going on, though, and what the many people employed believed for a while too. Sakaki Tarou however, did not have that benevolent of a purpose. Death is too big an industry to cure, like cancer or aids.

“Sakaki fancied himself a creator, a composer of sorts, detailing the way the world was to be played. Three years after the first Oujisama Corp. building was erected, it fell in a grand and spectacular way.”

Here was something Kirihara vaguely remembered hearing about in history class. A big corporation in Osaka had been bombed, just a year before he was born. No one was ever charged with the bombing, and over seven hundred people had been killed or wounded as two entire city blocks had been destroyed in the backlash of the massive blast.

“The rest of the company soon packed up, abandoned their offices and fled, leaving nothing behind. At least that’s what it seemed like.

“Almost all of what I have just explained is public knowledge, or at least something you can find out with the right connections. The rest . . . well, let me tell you now, it’s not so believable. Under normal circumstances, I would be a dead man for even considering telling you any of this. As it is, we’re now both on the shit list. The only reason I’m telling you anything is because you did save me back there and you at least deserve to know what you’re up against, got that?”

“I—” Both men jumped when music suddenly sounded from Kirihara’s pocket. Cell phone. Shit.

“Gimme a sec, okay?” Kirihara murmured, digging out the phone ignoring the pissed off look he was receiving from the dark haired man.

As soon as the phone flipped open, Kamio’s annoyed voice snapped into his ears, “Fucking hell Akaya where did you go!? You didn’t have to just leave! Atobe didn’t know about Midori, you know that!”

The redhead sounded distressed and upset and utterly guilty and Kirihara knew instantly that Kamio thought that he was to blame for Kirihara leaving the club. “Calm the fuck down Akira, it’s no big deal. That wasn’t why I left anyway, I—”

The phone was abruptly snatched out of his hands, “Nfu, Akira baby,” the dark haired man suddenly breathed into the phone and, despite himself, Kirihara found himself reacting to that tone, husky and far sexier than any woman he had ever been with. “Do you think you could maybe call Akaya back later, he’s a little busy right now.”

Kirihara gulped and Mizuki punched the end button on the phone flinging it back at Kirihara with a scowl. “No. More. Interruptions.”

The black haired queen was like a viper, sibilant and beautiful one moment then sinking its fangs into you the next. Kirihara shook his head to clear the image.

Mizuki waited a minute until he deemed Kirihara ready to hear the rest, then continued. “Sakaki Tarou died in the explosion that leveled his building. But ultimately he succeeded in both creation and destruction. The men and women of the Oujisama Corporation created a disease. The disease has no known cure, it comes and goes and infects whoever it pleases. Its symptoms have been associated with a plethora of other diseases and change with its host. It wears away those infected, hollows them out and, in the wake of that destruction, it rebuilds. Those infected become something altogether not human.”

At that, Kirihara snorted skeptically and Mizuki glared, his eyes fierce.

“You don’t have to believe me, you just have to listen,” the queen snapped.

“Alright, alright.”

“They appear mostly human,” Mizuki continued, “but they aren’t. They went into hiding to preserve their secret. With their power they can more than control the world; however, their less than generous population limits them. They are called, by fringers, the Night Society. As with human society there are law abiding citizens and gangs and government, but those running the show are those that Sakaki himself created and infected and they don’t exactly have fuzzy feelings for humanity.

“These are the people I work with. Or at least the people I used to work with.”

“I don’t even know where to begin picking apart the bullshit.”

“Fuck off, you wanted to know, and I told you, I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not.”

Kirihara frowned, “Then why did you bother telling me in the first place if you knew I wasn’t going to believe you?”

“Because you deserved to know, okay?! It won’t matter much anyway, because in about twenty minutes, I’m sure we’ll both be dead.”

“You bluff,” Kirihara snapped out, not all too confidently.

Mizuki’s hands rested on Kirihara’s hips suddenly and the man’s all too pretty face was right in his, angry breaths from the queen fluttering against his lips. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” the man snarled, pushing closer so their noses touched. Kirihara’s breath hitched and he tried to back away from the intense look the other man was focusing on his, but found he had nowhere to go. This fact worked to Mizuki’s advantage as there was no way to escape when the man suddenly dove those last few inches forward and sealed their lips together.

Kirihara melted into it almost instantly, guy or not, the queen was an amazing kisser. Tongue, teeth and lips all worked together in marvelous harmony. A moan caught in his throat as he was suddenly straddled, the slighter mans knees on either side of his hips, hands in his hair, tilting his head back. Kirihara abruptly felt a hardness pressing at his stomach and that quickly brought him back to himself. He pushed at the other man, breaking the kiss, but the black-haired queen was undeterred. A hot tongue swiped wetly at his jaw and down the column of his neck, stopping briefly to allowing teeth to nibble expertly at his Adam’s apple.

Kirihara was quickly forgetting the reasons why this was wrong, why a guy shouldn’t be touching him-—ohgodrightthere. His back arched slightly as he felt delicate fingertips tracing the zipper of his jeans. He bit his lip not to make a sound as those same fingertips nimbly unzipped his fly and slipped into his boxers. This shouldn’t be happening. It wasn’t right. He had to stop this. He opened his mouth to protest at the same time the door to his apartment flung open with enough violence to shatter the frame.

Mizuki’s hand slid out of his pants, and the slim man turned around on his lap. “Woops, guess there wasn’t any time for fun.”

The man standing in the door was eerily unlike anything Kirihara could have expected. Some old guy in a suit standing at the door with an automatic, would not have been out of place. The man standing at his doorway was however, neither old, nor holding any visible weapon. The only think that even remotely fit the image was what looked to be a scanner hooked on his ear and attached to a rectangular lens across the guys left eye. Kirihara had watched enough action movies in his time to be able to identify at least this.

There was no suit. A white wife beater. Black slacks. Nothing at all like a man sent to kill. The only thing to indicate he was capable of such a thing was the door, still off its hinges and lying, almost consumed, on his burgundy carpet.

It happened faster than Kirihara’s eyes could catch. The man was slouched against the wall, a vicious smile on his face and the next he was grabbing Mizuki by the throat and all but throwing the man across the room. The mystery man’s eyes swept over Kirihara once, apparently deeming him not to be a threat before focusing on Mizuki.

The queen was hastily trying to regain his feet not bothering to brush off the candy wrappers which had stuck to his skin as he tumbled on top of them.

Throwing a man all that way, even one as slight as Mizuki, was no small feat and this was fucking ridiculous. The fucking bastard didn’t even say a word. He was just advancing on the dazed queen.

Before Kirihara could even think about what he was doing he grabbed an empty beer can and threw it at the intruder’s head. It hit right on target. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he snarled, hardly noticing the incredulous look he was receiving from the startled queen.

The intruder laughed and faster than Kirihara could react, had him pinned to his own sofa, one hand on his throat, squeezing, the other slamming into the side, which he had all but forgotten until now, was still injured. Blood began to wet the man’s fingers, which he brought up to Kirihara’s lips. “No games here kid. Just death. Cooperate, and I’ll make sure you die quick,” the man paused and a messy grin suddenly lit his face, “Fuck with me, and you’ll only wish I would kill you.”

The pressure on his throat eased; perhaps the man wanted some sort of response. There was no way he was getting anything but a kick in the balls though. Kirihara inhaled a gasp and forced his knee up into the bastard’s groin. The man winced only marginally but it was enough for his to be able to throw the guy off him and scramble to his feet. His sight was clouding again, red suffusing his vision. He knew from experience that the red was in his eyes now too. He didn’t know why that happened, or what caused it, but when it happened Kirihara found it hard to restrain himself, to hold himself back in a fight.

The pain in his throat and in his side dulled a mere throb in the background of his mind as he readied himself for the retaliation that was sure to come.

It never did.

One minute the son-of-a-bitch was on the floor the next he was on his feet pulling at his jaw to look him more firmly in the eyes.

“Akaya?”

previous part

[hadow]

2007-11-06T18:26:41Z

THE NIGHT SOCIETY

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

“You’d better fuck off for this, kid,” one of the men snarled at Kirihara, suddenly pushing him hard towards the mouth of the alley. The woman’s eyes flicked towards him at those words, seeming to say ‘Why aren’t you helping me? Can’t you see I’m just a helpless innocent?’

Kirihara highly doubted this woman was anything even close to an innocent; however, he couldn’t just walk away, not now that she was looking at him. Fuck, it was not his night.

Without a whisper of warning Kirihara let his fist fly, slamming into the side of one guy’s face. The man groaned, but recovered quickly and Kirihara just barely dodged a punch to the gut. A familiar rush of adrenaline filled him and a film of red washed over the dim alley. He grabbed the man’s wrist as he tried to recover from the missed punch and snapped the brittle thing. The man cried out again and another, having finally recovered from the shock of violence, rushed at him. This man had a knife, as did the other coming from the other side.

These guys were not just amateurs with pretty toys and Kirihara had no formal training in fighting. Even still, he had damn good instinct and he always knew where to hit. A kick to the kneecap sent one of the men down before even reaching Kirihara. He didn’t have time to move away from the other’s blade, but Kirihara dodged just enough that it didn’t reach its mark in his stomach but instead slid along his side, opening a deep gash that would surely need stitches. Not even feeling the scratch, Kirihara used the man’s momentum to send him to his knees, kneeing him in the jaw as the man tried to stand.

Suddenly he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun and he stilled immediately. With the red film still permeating his vision and his blood still pounding in his ears, he wasn’t near as frightened as he should have been. He saw the man’s finger begin to squeeze the trigger and all he felt was detached. Abruptly, sound and sense rushed back to him, and he found himself gaping as the man with the gun went down hard, clutching his crotch from where a stilettoed foot had found its mark.

“Are you a retard?” The woman suddenly snarled, clutching his shirt and pulling him toward the mouth of the alley. “Don’t just fucking stand there, do you fucking want to be shot? Fuck, should have grabbed the gun, too late now, they’ll be recovering soon.”

The woman seemed to rather actively be babbling to cover her fear. They were almost at the door of the club once again, Kabaji mutely standing guard against the massive line that trailed down the street; scantily dressed people just praying to be let inside the highly popular club.

Kirihara could hear, just above the chatter of the waiting crowd, noises from the alley. He wondered if they would be shot in such an open place and decided he didn’t want to risk it.

“Oi Kabaji!” He snapped, grabbing the woman’s wrist from his shirt and beginning to pull her this time. He didn’t often talk to the hulking man, but if the bouncer was surprised he showed no sign of it. “Let us in.”

To his surprise, the man stepped aside with a gruffly uttered “Usu,” much like the one he gave his employer at every request. Kirihara shot the man a briefly grateful look as he dragged the woman into the low lights and throbbing music of the club.

“The bouncer,” Kirihara shouted into the woman’s ear, “Won’t let suspicious guys like that into this place. We’re safe for now.” She nodded warily, eyes darting about herself, with the air of one too used to unpleasant surprises.

The woman pulled herself up onto her tiptoes suddenly, pressing her lips to his ear and speaking just barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Is there somewhere private we can go,” she paused, “so we can talk?”

Kirihara shook his mind out of the gutter and nodded, leading her off the dance floor and towards the bathrooms, stopping in front of the door to the men’s room, suddenly realizing this was not Kamio and there was no way he could bring the beautiful woman into a men’s public washroom. To his surprise, she seemed to have anticipated his destination and pushed past him into the washroom.

Kirihara followed her, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain to a few half drunk fags what a woman was doing in their washroom. Luckily, the room was deserted, a rarity that made Kirihara a little nervous right now. He flicked the lock behind him, hoping it wouldn’t be taken the wrong way.

The woman was smiling at him her grin predatory and for half a second, Kirihara wondered if it wasn’t all an elaborate trap set by one of the many people he had pissed off. Then he had no more time to think as the woman pressed herself against him, prying open his mouth and sliding her tongue inside. If there was one thing to be said for her, it was that she knew how to kiss.

He moaned as she plundered his mouth, tugging on his wild black hair to better angle his head. Kirihara’s arms came up involuntarily encircling the woman’s shoulders and trailing down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. His hands on her back froze and he pulled his head away recovering quickly enough to push the startled creature away.

“You’re a . . . a guy!”

The woman—man, the man blinked, startled before smirking, “Of course. You didn’t honestly think a woman could look this good, did you?”

Kirihara just gaped at him caught completely off guard and the wo—the man took this as his chance to step forward again, pressing lips softer than any girls against his in a second heated kiss that, Kirihara now noted, tasted a lot like cherries. It took him a moment to process this fact but when he had, he once again pushed the other man away with violence. His eyes wanted to deceive him. The black haired man looked nothing like a male. His eyes were beautifully shaped, accented and made beautifully large by the makeup he wore. Kirihara knew as much about makeup as he did guns and so he couldn’t even begin to guess what he was wearing, he just knew it made his dark blue eyes captivating and feminine.

The man was fine boned with a delicate structure, only the slightest curve to his hips, an elegantly draped black shirt giving him the illusion of breasts. Long, pale legs were smooth and free of hair, toned just enough that they looked like an invite to run ones hands up the length of them, up and under the skirt that fell about his creamy thighs, up to the hidden secret within that would reveal he was not what he seemed to be.

Kirihara shook those thoughts out of his head and swore loudly, “Fuck.” It made him feel slightly better about his situation so he did it again, “Fucking hell, I can’t believe I picked up a fucking queen!”

The guy’s eyes darkened, noticeably, “Got a problem with that?” He asked just a little too politely.

“I’m not gay alright, thanks, but no thanks, “Kirihara snapped, ignoring the other mans words, “I mean I’ve got plenty of friends who are gay, but not me, okay?”

The man rolled his eyes and touched Kirihara’s chest, dragging his fingers lightly across the fabric, a ghost of a touch on his skin. “Calm down,” he soothed, “It’s not like I’m going to force you to fuck me. It’s actually a relief that you’re straight, I don’t think I’m much up for another round tonight. So calm down, your manly virtue is safe. We came here to talk, so talk, I won’t kiss you again.”

Kirihara nodded numbly, “Can’t believe you’re a queen,” he muttered, unable to stop himself.

The dark haired man rounded on him in an instant. “If you want to keep your nuts intact you will stop calling me a queen. My name is Mizuki Hajime; you better not fucking forget it.”

A boy’s name. Kirihara shouldn’t have been surprised but he was.

“Sorry, m’Kirihara.”

“Are you a movie star?”

Kirihara cocked his head, confused, “Movie star?”

“Generally only movie stars have only one name.”

Fuck that guy was irritated; Kirihara must have offended him pretty bad by calling him a queen. Or maybe it was something else, Kirihara sucked at trying to figure women out, and though he might have a cock, Mizuki was more a woman in Kirihara’s mind than a man.

“Kirihara Akaya.”

“So then, Akaya, why’d you help me out? We’re you figuring on getting laid?”

Fuck this guy was blunt, at any other time though, Kirihara would have undoubtedly answered with the positive, as it was, that hadn’t really been the reason, although he had been sorely tempted during that first amazing kiss. “I couldn’t just walk away,” he finally answered, “Had you guys stayed at the end of the alley where I couldn’t see you I wouldn’t have bothered and you’re head would probably be spattered on the bricks right about now,” Mizuki tensed, “As it is, I helped you so I think the one who should be asking the questions is me and you should be down on your knees thanking me instead trying to interrogate my reasoning.”

Mizuki lost that tense look and laughed, a throaty breathy sound that had Kirihara shivering just the slightest bit; guy or no guy the other knew how to sound sexy. “There are a lot of ways I can think of to thank you while I’m on my knees.”

Kirihara blushed and backed up a step, throwing out his arm as if to ward off the black haired man even though Mizuki made no move to advance. “Is there something wrong Akaya?” The man asked far too innocently.

“You said you wouldn’t—”

“And I won’t,” Mizuki said suddenly serious and Kirihara could swear he had never seen a creature of such mercurial moods. “You said you had questions. Ask them.”

“You’ll answer?”

“To the best of my ability, yes.”

“Who were those men?” The man grew somewhat twitchy at the question and once again Kirihara got a vivid reminder of the old English gangster movies.

“It’s difficult to explain. I’d say you’d be better off not knowing if I wasn’t aware of the fact that in four hours they will likely know everything there is to know about you.”

Kirihara started, not quite sure he had heard right, “How?”

“Hun, they have more resources than you could possibly imagine.”

Kirihara shook his head, “Who are they?”

“Would you believe me, if I told you, the city you see, is only half the full picture?”

“If I knew what the hell you were talking about . . . probably not,” Kirihara answered truthfully, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”

“This club, its run by Atobe Keigo right?” Kirihara nodded cautiously and Mizuki continued, “Atobe is a fringer, one of many in the city right now. Not totally unaware of what’s going on, but not deeply involved. You on the other hand, seem to be completely unaware of us, an outsider of sorts. Do you follow?”

“Uhh . . . by follow do you mean, have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“At this point it doesn’t matter.” Abruptly the door shifted forwards catching on the lock and both men fell silent, staring at the door, even Kirihara who wasn’t quite sure why they had to be so secretive.

“Oi! Whoever’s in here better stop having sex and open the door right the fuck now! I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse,” a voice called drunkenly from behind the door.

Mizuki calmly breezed past him, unlocking the door and opening it smoothly. “Sorry pal,” he smirked lecherously, “you know how it is.” The man looked past the dark haired queen to Kirihara, who stood awkwardly by the sinks.

The man returned the smirk with equal fervour. “’Course I do, doesn’t stop me from needin’ a piss.”

“By all means.”

The man brushed past Mizuki and over to one of the urinals, wasting no time dropping his pants. An awkward silence followed, broken only by the slight moans of relief as the drunk pissed. When the man finally stumbled out, Kirihara noticed a lot of tension had drained from the black-haired man. The man’s hand went up, twirling a piece of hair through his fingers endlessly in what seemed to be a calming gesture.

“Mizuki?”

“Huh,” the man looked truly startled as if he had forgotten Kirihara was there altogether. “Oh, sorry, I was just,” he shook his head, “Never mind, this is not the place for this conversation, is there anywhere we could go to be uninterrupted?”

“My apartments down the street,” Kirihara answered without thinking. He only realized what a stupid thing it had been to say after the words were out of his mouth.

The black-haired man smirked, twining that same lock of hair around his finger once more. “Alright, that sounds fine for now.”

“For now?”

“I’ll explain everything I can when we get there, I promise,” Navy eyes caught Kirihara’s own green ones and the taller boy couldn’t help but shiver.

previous part
next part

[hadow]

2007-11-06T18:26:30Z

THE NIGHT SOCIETY

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

When he woke up again it was dark and it felt like there was a terrible beast trying to break out of his head. He groaned upon coming to consciousness and slapped a palm against his forehead as if to slam the beast back, not surprisingly, it didn’t help. He staggered to his feet and the world tilted off balance, his stomach heaving and rolling. His bladder was uncomfortably full too, so he decided that the bathroom was most definitely the best course of action right now.

He hissed at the florescent lights that he had left on inside the room and turned them off, cursing as he discovered how difficult it was to manoeuvre around the cramped bathroom in the dark. He ended up having to turn the lights on once more, lest he miss the toilet all together, and he squinted and grumbled, though it wasn’t too unbearable.

After a quick piss, he flipped open the cabinet behind his mirror, snatched a bottle labelled in English with the word Advil. He dumped a few in his palm, and swallowed them, wincing only slightly as they went down. The bottle promised him relief of headaches and minor aches and pains in just a half hour. At least that was what Kirihara had been told it said. For all he knew, it could say, warning: contains arsenic and severe biological toxins and should not be taken at any time. He was absolute pants at English after all, but Kamio had brought these over once, they had been a gift from Ibu obviously, Kamio was just as bad at English as he was. Kirihara had stowed them away in this cabinet planning to never use them. However he had run out of his usual stuff over a week ago and hadn’t been out to buy more, hence, he was stuck with these. He hoped to hell they worked.

A quick look at his alarm clock in the bedroom declared the time to be 8:09pm. He cursed and began digging through his closet to finds some clean clothes. They were harder to find than he had expected, he supposed though, that it had been nearly two weeks since he last did a laundry.

His usual clubbing pants, made of buttery soft white leather that was oh so comfortable, were sadly not an option tonight; he had spilled something on them the last time he had gone out and they quite plainly needed a good and thorough wash. Some people, he knew, went all out at the clubs, makeup and glitter and all kinds of fruity colours; however that was only for you if you really wanted to get noticed. Kirihara desired no such attention, preferring to lurk in the shadows chugging a stiff drink and letting the music and smells of the club wash over him.

Finally, he found a pair of suitable black jeans, tighter than his usual baggy fit and red t-shirt that was slightly fancier than the rest of the shirts in his wardrobe. He also found a pair of questionably clean socks that he pulled on before beginning a hunt for his sneakers. He found them surprisingly quickly, discovering them perched atop a mound of dirty clothes on his coffee table. Another beer and he was all set to go. He didn’t own a car, but the club wasn’t too far from where he lived, so he planned to walk.

He grabbed his cell—fully charged now—and his keys, locking the door behind him as he went.

Once outside, he dialled Kamio, hoping the redhead had his phone turned on. The other picked up on the third ring, “Where the fuck are you, Akaya!?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t get all pissy about it, it’s not like you specified a time or anything,” Kirihara snapped back, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt.

“I know,” Kamio sounded petulant, “but I thought—”

“You thought wrong then. Don’t worry about it. I’m coming, I’ll be there in about ten minutes actually, so you can calm the fuck down, are you even inside yet?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, of course, I’m not waiting outside for you in this weather, its fucking freezing, I felt the phone going off though, dove into the washroom, thought if we were going to argue it would be better if we could hear each other.” Well, at least that explained why the other end was so quiet, the bathrooms were usually fairly soundproofed so that only a few threads of music could actually leak through, a respite for those not drunk or drugged enough to be able to handle the booming tunes.

“Shows what you know Akira, I’d much rather hear nothing of an argument.”

There was silence for a moment, Kamio obviously remembering that Kirihara had just recently broken up with his girlfriend of several months, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, just make sure your sorry ass is outside to meet me in a few minutes, you know that goddamn bouncer fucking hates me.”

Kamio laughed, “Kabaji? You’ve got to be kidding me! Mindless drone that he is, I doubt he hates anyone.”

“You just say that cause you’re fucking his boss,” Kirihara replied crudely, not even needing to see the other man’s face to know he was blushing wildly. “Don’t know what you see in that prissy ponce anyway.”

“Fuck off,” Kamio snapped, more than touchy about his boyfriend. Kirihara still didn’t know how they’d met, or how they’d gotten together, though he had known from the start that Kamio was well and truly gay, although it had been quite awkward when nearly three months after they had first become friends Kamio had tried to come out him. The redhead had had no idea that Kirihara had known all along and had stuttered out his quiet confession turning beet red and proclaiming his understanding if Kirihara no longer wanted to be friends - which was, of course, ridiculous.

Kirihara had known a fair number of people that batted for the other team sort of speaking, he had even suspected it of a few of his senpaitachi in junior high, but there was no way at the time for Kamio to know that.

Anyway, this thing of his with the stinking rich Atobe Keio was more recent. Secretly, Kirihara hoped it wouldn’t last. Kamio normally had better taste than that stuck-up, arrogant brat, but something told Kirihara that Atobe was not a fling, that he was here to stay. For the time being, at least.

“Anyway, I’ll be there in just a minute, okay?”

“Yah, I guess I’ll wait for you, but you owe me one. Can’t believe I’m freezing my bits off for you,” Kamio grumbled, before hanging up.

Kirihara chuckled flipping the phone shut, stuffing it and his hands into his pockets. Kamio was right, it was cold out here, but there was no way he was going back to the apartment for his jacket now.

He picked up his pace and was nearing the entrance soon after. As he approached he could clearly see a shock of red hair by the doors, bouncing up and down just slightly.

“Took you long enough,” Kamio snapped irritably once Kirihara was within earshot.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You’ve been drinking,” the redhead accused.

“And you haven’t? Fuck, just lighten up Akira.”

Kamio sighed, “Sorry Akaya, I know you’ve had a bad day, I’m just being a brat I guess.”

“Lets not talk about that,” Kirihara snapped bitterly, “Lets just get completely plastered and forget today ever happened.”

“Is that all you ever think of?”

“No, sometimes I think about sex. God maybe that’s what I need, a nice solid fuck might help me forget.”

Kamio shook his head, his cheeks tinged pink. Kirihara laughed, “You’re such a prude Akira.”

“Slut,” Kamio retorted, almost playfully.

Kirihara rolled his eyes and Kamio grabbed his arm, dragging him past the stone guardian that was the club’s bouncer and into the heat and pulsing lights of the building. Kamio shivered as soon as they were inside, eyes lighting up and coming alive with the music. The redhead was hardly seen without his iPod and there was rarely a time the music wasn’t loud enough to hear even when he was wearing his headphones. Places like this were pure heaven for people like him.

Already Kamio’s body was swaying and moving to the rhythm. Knowing him, Kirihara doubted the redhead even knew what song was playing. That never really mattered to Kirihara either. As it was Kirihara vaguely recognized not the song, but the singer; Gackt. A song he hadn’t yet heard, but that could just because he never listened to the radio.

“Are you going to dance?” Kirihara could barely hear the other man screaming over the music but he knew what he was trying to say. He shrugged, eyes trailing over to the bar and giving his friend a sheepish grin.

Kamio rolled his eyes, but followed him to the bar, politely declining Kirihara’s offered drink once there. “You owe me a dance before the night is out you know,” The redhead screamed, trying to be heard over the music.

“Like that won’t ruin my chances to score tonight.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure you could have any man you wanted,” Kamio teased.

“Ha ha, the cock and balls club is all well and good for you, but tits are more my thing.”

Kamio made a face like he had tasted something unpleasant, “Whatever, I’m going to dance, I’ll be back in a bit. You’ll be here, right?”

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving the booze.” Kirihara chuckled as Kamio swatted his arm and disappeared into the crowd.

He sighed, alone again, or as alone as one can get when in the midst of a throng of people. He had only knocked back a few shots when he felt someone approaching him from behind and he tensed. This was a nice club, one of the nicest ones in town, and the only one where the gay, straight and bi could effectively mingle, and hit on each other without being persecuted for their choices. It tended to mean, for Kirihara at least, getting hit on by either gender without fail every time he was here. At the moment, he wasn’t sure if his frazzled nerves could take either gender’s attentions.

He had told Kamio that he might feel better after getting laid, that was the last thing he wanted though.

To his surprise the person behind him was not a waifish female, or a brawny boy looking for a dance, maybe a couple drinks and a quick fuck in one of the club’s private rooms. It was none other than the club owner himself, down off his high horse to mingle with the commoners. Or, more likely, to find his boyfriend.

“Where’s Akira?” Atobe snapped, not even bothering to address Kirihara by name.

“Where do you think, princess?” He saw the diva’s left eye twitch but the other man said nothing, Kirihara gestured to the dance floor, “He’s out there.”

“Would it kill you to keep an eye on him?” Atobe sighed, slipping into a seat next to Kirihara, obviously having decided braving the crowd to look for the exuberant redhead was too much effort and that his best chance of finding the other man was to stick with Kirihara.

“I’m not his keeper, Besides, he can look after himself.”

“Ah.”

Atobe shut up after that, ordering from the bartender what had to be just about the gayest drink Kirihara had ever seen, and settling in to wait.

Kirihara sighed exasperatedly, more than a little glad to see the redhead bouncing back towards the bar after a song or two. Atobe intercepted Kamio before he could reach Kirihara, surprising him and pulling him into a deeply passionate kiss. Kamio pushed the diva away after a short time, cheeks flaming with a mixture of lust and embarrassment.

Kirihara rolled his eyes, and stood, grinning at his friend before stepping into the throng of dancers and losing sight of the other man. There was no way he would be able to sit and mope while they were all lovey-dovey and crap. Midori still painfully on his mind, Kirihara made to step outside for some air through one of the club’s side doors. It would mean re-entering by the front door, but hopefully the hulking bouncer would let him in. If not, there were other places to drink.

Standing outside, he almost wished he had a cigarette, just to give his hands something to do. He wasn’t much of a smoker, one of the few things he had never really become addicted to, though he wasn’t against a drag or two on the off occasion.

Sounds of a scuffle, to the back of the alley, caught his attention suddenly, and he snorted, fully intending to ignore the situation. However, things in his life were rarely as simple as all that he discovered as he was abruptly bowled over by a figure, evidently rushing to escape a group of five or six men, rushing after her.

Kirihara blinked, momentarily stunned by the pretty set of dark blue eyes that locked on to him, so unlike Midori’s lacklustre brown, he couldn’t help but notice. That was all he had time to think about as the other was suddenly scrambling off of him. Those blue eyes widened in panic though as their owner was snatched before fully getting to her feet.

The girl was slammed up against the wall suddenly and one of the men was telling him to leave and forget he had ever seen anything. Kirihara was suddenly reminded of one of the old English gang movies from Ibu’s secret collection and he couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. The woman’s eyes turned on him in a fierce glare, before softening towards the man currently pinning her to wall.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked innocently, her voice a husky drawl.

“Shut up bitch,” the man snapped, seeming to be completely unaffected by her smouldering look and short skirt. The man reached under his coat and drew out a gun. Kirihara knew little about guns, couldn’t tell the difference between a revolver and a pistol, but he knew one thing, it was no water gun and things were getting deadly dangerous. Of all the rotten luck.

previous part
next part

[hadow]

2007-11-06T18:26:19Z

THE NIGHT SOCIETY
by stolenfaith_98

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Everything seemed better in daylight, did it? Fall asleep, and when you awoke things would be clearer, right? Bullshit. Nothing looked any better than it had last night. It all looked as miserable and empty as it had before; empty liquor bottles cluttered the floor, mute evidence of either a severe drinking problem or a broken heart. He preferred to believe it was the former. The other option was too painful to think about.

Kirihara Akaya was not a man of contemplative introspection; in fact, he shied from such things ardently. Looking inward, he felt, only brought all that crap you wanted to forget, to never know about yourself, right to the surface and there was no way he was going to bury himself in that pile of shit. Even so, he couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him here, brought him this low. He vaguely remembered a man once telling him that it was one’s choices in life which made you happy or made you miserable. Kirihara still thought that was a bunch of bull.

Slowly, painfully, Kirihara sat up, briefly surprised to find that he had been passed out on the floor beside his bed. The room spun a bit, and, stupidly, Kirihara wondered if it would continue to do so even once he became sober. He was hung over, no doubt about it, but he still felt the drink in his system, blunting the pain from his heart and the more physical pain pounding from inside his skull.

As he stood, he toyed with the idea of running straight to the bathroom; he was always queasy and sick when he had a particularly bad hangover. However, after testing the urge in his stomach to sick up for a few minutes, he found the nausea only a fluttering annoyance in his belly. So, instead of making his way to the bathroom, just off of his bedroom, he made his way to the den and its attached kitchen.

He ignored the mess, stepping sluggishly over an overturned lamp and the remnants of a half eaten Chinese food dinner that he had earlier this week. It took him a second to pry his fridge door open. Light spilled out the open door and Kirihara squinted and looked away, shoving his hand inside and retracting it a moment later, having found what he was looking for.

He took a long swig from the cheap Lager and sighed contentedly. It wasn’t strong, but it was a good kick this early in the morning. Or afternoon, he amended after a brief glance to the digital display of his microwave declaring it to be 1:26pm. Well shit. There went work today he supposed, although showing up to work three sheets to the wind was never advisable in the first place.

The can was emptied quickly and tossed amongst the other rubbish of his floor.

Kirihara absently scratched his stomach, stumbling across the room once more to begin what would no doubt be an arduous search for his phone. Ten minutes later with no luck, Kirihara cursed and kicked at a stack of old piled up newspapers in frustration. The pile toppled over and revealed his mobile, lying open, and completely dead.

He sighed and raked his fingers through harshly tangled black hair as he began searching for his charger and a free plug.

Thirty minutes and two more lagers later, he managed to find both and plugged the phone in, pushing it on and quickly checking his missed calls. Work had called twice, no surprise there, but there was also a call from Midori. That was unexpected.

Trying not to think of what that call could mean, he quickly dialled work, making himself out to sound pathetic, sick and miserable. His boss wasn’t happy. This wasn’t the first time this week Kirihara had pulled the sick act with him and it was beginning to get old. He’d have to start faking funerals next; he had a few great aunts he could go through.

He hung up the phone after promising to be at work tomorrow, fresh eyed and bushy tailed. Like that would ever happen, hung over or wasted was more like it.

He flipped the phone closed, promising himself that he would call Midori later, maybe after he’d had a shower and felt a little less like shit. A shower, in fact, sounded pretty good. He still felt gummy and sour from last night’s drinking binge.

He stripped as he went, wincing at the crusty, stale feel of last nights jeans as they slipped off his slim hips. Boxers that may have once been white but were now dull with age and wear soon followed, his shirt joining the trail to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower, stepping in before it really got a chance to warm up, yelping at the cold spray. The water warmed slightly, and he set to work roughly scrubbing his hair and body until they were as clean as he could be bothered to make them.

He switched off the water and stepped out onto his moth-eaten bathroom rug groping for a towel and quickly drying himself off, shaking his head a little like a dog to rid his hair of some of the water. He swiped his forearm across the fogged mirror and quietly examined the scruff building on his chin and cheeks, debating whether or not a shave was in order.

He decided against it and stumbled out into the den still nude, his hair dripping and leaving dark spots on the plush red carpet. He padded over to his phone once more, and hesitated over dialling the number. The phone rang before he got a chance to decide.

“Hello,” he rasped, surprised.

“Heya Akaya, how yah doing? I called your work but they said you were off sick.”

Kirihara smiled weakly. Kamio he could deal with, he was just beginning to realize that it was Midori he couldn’t. Not yet at least. “M’fine Akira, just didn’t feel up to going in today.”

“Shame, I got a long lunch today, I was gonna stop by and visit,” Kamio said, more than a trace of a pout in his voice. While not like some of the overly bouncy and cheerful redheads Kirihara had met, Kamio had his moments, and some of them tended to be more adorable than others, though he was surly and downright mean to people he was unfamiliar or uncomfortable with. It was one of the things that had so intrigued him about the other man, and had led him to chase the snappy man around for almost three months waiting for him to at least crack a smile for him the way he did around Ibu.

Ibu was not his favourite person; the man muttered and always gave him a look like he knew exactly what was going on inside Kirihara’s head.

“You can still stop over if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass,” the other man laughed, “I’m not sure what kind of diseases I could contract if I came anywhere near your flat.”

“Shut up, s’not that bad in here,” he grumbled stumbling on the can he had thrown earlier and nearly falling.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Kamio replied humorously. “You coming to the club tonight, Akaya?”

“I dunno,” Kirihara said sarcastically, “You know I have a lot of cleaning to do.”

“Ha, that’ll be the day. Honestly, why don’t you just hire someone to come in and clean every once in a while, it’s not like you can’t afford it,” Kirihara didn’t have to see his friend to know that there was a bitter expression on his face right now. Kamio tended to be a little sensitive when it came to money.

“Waste of fucking money, I don’ mind the mess.”

“You’ll kill yourself in there one of these days, you know that?”

“Be an alright way to go I suppose.”

“I can see the headlines now, ‘Man dies wallowing in his own filth’,” Kamio laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, oh so funny, why don’t you get the fuck back to work.”

“You’ll be there tonight though, right?”

“Don’t have nothing better to do.”

“Will Midori be coming too?” there was just a hint of dislike in Kamio’s voice, and it had been there since Midori and Kirihara began going out.

“Naw, we broke up.”

“What?!”

“Don’t sound so happy about it,” Kirihara grumbled, ignoring the lance of pain spearing though him briefly, dulled by the alcohol he had consumed already that day.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Akaya, I knew you cared about her,” he was honestly trying to sound sincere; Kirihara had to give him that. The redhead had never liked Midori.

“Hm.”

“Did you . . . did you want me to come over?”

Poor Kamio, he wasn’t so much of an emotion person. He was kind of uncomfortable with anyone else’s grief, though Kirihara didn’t blame him, positions reversed; he doubted that he’d have even half the tact of Kamio. “Naw, s’fine Akira, I’ll see you later tonight, at the club.”

Kamio paused a long while before finally replying, “Don’t do anything stupid.” The line went dead and Kirihara snapped the phone shut, leaving it on the charger and heading over to his couch. He hastily pushed a half eaten bag of Cheezies off the cushions before flopping down on it himself, tilting his head back and rubbing his temples, squirming just a little bit as the rough fabric of the couch chafed his bare skin.

He felt a headache coming on, probably related to the excessive drinking he had indulged in last night and just this morning.

His phone started ringing again, but this time he didn’t answer it, curling up on the couch miserably as he slipped into a peaceful sleep.

next part

[fraser]

2007-11-06T18:26:05Z

THE TREATY OF COURT
by yuncyn

"Incognito? Does he really understand what incognito means? Can he spell it?"

"I'm fairly sure our employer has a decent vocabulary and a strong grasp of spelling."

The first speaker growled. "He's about as obvious as a dancing bear in a herd of cows! Just how does he expect to go through with this without being recognized?"

"…a dancing bear in a herd of cows. Interesting word imagery…"

"Do I sound like a tutor of language to you?"

"You, a tutor? Heaven forbid such a sacrilege."

"Then stop thinking about it and figure out a way to end this stupidity before it gets us all killed!"

Second speaker sighed. "He's in one of his moods so he's going to go, come hell or high water. And though he may indeed be conspicuous by nature, he's adept at blending in. You know all this. Stop trying to accomplish something that is obviously going to fail from the get go and conserve some of that nervous energy."

"Hmmph. You're a fine one to talk – you barely said anything to stop him! What's the deal?"

"One, I am not his father or his keeper. Two, I'm not about to argue with the man who pays me if it's not a matter of life and death. And three," Here he grinned at his companion. " I want to go to the festival too."

A roll of the eyes and a muttered "Figures." followed this flippant confession on the other person's part.

"What are you worried about honestly? I don't see the point of all this needless fuss. Though if it's about you not getting to dance with any maidens tonight, then I can see where you're coming from…"

The other one chose to ignore the last remark in favour of a more pressing matter. "Do you realize how exposed he will be in the open area, amongst all the people? Do you know how much we're going to have to look out for? And we'll be nowhere near our own territory!"

"We've been through worse."

"There were MORE of us then."

"And you think you can't handle one night of revelry with just the two of us on guard?"

"No…! I'm just saying that if you can stay out of trouble, then do it! It's common sense."

"In this case it doesn't apply."

"How!?"

"Has he ever considered himself common?"

There was a short pause followed by a dark scowl, indicating the end of the argument. The winner smirked, leaning back against the wall behind him. His friend was on the other side of the door, glaring out the other way.

"When I signed up for this job, I didn't know I was going to have to work for the lord of idiots."

"You didn't read the fine print, did you?"

"And YOU did?"

"Of course. One must always watch out for these little details."

"Doesn't that make you a bigger fool?"

"For the amount of money offered, I can afford a lapse of judgement once or twice."

"Tch'…!"

"…if your brother were here, Shishido, he would mention that you don't mean most of the things you say."

A snort preceded the reply. "Choutarou has too much faith in people."

"Isn't it the same kind that led him to you, his only brother in the entire world?"

Shishido's glare turned less severe for a moment before hardening up as he glared in the other man's direction. "My family relations have got nothing to do with what we're doing right now, Oshitari."

"My point is that in truth, you're not concerned about security at all." Oshitari grinned widely. "You're just worried because you can't dance to save your life."

Shishido's spluttering – an attempt to protest this vile, vicious lie – was cut short when their employer emerged from his inner sanctum. He turned and smirked at Shishido, having heard that last comment.

"Ore-sama is aware of your shortcomings. Thankfully, formal dancing doesn't feature amongst the common festivals in the village. You ought to know a few steps from your childhood, don't you?"

"My childhood was spent training how to guard the next bratty generation of the Atobe family, not dancing," retorted Shishido.

Atobe Keigo, tenth Lord of Hyotei after succeeding his father fourteen months earlier, just smirked, ignoring the total lack of respect or courtesy. They were not in public after all. "Then while we travel to Court, you'd best learn as quickly as possible."

As Atobe led the way to the stables, Shishido inwardly cursed the whole situation while Oshitari merely smirked from where they walked behind their employer.

"The arrangements are all set. You will accompany him."

"Oh? That's a change. You usually insist on a full show."

"He does not agree it will be necessary."

"Ah, I see. So strong that he doesn't need a full body of armed guards?"

"Perhaps."

"What about the others?"

"They will remain. He doesn't wish to bring more than is absolutely necessary."

"And two is absolute."

The frown on the other person's face was indicative that he didn't really think so but had been previously overruled.

"…it's an unusual combination though."

"You have an objection?"

"None of the sort – he's a reliable friend to have. However, we don't often work together."

"This will be a starting point then."

The two men came to a stop as they stepped outdoors. Several others were before them across the large field, training in various sword forms. They stopped for a moment to observe.

"I don't suppose that this has anything to do with Oishi's concern last time? That he might need more experience to suit his potential?"

"It may, it may not," replied the chief advisor of Seigaku. "However, I won't deny that the trip will be good for him."

"And of course, I have never had one of the recruits under my wing before."

Tezuka glanced sideways at his friend but said nothing. In truth, Oishi had also suggested that it might be good for him to leave the castle for at least a short while. He was getting restless, itching to get away from the usual routine, though he never gave away any clue of such wanderlust.

Restlessness in this particular character did not provoke any feeling of reassurance. It was partially why Tezuka had made his decision.

"Fuji."

"Hm?"

"He will need your help as well as Momoshiro's. He knows what to expect… but he is still young. You know the disapproval that circulates. It may turn dangerous."

"…for one of his age, Lord Echizen has been faring well, I would say."

"Well, but not always wisely," said the captain, to Fuji's inner surprise. The former rarely expressed such comments. "I don't doubt that Hyotei's new ruler knows this."

"Yes, but isn't that an advantage as well? Two new lords, both not having warmed the seats of power for very long." Fuji smiled pleasantly. "And Court has been law-abiding as ever."

"Nevertheless," Tezuka's hazel eyes were sharp. "Do not let your guard down."

Fuji nodded in acquiescence. "I'll inform Momo we leave today." With that, he stepped out into the field and headed towards a taller figure in the distance, the latter engrossed in his sparring.

The relatively small town of Court – the very place to which six men, all on various coloured steeds, were headed to that very day – was in a precarious, yet strategic location. It sat neatly on the edge of two rival lands and often considered a marker of the borders itself. It was often said that when you took one step into the local cobbler's workshop, you were in Hyotei. However, step back out again and you were in Seigaku, the land bordering Hyotei to the southwest.

Those who lived in Court weren't too bothered about this. They were already used to saying that they came from Court, in a tone that explained everything, when others asked of their origins. In return, most of those who had travelled to Court before already understood that Court was neither Hyotei nor Seigaku. It was… well, Court. And that was that. Even the merchants and peddlers who travelled far and wide had learnt to treat the town as a sort of small… anomaly on its own.

However, governments can never be as easily satisfied as its people. (Some say this is why they're government.) The rulers of both countries weren't all too pleased with people stepping back and forth and making jokes of making shoes in order to go travelling. Wars and battles were fought for a generation or so with no apparent victor. Hyotei, Seigaku and Court itself suffered losses in terms of lives and property. Naturally, the people demanded a better solution to things (since there was no convincing the two lands to leave them the hell alone).

Then five generations ago, the governments of both Hyotei and Seigaku came together, wisely or unwisely in certain parties' points of view, to draw up a treaty.

Both rulers and various advisors at the time came to discuss, debate, argue, fight, shout, concede, protest, fight again, argue some more, debate one more time and finally agree on the rules and laws that made up the Treaty of Court. It was probably the most unusual agreement in the history of the world by the very nature of how it was formed.

(Legend has it that both Hyotei and Seigaku's rulers had had enough of the whole business of war and promptly thumped the heads of their advisors into submission. Even if the legend was disregarded by most people, politics in both lands were now treated with a healthy amount of wariness – no one liked getting thumped.)

To put it shortly, Hyotei and Seigaku decided it was best if they made the rules and left it to the town to carry out said laws, instead of fighting stupid battles to see who got the small piece of land. Court would also pay equal taxes to both Hyotei and Seigaku (equally small, as the old joke goes). In return, both lands would leave them alone and in peace. Neither Hyotei nor Seigaku would interfere in its dealings, for better or for worse.

With one exception and it was this: every five years, the respective rulers of Hyotei and Seigaku would meet in Court itself to check on things. If they were satisfactory, the treaty would stay as it was. If not, Court would accept new laws and rules, under the guidance of court advisors and referring to the local council of Court. This was fine by the town residents since really, it was worth all the effort in order not to suffer through any more fighting.

As time went by, Court held true. Rules were followed for the most part and anarchy wasn't rampant. Hyotei and Seigaku had to admit that the treaty held together and try as they might, there was really nothing to complain about. That, and every time Hyotei wanted to change something, Seigaku protested. It stood to reason then that every time Seigaku wanted to modify a line or two, Hyotei was there with a wagging finger. Two powerhouses balanced each other out in the town of Court and it was taken for granted after some years that this would always remain so.

So, it came to be that with every royal visitation came festivities and dancing. Officially, it was to commemorate the day Court no longer had to be stuck in the bitterness of war. However, everyone knew it was a really just a good excuse to sell things (like commemorative Peace In Court souvenirs) at a higher price than usual, have plenty of street parties and stuff themselves silly with food and drink for seven glorious days.

Okay, so maybe they didn't need an excuse to do all that but it was still nice to have theme parties now and again.

The town of Court was alive and buzzing, well into its momentum of celebration and festivities. The very air hummed with anticipation for that day was the sixth day, the eve of the re-signing of the Treaty. Once, it had taken seven days to peruse and reaffirm the laws of Court. Now, it was just a one-day formality since both Hyotei and Seigaku had their own copies within their own archives and of course, heard news of Court mostly everyday. The one week festival however had remained due to popular demand.

Travellers and foreign merchants often came to Court to join in the fun. Strange new sights came every time so the three horses that rode into town in mid-afternoon were barely given any notice.

Music was blaring from one side of the town square, the cause of which was a small band made out of several youngsters. People hustled and bustled to and fro with wares for sale and purchased items on their backs. Colourful flags – Oshitari noticed the sable and blue colours of Hyotei right beside the red, white and blues of Seigaku – all hung on string that hovered above the towns, stretching from balcony to balcony, pillar to pillar. Streamers of the same colours were hung in windows and walls. The emblems of both lands were often seen side by side.

The horses' hooves trotted across the cobblestones as they made their way to a nearby inn, the most expensive in town to suit Atobe's exclusive tastes. While Shishido handed over the horses to the stable boy, Oshitari took care of their lodgings, careful to give Atobe's name as one of the latter's guards: Kabaji Munehiro. Normally Kabaji was Atobe's main guard, but he had been accompanying Atobe on far too many occasions. He deserved a break once in a while.

It was unusual, thought Oshitari as they settled in, that Atobe would wish to join in the festivities of Court. On previous occasions, Hyotei's rulers had come announced and given a royal welcome. They would sit at banquet in the mayor's home and on the next day, go through the formal ceremony before leaving for home.

This time, Atobe had announced that he would join in the commoners' feast in the town square. The townspeople often wore masks to make the event more exciting. He had seen it before from the large windows of the mayor's home apparently and he wished to join in. For what reason, he had deigned not to disclose.

Shishido asked the tiny question hovering in the back of Oshitari's mind after he closed the door behind him.

"Why're you suddenly so interested in the town dance anyway?"

Atobe, lounging on a chair as he perused several papers (Oshitari suspected it was on the recent border intrusions in the Northeast) on a desk, answered lazily, "Curiousity."

While Shishido rolled his eyes, Oshitari lifted an eyebrow. "Curiousity? Just that?"

"It's a condition that affects us all, Oshitari. Even nobility is not immune. I'm sure you know this."

"You haven't been curious for the past twenty years or so."

Atobe shifted his attention to another sheet of paper, making a note somewhere. "I wasn't Lord of Hyotei last time. I have a new perspective on things now."

"Such as…?" prompted Oshitari.

The young lord released a small sigh and finally looked up. "Such as how the people of Court can apparently lead such peaceful lives when the threat of being manipulated through their laws hang over them. Has it not occurred to these people that if Hyotei and Seigaku can so easily reach agreement for peace, they can well reach agreement to string them like puppets?"

"You forget that the Treaty wasn't achieved 'so easily' as you put it," remarked Oshitari.

"By comparison, it was a fairly simple process."

Shishido was appalled. "Simple process? People died for years before the Treaty came about. They say those advisors argued for weeks till they nearly died from exhaustion after so much talking. You call that simple?"

"From a political point of view, yes."

"…of course . It's always bloody politics. " said Shishido, practically spitting out the last word.

"Bloody may be right," commented Oshitari. Turning to Atobe, he ventured a guess. "So you wish to join the people during the dance and find out what's really going through their minds about the Treaty. Is that it?"

"Perhaps."

"I doubt if you'll find the answers you're looking for. Most people are just happy for a reason to dance and sing and eat – confidence in either Hyotei or Seigaku has nothing to do with it." Oshitari shrugged. "It's mainly apathy. They don't care."

Atobe shook his head. "Regardless, it will be worth looking into."

"And after you find out no one gives a damn, you're gonna pull this new lord of Seigaku to one corner and go, 'Hey, wanna torture Court? We'll split 60-40.'?'" remarked Shishido sarcastically.

Atobe ignored him, turning back to his paperwork. "If you two wish to amuse yourselves in town, then you're free to do so till evening. We head to the main square by sunset. Don't be late."

Oshitari almost instantly rose to his feet, stretching languidly. "I could do with refreshments at the tavern. Coming, Shishido?"

The other guard frowned at this apparent lack of priorities. "And if he gets murdered at his desk?"

"Then we'll dress you up in a wig and a ruffled shirt the day after tomorrow, Lord Shishido." Oshitari pushed him out of the chair "And since I don't have a spare shirt, we need to buy one. Come on."

"Wait just a damned minute…!"

Oshitari was almost out the door when he looked over at his sovereign. The latter was smirking without looking up.

"Don't get killed, Atobe."

"Ore-sama has no intention. Go."

The door shut, Shishido's complaints muffled through the wood.

"Is the room to your liking, sir?"

The person currently surveying his surroundings with bored looking eyes didn't reply. Instead, he took a few steps around the room, perusing the cream coloured ceilings and walls, the carpet below his feet and the four poster bed that boasted a thick mattress, stuffed with eiderdown and pillows of the same variety.

He turned around to the girl waiting nervously behind him, her long pigtails quivering a little.

"It will do."

One of the young man's companions, a taller man with fair brown hair, slipped her a silver coin with a smile in silent thanks. She blinked, hurriedly curtsied and left, heart pounding, fist closed over the rather generous tip.

This… Horio person certainly had a commanding presence about his person, young as he may be. He looked as old as her and that wasn't very old indeed. Not very old, and certainly good looking… although An had mentioned that he looked "just enough on that side of stuck up to be unbearable". But then An tended to be a bit quick to put judgement to faces (the fact she was mostly accurate didn't occur to her at the moment).

"Sakuno? Sakuno! Stop dawdling and get down here!"

She broke out of her reverie and hurried down the stairs, dropping the coin in her skirt pocket.

Back in the room where 'Horio' still stood with the perpetual look of boredom on his face, Fuji smiled in amusement from where he stood. "If I may say so, you could afford to be a little more cordial, milord. Scaring innocent young ladies isn't the most fashionable of hobbies."

"I didn't scare her."

"Ah. Well, I suppose she could have been trembling from a slight chill," replied Fuji easily. He looked up as someone else entered through the door, purposely ignoring the piercing glare aimed at him.

"Everything seems fine. No one knows he's here." Momo cocked a grin in the shorter man's direction. "But I overheard one of the maids talking about some noble coming into the inn, looking like he owns half the world."

Fuji chuckled softly as the young lord began to scowl at Momo. "Good guess." He looked in Echizen's direction and the smile widened. "If we aren't careful, milord, you may be recognized as ruler of Seigaku. And then all our plans will be for naught."

"I realise that," was the short reply. "I just wonder about… all this."

"All this…?"

Echizen waved a hand in the general direction of the room. "There're two inns in the town and we pick this one. Isn't it a bit too fine for a travelling merchant from the west?"

Momo laughed. "You kidding me? This is already the cheaper of the two!"

Fuji smiled as Echizen raised an eyebrow. "Court has grown from its war-torn days, milord. It's no longer the poor shambles it once was. The very fact that it lies right on the borders has already been a boon to most traders and merchants. Ever since the treaty, life has been better."

"I still see beggars in the streets," muttered the young man.

"I said better. Not perfect." Fuji's smile seemed to take on a wry air. "There are some things government rulings cannot seem to change."

The look on Echizen's face seemed to indicate he wasn't convinced. But he remained quiet.

"…is this why you wanted to come undercover, milord?"

Echizen shrugged. "I've just gotten tired of most of the ceremonies and all the fuss. This is one less to think about."

Momo exchanged glances with Fuji before the former grinned a little. "Still not too used to nobility huh, Echizen?"

"…I'm used to it."

There was a moment of silence before Fuji placed a hand on Echizen's shoulder. "As your servants, we will do all we can to support you, milord."

Echizen glared at nothing in particular.

"But as your friends, Echizen," continued Fuji. "We'll watch your back, lord or no."

Momo snickered as Echizen's glare visibly lightened. "What'd you say to going round town and sightseeing? I haven't been here for years! 'Specially at festival time!"

"That'd be a good change of scenery." Fuji gently steered the young ruler around and towards the door. "And you'll probably learn more from this place by walking around than those parchments they made you take."

"I can walk by myself, thank you- hey!"

Momo paused to grab their cloaks and personal effects before whooping, "Let's go!"

He may have been the ruler of their land but he was still younger than them in years, thought Momo gaily as they made their way out of the inn. They could push ordinary, old 'Horio' around a bit for today at least.

Shishido was torn between the equally appropriate emotions of disbelief and exasperation. Falling back onto a near lifetime of experience working with his fellow guard, he decided on a mixture of the two, tinged with a dry tone for good measure.

"You know, when you said you were going to get a new shirt, I didn't think you were actually serious ."

Oshitari, currently admiring the way the shirt hung on his shoulders in a mirror, merely smirked. "Looking shabby around Sir 'Kabaji', Shishido, is something ill advised."

Shishido took a good look at the custom made dark leather boots that encased the other man's feet, noticed the fine cut of black silk trousers and the silver ring of the Oshitari clan around his friend's right middle finger. The ivory coloured shirt, apparently made of silk spun by silkworms fed on the mulberry bushes of the Emperor in the far East, went without saying.

"…shabby? "

"Shishido, women notice an eye for detail. It is an uncommonly found trait of men, they say. I intend to be among the minority." He nodded at the shopkeeper, signalling that he had made his choice. The man immediately went to get a fresh shirt, profits dancing in his head.

Standing nearby with his arms crossed, Shishido rolled his eyes once more. "It's the blue blood within you people. No one normal acts like this."

"Taki does. He rivals Sir 'Kabaji' even, to some extent."

"I said normal people, didn't I?"

Oshitari laughed as he pulled his normal shirt back on. "Alright, then consider this a purchase for a special occasion. It's been too long since we had a chance to be festive."

"You just like finding excuses to spend good money," retorted the other man as he glanced out the shop window. He noticed some men walking past before turning back to his friend.

"And I suppose your collection of rapiers is essential?" asked Oshitari as he paid for his purchase.

"Weaponry is a different story. And it's not like I have as many as Hiyoshi does." Shishido rose to follow his friend out the door, partly relieved.

"On the contrary," said Oshitari as they stepped out into the streets. "It's the same old tale. You indulge in swords, I indulge in looking good."

Shishido snorted in disgust. "It's a good thing you're intent on remaining a bachelor. God only knows what you'd pass on to the next generation."

Oshitari didn't reply to that, busy bowing to two young ladies across the street. The effect was both enviable and nauseating at the same time when the pair of girls giggled behind laced fans and hurried on their way.

Shishido shook his head, far too used to such behaviour. That was Oshitari all over: a Casanova in his own right with an indulgence in certain luxuries. But Shishido knew, with the rest of their company, that it was all to hide the sharpest mind in Hyotei and a distant relation to Lord Atobe himself. He may have even made chief advisor had he not entered the lord's personal guards instead. Politics, Oshitari had once explained, was strenuous.

People "made from common stock", as his brother had once said jokingly, such as himself were accustomed to worse attitudes in other members of the aristocratic class. Before he had made his way to becoming personal guard to the ruler of his land, Shishido had grown up expecting nothing but cruelty and disregard from such people.

Oshitari had been one of the few to change his mind during the course of his career. He wondered if this had anything to do with Oshitari being one of the lesser nobles, related to people of power by some tangled weave of marriages and dalliances, but not so related to be actually in line for any throne.

After some consideration, he figured it wasn't likely. Oshitari Yuushi would have remained the same, minor aristocrat or not. That at least, he was sure of.

The thoughtful expression on Shishido's face didn't go unnoticed. Oshitari smirked. "Alright, alright. Let's go get a beer at the tavern."

"Now that is a better excuse," replied Shishido with a smirk of his own.

"…you're being serious."

"As serious as I have ever been."

"B, b, but…" Momo wracked his brain for a suitable reason. He failed. "It's… just… it's…"

"Unnatural," cut in Echizen bluntly with a face that could no longer hang onto full composure. It now couldn't help but let a little disconcertment slip through.

Fuji only smiled. If it unnerved the young lord, then it had its intended effect. "It would be a change from the usual. And it's unexpected."

"To say the least," added Echizen with a raised eyebrow. He looked warily at his guard. "Are you sure you haven't been drinking?"

"Nothing but a cup of ale, Horio," replied Fuji cheerfully. He lowered his voice, leaning towards the other two. "Untoward incidents have been known to happen in Court. You especially, milord, are at risk. And since you've insisted on increasing the danger by coming in secret without a full company of guards, it's only natural that we use any advantage available to us."

Momo's eyebrows rose. Glancing down at the head of his lord, Fuji's words began to make some sort of sense.

It had always been thought that Lord Echizen Nanjirou had no children. However, it was on his deathbed that they discovered the truth about one of the younger guards. 'Mizuno Katsuo' was really in fact Echizen Ryoma, son of Echizen Nanjirou and a lady he had met in the lord's younger days. Chief Advisor Tezuka Kunimitsu had been aware of this before the previous lord's death, producing papers and proof entrusted to him beforehand.

Many advisors had been shocked at the fact this young boy of only fifteen years, would be ruling Seigaku. So although the proof his lineage was sound, and the will of their previous ruler absolute, there were always people unhappy enough to take drastic measures. The Treaty of Court would be too good an occasion to pass up.

Echizen on the other hand just looked at Fuji, any surprise now fully disintegrated. "…you just want to do this for fun, don't you?"

"Would any man go through with this for mere amusement?"

"You."

Fuji just smiled broadly. "I take it then that we are in agreement."

Echizen shook his head. "As you please."

Hurriedly, Momo held out a finger. "But, and I want to be really clear about this one, I don't have to, right?"

Echizen took one look at him and turned away, shuddering. Fuji chuckled. "With all due respect, Momo, you aren't suitable."

Momoshiro breathed a sigh of relief as Fuji turned to the task at hand. Suitability in this case, was less embarrassing than fitting the part. Although, he considered silently, Fuji seemed very natural in his going about it….

He decided that avenue of thought wasn't worth venturing any further and firmly kept his mouth shut for once.

Atobe was prompt. By sunset, they were ready to leave. Dressing in white, with a pale lavender cravat and dyed leather boots, he tweaked his jacket once more.

Behind him, Oshitari stood in dark blue, the new shirt partially hidden by the silver lined jacket. Shishido wore his second best suit, mostly in black and ignoring any remarks of his apparently joining a funeral procession. All three had chosen matching masks.

The lord turned to inspect his men and nodded. They were off to the main square.

As expected, the feast was well underway by the time they arrived. Aroma of poultry and meat being roasted mingled and filled the air; beer, ale and cider flowed freely amidst colourful lights and long tables filled with food. Pastries and confectionaries stood on another table, guarded by its makers who chased the children away – dessert was after the meal, not before. It didn't stop several wily youngsters from pinching a pie or two though.

Immediately, they were ushered to a free spot in one of the tables and given food and drink. Conversation was exchanged from stranger to stranger, all comfortable enough behind the masks that ensured anonymity, to speak freely. It was custom this feast was a time of nonsensical revelry, freedom to take on the personality of whomever one chose. So the meekest of creatures could be flamboyant and flirtatious while serious councillors became carefree and throwing caution to the wind.

It was tempting to join them, but Oshitari and Shishido knew their duty. Throwing caution to the four winds was tempting fate and Hyotei would not forgive the loss of one ruler so soon.

Atobe on the other hand, listened carefully to conversation about him. The people talked of many things, including Hyotei and Seigaku's long-standing treaty. As it turned out, Oshitari had been somewhat right, yet somewhat wrong.

"It's stood for years! No one will change it now surely. Specially not since both lands have got new rulers."

"They're both fairly young, aren't they? One of them's only a boy no less!"

"That's dangerous, that is. Hot blood of youth and all that – they're bound to cause trouble."

"Only between themselves. Court's got nothing that they want and we all pay our taxes."

"Some of us anyway. But then Hyotei's got other things to worry about, and so does Seigaku."

"Still best to be careful, I'd say. Big lands like that, with new people calling the shots? It'd be foolishness to think nothing's going to happen."

"You can't worry too much though! If those boys are wise, they'll stick to their father's ways and leave Court as it's always been."

Atobe smirked, unresisting a comment. "Since when have sons ever fully follow their fathers' principles?"

Several of the others laughed. Others could see his point. A lady adjacent to them, smiled. "If they're wise men, then they would form their own principles. If they happen to be similar to their fathers' policies, then it will be just as well."

"And what if those new principles aren't so prudent?"

"I believe Hyotei and Seigaku have both been fortunate enough to receive rulers of sound mind." The lady carefully picked up her mug to take a sip. "And if they aren't, then the people of their lands would surely protest. Is that not how the treaty was called for?"

Murmurs of agreement followed this and Atobe said no more as the topic turned to other things. So Court wasn't so foolish after all. It was good to know.

To his right, Oshitari eyed the lady who had spoken her mind. He was intrigued. Behind the mask, he observed the dark hair, swept up to let a few curls hanging loose upon her back. Her mask partially obscured her face but he could see coral lips forming a smile against fair skin while she spoke to another woman. White gloves covered her arms and the laced neckline of her ruffled pink dress exposed her collar bone.

He watched her converse with her fellow diners for a minute or two before smiling to himself. He'd spotted his first partner for the dance.

Shishido elbowed him in the ribs, muttering. "She sounds difficult."

"Difficult has always been my forte," returned Oshitari.

Shishido snorted and turned back to his food. He always did have eccentric tastes…

"I'm in need of a partner, good sir. Would you care to help me?"

Echizen looked up through his dark coloured mask, and glimpsed the sight of a lady in a pink dress. He sighed, replying in words that were polite but a tone that was not. "I'm not one for dancing."

Momo unhelpfully nudged him with a large grin. He was clearly restraining himself. "Go on, Horio. You've been sitting here like a wallflower since the music started. It's a festival! Loosen up!"

"Why don't you help her out then if you're so eager?" suggested Echizen with a raised eyebrow.

"I couldn't monopolize Momoshiro's time, Mr. Horio," interjected the lady. "I've danced with him already after all."

"…I'm sure Fuji would have helped," remarked Momo, still grinning. "But he's already off dancing somewhere else."

The lady smiled sweetly. "Besides, I wish to dance with you ."

Echizen rolled his eyes, reluctant to move from where he stood. One more nudge from Momo though and he groaned. If only to stop this nonsense…

Holding out his arm grudgingly, the lady took it and he led the way to the square.

"Have fun!" called out Momo as best as he could without chortling too hard.

Oshitari had just finished a dance with a young woman in light green. Kissing her hand and sending her into a semi-swoon, he turned around to look for the lady he's seen earlier. He hadn't spotted her when the band began to play and so occupied himself by asking to dance with several others.

Ah, there she is… He smirked to see her dancing with someone almost a head shorter than herself. Not the best of situations for a dance.

Striding over confidently, he weaved in and out of other dancing couples before tapping the shoulder of the other man.

"May I cut in?"

There was a hesitant pause, on both man and lady's sides, before the former smirked. He bowed without a word, and took his leave. Oshitari smoothly took the lady's hand and picked up the beat.

"Most ladies seem to prefer dancing with a man taller than themselves," he commented.

"Not all. I've been told I have different tastes," she replied with a smile.

Oshitari grinned inwardly. "Something we have in common."

"Oh?"

"Indeed," he replied, spinning her round in time with the music. "I was just thinking to myself that it would be interesting to meet a woman who expresses an interest in the politics of Court."

"I am from Court after all. It's only natural that I know some thing of my own home," replied the lady. "Where do you come from, sir?"

"Hyotei, born and bred."

"Really? Your accent doesn't give you away as one of that country."

Oshitari smirked. "Perhaps it'd be more accurate to say that in my soul, I am born and bred in Hyotei. Just as you are, in your soul, from Court."

The lady laughed gently. "How would you come to such a conclusion?"

"Your manner of speaking, and your bearing differs from the women of Court. It's only a nuance but visible to an observant eye."

"Remarkable. You are certainly no merchant then."

"Now you have me at a disadvantage." From the corner of his eye, he saw that he was passing Shishido for the third time, the latter on watchful guard. "Merchants are renowned for their keen eyes."

"Eyes that notice speech and stature to such an extent? I've yet to meet a trader of such willingness to scrutinize anyone that far. Some secrets are best left hidden for the sake of profitable business." She smiled again at him. "Were I so bold, I would suggest that you are possibly in a position of power in Hyotei."

Oshitari smiled nicely, feeling calm. "But you are not so bold?"

"I wouldn't use the word bold, per se. An inclination to educated guesses, perhaps."

"Milady, you are most intriguing ," replied Oshitari as the music came to a stop. Dropping a kiss to her gloved fingers, he straightened. "And I must say, eyes as blue as yours are enchanting."

"Thank you, kind sir. I would repay the compliment, only your own are a different colour. They're, in fact, quite familiar."

"Now where would that-"

A loud crash interrupted Oshitari's inquiry. A table had been overturned, its contents spilled onto the ground. Chairs had gone flying and in the distance, several figures were running off into the night. Shouting and cursing erupted from others caught in the commotion. However, amidst the din and outcry of both victims and concerned good Samaritans, vague names could be heard.

From the looks of it, someone had foiled a murder attempt. Maybe two.

Before Oshitari could say anything, the lady had stepped away. "I believe that the night has ended for me. I must take my leave."

"I was just about to say the same thing," replied Oshitari. "You go in the same direction, perhaps?"

"If I were to say yes," replied the lady in a lower tone of voice than she had been using the entire night, "Would you help me?" Unabashedly, she lifted her skirt and drew out a pistol from just above the ankle. She didn't notice some people jaw dropping at the display.

Oshitari merely drew his rapier from his side. "In return for such a pleasant evening, I believe I would."

Fuji didn't reply, choosing instead to start running, Oshitari on his heels.

Shishido had just yanked off his mask, cursing his luck when he noticed someone else speeding beside him.

"Who the hell are you and why the hell are you running with me?!"

"I should be asking you that same question!"

"Those guys just tried to attack the guy I work for!"

"What, you too?!"

"What'd you mean, YOU TOO!?"

"Never mind! Take a right here and follow the path! We'll cut them off before they get too far!"

Confused but not about to argue, Momo veered right, weaving through the alleyways. It wasn't long before he heard frantic footsteps coming down the path right in front of him. He sped forward, colliding into two bodies at once and suffered a jarring pain in his side for it. Through the ringing bells in his skull, he struggled to keep both men down.

Coming from behind, Shishido closed in on the heap and quickly put one attacker out with a swift punch to the face. The other one was already pinned down by Momo's weight.

"Talk! Who do you work for!?"

Whimpers of pain emerged since Momo was twisting the guy's arm into a position Nature didn't intend it to be in. But he still managed to get something out of the guy after threatening to yank the arm further. "S, Saotome-"

Though the name was unfamiliar to Momo, Shishido felt a kind of rage suddenly build up. That name was familiar in the court of Hyotei, one of Atobe's previous advisors before he was let go. It kind of figured really but it didn't help Shishido's mood much.

"Thanks, I'll take it from here."

Momo found himself replaced by Shishido who had no hesitation whatsoever in knocking the guy out as well. Blinking, he turned to inspect the first attacker. He too was not anyone known to him.

"Uh, you know him too?"

Shishido turned and shook his head. "No. But I'm not going to take any chances." Taking off his jacket, Shishido tore the sleeves off his shirt and bound Saotome's lackey's wrists.

When he turned, he was surprised to find Momo doing the same thing. "Oy, you-"

"Not taking any chances, right?" Momo grinned. "One of 'em tried to stab my boss. It's gotta be this one if the other guy's yours."

Shishido raised an eyebrow before smirking. "You don't make a lot of friends, huh?"

"Doesn't look like whoever you work for is very popular either."

Running footsteps came from where Shishido had run from. They both looked up to find Oshitari and Fuji coming up, each respectively holding weapons. Both had also already thrown off their masks.

"Kinda late, aren't ya?" demanded Shishido.

"I was occupied," answered Oshitari as he went to inspect the attackers. "And this gentleman is…?"

"One of Saotome's lackeys."

"Not surprised."

Beside them, Fuji bent to look at the other unconscious man. Momo shook his head, "Got taken out before I got a name out of him."

"It doesn't matter," replied Fuji. He took the man's hand and inspected the cufflink before letting it thump to the ground again. "He works for Tanishi."

"Are you serious?! Baron Tanishi?"

Fuji nodded. "The very same. He's desperate this time though. Usually he's careful about leaving tracks. Either that or this particular assassin's not the brightest of the lot."

By now, Shishido and Oshitari had enough time to listen to their conversation. Fuji was well aware of that though as he stood to face them.

"If I'm correct, you would be Oshitari Yuushi and Shishido Ryou, guards of the new Lord of Hyotei."

Shishido's eyes widened. "What the-"

"Fuji Syuusuke, one of the personal guards to the Lord of Seigaku," returned Oshitari with a smirk. "Although I don't know your colleague…"

"Momoshiro Takeshi," said Momo, looking straight at the Hyotei guard.

"…Momoshiro," repeated Oshitari with a polite nod.

Shishido, thoroughly bewildered, stepped up. He looked at them for a minute. "…waitaminute- You're a MAN?"

Fuji smiled, pulling off the dark brown wig he'd bought back in Seigaku, his shorter hair falling to its normal length. "I thought a disguise might be appropriate for this trip. Obviously, it proved to be of little use."

Oshitari didn't miss the knowing look in his direction. "It worked quite well actually. You had me fooled for a while. And obviously, the attackers were completely duped."

Momo's jaw dropped. "You KNEW? But Echizen said you still-"

"I found out halfway while we were dancing." Oshitari shrugged. "It was luck. If I had not met you before, I would not have guessed you were in fact a man."

Fuji smiled. "I'm new at disguises, I'm afraid."

Shishido stared for a second then jolted. "Wait, you said Echizen. That means-"

Momo winced as Fuji cut in smoothly. "Many men are called by that name. Just as there are others known as Atobe, I'm sure."

"…yes, indeed."

There was a moment of staring between both men before a silent agreement seemed to be reached.

Shishido nudged the leg of Saotome's servant with his foot. "What do we do with them?"

"For the time being," said Fuji. "We find a place to keep them imprisoned."

"The local cells would be good," said Momo as he picked up Tanishi's servant.

Oshitari nodded, Shishido hauling the other would-be assassin onto his shoulders behind him. "As quietly as possible. Milady will possibly need to sit this one out."

Both Shishido and Momo were equally unnerved to see Fuji turn back into a woman once he'd put his wig back on and spoke in a softer tone of voice. "Very well."

No one spoke on their way to the cells. And Fuji did indeed wait outside while the three other men explained that the two had caused a ruckus in the festival and needed to be locked up until further notice.

When they emerged, there was an awkward pause. It was broken by Fuji.

"Well, gentlemen, we must take our leave. I hope the rest of your evening is less eventful."

Oshitari nodded. "Goodnight, milady, sir."

"…that's just disturbing," muttered Shishido.

"I know," replied Momo.

They glanced at each other and nodded in understanding before walking away in opposite directions.

The day after that, with much pomp and ceremony, the two lords of Hyotei and Seigaku acted as if they hadn't met or conversed the night before. Their respective guards looked on attentively while the Treaty of Court was signed once more, careful not to give away any sign of recognition.

While the people cheered and the mayor made a small speech about Court and its fine allies, Lord Atobe spoke in a tone only loud enough for the other ruler to hear.

"Your guard makes for a charming companion."

Lord Echizen smirked without looking at the man on his right.

"I doubt if yours had any complaints."

Lord Atobe couldn't help but smirk as well. Touché.

The End.

[edberg]

2007-11-06T18:25:46Z

BECOMING
by thesundaywriter

Sato Katsumi could not deny that her life till now had been very blessed. If one were to ask her to pick out three events in her life that were the happiest, she would say the first would be the year she turned eighteen, and she received the acceptance letter from the university she had been aspiring to enter. She had been so nervous that she had almost torn the letter in the envelope, and upon reading it, was so elated that she screamed rather loudly, causing her parents to dash to her room in fright, wondering what had happened, only to find their daughter lying on her bed crying and laughing in relief.

The second would be the day she got married to the man who was now her husband. Seiji was the son of a well-respected businessman, and their meeting had actually been arranged by their parents, who were working together on a project. Both Katsumi and Seiji were in their mid-twenties then, and engrossed with their respective work then- Katsumi was a dentist in training and Seiji was apprenticing under his father’s company- so both sets of parents felt that it would be better to help their children find suitable partners before they ended up in their thirties without ever having dated anyone. The couple had an awkward start, especially on Seiji’s part, because he was generally shy around girls, but Katsumi’s spirited yet gentle nature helped to break the ice. She never hurried him in their relationship, and the first time they kissed was on their wedding day, and was something that felt surprisingly right, soft and promised a sweet tomorrow.

The third event was the birth of their first and only child. The birth had been a long and tedious one, but Katsumi had been insistent that she deliver their son the natural way, because even though it would mean she would suffer, she would remember the whole process. Seiji had stood by her side the whole way through. Whenever she recalled the shades of pale his face had gone through, and how tightly he had squeezed her hand, she would smirk in amusement. The poor man had certainly been a lot more stressed than she, and at right after the baby had emerged, her husband had promptly fainted. The family loved to tease him about that on many an occasion. That night, watching her two boys sleep peacefully, one grown and sprawled on a spare bed next to her, and the other, tiny and pink and in her arms, Katsumi could not have asked for more that what she had right at that moment.

Two days later Katsumi was checked out of the hospital.

And the Atobe household welcomed little master Keigo.

000 000 000

Six years later…

“Ryuu-chan is such a big meanie! Mama…”

Atobe Katsumi couldn’t help but suppress a small smile as her son angrily buried his face in the soft cream folds of her skirt. Keigo was a bright child, always eager to learn new things; and he would make it a point to report to either her, Seiji, or both of them if he could, what he learnt everyday.

And when Keigo learned how to read, it was like he had discovered a whole new world. He just couldn’t stop exploring even nook and cranny of the written word. Nevermind if he could not understand many words yet he’d ask his parents, teachers, servants, pretty much any adult around him- even business people who came to see his father, who were often surprised and amused at the Keigo’s rapidly growing vocabulary- and if they couldn’t answer he’d resort to the dictionary on his kiddy laptop. Keigo took a book with him everywhere he went. He’d read in the car to and from school, and till the last second before he had to sleep. It was to the point his parents had to check under the covers and under the bed for any books Keigo might have secretly stashed away.

However, this particular passion of his also made him a prime target for teasing and bullying. Keigo would sit at a corner of the playground by himself, engrossed in his reading, and some of the other children did not take that too well. Teachers would say that Keigo was rather aloof and distant towards his peers, not wanting to play when they asked him too. It grew worse when he entered elementary school, where the kids were bolder and more vocal. The main source of the bullying came from Ryuu-kun and his friends. Ryuu-kun was the son to the director of Sumidacorp, one of the upcoming security company that were proving themselves as tough competition to the Atobe firm.

Katsumi gently rubbed her son’s back, trying to soothe him. “There there Keigo, remember what mama told you about crying when this kind of thing happens.”

“But mama, Kei-chan wasn’t doing anything wrong! Kei-chan was just reading his book and Ryuu-chan snatched it from him! He always does that! Stupid fat Ryuu-chan!”

“Keigo!” Katsumi scolded gently “What did mama tell you about calling other people names!”

“But Ryuu-chan called Kei-chan names too.” Keigo protested, albeit muffled by the skirt.

“Still, if you do that sort of thing, that would make you no better than he is. And Kei-kun doesn’t want to be like Ryuu-chan does he?”

“N…no.”

“Well good then. Now dry your eyes and let mama see that handsome face.”

Keigo reluctantly let go of his current safety blanket and looked at her. He bit his lower lip and his nose was scrunched in his efforts to prevent himself from crying again.

“You know, I think Jessi-san has some chocolate chip muffins for tea. Shall we go and see?”

“O…Okay.” He sniffed. Even though Keigo was still a little upset, their head housekeeper’s muffins were really good, enough to perk him up.

“Last one to the house gets the smallest muffin!” Katsumi suddenly broke into a light run to the house.

“H…hey!” he exclaimed. “No fair! Mama!”

“You’ll have to catch me if that’s how you think!” she laughed over her shoulder.

Keigo stood stunned for a second, unsure of how to react, but seeing his mother so happy like that made him forgot his previous woes. Atobe Katsumi just had that effect on people. For the first time since he had come home from school that afternoon, Keigo smiled. And when he did, if anyone were to have chance upon that moment, there would be no doubt as to where the boy had got his smile from.

“Mama! Wait for me!” He ran after her.

000 000 000

In Keigo’s opinion, his mother’s presence in any room or space would make that place the happiest and warmest place on earth. Even though he did not like how the other children treated him, he would always console himself by thinking how much luckier he was than the others to have the mother he had. Since Atobe Katsumi had become a mother, she had negotiated with her supervisors and only worked for half day, so she could pick Keigo up from school on the way back from work. In comparison, many of the other mothers who were full-time housewives just sent their maid or driver to fetch their children. Even though the other kids would tease him about his parents being overprotective and treating him like a child, which they were anyway, Keigo could not resist smirking at them and retorting, ‘at least my mama doesn’t think that going to spas and planning parties are more important than me!’ Of course he said that in his head and not out loud. Keigo was not dumb enough to ask to be punched by one of the bigger kids. Plus, he did not want to mar the perfect face that his mother loved so much. To Keigo, her opinion was all that mattered. And as long as she was there, he did not really care less about what others thought of him.

However, in life, things have a tendency to happen; especially at times when we think is going all smooth sailing- and these things are often not good things. But just because what happens is not pleasant, does not mean that the forces of fate are punishing us because we have done something wrong. Rather, sometimes bad things have to happen to teach other people, to help them grow up and become adults. Often, we go along life taking for granted many things, and it is not until something is taken away from us that we realize how lost dependant we were on it. It is like ignoring a child when he or she throws a tantrum because they will stop when they realize they won’t get what they want. It is a hard and cold method, but it has to be done. The catch is that we cannot determine what will happen, or when it takes place. Sometimes, it happens to sometimes it happens too early, sometimes too late, but we just have to embrace it, take it with us, and become stronger. And even though we cannot predict it, there are some of us who will have a slight inkling sense that something is making its way towards us…

Keigo was eight when he had his first nightmare. He woke up and screamed so loudly his parents had dashed to his room fearing that he had been hurt, or worse, kidnapped- the Atobe family had not achieved the wealth and power meant that as well as strong allies, they also had strong enemies.

Both his mother and father sighed in great relief when they realized their son had merely suffered from a bad dream. Atobe Seiji gave his son a pat on the head and retired back to the master bedroom seeing everything was alright, but Katsumi stayed to make sure Keigo was calmed down.

“Kei-chan dreamt that he woke up and n…no one was at home… and… and he searched and searched everywhere, and there was no one. No mama or papa… not even the servants or the dogs. And then this voice kept laughing and saying that mama and papa moved away and didn’t want Kei-kun anymore.”

Katsumi was stunned that such a young child like Keigo could have such a terrible dream, especially since they were never harsh in their words and actions towards him. “You must have been frightened huh.” Keigo sniffled and nodded. “But it was just a bad dream sweetheart. You know that mama and papa won’t leave you. We’re still here aren’t we.”

“Yes… but… it was just so scary.”

“Will it make Kei-kun feel better if mama stayed till he fell asleep?”

“But won’t papa feel lonely? What if he has a bad dream too?”

She laughed. Even though he was still very scared from his dream, he was still good in heart. She patted the bed. “I’m sure papa can take care of himself for a night. Now, go and sleep and stop worrying. Mama will be right here.”

“I guess… Goodnight mama.”

Keigo did not have another bad dream that night, but that is not to say that he still couldn’t help feeling uncannily unsettled.

The event that was later code-named ‘that incident’ happened a week after Keigo’s nightmare. By then, the boy had more or less pushed aside that experience and things progressed as per normal. It started out as a rather odd day. Much to Keigo’s relief, Ryuu-chan and his friends had spared him from their routine teasing sneering and teasing as they were busy taking over the shiny new playground set that had been donated by someone’s generous parents. Throughout lunch break, Ryuu-chan stood on the tallest platform with his most kingly glare and pretty much forbidden anyone else from playing on it. Though the other kids protested, Keigo was glad that he could be left to read his new book ‘Illustrated Myths For Children’, in peace. To him, the adventures in his book were far superior to a bunch of silly swings and slides. Even though it might be a tad odd for a child his age, Keigo hated getting dirty.

That day, his mother was late in picking him up from school, so Keigo sat inside and started on his homework. It was unusual for her to be late, but it had happened a few times, so Keigo saw no need to worry. He was proud of the work his mama did. If he was in a particularly snarky mood, he’d sometimes threaten Ryuu-chan back and say that he would complain to mama, who happened to be Ryuu-chan’s dentist, and make sure that the other boy’s next visit would be uncomfortable. Not that Keigo would ever do such a thing, but there was some satisfaction in seeing Ryuu-chan’s jaw clench and twitch slightly whenever he brought that matter up.

Keigo was finishing his third worksheet when a familiar blare from a car horn announced its arrival. He hastily packed his thing and ran to the school gate. To his surprise, the one waiting at the gate was not mama, but Fujimoto-san, the family’s long-serving butler. “Greetings Keigo-bocchama. How was school today?” The old butler smiled, but it seemed strained and tired.

“It was fun Fuji-san.” Keigo replied as he scanned the inside of the car. “But where’s mama?”

“Ah, your mama is not feeling well today. I’ve been instructed to take you home, as she is resting.”

Keigo frowned. “I hope mama did not overwork herself again.”

When they arrived home, the head housekeeper greeted them at the door. “Welcome back.” If Fujimoto-san’s behaviour seemed odd, Jessi-san’s was no better. Her smile looked even more tired than the butler’s, and she appeared distracted. Keigo had to tug on her skirt to get her attention.

“Jessi-san, is it true that mama is sick?”

“Ah, yes, I’m afraid so Keigo-kun.”

“Should Kei-kun should go and talk to mama?”

If Keigo’s were not so sharp, he would have missed the weary look passed between the two servants.

“Mama says talking to Kei-kun makes her happy, so maybe she’ll get better!” He forced a grin to his face, even though he was getting an unpleasant nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. When the silent conversation between the two servants ended, Fujimoto-san nodded solemnly at Jessi-san, and both turned to Keigo.

“Now Keigo-kun, your mama needs rest to I think you shouldn’t go…”

“I want to see mama!” He cried, and quickly slipped away, before Fujimoto-san could catch hold of him. He raced to his parent’s room, yelling “Mama! Mama! I’m home!” Surely he was just being childishly insecure. Surely when he got there, Mama would be in her room. And she would shake her head and chastise him for being un-gentlemanly, “Keigo what did I tell you about running and shouting like that”.

But when he burst through the heavy double-doors, an eerie silence greeted him.

“Your results have come back and you’re more or less stable. Looks like you’ve been working a little too hard and neglecting your diet”, the white clad doctor reported while scribbling on his clipboard. “It caused your anemia to act up, hence you fainted. You should take better care of yourself Atobe-san.”

“I’ll take care of mama!” Keigo piped from his position. “Sensei, just leave it to me!”

“I’m sure you will.” The doctor laughed and ruffled Keigo’s hair.

When the doctor had left of the room, Atobe Katsumi turned to her son. “I’m sorry to make you worried Keigo.”

“It’s ok mama. Like I told sensei, Kei-chan will take care of mama! Alright, let’s go home!” He jumped off his perch on the bed, and went to search the closets.

“Where did you put your bag mama? Kei-chan wants to help you get it.”

Katsumi sighed and shook her head wearily. “Keigo. Stop that and come over here.”

“But mama, aren’t you excited to go home?”

“Of course I am sweetheart, but mama’s not going home today.

Keigo frowned and swallowed. His next word was hesitant. “Why.”

“Sensei wants mama to rest here for one more night, because mama hasn’t recovered enough strength yet.”

“I…I see. What about papa, is he coming?”

“You know, papa’s currently on an important business trip. Now, if we told him about mama, knowing him, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. So it would be silly to tell him wouldn’t it?”

“I guess not.”

“Good boy.” She patted his head. “One last thing, Kei-kun is a big boy now, and he can sleep by himself right? Mama won’t be there to tuck him in today.”

“Ok mama. But promise you’ll be home tomorrow ok. Kei-kun has not told you about what he learnt in school today.”

“Mama assures you she is looking forward to it.” Katsumi drew her precious child into a warm hug. “Fuji-san!” she called their butler by his shortened name. He had been standing at the door the whole time. “Take care of Keigo for me alright? Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.” She added with a wink.

“Sure can do ma’am.” The elderly butler acknowledged with a bow. “Come, Keigo-bocchama. Let’s leave your mother to rest now.”

Reluctantly, Keigo let go of his mother and left, not able to stop looking back at her room until it was out of sight. Throughout the rest of the day, he could not help but feel that this was not the end of the situation.

000 000 000

“Let me go! I want to see Mama!” Fujimoto sighed and released his grip on his young master’s shoulder, and Keigo dashed into the hospital room. The doctor looked at him solemnly. “Keigo-kun. Your mother is very tired now. I don’t think you should…”

“Let him be. I’d like to talk to my son.” Katsumi said weakly from her bed.

“Alright, but just for a few minutes.” The doctor went out, closing the door behind him to give them privacy.

An hour later, Atobe Seiji rushed into the hospital. He was allowed to leave the business meeting a day earlier, on the condition that he cleared up the more important bits of work by then. Part of him was anxious, and part of him furious. Why didn’t anyone tell him earlier? If he had not rung home to speak to his wife, he would not have found out that she had been admitted into the hospital! And they had kept it from him for three days! Part of him knew that it was Katsumi’s doing- she knew that he had the tendency to get overly concerned and distracted over matters concerning her, and knowing that he was sealing an important deal with another company, she wouldn’t have wanted him to worry. Hence she had kept it a secret. But this was too much! She was now in critical condition! Apparently she had caught some virus during her overnight stay in the hospital, and it had developed into full-blown influenza. Gods, couldn’t even bear to think of the possibility of losing her.

When he arrived at the room, he found Keigo lying next to Katsumi on the bed, holding her hand and crying quietly. When Seiji looked at his wife, he was had to pull up a chair and sit down in it, or he surely would have fallen to his knees if he were to stand and see the love of his life, with an IV tube trailing from her hand to a drip bag, and she face paler and more weary than he had ever seen before.

“Seiji…”she breathed weakly.

“Katsumi… I’m so…”

“Wait”, she said turning to their son. “Keigo-kun your papa is here.”

If seeing Katsumi in her current state was shock inducing enough, Atobe Seiji nearly gasped when Keigo lifted his face and looked at him. He had eyebags from not being able to sleep that past three days, and they were red and dry from crying. What frightened Seiji the most was the unreadable expression in Keigo’s eyes. They seemed to burn with something dark, and his small hand held tightly onto Katsumi’s own.

“Keigo, will you go and sit outside so mama can have a moment with papa?” Katsumi repeated.

“No. I won’t.” was the firm response.

“Keigo, now, don’t be difficult. It will just take awhile.”

“I said no!” Keigo protested more vehemently.

“I know that you want to be with mama Keigo. Just let us talk…” Seiji walked to his son and put a hand on his son’s shoulder, only to have the boy flinch away.

“What do you know! Papa didn’t come for mama… Kei-kun was with her the whole time, so Kei-kun will stay!”

So that was the problem. Seiji and Katsumi looked at each other; Katsumi bowed her head in silent apology, her eyes were tearing slightly. She had not realized that Keigo would take it this way.

“Please sweetheart.” Katsumi said firmly but gently. “Do this for mama.”

Keigo stared at her with his dark blue eyes, and for a moment, she thought he would relent. Then he mumbled, “Fine”, and gloomily went out of the room.

Finally, the couple could be together. Katsumi wearily turned back to face her husband. “Anata…”

000 000 000

On that night in that hospital room, Atobe Katsumi drew her last breath. From her last requests, her husband just held a simple funeral. From then on, it was as the flame of warmth that burnt so brightly when she was alive, started to diminish. Keigo spent the mourning period not really speaking to his father unless it was really necessary, even though Seiji would try to persuade him to talk about the things he used to share with him and Katsumi so excitedly. As time passed, Seiji found an unhealthy solace in his work. If he had been a perfectionist before, he was all the more now, obsessing with the most minute details, and refusing to leave the office till everything have been ironed out. As a result, Keigo too became solemn and withdrawn, having no one to comfort him. The servants could only sigh sadly at the deterioration between father and son, and tried their best to distract Keigo by letting him help in the kitchen, and getting him involved in some outdoor activities. However his smile never reached his eyes, and the mansion became and cold and imposing place without their young master’s laughter.

Eventually, Keigo returned to school after having taken a few weeks of leave for the funeral and mourning. To his dismay, Keigo found that the Ryuu-chan and his lackeys were even worse in their taunting that before. If he found them childish and annoying last time, he really hated them now.

One day, when Ryuu-chan had deliberately walked into him and shoved him to the ground, Keigo decided that he had enough. “You better watch it Ryuu-chan, or I’ll beat you one day!”

The whole classroom fell silent. No who had one challenged Sumida Ryuu so far had won. Ryuu was a good head taller than most of the other boys, and he was stronger because he played a range of sports.

Ryuu came so close to Keigo that the smaller boy nearly took a step backwards.

“Oh really. And just what are you going to beat me in, twerp?”

Keigo gulped. He hadn’t really thought much on that yet.

“Well?” Ryuu demanded, faking a yawn. “I’m waiting. I don’t have all day to indulge a loser like you.”

Keigo scanned the room frantically, until his eyes rested on someone’s racket bag in the corner.

“T…tennis.” He gulped. “I challenge you in tennis.”

Deathly silent for a moment, and when Ryuu raised his hand, Keigo thought that the other boy would punch him. Maybe it would be better, because Keigo never had any proper training in tennis. His parents had tried to teach him during holidays for fun, but Keigo had never desired to pursue it seriously. Still, it was the only sport he could play decently, that wouldn’t involve any sort of body contact with Ryuu, which he definitely did not want. Of course, he also had not thought that Ryuu would actually agree to the challenge. It was already obvious who would win.

Ryuu brought his hand down and Keigo’s shoulder, hard. The taller boy smirked. “Tennis is it then. But I warn you, I’m going to pummel you, and you won’t have you dear mommy to run to this time.”

Keigo was about to make a snide retort, when Ryuu’s next words made him stop. “You know, my mommy told me that when people die, they are still watching you from up there, wherever it is.”

What… what that really true. Is mama up there watching me? He stared out of the window into the cloud-filled sky. Mama, if only you were here. You’d know how to get me out of this mess…

They were in the courts, Keigo nervously clutching a tennis racket that a classmate had graciously lent him, well, not so graciously as said classmate had told him, “You’re being silly Keigo, Ryuu-chan is going to kick your ass. Get out of it while you still can.”

Keigo found himself remembering some his mother’s last words to him…

//“Keigo,” his mother had said as he knelt by her side, “I want you to promise that you’ll be strong for mama and papa. Be strong for yourself. Because in the end it is you who will have to decide what you want to do.”

“W…what are you saying mama… you’ll get better won’t you.” He tried to sound positive, but in his heart, he knew the truth. “But what will Kei-kun do when the other children say mean things to him.”

“It’ll be hard. But then you’ll just have to show then that who is better. I believe in you Keigo. You have been brought up well enough to know what to do. It’s just that mama has been there all this while so you don’t believe in yourself so much. But mama knows that Kei-chan can stand above it all if he wants to. Do you promise me that Keigo? Will you be strong?” Katsumi was growing weaker by the minute, and her voice was strained.

“Yes mama! I’ll try my best. I promise!” He sobbed.//

“Stop daydreaming squirt.” Ryuu’s impatient voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Keigo glared at him, annoyed, but Ryuu was oblivious to it. “As I was saying, I’ll give you one last chance. If you’re willing to apologize I’ll be nice this once and let it go. But if you’re that desperate and want to show everyone what a loser you are including your mother up there…”

“I…I won’t lose.”

Ryuu stared at him for a moment.

“What did you say…”

“I said, I. Won’t. Lose.” Keigo said more firmly, his dark blue eyes not leaving his opponent Ryuu was silent for a moment, as if he was stunned. Then, he grinned wolfishly.

“Heh, confident aren’t we. Well, let’s see if you can actually keep your words. Since you just lost your mother, I’ll be nice allow you to serve. Catch.”

Keigo caught the green ball tossed to him. He bounced it a few times before tossing it into the air. Well, here goes nothing...

Later…

Ryuu yelped as he just barely managed to avoid the ball nicking his fingers. His racket cluttered to the ground, knocked out of his hand by the unexpected force of Keigo’s last counter-hit. The ball then bounced off the ground, securing the round for Keigo, and seemed to fly back towards him, but hit the net and dropped to the ground.

The game had ended, and both boys were drenched with sweat and gasping for breath. At first, it had seemed that Ryuu would win, his strokes were strong and Keigo could feel slight vibrations up his arm every-time he hit something back. But Keigo just held onto his racket for dear life, till his knuckles turned white, and pushed himself to catch each ball, even though his lungs and legs were burning. Eventually, his persistence gave him the upper end as Ryuu seemed to get tired. Clearly the other boy had not expected Keigo to last for this long. Ryuu was taller and heavier, compared to Keigo’s lithe and smaller body, making the latter more agile and quick to react.

Keigo forced himself off the ground and went to help Ryuu up, because that was only polite after such a game. But Ryuu knocked his hand away and looked into Keigo’s eyes with a mixture of what appeared to be amazement, and fear. “What the crap are you. Some kind of monster?”

“I’m not a monster!” Keigo exclaimed, offended. He was about to throw and insult back, but remembered his mother telling him how it’d make him the same as Ryuu, and realized how it’d just bring them back to where they were before.

So Keigo looked down at the other boy, then raised his head to look at the blue sky. It was time.

His heart thumped in his chest from the rush of excitement, and he raised his arms into the sky. Mama, I hope you can hear me. In a voice loud enough for everyone watching to hear, he said, “I am Atobe Keigo.”

000 000 000

Seven years later…

“Hyoutei! Hyoutei! The winner will be Hyoutei!”

Atobe Keigo smirked as he confidently stepped onto the tennis courts. With a simple flick of his hand, he got the three hundred strong Hyoutei tennis club and its supporters to start the school’s signature victory chant.

“Hyoutei! Hyoutei! The winner will be Atobe!”

Another flick and he got both chants to synchronize in a fevered chorus.

He spread his arms out, and tilted his head to the sky. He closed his eyes for a moment and reveled in the fevered frenzy of the crowd.

Just like all those years ago, his head was pounding with anticipation of the thrill. But the difference this time was that they were all cheering for him, captain of the Hyoutei Gakuen tennis team. It was amusing to think that many people that used to tease him in elementary school now practically worshipped the ground he walked on. But it was to be expected. Karma traveled in a circle after all, and everyone deserved what they got.

When he had enough, Atobe raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. The courts feel immediately silent.

“The winner will be I!” he declared, and artfully flung his jacket away, causing his fans to go berserk. Hmph, they’re really like sheep aren’t they, flocking to the strongest leader…

“Are you done yet.” A deep voice broke his reverie. And for and instance, he was taken back seven years ago to and facing Sumida Ryuu.

But when he looked across the net and met Tezuka Kunimitsu’s steely gaze, he knew that this would be far better than proving himself against some worthless bully.

“Ah.” He acknowledged. “I’m ready.”

When they had gone to the start positions of their respective court-sides Atobe smirked and looked up at the sky. I hope you are watching, mama, because today I have a promise to keep.

And indeed he would, because after all, he was Atobe Keigo.

[cochet]

2007-11-06T18:24:48Z

ONLY YOU
by chouta_angel

One of the worst things you can do is fall in love with your best friend. Really, it is. But wait, you may ask, shouldn’t your best friend be the best person to fall in love with because to have a good relationship, you need to be good friends with that person first, right? And that’s true. You do need to be good friends with the one you date, otherwise, what would you do? Superficial romances may look nice, but there needs to be substance to keep you both interested in each other.

So why is falling in love with your best friend such a bad thing? Well, chances are, your friend sees you as just that, a friend. Someone to hang out with and like, but in a totally different way than romantically. And, when you fall in love with your best friend, it’s even worse because you’re so close to the person you like so much, and yet, so far away. As the best friend, you are allowed into their private world and trusted with just about every secret.

And when you fall in love, you realize just how precious the person is to you. As the best friend, you will do anything to stay near the other, even if that means putting your own feelings aside and watching your friend fall in love with someone else. Your friend’s happiness means everything to you, so you do everything in your power to help him get the person of his dreams. And you sit back and watch your friend have a wonderful relationship with someone else.

When they fight, you comfort your friend, secretly hoping that this might be what tears the (right now) unhappy couple apart. And you feel guilty because it’s such a bad thing to be wishing for and besides, this is your best friend you’re talking about here that would be hurt the most. So you listen to all of his complaints, silently thinking that you would be so much better for him than his current partner. And when times are good for your friend, you’re happy for him, really, you are.

------------

Your best friend is, without a doubt, the most upbeat person you know. He makes everything fun. And that’s part of the reason why you love him so much. His always smiling, at least, on the outside. You’ve seen his other faces because you’re one of the lucky few that he’s actually allowed to see this almost hidden side of him.

So just why are you friends? You are so different from each other. He’s this light, bubbly force of nature that is almost always the center of attention, even when he doesn’t really care to be. People are drawn to him. Including you.

And you?

Well, you confuse yourself. You say own thing, meaning another. And you act like you could care less most of the time, when really, you’re so passionate about the thing. But for some weird reason, you just can not let people into your private world.

Actually, you know why you’re so guarded. It’s because your afraid of getting hurt. You put up these walls all around you to keep everyone, even your best friend, at a distance so you won’t get hurt. After all, it’s hard for someone to hurt you when they barely know you.

And maybe it’s this lack of trust, this unwillingness to jump off this mental cliff, that makes people trust you even more. Because they see you as this all knowing, all secure safe to store their secrets.

At times, it bugs you . Because, say it isn’t so, you’re a human. Just a normal teen boy, just like them.

Well, maybe not just like them. Because no one can be just like another person. Not even in the case of twins.

----------------------------

As time goes on, you find yourself moving on from loving your best friend romantically. Not that he does not still hold a special spot in your heart. He always will.

But there is someone else who you find yourself gravitating towards. He is the total opposite of your best friend. Which may be why you keep pushing yourself closer and closer.

Until the day that he kisses you. You still do not know quite why he did that. But you kissed him back. And that was the beginning of a whole new chapter of your life.

You loved him and he loved you. Just being near each other made you both happy. He would look at you across the courts, a hidden smile in his eyes meant for you and only you. And you would smile the same secret smile back.

You had hidden jokes, like the banana. To this day, you could not help but grin a little when you saw one. And whenever he said something with captain-like authority in his voice, you would know that he really was not like that.

His two faces were probably what drew you in to him.

He had his public face that was hard, cold, commanding, and just a bit scary.

But then. Then there was the private face reserved for you and only you. The face that would smile. That would let it’s guard down to show you the hidden him that he was afraid to show people. Who would have thought he would be such a silly person behind closed doors?

However, time seems to change everything. Because suddenly, that hidden face became hidden from you. And showed itself to a new person.

You did not want to hate him, either of them. They were both good people and you knew that. But you could not help but feel hurt.

No one knew just how close you were to the edge after your heart broke because of him.

-----------------------

You were drifting in a metaphorical sea of nothingness and yet, it held everything. Not that you knew that. Because to you, life seemed to hold no meaning.

One day, it felt worthless and you just had to get away. Away from the curious stares, the pitying looks, the worried glares.
And so you left.

You were not even sure where you were going. You just went where your feet took you.

And then, you were at a beach. It was a secluded place that was practically silent. The noises were the those of the waves crashing against a nearby outcropping of rocks.

That intrigued you and so, you went and found an even more secluded cove.

And it was there you fell in love again. Not with a person, but rather, a place. The sun was shining so beautifully. And the place was so peaceful. And suddenly, you were tired and ready to sleep.

But in the end, everyone must go home and you were no exception. And so you left your wonderful place, knowing you would never be able to find it after this moment and a little piece of your heart cried out in agony.

But there were people waiting for you.

People that cared.

You had been so caught up in yourself, your own feelings, that you had forgotten the others. You had not realized just how much damage you had done, how many friends you had lost. But you wanted to try to at least put things back together. It was the right thing to do, especially after realizing that you needed to get away, to leave completely for a while.

-----------------------------

You spent a year in the United States as a foreign exchange student.

You were nervous when you first left. Because even though you knew it was not a forever good-bye, it was still a good-bye. And you had no idea how much things would change while you were gone. Had no idea how much you would change.

The people you were with were nice and welcomed you with wide arms. They had a son your age. And he was very interesting and different from anyone else you had ever met. And he knew nothing of the Japanese language outside of ‘konnichiwa’ and ‘sayonara’ which led to quite a few interesting conversations.

Out of your stay in the other country, the people would, without a doubt, always stay with you. They were what made your trip so great.
You did not fall in love, at least not in a romantic way. You gained a new family to add to the one you had been born into. Another brother, mother, father. You loved them just as much as you loved your first family.

And when it was time to go, you felt yourself almost dreading Japan. You had changed so much in such a little time. You were your own person completely, an individual. Going from a country where the individual was the accepted thing to where the individual was looked down upon.

And you wondered what had changed. It was a bad thing but you had had almost no contact with any of your Japanese friends and family. So whatever was in Japan was a mystery.

When you arrived, you found your family waiting for you. You had made them promise not to leak the news of your return and they seemed to have obliged in that request.

They all looked so different and yet, the same. Your mother had lighter hair, your father seemed to stoop down. Your sister was pregnant with her first child. Your brother had grown even more.

------------------
You went back to school a week later and found yourself almost lost. Everyone spoke a different language than you were used to. In fact, you had to stop and find yourself trying to figure things out that you had once known so well.

The people were the same. But different.

The love that had broken your heart had grown into a very handsome boy. But that was all you realized he was when you saw him. It did not hurt to look at him. In fact, you wondered what you had ever seen in him that had made him appear so special. Because he really was not. You were so much better than he was.

And your best friend. He had become a great person. He and his boyfriend were happy together. Looking at them made you believe in concepts like fate, destiny, soul mates, and true love. And you wished you could find your special person.

And so you stayed and observed, feeling like a fish out of water less and less as you became acclimated to the Japanese lifestyle once more. Not that you did not miss all the things you had done in your trip abroad.

Those memories ended up not being talked about very much. It was not that you did not want to share them. In fact, you wished you could. It was just that they were hard to explain.

After all, how you tell someone who has spent their whole life walking and riding the subway, always concerned about the time, just how wonderful and fun it was to just ride in a car for no purpose at all other than to do it? That life did not need to be so centered on time. That you could just take a step back to observe the things going on all around you.

Besides, when you tried to explain, you felt like you were being ignored. It was a strange feeling. Because you had never been ignored. And it made you sad because life had not always been like that. And it made you wonder if leaving had been the right choice after all.
But in the end, you decided that it was. Because you had no idea where you would be now if you had not found that cove at that secluded beach and taken the time to really look at yourself. Because you were not sure if that zombie-like you would still be around or if your uncaring ways would have been the end of you.

And so, you were glad that you had left. But there was still something missing. You had found a few answers.

But not all.

---------------

Time moves on, seeming to get faster by the day. One day you realize that it has been over a week since you last saw your best friend.

The both of you have different interests that are starting to take more prominent roles in your lives. You are looking at different schools.

He wants to go to some nearby school that focuses on athletics. You are looking at going overseas again. That taste of the United States you had so long ago, years now have gone by, has left you hungry for more.

All of your friends think you are a little crazy. But that is okay. Because you know the truth about yourself. You know what you are thinking and why. They do no understand you completely anymore. To everyone, even your own family, you have become a partial mystery.
When you were younger, you were in love with taking pictures. Now, photography has become a passion that you know you will pursue as a career.

You love all pictures. Black and white shots are your favorites though. They seem to speak more than color photos do. It is something that your friends, again, do not understand about you.

Your parents, especially your mother, hope you will grow out of this ‘picture phase’, to say in her own words because as the oldest son, you are supposed to follow in your father’s footsteps and become a successful business manager. Your brother is the one who is supposed to have a little more freedom. You know your parents are hoping he will pursue a professional tennis career. They would like him to be a star.

The day your parents realized that you were really going to go after photography was when you converted the toilet room that connected yours and your brother’s rooms into a darkroom. Your mother threw a fit and almost destroyed everything that you had bought with your own money that you had earned at a job assisting a photographer. The job did not pay a whole lot and all of your equipment was second-hand, most of it practically given to you by your employer. In fact, the only new thing you had was your camera.

Your precious camera that means more to you than your life.

It was the first thing you bought with your money. And the most expensive. But it was worth it.

That little black rectangle was your soul, you were sure. It went with you everywhere, constantly taking observations of anything, big or little, common or weird, that caught your eye.

And then your employer pointed out a contest that he had once participated in. The prize money was not very much but the other prize for first place was amazing. A six-month contract with a major magazine.

You immediately hopped into the project, taking pictures like your life depended on it. Which, in a sense, it might have.
You did not even get close to winning.

At first, you were crushed. But then you realized that you were still an amateur and for you to have won was practically unheard of. Professionals had been your competition, for crying out loud. For you to have won would have been a miracle.

When you applied and were accepted to a very good photography and arts college in Great Britain, your parents disowned you. You were left with nothing but the clothes on your back, your photography equipment, and the money you had saved up.
It was the worst moment of your life.

You had no idea where you could go for the few months until you left for school. And then you realized that without parents to pay tuition, you could not go to school.

You had to sell all of your equipment, minus the camera because there was no way you could part with it, and your employer was kind enough to hire you full-time now that you were out of high school. You still had no idea where you were going to live though. You could not go to your best friend’s house. It was already too full, what with his parents, grandparents, him, his two older sisters, and the unmarried older brother. And you did not feel comfortable enough to ask any of your other friends if you could stay with them for an unknown amount of time.

You did not have enough money to afford one month’s rent at the smallest apartment. Hotels were too expensive, even the capsule ones.

And then you received an email from a person that you had long forgotten.

Your childhood best friend, not the one who you had fallen in love with in junior high, had decided to try and open up his own beach shop. It was not the smartest idea, at least not in your book, until you realized that you had no room to talk, having let your own passion destroy just about everything that had once existed between you and your family.

He needed help though. And you had nothing better to do with your life now. So you thanked your employer for everything that he had ever done for you and left to the place you had once called home when you were a child.

Your friend let you sleep in the shop’s back room on an old futon that had seen better days. Of course, if it had not been used to sleep on the beach at night, it might be in better condition. But you are in no condition to complain because it is much better than all the other weird places you had to spend the nights in.

Business is great and you have fun. Your friend seems to understand your passion for photography. He introduces you to a local photographer, who thanks to a stellar recommendation from your old employer, lets you help out part-time. This allows you access to his darkroom when he is not using it, which you are very thankful for.

You find out about another contest, a much smaller one than the last one you participated in, and decide to enter it. Your focus for it is the beach and the chance it has given you and so many others. You get fifth place.

You get some attention. You start to enter more competitions. And get more attention.

And then your life comes crashing down once more.

-------------------

Long ago, you had vowed never to let anyone get so close that they could utterly destroy you. And you had kept that vow every since. At least, that is what you had thought.

But slowly, a few people had worked their ways into your heart. Your brother and sister had never left, and your niece had been a welcome addition. Your parents disownment had hurt but it had not crushed you. Your former employer, bless his soul, had become a major person in your life. And you knew that if something happened to him, you would go back to his side to help him through whatever it would be. Your As for the best friend you had loved, you had grown far from him. He was a friend now that you heard from only when something big happened. Your childhood best friend had found himself being your best friend once more. And he was a great friend that you knew you would always find yourself with. You could imagine that when you were old men, you would still keep in constant contact with him. No matter what you two end up doing with your lives.

No, it is the one person you thought you would never let hurt again that brings your life to a screeching halt that threatens to destroy the life you have built for yourself.

The attention you had gotten for your photography had brought him back to see you.

At first, you found yourself guarded around him. But slowly, as you two started to meet and talk once more, you let him back into your life. All the warning bells in your head scream at you, but you do not care. He was once special and you begin to remember why.
All his little nuances make you smile and laugh. You find that hidden face, that hidden smile. You start to wonder if your mind twisted him into being a horrible guy because he is not. At least, that is what you think.

He tells you that he made a big mistake, leaving you for that other guy. It was at that moment, you should have realized that being around him was a big mistake. But instead, like a teenage girl in love, you fell for him again.

And it was wonderful. Slowly, subtlety, even more so than the last time, you let him become the center of your world. Even photography did not seem to matter.

All you wanted was him.

All he seemed to want was you.

And alcohol.

It had seemed that he had picked up a nasty addiction when he had been faced with heartbreak. So while you had rebuilt yourself, he had destroyed himself.

He claimed to need you, which made you feel special. You had never been needed.

And he had an apartment.

You were sick of sleeping in the beach shack’s storage room. Because while you had gained a small reputation for your photography, you still had barely enough to rent an apartment and buy the things you needed.

You moved in and tried to help him. But it is hard to help someone when they do not want your help. He grew to resent you. You were a whiny person who wanted to control him, he claimed. You wanted him to be a clone of everyone else. You fought constantly.

And then, things grew violent.

The first slap seemed to be a mistake and you let it slide. But after the second, you fought back.

Your best friend would look at you, concerned about the bruises but not saying anything because guys are not supposed to notice that kind of thing.

You felt like such a girl, you thought, as you realized your relationship was unhealthy and tearing you apart. But if you just left him, you wondered if he would even live or if he would take his life in revenge. And you could not bear to have his death on your soul.
Guess he did not get that memo about not hurting each other by leaving. Because that is exactly what he had done.

Guess a pretty face that loved to drink was all he had ever wanted. That was the person he left you for.

It crushed you. And yet, it didn’t. Your heart was fragile but you were strong. You were not devastated. But you did feel like curling up into a ball and crying.

But men do not cry.

Whoever came up with that was a liar. Because you were a man and you were crying. Well, maybe it was not crying. Because the only emotion you showed were silent tears as you sat on the beach in front of your best friend’s shop.

It brought back memories of that lost cove that you had found yourself in so long ago.

At that moment, you felt the need to find it once more. You felt that going back to it would be the only way to really put your life back together.

You left a note on the door of shop telling your best friend you would be back sometime but that you needed to get away. You called your new employer and told him you were going on a journey. He made you promise to take pictures. You smiled just a little and answered with a yes.

And then, you left.

--------------------

Leaving, it turned out, was the easy part. Finding that cove was the hard part. Part of the problem was that you could not even remember which side of the country it was on. At least you did know that it was not in the north because the place had been warm in the middle of winter.

You scoured Japan’s coastlines, searching for it. And you just could not seem to find it. At points, you wondered if you had dreamt the place up.

You met so many different people, though, that it did not seem to be such a chore to look for the place. The people were what made your journey so great.

You smiled when you saw the look of shock on your best friend’s face.

It had been two, no three, years since you had left on your journey to find that cove.

You had not found it. And you had not spoken to him or anyone else during that time other than to tell them you were still alive.

He told you to get ready because when the shop closed, he was going to take you to dinner and let you meet the woman that had captured his heart. You smiled and agreed, telling him you would be out somewhere on the beach.

And you almost laughed when you let your feet take control because you finally found the place. You had been so close to it all along. You went back to the cove and laid down on the sand once more. You took a picture this time.

And left it on the sand.

Because you realized that the place was not what you had needed to fill what you thought was the gaping hole in yourself.

No, what you had needed all along was to be yourself. When you had been with him, you had tried to be what he wanted you to be. And that was all wrong. Because you had not been willing to let him wreck your life the way he had wrecked his own. It was not love that had held you to him. It had been pity and guilt. Guilt because you felt that if you had not been in his life, it would not have ruined him. But then you realized that if it had not been you, it would have been something else that would have led him down the path of self destruction.

In the distance, you could hear your best friend calling you.

Hours had gone by in an instant. And you did not care. Because while things were painful, they could also be good. You had people you cared about and in turn, cared about you.

---------------------------

She was a wonderful person, exactly the type of woman you had imagined for your best friend. She was everything he could ever want and you hope that they would always be happy.

When they married, you were gladly the best man. And it was on that happy day that you found yourself drawn to an interesting person.

He was familiar. You had met him years ago in junior high, a rival player from the same team as the one who had taken your ex-boyfriend away. You remembered this guy and decided to not hold his former captain’s actions against him.

You guarded yourself this time. After him you were worried about letting anyone else close to you. Even your best friend’s now wife was held at a distance.

He screwed up. He made mistakes.

But you found yourself, instead of being pushed away by those things, drawn closer to him.

He broke the barriers you had set up.

You did not realize you had fallen for him until you met his boyfriend.

It almost tore your heart apart when you found out that he had a boyfriend. You remember your best friend watching you, worried about what you would do. And you did not blame him for worrying. Because you were not sure just what you would do either.

However, things seem to take a turn when that relationship ended. Your new friend and his boyfriend broke up. For good. You stood by your new friend, helping him heal his broken heart with your fractured one.

Time passed and you wondered if you were wasting your life on pining away for someone who did not seem to notice you.

----------------------

A phone call came one night. Your ex-boyfriend, the one who had let himself be destroyed internally, was gone. He had moved on from alcohol to other substances. And let those kill him.

You were saddened by the news. That boy, for that was all he had ever been even if his age had suggested otherwise, had been so important for so much of your life.

You went to the cove for the first time since you had originally found it.

The picture you had placed on the sand so long ago was gone, as you had expected it to be. But in it’s place was something you had not expected.

Your friend, the one you had fallen for, was sleeping on the sand. You watched the sunlight sparkle off his golden hair and felt your lips quirk up into a small smile. It appeared that even when you were down, he would do something that would bring back a bit of sun to your life.

You sat down beside his sleeping form. And as you sat there, you wondered if this would be all life held for you.

Stretching, you reached towards the sun, wishing you could touch it, but knowing that was impossible. But then the sun reach towards you.

The look on your face must have been shocked because he laughed. And you joined. You had no idea why you were laughing other than it just felt right. It was all you wanted.

And then, the sun stopped and looked at you with a strange look on his face. But then you realized you were not the only one who would do anything to protect the one you loved as the sun leaned in and kissed you.

[cash]

2007-11-06T18:22:55Z

SOMETHING SO SIMPLE

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Niou arrives late to practice the next morning, like he has been since he came back: not late enough to actually gain punishment laps, but just late enough to miss everyone in the locker room, miss being seen by everyone.

The locker room feels oddly different without Niou there, Yagyuu realizes. There is still laughter and teasing, complaints and comments, but Niou's voice isn't there, his presence gone. Yagyuu hesitates to admit it, because his head is spinning in more circles than ever before, but he thinks he misses Niou.

His chest feels oddly tight when Niou finally joins them on the courts.

"Niou, Yagyuu, you're playing opposite Sanada and Kirihara," Yukimura says, and by the way Sanada and Yanagi glance at each other, and at Yukimura and Kirihara goes "huh?", Niou suspects it is the first they know about the doubles game, as well. But it is like Yukimura to spring such things on them, without warning, and no one objects or protests.

A normal day, a normal game, and Niou knows he and Yagyuu could beat Sanada and Kirihara; they are not normally doubles players, do not practice as much as Yagyuu and Niou have together. Even if neither of them could beat Sanada or even Kirihara at a singles game, doubles is their arena, their chance to show off.

But that morning is different. Niou isn't even sure if he can play – it has only been a week since he last played, and he has spent days doing drills designed to make him remember how to swing, how to serve, get back his center of gravity, but none of those are the same as actually playing. Walking onto the court, Niou swings his racket, testing his backhand, his forehand, and nods to Yagyuu.

Kirihara's eyes travel to Niou when they stand on the courts; Yagyuu has to wonder if Yukimura knows that Niou is a distraction to the junior, and it occurs to him then that such a thing could come in handy during a serious game – for who would expect to be playing opposite a girl, especially if it's someone they knew was once a guy? Yagyuu's lips twist into a quick, sharp smirk and he turns to Niou to tell him – but then he is faced with the fact that it is Niou who is the distraction and why.

The smirk dies and Yagyuu takes a step back, moving away, to the baseline. He doesn't notice the flash of Niou's eyes, no one does, but he feels it all the same, anger and frustration and something else that Yagyuu doesn't want to think about lingering in it and the wall between them grows higher, more solid. Yagyuu wonders, if he squints, can he see it there between them?

Kirihara's eyes are on Niou still and he seems entranced; Yagyuu serves directly for the junior, thinking it will be their chance to get ahead. But Sanada is there, and despite the fact that neither of them are exceptional doubles players, they are still exceptional players: they will make Yagyuu and Niou work for every point.

When Yagyuu misses a shot because it means moving too close to Niou, he expects Yukimura's voice, but it doesn't stop Yagyuu from barely concealing a wince at the anger in it. He refuses to look at Niou, refuses to think about how his partner is reacting to it. He knows though, that Niou is as bothered by it as he is, and Yagyuu presses his lips together into a firm line, staring at the ground.

"What the fuck was that?" Yukimura demands and his anger is almost palatable; it permeates the air around the court. No one dares say anything, barely even breathes. "That was an easy shot, Yagyuu. Why the hell did you miss it?"

"I-" Yagyuu begins, but gets nowhere, as he expects; Yukimura cuts him off before he can even form an explanation in his head.

"I don't care," he says. "Any explanation you give will be a lie and won't work." He pauses for a moment, draws in a breath and lowers his voice, although it is still sharp and stinging. "I don't care if Niou grows tentacles and tries to rape you every time you're near him, but stop avoiding him. I won't have anyone on the team who is going to bring us down because they are afraid of their doubles partner."

If the court was silent before, it is even worse now, Yagyuu thinks. Even Kirihara is silent; no one looks their way except Yukimura, almost afraid to be caught by their captain and face his wrath, as well.

Finally Yukimura sighs, the sound laced with disgust and something, Yagyuu thinks, which is akin to pity, but he can't be sure. "Get off the court. You have until Monday to fix this." The rest is implied, but there; if they don't fix it by Monday, they'll be off the team.

Yagyuu glances at Niou finally, only to find his partner staring back at him. Yagyuu has not always been able to read Niou, but he knows the other boy better than anyone else knows him, knows his moods and his looks and the meanings behind them.

He doesn't know the one that blazes in his eyes at the moment, though. Doesn't know it or understand it, and shies away from it, from understanding.

"Thanks, Yukimura," Niou says, and saunters off the court as though nothing is wrong. Yagyuu waits for a moment before nodding to his captain and following.

Twenty minutes pass before Yagyuu gathers up the courage to head into the locker room, hoping Niou will have showered and be dressed and gone within that amount of time. It's never taken him long to get ready and leave the locker rooms before.

Niou's sitting on the bench in front of his locker, the one right next to Yagyuu's, when Yagyuu walks in. Yagyuu's not sure what he's doing, because he's just sitting there staring, but when Yagyuu tries to walk past, Niou's leg – skinner than before, smooth and still tanned and mostly bare because Niou's skirt is shorter than it should be and he doesn't have any socks on yet – comes up, slamming against the locker, blocking Yagyuu's path.

"Excuse me," Yagyuu says, but doesn't try to push Niou's leg out of the way, or push past him as he normally would. He just stands there, waiting for Niou to move and knowing in the back of his mind that Niou's not going to.

"Afraid to touch me?" Niou mocks, his voice as smoothly polite as Yagyuu's, even if it is higher pitched and obviously a girl's and it reminds him only more of who Niou is, what they are to each other and why everything has changed.

He doesn't respond.

"Afraid to even talk to me, it seems." Niou's voice changes abruptly; although Yagyuu isn't looking at Niou, he can hear the sneer, feel the distaste. "What, afraid I've got cooties or I might turn you into a girl as well? Or maybe you're afraid of girls? Everyone thinks you're just hard to get-"

Niou's rambling, his voice full of spite, and Yagyuu doesn't know what to think, although he has some idea of why Niou's saying all of it, he doesn't want to hear it, just wants to be left alone – with his thoughts, without them, it doesn't matter – in peace. Niou's been the only one who could get under his skin like that, desperate enough to lash out.

Yagyuu reaches out, without thinking, because he rarely thinks when it comes to something like this, and curls his hands around Niou's shoulders, pulling him up. "Shut up," he whispers to Niou, who is looking at him with a smirk and knowing eyes, and who opens his mouth to continue talking. Before he can say anything, Yagyuu slams him against a locker and presses his lips against Niou's, lips he knows as well as he knows his own.

Niou still tastes like Niou, Yagyuu realizes again, in the savagery of the kiss; Niou bites down on his lip and Yagyuu feels the same surge of pleasure rush through his body.

Yagyuu pulls away, allowing them both to catch their breath, and Niou pulls him in again, the kiss this time less savage, but still rough, still them. Niou's hands fumble at Yagyuu's waist, slipping beneath the elastic of his shorts to wrap around his cock, and Yagyuu is almost tempted to return the favor, when the locker room door opens and slams closed.

Yagyuu wants to ignore the footsteps, but he can't, not when a voice follows.

"Niou-senpai?" Kirihara calls, and moves around the lockers, sees them, and stops quickly, his face flushing red. Yagyuu breaks the kiss again, but doesn't move; he feels Niou's hand loosen around him, slip out from his shorts. "Sorry," Kirihara mumbles.

"We were just talking," Yagyuu says, and this time does pull back, not caring what he looks like or how obvious his lie is. He can't even look at Niou, can't stay in the locker room for any longer, not even to change. Yagyuu grabs his bag and shoves his uniform into it, leaving before Niou or Kirihara can say anything.

"Stop running away, Hiroshi." Yagyuu thinks he hears from Niou, as he steps out of the locker room, but he can't be sure if Niou actually said it, or if it's only in his mind.

He doesn't know his own mind anymore.

Niou stares after Yagyuu for a long minute; to Kirihara it feels like an eternity, because while he can be patient and attentive on the tennis courts, focusing on anything else I beyond him. And the atmosphere in the locker room is awkward and heavy; even Kirihara can feel it and it makes him uncomfortable.

"Sorry," he says again, and this time does bolt from the locker room, leaving in the direction opposite Yagyuu's. The door closes on Niou's laugh, high and mocking and, Kirihara thinks, weird; Yanagi or Yukimura would know better than him what it meant, but he doesn't bring it up to them, doesn't mentioning seeing Niou and Yagyuu in the locker rooms.

-

Although there is no need, since tennis practice isn't going to happen for him, Yagyuu is awake at the same time as he usually is Saturday morning. The birds are chirping outside, and the sun is streaming in through the open windows-

Yagyuu sits up, because he knows he closed the window last night, although he didn't latch it, and now he knows why: he was expecting this, even if he thinks he never wanted this to happen.

Niou's sitting in the chair by his desk, facing the bed, face a perfect mask of indifference that Yagyuu knows he is hiding something. The only problem is that Yagyuu doesn't know what.

"We need to talk," Niou says, and if it weren't for the different inflections in his voice, Yagyuu would think that they had switched for the morning, it sounds so much like Yagyuu's own when he is being polite. There were other differences, but Yagyuu was trying not to think about those differences.

"We have nothing to discuss." Yagyuu is tempted to pull the blankets back up over his head and pretend to fall back to sleep, but it won't work, and he knows it. Once he is awake for the morning, he's awake, and even if the day was going to be completely opposite the norm, not all of his habits would disappear. "How did you manage to get in? The window was closed."

There's a pause, a brief moment of silence where Yagyuu wonders if his words hurt, and suspects they did, because Niou can pull apart his words and catch the hidden meaning. It's always been like that, since they met; Niou has been able to get past Yagyuu's defenses and read what he really is, and Yagyuu's been able to see past the prankster exterior to the depths beneath.

"'We have nothing to discuss,'" Niou mocks, his voice an almost perfect imitation of Yagyuu's, only to grow flat and hard a moment later. "Bullshit, Yagyuu. Unless you really don't fucking care about tennis, or the team." He doesn't add on the words Yagyuu is sure he wants to, but it doesn't matter, when he continues on. Yagyuu can feel Niou's eyes on him, threatening to penetrate to the core, tearing down everything Yagyuu's built up, starting to tear down that wall that's built between them.

Only, he thinks, that wall started crumbling yesterday; Yagyuu can still feel the bite of Niou's teeth on his lips, can still taste him on his tongue. And now, now he has to wonder what the point is, why he is worried about that wall coming down.

"And if you really wanted to keep me out, try locking the window next time."

Yagyuu hears Niou's words as if they were said from a point much further way than the few feet that separate them in the bedroom, but they bring him back from his thoughts. He sits up and pushes away the blankets, and when he stands from the bed, he's almost tempted to make his bed, as he does every morning when Niou's not in his bed when he first wakes up.

Could he ever lock the window against Niou?

But that's not the question now, or something he needs to think about, at all. Mostly because it's completely pointless, a stupid question that he, deep down, knows the answer to, one that'll never change. If he only admits to it.

"Fuck, Yagyuu," Niou says, and suddenly, without Yagyuu having realized it, Niou's there in front of him, eyes blazing with anger, almost tempting Yagyuu to take a step back. But there was no where to go; the bed was behind him and a step to either side wouldn't do anything to get him away from Niou.

"Language, Niou-kun," Yagyuu drawls, wondering what he's thinking, because he knows how Niou will react to that. Or at least, he did, at one point, but now he isn't too sure and that is really the problem; not knowing, being unsure, insecure in the knowledge of his partner and these changes and everything in the future.

Niou's fist flies toward him, and Yagyuu ducks it, grabs his wrist and pulls him closer, jerking Niou off balance and sending them both tumbling to the bed.

"Fuck you, Hiroshi," Niou snarls and Yagyuu can only laugh at Niou, before pressing him into the bed.

-

Niou is in Yagyuu's bed when he wakes up the next morning and Yagyuu isn't, but that doesn't surprise him. In a world of changes, some things are constant, and Niou doesn't really mind those, for all he likes disorder and chaos in his life.

Niou stretches and yawns and looks at the clock, blinking sleep-encrusted eyes as he tries to make out the time. But it's not important, because it's Sunday morning and they don't have to be anywhere until the following morning, when Niou is sure Yukimura will put them through an even more gruesome doubles game than the one on Friday.

It's when he pulls his attention from the clock that Niou realizes something is wrong.

In one week, Niou's grown used to the way the sheets tent and fall, enjoying the feel of them over the breasts he'd developed and the feel of them falling over his legs. But they don't tent and fall that morning: instead they fall and tent. His body is no longer curvy in certain spots, flat in others, but flat and lean and his penis is stiff with a morning erection between his legs.

It occurs to him to wonder how it happened, why after a week his body is back to normal. But after a week long absence, it feels weird, almost awkward and Niou runs his fingers down his skin, over his sides and between his legs and over his dick, and then his mind is on autopilot, because none of it matters. The only thing that is important is that his body is back.

Yagyuu walks out of the bathroom before Niou finishes, and stops dead in his tracks, watching. He doesn't turn away.

previous part

[cash]

2007-11-06T18:22:41Z

SOMETHING SO SIMPLE
by vacivity

Warning: May contain NC-17 themes/sex

Niou is in Yagyuu's bed when he wakes up and Yagyuu isn't. It doesn't surprise him. In fact, there's nothing different about the morning: Niou blink s open sleep-encrusted eyes, yawning and stretching, nude beneath the sheets and blankets that are Yagyuu's. He always sleeps nude, even when at Yagyuu's, and it is then that he realizes something is wrong.

The sheets do not fall as they normally would, sliding over a slim chest and waist and over his legs. They do not tent between his legs, where his penis is stiff with a morning erection. They do not fall or tent there, but tent and fall, because his body is different: it is curvier in spots where curves did not, are not supposed to, exist; it is flat where it should be curved. The sheets and blanket are kicked off, tossed to the side and Niou doesn't even care that they slip to the floor. He never cared, that's nothing different.

Girls and Niou are a volatile combination, a mix of fun and pleasure and angry tearswhen they realize later he is joking, playing with them and their bodies and their hearts, because that's all Niou does. Everyone knows it, but the girls seem to forget it when he selects them for individual attention. So the body of a woman is not foreign to the silver haired boy, not at all. It is, though, foreign on him. Fingers – he notices now that they are slimmer, but no longer, nor shorter - skim over his body, feeling, touching, and learning the shape of his body all over again. His skin is no different: pale in the places hidden by his school uniform and tanned where the sun hits his legs in the tennis practices he endures daily. But it is different to Niou, because it is not his: except it is, stretching over a body that is his and is not his.

It occurs to Niou to wonder what happened, why he had woken up with a woman's body and not his: he wonders where his dick has gone to and if he will see it again and if his favorite shirts will fit over his breasts, and then it is not so much wondering at the causes, but wondering at the effects of this situation. He thinks about boys and girls and clothes and his friends and Yagyuu and the girl he is dating and then his mind shifts: no longer about external incidentals to personal, private issues. Niou's hand is at the juncture of his thighs then and he is realizing that while he does not have a penis, he still has functioning sexual organs and then his mind is no longer thinking, but on autopilot.

Yagyuu walks into the room before he is finished, and Niou is realizing that women really do take longer to reach orgasm than men do, but remembering the lessons learned at the hands of the girls he'd slept with helps, and Niou is arching off the bed, moaning and one hand is teasing the nipples that he'd never paid attention to.

"Niou-kun," Yagyuu begins, infallibly polite in the morning, even though he had only hours ago been pressing Niou into the bed, breathless, meaningless words escaping them both, to end with a silent cry of 'Masaharu'. He is shocked into speechlessness when he sees Niou on the bed; although he is used to seeing Niou masturbate, has no problems with it because it is something every man does and he has on many occasion helped Niou, and always enjoyed the sight of the silver-haired boy bringing himself to climax, this is something new. Yagyuu feels vaguely dirty, as though he should turn around, but he is entranced by the sight. He has never thought of his friend-slash-lover-slash-partner as a girl, even for the off chance that Niou might one day dress in drag – why would he? – but now that he can see Niou as a girl, he can not help but lust over the thought. And Niou opens his eyes then, to spot Yagyuu and a smirk curls the boy's – girls? – lips, as though reading Yagyuu down to his core.

Yagyuu shivers, suddenly, under that grey-eyed gaze, as he never did under Niou's glance.

"We won't be able to pull off the switch anymore," Yagyuu tells Niou, turning his back when he realized Niou was not going to give up on his activity, fingers continuing to glide in and out and over and Yagyuu will not admit how turned on he is by the sight. For Niou, this is a good thing, Yagyuu still being in the room, because he finds it easier to fantasize and is soon crying out in pleasure, body sinking to the bed, sated and weak.

"The switch is the last thing on my mind." Niou responds to Yagyuu minutes later, long enough to make Yagyuu wonder if his words had been heard. Yagyuu hears the bed creak and soon there are footsteps on the floorboards, stopping just as they reach him. Yagyuu is afraid to turn around, because he fears what he might see: Niou is not known for putting on clothes when first rising from bed.

Niou solves the problem for him, stepping in front of Yagyuu and bringing his fingers to Yagyuu's lips, and Yagyuu is sucking them in his mouth, tasting something that is uniquely Niou on those fingers. And he realizes he is glad that Niou still tastes the same. This shocks him, but Yagyuu long ago learned to take shocks delivered by Niou in stride, and even if Niou has a girl's body, he is Niou: the same mischievous light lingers in his eyes; the same smile tugs at his lips; his voice still carries the same inflections, even if it is pitched differently.

Niou is smirking at him when he finally lets the fingers slip from his mouth, and that smirk sends shivers down his spine, just as the gaze did earlier, and Niou's smirk never usually did. But then, Yagyuu figures, he is not used to being the one under the smirk or the gaze: that is reserved for others, now, when it has been years since Niou first mentioned the switch and used both things to get him to agree.

"Do you think your sister would have clothes that would fit me?" Niou asks, standing naked in front of Yagyuu, hands at his side, and Yagyuu is suddenly aware of the problem on their hands.

They have to return to Niou's house to find clothes that would fit, for Yagyuu's sister is too young and too short, and so Niou settles for wearing his school uniform, admiring the way he filled it out and the feeling of the rough material against his suddenly sensitive nipples.

His sister is not home when they return, but that suits Niou just fine. He knows his sister's room as well as he knows is – they are close for siblings, and he has always been a prankster, even when it applied to his family, and it only takes him minutes to find a bra that looks like it would fit and clean panties and to dig out the old Rikkai uniform she had lurking in the closet, because it is not something she would miss.

"Renji will be able to figure something out," Yagyuu tells him, because he is worried, rightfully so, and he knows Niou is as well, somewhere deep inside of himself, even if Niou won't admit it.

"I'm sure he will, Renji always has an answer," Niou remarks, pulling the uniform on and studying his features in the mirror. "I'm just worried about getting everyone to believe me."

Niou's hair in the same, flyaway strands falling in his eyes and a rat-tail trailing down his back, but he leaves it loose today, letting it fly every which way it wants and Yagyuu wants to reach out and tangle his hands in it, as he does late at night, but refrains, as they ride the train to the tennis courts Sanada rented for the day. "Extra practice," Sanada had told them the day before, when complaints had followed the demand to meet on a Sunday. Yagyuu has a hard time keeping his eyes off Niou, who looks different and is but isn't. Yagyuu wonders how the others will take it.

They are the last ones to reach the tennis courts, and Sanada is berating them for being late and already ordering punishment laps when he realizes that the Niou he is talking to is not Niou. Or rather is Niou, but as a girl.

"Take off that ridiculous costume and change into something normal," Sanada tells him. "And you're cleaning the clubhouse this week."

Niou is smirking when he leans close to Sanada, draping an arm around Sanada's shoulders as he had done to the others so many times in the past and even Sanada once or twice, and although it seems like he should be whispering, his voice is loud when he replies.

"I can't."

Niou's words take a take a minute to sink in and then Sanada is pushing his arm away and scowling at him from under the brim of a hat.

"Stop playing around Niou, and go change out of that. You should take tennis practice seriously."

"I am being serious, Sanada," Niou responds, reaching for one of Sanada's hands and bring it to his chest, fingers curling around Sanada's bigger hand and cupping his breast. Yagyuu watches the play of emotions over Sanada's face and can't hide the smile when Sanada comes to the conclusion that Niou's breasts are not fake, as he thought at first, but real. And then hits the realization that he is standing there groping one of the members of his team.

Sanada is quickly pulling his hand away, the scowl still there and forgetting himself enough to curse in the next sentence that slips from his mouth. "What the hell is that?"

And then Niou is laughing, and Yagyuu wonders if he will ever stop, because he, if no one else, can hear the edge of hysteria that borders in the laughter.

"It's called a breast, Sanada. I'm sure you've seen one before." Niou is looking at Sanada and then his teammates, only the starting line that day, the team that with two exceptions is composed of the same people from their middle school team, and still laughing and Yagyuu wants to shut him up, however he can. But he doesn't, because Yukimura is there and despite the amused glance he shoots at Sanada, who looks horrified, is taking charge and issuing orders.

"That'll be enough, Niou." Yukimura places a hand on Niou's shoulder and steers him toward the locker room. Yanagi and Yagyuu follow instinctively, knowing Yukimura would order them to, but needing no words. Kirihara follows because he is curious, Sanada because he is too, although he will not admit it. The locker room is empty when they reach it, but even so, the six of them huddle around a bench in one of the back rows of lockers, keeping voices hushed and Sanada watches for people. None of them want to be caught with a girl in the locker room, even if the girl is normally a boy, and it is only a fluke of nature that has turned him into a girl.

"I just woke up like this," Niou explains. "Breasts and everything."

"So you have all the parts?" Kirihara asks, eyes wide and flushed with embarrassment and something else; Yagyuu does not like the looks the boy keeps shooting towards Niou, but he refrains from saying anything.

"Everything," Niou insists, bringing his hands to the button down shirt he wore. "Want to see?" he asked his voice cheerful and calm. He is already unbuttoning his shirt when Kirihara jumps back, blushing and looking at anyone but Niou, insisting with almost a frantic tone that no, he does not want to see.

Kirihara's action sets Niou to laughing again, until Sanada is snapping at him to shut up and Yanagi is staring at Niou, eyes boring into the silver-haired boy, trying to think of a possible explanation. They are all looking to Yanagi, maybe not literally, but they expect him to answer this problem.

"Are you sure they're…"

"They're the genuine things?" Niou interrupts, because he knows what Yanagi is going to ask and he looks at Yagyuu, a smirk curling his lips and for the second time, Yagyuu shivers beneath that smirk because he knows what it means and he can still taste Niou on his lips. Everyone notices that shiver, but no one comments. It is best that way. "I checked. It's all there."

"Did you do anything different last night?" Yanagi does not even seem fazed by Niou's casual mention of exploring his own, new, body, but Yanagi is not disconcerted by anything, least off all the mentions of self-exploration. They are all teenage boys; it is common.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Niou tells him, because it is true: he and Yagyuu had gone to a new restaurant, spent the night inside instead of out, there had been a new video game. There was nothing different. It had been a boring night, in fact.

"You didn't try anything new, act in any different way, or inhale any foreign substances?"

"I smoked a cigarette, I had miso soup." Niou shrugs and looks around at the group surrounding him. "I didn't do anything weird or new or different. Ask Yagyuu."

Yagyuu murmurs an agreement, even though no one is looking at him, because they are all too busy looking at other things. Everyone knows what they do together, but no one mentions it, so when Niou specifically brings up Yagyuu, they don't know how to react. It is best to let some things lay hidden, even among the closest of friends.

Niou is sitting in the center of the row of lockers, slumped on the bench and torn between looking defiant and mischievous and rather upset. The others range from leaning against the lockers to standing up straight and stiff, watchful eyes on the hall. Yanagi says nothing, because for once he is stumped: there is nothing he can think of to explain why Niou woke up like this.

After minutes of silence, Kirihara speaks up. "Maybe this is Niou-sempai's bad dream." It is pointless to say but he can think of nothing else and it is better than the silence.

"Yeah, Kirihara, I'm going to fucking dream about having tits and a cunt," Niou says with a bitter laugh and Kirihara is flinching away from the words and the boy he had considered a friend and there is Yukimura placing a restraining hand on Niou's arm again.

"Niou, there is no need for such language," Yukimura says, but Niou is not paying attention, shrugging off Yukimura's hand and pushing himself up off the bench.

"Fuck this," he growls, or attempts to, but it lacks the fierceness that defined Niou's growl before and is storming away. Not even Sanada's hand can hold him back, although he does not try but once, because they are all confused and upset and even Sanada is smart enough to realize that Niou is the one with the most reason to be upset.

Yagyuu can still taste Niou on his lips and that is all he can think about.

Niou's mother faints and his father is horrified; his sister looks fascinated and intrigued and his brother is disturbed. Niou does not stay home that night, leaving after collecting a handful of things from his room, money, and different clothes from his sister, things that will fit because his clothes, he decides, look too odd on him and fit all wrong. When he is leaving, he can still hear his mother crying and father trying to calm her down; both are wondering where they went wrong, what happened, and why it was their son that ended up in this situation. He will return tomorrow or the next day and while things will not be normal, because in this situation, nothing is normal, but they will be okay.

The only problem is finding somewhere to crash that night and maybe the next night. He can not go to Yagyuu's: he does not want to see his classmates and be subjected to their looks of curiosity and pity or anything else they might subject him to, because he still needs time to adjust to the situation before shrugging it all off. Niou is adept at ignoring the feelings of others, does not accept pity, and is tolerant of curiosity – but all lessons learned over the years are forgotten with one simple, but not so simple, change. The way he sees it, he'll remember how to deal once he comes to grips with this new body.

It is learning to deal with that new body that will be his problem.

Niou stays nowhere that night; he picks a subway line and sits on it until it stops, ignoring the looks of the men on the subway who assume that a lone girl on the subway at night is looking for something of a dubious nature. When the subways stop running for the night, he gets off and wanders around Tokyo, eventually choosing a small café that is open all night to sit in, drinking cup after cup of green tea, changing to coffee as he sees the sun cresting the horizon. He isn't sleepy, but he does know his body well enough to realize he'll need the caffeine if he is to stay awake all day.

"Boyfriend kick you out?" the guy who is serving him the coffee asks, when he hits ten cups of the stuff and the sidewalk is packed with people walking to work or to school or to begin their daily chores.

"No," Niou says. "He realized I'm a girl." He starts laughing at the expression on the face of the waiter and doesn't stop until he is outside minutes later and people are staring at him oddly, and mothers are whispering to their children to avoid 'bad people on the streets'. This shuts Niou up, because he finally realizes what he must look like, hair a mess and laughing hysterically.

He starts laughing again minutes later. He fears if he does not laugh, he will cry, and Niou will not cry.

None of them see Niou after he storms out of the locker room, and Yagyuu is not surprised. He is not surprised when Niou does not show up in school, although it occurs to him to worry slightly when the boy is missing from tennis practice after school as well, and when he gets a call from Niou's sister, asking if he has seen Niou.

"Not since yesterday," he tells her, on the cell phone during tennis practice, even though Yukimura is standing a few feet away, a smile that is enough to chill Yagyuu's flesh on his lips. "If I do see him, I will tell him to return home."

"Don't tell him that, not yet," Niou's sister tells Yagyuu. "Tell him to wait a few more days."

Yagyuu is smart enough to not ask why, but murmurs an agreement and hangs up. The only explanation he offers Yukimura is Niou, and the other immediately softens a little, although he still orders laps to be ran. There is no complaining and Yagyuu spends the laps thinking about where Niou might have gone during the night. He does not wonder why Niou did not show up at his window.

Yagyuu returns home late that afternoon, because Yukimura drags him along when Kirihara demands someone come with him to the arcade and Sanada is unable to go along. Kirihara spends thirty minutes and 2000 yen dying in a video game, gets tired of it, and demands food. No one asks Yagyuu why he gets extra, carefully boxed and bagged, so to stay warm until he reaches his house.

Niou might not have snuck in through his window the night before, but Yagyuu knows Niou and knows that Niou does not stay away for long. He will be around some time.

The window is wide open and the bed rumpled when Yagyuu returns home, although he knows he had made his bed that morning, and closed the window, like he does every day before school. Niou loves the air that blows in through the window, even if it is freezing outside and the wind is not the only thing that is sneaking in through the window, and Yagyuu had long ago picked up the habit of leaving his window open at night, but he never forgets to close it in the morning.

The shower in his bathroom is running.

Normally, Niou leaves the bathroom door open for there is no point in hiding behind closed doors, not around someone who knows him so well. Yagyuu has no problem with wandering in and out of the bathroom if he needs something, which is quite frequent in the mornings. Yagyuu had once mentally compared them to a married couple: Niou in the shower, he brushing his teeth in the sink. But today it is different, because the door is closed, and even if Niou had left it open, Yagyuu would not enter the bathroom. He does not need anything, but that is beyond the point in question.

Yagyuu is doing his homework when Niou emerges from the bathroom, long after the water had stopped running, dressed in clothes too neat to be his, hair wet and plastered to his head, defining the sharp angles of his face. The rattail is braided, instead of in a ponytail, but still sopping wet and Yagyuu can see the outline of a bra and Niou's muscles beneath the wet spots in the white shirt. He wants to say something, but refrains and is glad he did so, because in the next moment Niou is pulling a sweater over his head, covering the wet spots, and shaking his head, sending droplets of water all over the room. Yagyuu is forced to cover his homework, to avoid splashes.

"Thanks for the food," Niou tells him, plopping himself down on the bed and reaching for the bag that contains his food, digging into it without hesitation.

It is all so normal, even though it is so different and wrong. But the veneer of normalcy is there and so Yagyuu goes along with it. He turns his back on Niou to continue his homework, as he does every so often, when Niou is in his room and can't be bothered to do his own homework.

Niou finishes his food in silence instead of his normal chatter that never actually distracts Yagyuu, and the silence grows between them until it is pressing down and up and in from the sides and Niou feels as though he is going to suffocate from the pressure or burst out screaming.

He settles for dumping his trash in Yagyuu's trashcan and picking up his bag that contains the clothes he'd bought earlier that day before sneaking through Yagyuu's window.

"Pick up my work for me, will you?" Niou asks, although he is not going to do the work and they both know that. But it is something to say and before Yagyuu can reply, he is slipping through the window again, hitting the ground feet first. Yagyuu compares Niou to a cat as he looks down at Niou's retreating figure from his second floor window; Yagyuu does not call down to ask where Niou is going. He can either guess or does not need to know. Yagyuu, for once, isn't sure which it is – he wonders if this will be permanent, not being able to second guess Niou.

He remembers he forgot to tell Niou what his sister said, but that still does not tempt Yagyuu into calling down to him. Niou will come back to him before going to his house.

Yagyuu does not know how he is so sure, but it is like knowing Niou would have been there earlier. Yagyuu does not admit that is primarily his wishes that keep him thinking so positively.

Niou lets his feet lead him, not caring where he is walking, not until he realizes his feet have lead him to Yukimura's house. Niou has climbed through all of his friend's windows, and whatever Yukimura is in an official position, he is above all things, Niou's friend. He does not know what subconscious motivation brought him to Yukimura, but he does not question it, settling for picking up a handful of pebbles to fling at the window, just hard enough to attract the attention of the boy inside.

Niou sees Yukimura's shadow at the curtains and stops throwing the pebbles. A minute later, the curtains are pulled back and the window thrown open and Niou is finding familiar footholds in the wall that give him just enough boost to allow him to grip the window seal and hoist himself over and into the room. Yukimura is seated at his desk, although turned to the window, a smile faint on his lips.

"You make a pretty girl, 'Haru, but you are not very ladylike at all," Yukimura tells him, and Niou responds with a smirk and a laugh.

"Did you really expect me to be ladylike?" he asks, settling onto Yukimura's bed after kicking off his shoes. It is familiar routine, comforting and if only Niou could forget the breasts that have caused him problems with his balance and the difference in feel of the female organs, he might have been able to fully relax.

But they are still there and Yukimura is staring at him with an unreadable expression, one Niou has only seen on his captain in situations where he has never been the on the receiving end.

"I do not know what I expected," Yukimura tells him, because it is true and despite the mind games they both played, he knows Niou appreciates the truth. Niou does not respond to this, but simply flashes a grin and changes the subject.

"I won't be around school, or tennis practice, for a few more days," Niou says. "Hiroshi is picking up my homework, but I figured I would let you know I won't be at practice." That is not true, and Yukimura can hear it in his voice, but refrains from even raising an eyebrow at the lie.

"You won't be let off easy when you return."

"I know." Niou's voice is soft and he is looking at anything but Yukimura. There is the same uncomfortable silence he experienced with Yagyuu – this does not sit well on Niou's shoulders. He is not used to uncomfortable silences or awkward pauses, for he is the boy who could find a topic to speak about with anyone and with the few friends who he does enjoy silence, it has never been uncomfortable, until now. But then Yukimura is there next to him, and although they are still of a height, Niou feel smaller, somehow, but it is not a pressing concern. He does not realize it, but Niou's arms are going around Yukimura's body, even as the hands of other boy thread through his hair and Niou's face is buried in Yukimura's chest.

Niou cries, although he does not cry, and will deny it later to everyone. But at that moment, he is simply a lost teenage boy who woke up with the body of a woman. It would be enough to make anyone cry.

Yukimura is gone, left for school, when Niou wakes up, and he doesn't even bother to leave a note, quietly slipping out of the window, left open he realized, for that very reason. He might have found comfort in Yukimura's arms last night, even enough to have slept in the same bed with his friend, after the bout of crying, but it is at Yagyuu's that he feels the most comfortable. Even if he is not very comfortable around the boy – the room is a safe haven, and he seeks it as a ship would a natural port in a storm.

The window to the room is closed, but not locked, as it had been the day before, and as it will be the following day. Niou does not think about anything as he slips into the room and sheds his clothes, curling up beneath the blankets in his usual manner. It is probably too much sleep for him but his body is not protesting and his mind is easier to deal with when he is not awake. He can forget his new body parts that are not quite so new; it is the third day he has had them, he realizes with a start. It is old enough not to be a novelty to Niou anymore. The thrill of exploring a new body had long ago evaporated; did not exist long enough for him to fully enjoy it, really, had existed for that one morning and disappeared beneath the haze of trying to convince his friends he wasn't lying or crazy or dreaming and in the reactions from them all. All he knows now is that he is sill a girl and his friends are probably still horrified and his parents don't want to see him.

Yagyuu is accosted by Yukimura before classes can even begin. There is no denying his captain, Yagyuu knows, not when Yukimura is looking at him with a firm expression that will tolerate no objections. He keeps silent as Yukimura leads the way off the Rikkai campus and to a small tea shop, makes no protests when Yukimura orders tea for both of them.

"You should skip tennis practice this afternoon," Yukimura tells him, without preamble. "Niou needs you more than tennis does, right now."

"And we need Niou back on the team?" Yagyuu interjects, although his voice is a question and he hates the waver in it.

"This is not about that," Yukimura says. "This is beyond tennis and the team and even all of us, Hiroshi." Yukimura looks at him then, face serious over a fragile china cup of green tea. "This is about you and Niou."

"Niou and I are nothing," Yagyuu insists, his mind screaming at the blatant lie: Niou is Yagyuu who is Niou and they are everything. But it is nothing, now, because Niou is not Niou but is and it confuses Yagyuu, far more than anything else has confused him since he woke up one morning with a wet spot on his sheets and the thrill of an illicit dream tingling in his blood.

"Do you want him more now than you did before, Hiroshi?" Yukimura does not challenge Yagyuu's attempt at a lie; it is such a shameless attempt at hiding the truth that Yukimura does not even see the need to acknowledge it. It would be a waste of breath. Instead, Yukimura goes right to the quick. He had spotted the looks Niou had given Yagyuu that first morning, when they discovered Niou's change; he is intelligent enough to know what they meant, or at least guess at the truth behind them, even if he does not know exact details.

Yagyuu is silent, but Yukimura does not take it for assent. He looks at Yagyuu, and waits, letting him sort out his thoughts.

"I would not say that," Yagyuu begins, his voice even and soft, as though he is keeping his emotions in check. "It is just different, and I will admit, the thought does present an exciting change." When Yukimura says nothing, Yagyuu sighs and shrugs. He can offer no better answer than that; he does not think too deeply about it, as if he is afraid of what answers lie beneath the surface. But he thinks his response was the truth: it is not that he did not want Niou anymore, or any less, but that it was different, a change, a challenge, as things has not been for quite some time.

Yukimura says nothing, but continues to look at him, until Yagyuu is forced to stare at the tabletop and finishes his tea in silence. Yukimura has always been able to see through him, as Niou did, but in different ways, and it discomforts Yagyuu now as it never did. There is silence between them as they return to school, only to be broken before they leave to their respective classes.

"I take back my advice. Don't skip tennis practice today. Use it to think instead, Hiroshi."

Niou leaves Yagyuu's house before Yagyuu returns, but the signs that he was there are obvious: the bed is unmade, the papers on the desk scattered, towels on the floor in the bathroom, the window wide open. And Yagyuu thinks that maybe he should have taken Yukimura's first words and skipped practice, but knows it would not have helped.

Yagyuu flops on his bed, his move very Niou-like, and breathes deeply: his pillows still smell like Niou. He does not realize it, but his hand is slipping down his body and inside pants that are too perfect of a fit to be doing anything. When he does realize it, his hand is wrapped around his arousal and there is nothing in the world that would stop him from doing such a thing, even with the door unlocked and window open, bright sunlight streaming in and the chance of being found out high.

Nor does he stop the moan that sounds more like Niou's name than any moan should when he is nearing completion.

Niou seeks out Yanagi that night, the third night he is a girl and has no home to return to and does not wish to seek out Yagyuu's bed for reasons he does not think about. Yanagi studies him, his eyes open for once; but does not say anything and lets Niou into his ground floor room, graciously offering the bed.

"Even though you are a friend and a teammate, it would be too odd to sleep with you as you are now, Masaharu," Yanagi tells him. Niou rolls his eyes at that, but doesn't say anything – he understands, maybe too easily how weird it would be.

"You should go home," Yanagi tells him, when it is obvious Niou isn't going to say anything, because he feels the need to help, even if it is futile. "Or back to Hiroshi."

"I can't."

"Have you even tried to?" Yanagi asks, looking at the boy who is a girl in his bedroom; they both know the answer, but Niou refuses to admit to it, and Yanagi simply continues to look at him.

"I'll sleep at Sanada's tonight," Niou says, and leaves as quickly as he came. For a minute, Yanagi is left wondering if it really had happened, but the window left open makes him believe it.

He calls Sanada to tell him Niou is heading over.

-

Sanada was expecting him, which does not surprise Niou; he'd know Yanagi would call. He doesn't mind it either, and Sanada does not say anything to him, simply lets him have the bed. But Niou can not sleep that night, the product of too much sleep already, and leaves well before dawn. His mind is made up, and he seeks out Yagyuu's house, although it is not to talk or to fall into bed with his partner who is his best friend and who is more than all of those terms but who can not be described.

Instead, Niou sneaks in quietly and hogs the bathroom: he is still in the bathroom when Yagyuu wakes up, make-up spread across the counter as Niou experiments with different products, the school uniform he'd stolen from his sister neatly pressed and hanging on the back of the door.

"I don't know how chicks do this fucking stuff," Niou complains, holding up a mascara wand. "It's fucking painful."

Yagyuu is not sure what to say, so he says nothing, just stands there and watches Niou for a moment, until he shakes himself free from the effect of watching Niou. "I have to take a shower," he says simply, and slips past Niou to turn on the water. Niou is still playing with the mascara wand when Yagyuu strips off his clothing. There is no acknowledgement, no moving out of the way for him or deliberately trying to avoid looking at him.

It's just like every morning when Niou woke up in Yagyuu's bed. Only different.

Yagyuu reaches for a towel when he steps out of the shower, wraps it around his waist as quickly as he can, although there is no need, because Niou is paying more attention to the make-up on the counter than to Yagyuu himself, and it's almost disconcerting, especially when Niou holds up lipsticks and asks which color would be best.

"How do you plan to go through school?" Marui asks from behind Niou, when he stops to study the gates that lead to the school. Niou's gotten this far; if it were not for the fact that he has too much determination, too much pride, to turn back now, Niou knows he would be walking the other way, avoiding school and his peers and everything else. And, not for the first time since he woke up with a different body, he doesn't know what to do.

Yagyuu is at tennis practice, bright and early morning practices to prepare for tournaments, so he is no help in answering Marui's question. He'd even made an attempt to drag Niou along with him, but Niou refused, using the excuse that he still had to get ready. For all that standing in Yagyuu's bathroom was completely normal, it was too different: something in the atmosphere had changed between them and neither of them knows how to adjust.

It makes Niou wonder about himself; if he is everything he thinks he is. Anything before this he'd been able to handle, with no problem, bending it and shaping it to his whims when necessary.

"How'd you know?" he asks Marui, returning the question with his own to cover his lack of an answer, a question that is completely obvious. Marui's not on the tennis team, but he hasn't forgotten his own love of the game, or the people who he had gone to Nationals with. And he and Yukimura are still in the same class.

"I'm a tensai," Marui jokes. "Or has it been so long since you've seen me that you've forgotten?"

"It's not hard to forget a face like yours. The mind tries to push out the ugliness as quickly as possible." The banter is familiar and comforting in its light-heartedness; almost a relief after everything that had passed in the days prior.

Marui only rolls his eyes, and with a glance at Niou that showed he had been spending almost too much time with Yukimura, pitches his voice a little higher, loud enough to be heard by the rest of the students walking around them, a few throwing curious glances at the two of them. Niou still looked enough like himself that anyone who knew him did a double take.

"Don't you like the forfeit for that bet, Niou?" Marui asks. "Shouldn't have taken it, like I told you, but do you ever listen to me?"

The confusion that Niou felt only lasted a moment, to be replaced by understanding and a knowing grin on his face. "I only took the bet because I felt bad for you. Must be hard, not winning anything." This was all so staged, he couldn't help but feel; but it would work. It had to work.

"Fucker," Marui mutters under his breath. "And I'm trying to help you." Louder, he continued, "Doesn't matter why you took it. You lost. Have fun pretending to be a girl for the next week."

Niou laughs, and for the first time since he woke up as a girl and everything started going to shit, the laughter was natural and real. Some of the tension drained from his shoulders, and he relaxed a little. There would be doubt from quite a few people, and Niou could already picture the horrified expressions of his teachers and more than a couple of his classmates, but at least he had an excuse.

"Start running laps," Yukimura says when Niou enters the locker room, five minutes after the start of practice. "Not for being late. For the days you missed."

Niou starts to unbutton his shirt, but stops before he hits the third button and glances at Yukimura. There has never been any shame or embarrassment in Niou before; shame is not something he feels is a useful emotion and he has long since pushed it away; embarrassment is much the same. But something in him stops his fingers from unbuttoning his shirt in front of Yukimura, even when he knows he has a bra on and would be revealing nothing. "How many laps?" he asks, and fiddles with the edge of his shirt for a moment.

"Run for the entire practice," he told Niou. "Just start running and keep running. You're doing swing drills tomorrow." Punishment for missing days of practice; laps and drills that he doesn't even need to do anymore and will be so mundane, but Niou accepts the punishment; it is only fitting, and he knows there is a lot worse Yukimura could make him do.

Yukimura stands, heading for the door that leads to the courts, only to turn and look at him again for a moment. "Stop five minutes after everyone else, and come late tomorrow. It'll work out for the best." The door closes behind him before Niou can say anything in agreement or disagreement to Yukimura's demand.

Niou changes quickly, ignoring how his jersey fits over his breasts and the shorts over his hips. It's good to be back in the uniform; and he briefly picks up his racket, spins it on the palm of his hand, just to test the weight of it again.

Even though the following day will only be swing drills, at least he'll have his racket in his hands again. He's already looking forward to it. Even more than playing again, because he knows what playing will mean. Yukimura wants Yagyuu and Niou in doubles for at least one of the tournaments.

"Your sister told me the other day to wait-" Yagyuu began, but Niou cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"To wait a few days, yeah I know, we talked. She said it's okay to come back home now." Yagyuu could detect the vaguest hint of a grimace at the corner of Niou's lips, only because Niou was his best friend and he knew what to look for. "We'll see how things go."

Yagyuu can't think of anything to say in response to that, and it's not in his normal habit to offer any words of comfort, so in the end, he keeps silent, simply nods in good-bye and starts down the path that leads to the school gates. The school is relatively deserted, although up ahead, he can see Sanada, Yanagi, and Yukimura in a group talking, with serious looks on all of their faces. Not out of the ordinary for two of them, but Yukimura looks odd, appearing so serious when not on the courts – and Yagyuu knows they have to be talking about tennis.

Niou falls into step next to Yagyuu, and he glances at Niou from the corner of his eyes, the familiar figured blurry.

"I forgot my make-up at your house," Niou says, in response to the silent question in Yagyuu that he would never ask. And in Niou's words, Yagyuu can sense the worry about going home, about facing his parents, about their reactions again. Things that Niou never usually worries about, because there was never a reason to worry. Until now.

As they approach the small group of Sanada, Yanagi, and Yukimura, they fall silent, and Yagyuu suspects he and Niou were the topic of discussion, although there is no other indication that he is right. Yukimura grins at them both, but focuses on Niou. "You better be here in the morning."

"Swing drills then, too?" Niou asks, although he knows the answer, and neither he nor Yagyuu stop to wait for Yukimura's answer but round the corner, and leave the school behind them.

Silence falls upon them, so heavy that Yagyuu can hear the drumming of his heart in his ears, even though the world around them is loud. It doesn't help, the outside noise, only makes the silence between he and Niou even worse, taunt with something he doesn't know how to identify.

Niou stands looking at his figure in the mirror in his bathroom. In the next room, he can hear his sister murmuring, talking on the phone to some friend or boyfriend or something, and loud music coming from his brother's room. Somewhere else in the house, his parents are probably sitting and saying nothing, still trying to adjust to the reality that Niou's home and still a girl.

His mother had hugged him when he came in, as she hadn't in years because Niou wouldn't let her. And Niou remembers the tears in her eyes; the confusion mixed with the worry mixed with something else he wants to think his love but doesn't really know. He's never thought about his parents as anything beyond the people there to raise him, support him, yell at him when he did wrong, soothe the cuts he got when he was younger.

Staring at his body feels even odder than touching it. Since he became a girl, Niou's not spent any time actually looking at his body. He's felt it, that first time when he woke up and there was the surprise of a new body, and spent the morning earlier studying his face. But he hasn't actually paid attention to the changes in his body. The curve of his breasts, the rounding of his hips, the softening of his features. There's still the lean grace he's always possessed, but nothing feels as sharp as it once had. Niou reaches up and still staring at his reflections, lets his fingers trail down his neck, between the valley of his breasts, over his stomach, and still lower.

The pounding on the bathroom door makes Niou jerk and jump, his hand quickly moving from the juncture of his thighs, pulls his eyes from the mirror. "What is it?"

"I need to get in the bathroom," his sister snaps. "So hurry it up. And your cell phone went off a while ago."

Niou dresses quickly, pulling on his clothes in a rush, while he thinks about who might have called. The thought to annoy his sister and stay in the bathroom a little while longer hovers in his mind, but in the end, it's not worth it.

It wasn't a call; it was a text message he received, and not from Yagyuu like he was hoping, but from the girl he had been dating. The one he was still technically seeing, even if she had been the last thing on his mind the past few days and he had even made it a point to avoid her during school.

Why are you avoiding me? she asks, and Niou stares at the message for a moment, then shuts his phone and tosses it back in his tennis bag. He'll find her tomorrow, break up with her, and be done with it. It's not like he actually cares about her; the girls in his life come and go with amazing ease and while certain girls are more fun than some of the others, he likes none of them. Not to the extent that he likes Yagyuu, or even the friends he has on the tennis team and the few people he associates with outside of the team. The girls are just playthings on the side, used to pass the time away with. And now, he really doesn't even need that: there's no knowledge in Niou of how long this body will last or if he'll ever gain his old one back. And until that's solved, the fewer complications he has, the better.

Niou flops back in his bed, pushing the blankets away and stretches back on the bed, his hand sliding under his shirt, when his phone goes off again. He doesn't bother to answer it, but he doesn't continue with his intentions. Instead, he sits up and pulls off the shirt he had pulled on only a few minutes before, and pushes pajama pants over his hips, sending both articles of clothing flying across the room. It is still more comfortable to sleep in the nude, rather than weighted down with clothes, and the sheet settles over his skin nicely. Sinking into his bed almost makes him forget he is missing Yagyuu: the familiar smells, the familiar touch, the placid silences, and the engaging conversations.

He wonders if it will ever go back to being like it once was - the situation with Yagyuu.

It feels like he has been doing nothing but sleeping since he woke up Sunday morning, and Niou can't help but wonder if his body is going to start protesting again, but the laps wore him out more than he realized earlier, and it isn't long before Niou finds himself drifting off to sleep.

His last thought is of Yagyuu, and how he misses his partner who is his friend who is his lover even more than his old body.

-

Everyone is on the court by the time Niou arrives in the locker rooms, and he can hear the sounds of morning practice through the walls: tennis balls hitting rackets, the scuffle of shoes against the courts, Yukimura's voice above it all that morning, anger obvious.

For a moment, Niou is glad he's not on the courts, but as he steps out of the locker room, facing the fact that he's going to spend all morning, until classes actually begin, and all afternoon doing swing drills, that changes. Even with Yukimura yelling – and the force of his voice is even stronger when he's outside – actually playing would be a lot better than anything else.

No one acknowledges him when he steps out on the courts, by-passing everyone to find a quiet corner where he can do those damnable swings, although he notices Kirihara glance his way, and Yagyuu resolutely look in the opposite direction.

It's boring to go through the swing drills, like he knew it would be, and Niou mentally keeps track of them just so he has something to occupy his mind with. It's the mundane that annoys him and bothers him and if he had any opportunity to, he would fumble it all and slack off. But even though Yukimura doesn't keep a close eye on him, nor does Sanada, Niou suspects the captain would know if he didn't do them. And for all that Niou likes to push authority as far as he can, test the limits of what he can do in any situation, Yukimura isn't one he likes to push too far; there are things much worse than simplistic drills that he could face.

No one watches Niou, Yagyuu notices, but they are all aware of the boy, in some way or another. It's glaringly obvious when Yukimura throws a glance at Niou and says, "Doubles practice tomorrow."

Yagyuu knows Niou hears the words, because he stiffens in the middle of a swing and the planes of his back are tight and tense. Yagyuu looks away then, and goes back to concentrating on Yukimura, only to find his look being returned. "You two are playing in Regionals, Niou, Yagyuu." There are hidden words in Yukimura's comment, Yagyuu knows, instructions to them both: solve whatever issues you have and get back to being partners.

There's a stirring inside of him, Yagyuu realizes as he stares at Yukimura, and he wonders, only briefly because that's how long he allows himself to hold onto the thought, if it is possible to hate someone you also respect. It's buried as quickly as he feels it, and Yagyuu glances away, at anything but Yukimura and Niou, at anyone really. The ground feels like the safest thing to look at.

Teachers give him weird looks, even the second day Niou's in school as a girl, and one sends him out of the classroom, for the second time in as many days. The campus is already well-known to Niou, and it's not hard to find a quiet place to spend a lesson, outside rather than inside, and even when the lesson passes and a new one begins, and then the shifting from morning to afternoon, with lunch, he doesn't leave the spot on the roof, figuring it would be much better to spend his time there than anywhere else. The afternoon classes will be good enough to attend. In the end, it's not like any of them really matter, because Niou finds very little of importance to be gained from the classes and the lessons. Not even the impending future is enough to make him sit up and pay attention in class.

He never makes a secret of where he prefers to spend his lunches; if he is not with Yagyuu, or with Marui, or Yukimura, or even bothering Kirihara (which often all mean the same thing), he is on the roof, and when the door opens and slams closed in the wind, Niou doesn't look up, figuring it is someone from the team who wishes to talk to him. His back stiffens imperceptibly, almost waiting for Yukimura or Yanagi to start talking.

Niou's smart enough to know it's not Yagyuu, at the very least. But the voice that speaks manages to surprise him.

"Niou-kun," the girl says, just loud enough to be heard, and Niou squeezes his eyes shut, mentally groaning. He has actually wanted to see her, but somehow the reality of it is much harder than what he imagined in his mind. It is not breaking up with her; he cares neither one way nor the other, but it is the confrontation that he foresees - her yelling and teary eyes. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Niou pushes himself up from the seated spot he was in, which manages only to give him a few inches over the girl and brings him closer to her, not something he really wishes for. As he watches, her face goes from miserable to somewhat happier, although it drops as the minutes pass-by and he doesn't answer her question. At least, he reasons, she is somewhat quicker on the uptake than most of the girls he has dated.

"I haven't been at school, so you weren't the only one I was avoiding," he says, and watches her face light up with joy, and suddenly feels something inside of his gut twist. There is no pleasure he gains from playing with her mind like he would an opponent on the court or even from the pranks – this is just some hollow, empty victory that will mean nothing within a few days. Niou knows his pranks are little better than that, but his pranks are always grand and amusing; the entire class, even if they are hiding it, or anyone around the victims, even friends, laugh. Even if it's a malicious laugh, or something cruel: Niou knows that they are better than these little jabs at a girl who is too stupid to realize what they are, with no witnesses.

Verbal sparring with Marui or Yanagi or Yukimura or Yagyuu – all of those might not lead to anything but he is forced to think, to attempt to say something that will shock the others. Oftentimes it works, sometimes it doesn't; but at least there is a challenge. The courts are just as good to pull off pranks and rile up his opponents, simply because of where it is, the rewards he can gain from it, the end results, the audience he has.

But this – this is pointless and almost, Niou thinks, stupid. Because there's nothing to be gained from it and the girl is an idiot, not even bright enough to realize when he is mocking her.

The girl is saying something he doesn't quite hear; but it's unimportant, because he doesn't really care about her or her words or her damned feelings and he knows how this conversation is going to end. As Niou watches, she steps closer and wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head up for a kiss, not realizing that she's pressing against a body that is not his own, or perhaps she too fell for the rumor going around school and thinks it's nothing more than a costume. But Niou can feel his body pressing against hers, the soft yield of her breasts against his own, and even as it turns him on, it makes him pull back, in shock and something like disgust. Not at the fact that for the moment, they're both girls, but at the thought of someone else touching him.

Niou reaches up and pulls her arms away from his neck, dropping her wrists as quickly as he can and stepping back, away from her, away from everything she represents.

"But even if I wasn't avoiding you," he tells her, "that still doesn't mean I want you."

Her eyes fill with tears as he watches and Niou wonders how soon before the lunch bell will ring, because he doesn't want to deal with her tears. He's saved before that though, when her hand comes up without him even noticing and slaps him across the face, hard and certain to leave a red mark, and she flees the rooftop. Probably to find a friend to cry to and complain that he is a horrible, horrible boy. It's what happens each and every time.

"Stupid," Niou mutters, although he doesn't know who he is referring to, himself or the girl, and he returns to his former spot, with hopes no one else will seek out the roof that afternoon.

There have been, he realizes, three people to touch him since he woke up with a girl's body: Sanada, because of Niou's own actions; Yukimura, because he hugged Niou; and his mother, to hug him as well. All people he knows, likes to a certain extent, and trusts to a certain extent. Anyone from the team he wouldn't mind touching him, with this weird body, those few friends he has outside of the team, his family. But anyone else – even thinking about it sends a chill up Niou's spine. The thought doesn't sit comfortably on his shoulders. Especially to kiss, because there's only one person he wants for the moment.

This new body has thrown everything into disarray, Niou thinks, and scowls at a point on the opposite wall. Things were fine before; he had Yagyuu, and he had his little fun on the side (or perhaps it was he had the girls and Yagyuu on the side) but since waking up with the body of a woman, nothing is the same; nothing will be the same.

next part

[borotra]

2007-11-06T18:22:27Z

RECONCILIATION
by cluelesschase

The defeat had been humiliating. More specifically, his defeat had been humiliating. Angrily curling his fingers between the strings of his tennis racket so tightly that the synthetic gut pressed into his slim fingers, they cut thin, angry lines that reflected exactly what he felt but didn't seem able to express. The muttered sympathies from his teammates, consolations and vows to do better the next time rolled through his blank mind like so many unspoken reprimands that he knew was his imagination, because there was no way that his teammates would blame him: they were all far too generous in that respect, he reflected bitterly.

The first half of the coach journey back to St. Rudolph was gloomily silent, each member replaying their own matches in their head, and then, inevitably, his own match, which had clinched the victory for Seigaku, and more importantly, the defeat for St. Rudolph. It was less silent in the second half; Yuuta and Atsushi were already discussing tactics to improve on, learning from their experience of having played against other strong players. He, on the other hand, stayed in his corner, brooding as he stared determinedly out of the window. He did not want to be part of a merry group. He needed this time to be angry at their defeat, angry with his own match and his humiliation, and, most of all, angry and lost and confused about Yuuta.

--

Yawning as the brisk chilly morning hit him, Yuuta ran a hand through his short hair, shivered slightly, and broke into a gentle jog around the courts. He felt disappointed, of course, that he had lost yesterday's loss, but he was not one to hold grudges for long. His good nature helped to strip it out of him, just like that slight breeze seemed to whip through his body. Experimentally, he rolled his shoulders; they didn't hurt. His mind replayed back to what he had overheard between Mizuki-san and his older brother as he started running properly, extending his legs, pushing and falling into a rocking rhythm that his body recognised, leaving his mind free to contemplate. Yuuta wasn't a person who though a lot. That wasn't to say that he was dumb, only that he didn't like to over-complicate things. However, he rolled his shoulders again, uneasily. Again, they didn't hurt.

Had it been true? Had Mizuki-san taught him a tennis move that might possibly destroy his shoulders? Aniki had seemed certain, and... as much rivalry as there was between them, Yuuta knew that Aniki cared about him. Not to mention that he was a genius at tennis. He had beaten Mizuki-san pretty badly. So if it had been true... then what about his shoulders? Falling into place behind Kaneda, the boy rolled his shoulders for the last time – still no pain – and put it out of his mind for now. He could ask Mizuki-san directly later.

However, as the boy slowed down into a light jog before starting his stretches, he noticed that Mizuki-san wasn't here. That was definitely odd; Mizuki-san was usually the first one up, even though he hated mornings, silently glaring at everyone who dared to be cheerful and snapping out orders. As Akazawa-buchou walked over to tell Yuuta that they would start drills in a few minutes, the captain added with a light frown, "Have you seen Mizuki, Yuuta?" The boy shook his head with a confused look –even buchou didn't know where Mizuki-san was?

Chewing his lower lip slightly even as he jogged over to start drills, Yuuta remembered his sempai's despondency after their defeat yesterday. They looked at things different, Mizuki and Yuuta; Mizuki analysed every moment of the past, picking at the details until the whole memory of it fell apart, like soggy food whilst Yuuta took the broader aspects of the past and took them into the future. He knew now that he should be careful of his shoulders, and that he shouldn't use the Twist Spin Shot, which meant that he had to develop a new shot. Something better. This was the reason he was here right now, at training; Yuuta strived to be better, and with every stroke he made as the automatic tennis ball launcher fired five-second rounds at him, he carved wider his path and dream to be outstrip his brother.

The extensive training, followed by a quick clean-up and a hastily ploughed-through breakfast before dashing off to his first lesson, drove Mizuki out of Yuuta's mind as he concentrated wholeheartedly on what he was doing. It was only halfway through his first lesson of the day, Japanese History, that Yuuta started daydreaming. He scribbled random names of tennis moves over his textbook in pencil, seeing if any of those he had heard during the tournament would inspire him for a new shot. Inevitably, thinking of tennis led him to thinking about Mizuki-san. The older boy had Maths first thing today, he knew. He'd have to corner Mizuki-san at lunchtime.

Sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria, Yuuta was soon engaged in a debate with Nomura-san, and Yanagisawa over whether the club's beginners should be pushed harder. Yuuta's usual enthusiasm for discussing their tennis club's future was only half-hearted though, as he kept an eye out for that all-elusive Mizuki-san. Their manager did usually sit with them; the regulars got on well as a group and spent quite a lot of time with each other, even outside of training. The familiar mop of messily-styled hair wasn't in the room however, which, Yuuta consoled himself, meant that Mizuki-san wasn't avoiding them at lunch at least. Five minutes before the end of lunch, in wandered Mizuki, looking far paler and unhealthier than usual, although he surely must have had a lie-in due to his lack of appearance at morning training.

Fighting his way over to the other boy, who had quickly picked up some food and was perched on the end of the nearest table with a seat free, Yuuta plonked down on the seat next to Mizuki-san, watching the older boy practically drink down his food; Mizuki's form tutor was notorious for hating late-comers to registration. "Mizuki-san, are you okay? You weren't-" the boy started tentatively, cut off the by the shrill bell which signalled five minutes to registration.

Resuming his sentence, Yuuta was cut off a second time as Mizuki demolished his rice, scooped the last few grained into his mouth, and patted Yuuta on the shoulder. "I'll talk to you later, mm, Yuuta-kun? I have to go to registration, and so do you." He left without another word, depositing his dirty tray before bee-lining for the exit. Yuuta rose and left more slowly. So Mizuki had been avoiding them. He now had some more food for thought, it appeared.

The manager's absence at after-school training was only even more pronounced than that of that morning's. Mizuki never missed practice. Even if he was on the verge of snuggling into his (presumably warm, comfortable and purple) deathbed, he still came to practice, whining pitifully, wrapped up in a huge coat and hugging his cup of hot chocolate and making demands from the benches. Akazawa-buchou aimed a questioning look at Yuuta; the rest of the regulars followed suit, but he only shook his head. He was the one closest to Mizuki-san, but he didn't know either. "He's probably still upset about yesterday," the boy offered. "Aniki did thrash him pretty bad." That last comment was said with conflicting tones. Yuuta was, of course, disgruntled that St. Rudolph hadn't gotten through, but he was also proud of his brother, although Syuusuke wouldn't be able to drag that out of him with five of oneesan's pies. ...Maybe ten though.

However, the thing about living in a boarding school was that it was hard to escape your friends on campus. Padding softly down to Mizuki's room after training, Yuuta listened for a moment, but heard nothing. A light knock on the door and a called "Mizuki-san?" preceded Yuuta just turning the doorknob. Sure enough, it was locked, and Mizuki never locked his door when he was inside, which was something only a few people knew: Mizuki-san was slightly claustrophobic. So his sempai wasn't in, but he hadn't gone to practice, and it was highly unlikely that he'd gone off-campus.

Yuuta faced the locked door for a long moment, uncertain of what to do now. There wasn't anywhere in particular that he thought Mizuki-san would be, and yet he wanted to find him. "Yuuta-kun?" The familiar voice rang out behind him in the corridor, and the boy started; the carpeted corridors of the accommodation usually kept footsteps pretty quiet. "Are you fainting against my door?"

Turning with a smile on his face, Yuuta noticed the peculiar expression across the older boy's face, and also that Mizuki-san was holding a racket and tube of tennis balls; his face shone with a sheen of sweat and his hair was apparently just plain messy as opposed to styled messily. And yet he wasn't wearing his regular's uniform, but a plain pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. "I'm sorry, I'm really quite busy tonight," Mizuki said apologetically, although his tone was stilted. Unlocking and opening the door, the older boy gave a rueful half-smile. "Why don't you come round some other time if you need help with homework, mmm?" The door shut gently in Yuuta's face, before he had even the chance to express himself.

Something was definitely wrong. Even if Mizuki-san was busy, he let Yuuta sprawl over his bed and ask him questions about his homework. Perhaps it was something to do with him; not quite consciously, Yuuta tested his shoulders. They felt as well as normal, although tired after practice, and he had taken care not to use his Twist Spin Shot. Suddenly, the boy felt like knocking harder on Mizuki-san's door and demanding an explanation, but the closed door in his face was all the explanation that he needed. Mizuki had shut the door on him, both literally and figuratively.

--

The following week was a range of somewhat depressing practices. Mizuki consistently failed to turn up to every one of the practices, and their captain was somewhat stuck without Mizuki's brilliant mind for tweaking their training regime to adapt to and improve upon what they had learnt at the tournament. Moreover, Kaneda had whispered to Yuuta that there was a rumour going around about him, and every time a beginner or two stared at him, Yuuta's shoulders started to itch, even though he wasn't a superstitious person, nor did he think that anything was indeed wrong with his shoulders. From what aniki had said, his shoulders would just one day snap apart from the burden placed upon them, but that 'one day' hadn't happened yet, and since he wasn't using the shot any longer, that 'one day' would never happen; therefore, his shoulders were safe, surely?

Not only this, but every time Yuuta turned up outside Mizuki's room after practice, he wasn't in; he knew this from the lack of noise inside the room, and sometimes saw the older boy return from what was evidently his own practices. Mizuki had spoken a grand total of about eleven words to him this entire week, which was ridiculous. Yuuta had finally even resorted to calling him on his mobile, but Mizuki never answered, and his texts hadn't been returned either.

As Akazawa-buchou approached him after Monday training with the rest of the regulars close behind him, Yuuta glanced up from his change of shoes, startled. "Don't worry, Yuuta-kun. You're not in trouble," Atsushi grinned at him. Yuuta smiled wonkily; he already knew what this was about.

"You need to find him," Akazawa-buchou said shortly. There wasn't really much debate about who 'him' was. "Either he's part of this tennis club or not. There are plenty of people wanting that regulars spot he has, and we need to know whether we're going to adjust our own training." The captain made a face, and added, "Sorry, Yuuta. We can't revolve around Mizuki, you know." There was a small part of him which squeaked, 'Why me?' in protest at having to confront Mizuki-san with being kicked out of the club, but the rest of him knew perfectly well why.

With a sigh, the boy straightened, and lobbed his training shoes haphazardly into his training bag. "I know," he responded quietly. "I'll let you know at morning training tomorrow."

Determinedly slinging his bag over his shoulder, Yuuta took his time getting back to his own room, finishing a half-written Japanese exercise so as to give Mizuki-san some time to get back to his own room after his own training, before walking over to the other boy's room. Knocking on his sempai's door even though he usually just barged in and made himself at home, Yuuta waited. There was a long pause, far too long to be normal, then that memorably musical voice said softly, "Yes?"

Yuuta swallowed, preparing himself for another rejection as soon as Mizuki heard who it was; he had been rejected in this fashion all week, but it was like a small part of his heart was shredded each time the lie 'I'm busy, Yuuta-kun' sounded from the other side of the door. "It's Yuuta," he said in a voice which was almost as soft as Mizuki's.

A short pause, wherein an invisible hand gripped Yuuta's heart and set it calmly against a grater, ready to erode him down. "I'm bu-"

"MIZUKI-SAN!" The yell burst from Yuuta more loudly than he had expected, although to be honest, he hadn't expected to shout at all. Doors down the corridor popped open, and the boy flushed angrily, staring woodenly at the door in front of him. It suddenly popped open, and Yuuta almost jumped, so unexpected was that action.

Mizuki's tousled head appeared in the small gap that the older boy had allowed to be opened as he obviously tried to school his face into being as serene as the surface of a lake on a calm day, and yet failed, a muscle twitching. "Yes?" Yuuta didn't wait for anything else; this time, he took action. Jamming his wry body to the door, Yuuta shoved his way in, before slamming the door behind him, making Mizuki flinch.

"What do you mean, 'yes'?!" demanded Yuuta hotly. His pulse was racing probably far too much for his own good; he visibly saw Mizuki think exactly the same thing and almost reached to measure his pulse, but then remembered exactly why his heart was pounding so fast: he was angry, and it was with Mizuki-san, and he hated being angry with Mizuki-san. "You're avoiding practices, and avoiding the team, and you want to know what I want?" Mizuki didn't answer, and only clutched the towel that he had previously been using to wipe down his sweat more tightly.

Yuuta pushed on, even though he could see that the older boy was gaunt, tired, probably pushing himself too hard. As well as having far too many things to say to his sempai, Yuuta was afraid that as soon as he stopped, he wouldn't be able to find the sheer nerve it took him to talk to Mizuki like this. "Buchou is about to kick you off the team," he snapped, "because all you can do after our loss is mope about it. The club needs you, but it doesn't revolve around you, you know. Even if you're hurting, you've got to carry on helping everyone else train, and if you can't do that, then you don't belong in our club, because the St. Rudolph tennis team cares about each other." A curl of contempt weaved its way into Yuuta's little speech at the end, as he turned from facing Mizuki-san, to staring at the back of his chair, quite unable to face Mizuki-san's blank face anymore.

The boy also wondered what Mizuki would do. Would he really quit? Life this past week had been hard without the older boy around to help, tease and order him around; he couldn't quite imagine a tennis club without Mizuki, even though he knew that all the third-years would be leaving at the end of this school year. "Don't leave, Mizuki-san," he blurted out desperately, only succeeding in making himself blush more ferociously.

There was a sound beside him, and Yuuta glanced around to see that Mizuki had sat down heavily on the purple-sheeted bed, the towel hanging limply from his long fingers. "Yuuta... I didn't think you would have wanted me to go back." A twisted smile had appeared on Mizuki's face, which was an ironic description, because the smile did not symbolise anything happy at all. Yuuta's throat seemed to make a sound of protest at this by itself. The smile on Mizuki's face only grew more twisted, as he continued whilst staring at his hands, "I thought that... the tennis club might be better off without me... I didn't do very with you, did I?" The question came out as a whisper, undertones of begging that Yuuta didn't know could exist.

"You did fine with me," the Second Year tried to come off as confident, but his boyish voice cracked halfway through, the last couple of words coming out huskily. They both knew that Yuuta was just saying the standard thing expected to make Mizuki feel better. The boy cleared his throat and tried again. "You taught me a great shot, and it really worked. Nothing bad has happened to my shoulders, so everything's fine." This time, he did manage to inject assurance into his voice, but he wondered whether he was trying to convince himself of this. Automatically, as he now did every time he thought of his shoulders, he tensed them, rolled them once backwards and once forwards, and relaxed. "They're fine," he reiterated softly.

Mizuki shook his head, a slight disagreement. He stood up, facing the other direction. "I suppose I'll be there tomorrow morning," he murmured, and Yuuta knew that it was a dismissal. Getting up, he almost patted Mizuki-san on the back... but didn't at the last moment, only brushing lightly against the other boy as he squeezed out of the room.

--

Starting his first laps around the courts, Yuuta almost tripped over Yanagisawa's leg as he kept his eyes off the courts, checking to see if Mizuki-san was going to keep his promise. As he apologised profusely, Atsushi eyed him with an expression that clearly explained that he knew exactly what Yuuta was doing. This was strange: there was nothing Yuuta could have exactly pinpointed about his expression, but he understood it perfectly anyway. On his third lap of the courts, Mizuki turned up – Yuuta almost didn't notice him at first, because he wasn't wearing the regulars jacket, but the plain club uniform.

As he next passed Akazawa-buchou, Yuuta tipped his head in the direction of Mizuki, who was running alone, his hair fluffy and bouncing with every jogged step. The captain's eyes slid over; his lips tightened, but he said nothing. He didn't give the other boy punishment, as any other member would have got if they had missed training, but ducked his head, and carried on. When drills started, buchou merely walked up to Mizuki and started discussing new drills as if nothing had happened. The look of pure confusion on Mizuki's face and his first stammered words told everyone there that this was clearly not what he had expected. Perhaps Mizuki-san had thought that everyone would hate him, Yuuta thought wryly as he practiced serves against Kaneda. Even he, the one with the most right to be angry at Mizuki-san, was not, but that was because Mizuki had not yet explained everything.

The Third Year held up a hand, "A moment please," and turned away from Akazawa-buchou. Yuuta saw Mizuki's face slowly change and moulded itself into the mask of cool indifference he usually wore when observing people he deemed beneath him. His next words to careful and precise with no stammering, and the ease with which he found words suggested to Yuuta that, contrary to everyone else's view that Mizuki had abandoned the club, Mizuki had analysed everyone's behaviour in the tournament and had plans for their moves to improve. Yuuta found himself smiling as he and Kaneda switched positions. Kaneda raised an eyebrow, as if to ask him why he was grinning so broadly, but then shook his head, as if he already knew. Yuuta looked suspiciously at the younger boy for a moment: did everyone know how the dynamics between himself and Mizuki-san worked?

Even watching Mizuki practice against Yanagisawa revealed something new to Yuuta. Mizuki prided himself in being able to anticipate his opponents without much effort. Today however, there was none of that smugness, but cold calculation instead. His hits were a little harder than before; his aim a little more precise. Yuuta knew that during his week of absence, Mizuki had worked out his rage at himself through tennis, beating every imaginary opponent to a pulp – or had he lost every time to make him so ruthless?

The atmosphere in the changing room was more lively than it had been for a while; the group accepted Mizuki back into the fold, although with perhaps a higher awareness of his exact shrewdness, and Mizuki just kept quiet those uncomfortable feelings he had started to confess to Yuuta last night. As Yuuta packed his things next to the older boy, he looked up, and met Mizuki's eyes squarely, firmly, and knew what he was going to say. He wasn't particularly happy about it, but he knew that this would sort things out quicker, and ease off the tension between them. "Mizuki-san," he said quietly, trying not to let them be overheard. Kaneda, for his part, seemed to know exactly what Yuuta was doing, and distracted everyone else. Yuuta didn't know how he knew, but he was thankful all the same. "Mizuki-san, I don't know why you did it," and they both knew what 'it' meant, "but I want to start over again with you. All over again."

Mizuki glanced up briefly from zipping up his tennis bag, and didn't say anything, and a short nod of his head indicated both acknowledgement and agreement.

--

Starting over again was a headache, Yuuta decided. It was, he also firmly asserted, the right thing to do, but Mizuki was being formal towards him, and awkwardness hung densely between them like a spider's web heavy with dew. The rest of the members acted like nothing had happened, and for glimpses at a time, they would see the old Mizuki, who made snide remarks, overly intimate comments, laughed at everything and everyone, and revelled in it. There were other reasons as to why starting over was a pain in the backside though. They were about a month on from 'the episode', as Yuuta had heard it reverently whispered between beginners, usually out of Mizuki's hearing, and thankfully nothing spectacularly drastic had changed, except for the presents.

And that was the problem: the presents. Staring at the large and probably ridiculously fattening cake perched quite happily on his desk, which was dripping with cream and slices of strawberries, Yuuta sighed. This was the third such cake which had magically appeared in front of his door this month, and other things too, including a neat stack of Mizuki-san's last year's notes on the Japanese invasion of China, about a mile of grip tape, and, of all things, a massive purple cushion.

Dipping a finger into an artistically curved swirl of cream, Yuuta admitted to himself that the cake was indeed very, very nice, and as of such, had probably cost quite a bit. On the other hand, he felt somewhat cheated, like Mizuki was trying to bribe him into doing something, and what was worse was that he didn't know what he was being bribed into doing. He did sink rather gratefully into his chair, now cum great purple cushion, though. The cushion was very soft. The notes were wonderfully helpful, Mizuki's handwriting being obsessively neat and about as unlike his own as one could get, and since he hadn't needed to re-grip his racket yet, he couldn't tell how wonderful the grip tape was, but the grip tape was probably quite wonderful too.

Yuuta sighed, and put his head in his heads. He didn't need to deal with this. The team was already joking with Yuuta, shooting knowing looks at him which he returned with a blush, or a glare, or usually both, but no cutting remarks, because he had a vague feeling that the jokes they were telling were most likely true. Two soft knocks on the door indicated that Mizuki was here, because... because... Yueta groaned softly. He knew that it was Mizuki, because he could recognise his sempai's knock. That was something he did not need to examine himself for. He was also quite afraid of what he might uncover if he dug too deeply for answers.

"Come in," the boy called, pushing all things to do with feelings and such out of his mind, right to the point when he caught sight of the big fat cake again. Oh dear.

Mizuki eased the door open. "Do you like the cake?" he asked, obviously hoping that Yuuta did, even though there was only the dab of cream missing from the original baked masterpiece.

"Oh yeah," Yuuta flicked a quick glance at it, then gave in and took a strawberry slice. "You want some?" The question was redundant though, because Yuuta knew what the answer was going to be. He knew, because he had tried to offer some to Mizuki every time the other boy had bought him one, and Mizuki had always declined the same way.

"No thanks," the boy smiled shyly, eyes lighting up just that little bit more as he spotted his gift of a cushion poking up from behind Yuuta when he leaned forward to ruffle Yuuta's hair. "It's for you." That last sentence always made Yuuta feel a bit jittery, his throat tightening up even as he wanted to insist at the same time.

Yuuta cleared his throat, "Erm... Mizuki-san? This... This must have cost a lot. You shouldn't... you know. You shouldn't do so much stuff for me," he finished quickly, shifting slightly in his seat, comfortable as it was.

The change was immediate; Mizuki's face closed down as if there'd been a power-cut. "Oh. Right. Okay." The boy edged out of the room with a few mumbled farewells, obviously misunderstanding what Yuuta really meant. Yuuta bit his lip as the older boy closed the door behind him, wanting to call him back and explain, but he knew that he wasn't eloquent enough to sooth Mizuki's feelings. Mizuki-san had always been the one to do that for him.

As Yuuta had expected and dreaded, after he asked Mizuki to stop, there came no more cakes, no notes of advice, no other random things that had caught Mizuki's eye in the street as suitable for Yuuta. In fact, he withdrew almost completely, like 'the episode' all over again. The worse thing about this time was that Mizuki was gradually opening up to the other members much more by now, and it was Yuuta feeling like the outsider this time.

Sitting down next to Kaneda in the changing rooms, Yuuta felt an elbow jab him in the ribs. "Mizuki-san is really smart," Kaneda started, as Yuuta started at him in slight confusion, "and you have a great instinct on the court, but you're both a little dumb at times." Yuuta blinked this time, as Kaneda blushed slightly for having to say this. "You've gotta explain to him. He doesn't get feelings, and you don't get people." Yuuta still felt a little lost. "Just go talk to him," Kaneda shrugged, "How do you expect to get anything sorted out if you don't actually sit down and sort it out together?" The boy stood up and left with Atsushi and Yanagisawa, who both looked like they knew what had just transpired. Yuuta rubbed his temples. This was all so unnecessarily complicated! And his teammates were so much better suited to this than him... but no. Of course not; this was between himself and Mizuki-san.

Knocking at the older boy's door, Fuji Yuuta was starting to think that every other conversation he had with this particular sempai turned into a confrontation. Mizuki's eyes stared blankly at him as he opened the door, and suddenly Yuuta realised exactly what Kaneda had been saying. Mizuki just didn't get it at all, and he suddenly felt himself channelling the frustration that all his teammates must have felt watching the two flounder in their relationship. "What is wrong with you, Mizuki-san?" Those first words were not the first words he intended to say, nor were they the second words, third nor, indeed, last. Yuuta sighed, and held up his hands to stop the other boy saying anything. "I am trying really hard," he spoke measuredly, thinking about each word before it came out. He didn't want this to blow up in his face because of a wrong word, which was what had happened last time. "Really hard," Yuuta repeated, "to, you know, mend our relationship here. I thought we had something good. I'm willing to try all over again, Mizuki-san, so why aren't you?!" The last clause tumbled out of his mouth accompanied by evident aggravation.

Mizuki started, quite dumbfounded at him. "I..." The boy shook his head, as if trying to string together a coherent thought, "I am trying," he struggled with the words, or perhaps it was the emotions that inevitably came with the words. "I'm trying too, but... but you like me doing things for you, I don't know how to make you happy," the guilt cut at his words, making them sound forced, and Yuuta realised with a belated epiphany that Mizuki wasn't trying to bribe his way back into Yuuta's good graces at all, but rather trying to please Yuuta the only way he knew how. "I..." A pause again, "I'll think of something," Mizuki promised eventually, the look of confusion still moulded across his features.

--

Over the next few days, Yuuta felt increasingly light-headed. Mizuki-san was being awkward again, but it was a whole new level of awkward this time. He was almost bi-polar, patting Yuuta on the head or grinning broadly at him at one point in the day, but nodding respectfully and holding doors open politely for him in the next. There were random touches, when Mizuki was in one of his 'good' moods, whereby Yuuta found himself on the end of a lot of hugs and random petting, which Yuuta was greatly disturbed by... and yet, reassured.

It was like the old Mizuki again, and he realised that his body had missed being spoiled rotten by Mizuki. They was also spending a lot of time in each other's rooms now, doing homework together comfortably in silence, although Yuuta would look up once or twice to see the older boy looking at him oddly, but whenever this happened, Mizuki would smile one of his smiles, and duck his head back to his work. There was another thing: Mizuki-san's smiles. They were like the old ones, which impudently wrought much damage on Yuuta's heart, even when he was being distant.

It had taken a while, but Yuuta had eventually realise that Mizuki's sudden change of moods were due to his fear of being pushed away again. As Kaneda had said, Mizuki was terrible at understanding feelings, and in being so, was particularly bad in recognising his own and Yuuta's feelings, even though they were probably the second-worst kept secret within the tennis club, the worst kept secret being buchou and Kaneda. Yuuta had also grouchily realised that everyone else had realised this before him.

As Mizuki leaned on the side of Yuuta's bed, his curls peeking over the edge of the bed and lightly brushing Yuuta's leg as he sprawled over his casually-made bed, Yuuta wondered what Mizuki-san would do if he ran his hair through those soft-looking curls. The older boy was always the one doing the petting, and Yuuta was renowned for being particularly out of his depth with intimacy like that. Shifting his weight as he peered at the clock, Mizuki murmured something about having to go, and rose catlike from his position on the rug, packing his bag efficiently. Yuuta stood too, to see his sempai out, and knew... that it was okay. It was going to be okay. When Mizuki turned to say 'good night', Yuuta grabbed Mizuki's loose tie and leant in suddenly, planting a sloppy, boyish kiss on Mizuki's pouty lips. "It's okay," he said; no words were used to explain what he was talking about, because they were above needing the words. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

Mizuki stared at him for a long while; a curl flicked over one eye and his shoulders bent over in the same position as Yuuta had tugged him into. The only change were his eyes, which grew wider, and Yuuta could have sworn that he noticed a slight gleam in the eyes which might have come from tears... but he had no time to wonder properly, because Mizuki had dropped his bag onto the floor and pulled Yuuta into a tight hug, his arms curling around Yuuta's waist as if he would never let go. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he choked. Yuuta had flung his hands out as he had been pulled, and landed on Mizuki's chest; his fingers crushed the soft shirt the older boy was holding. "I'm so sorry," Mizuki babbled, more than just a little lost, and yet understanding everything at the same time.

"It's okay, Mizuki-san," Yuuta whispered.

[tujuh]

2007-11-06T18:19:59Z

THE THING IS

Part II

The one thing Sanada allowed himself to indulge in was a long, hot shower at the end of a very long day. Between the team’s squabbling and Yukimura acting as if everything was back to normal when it obviously wasn’t, Sanada figured he deserved to spend some extra time under the soothing spray of water.

But when it came time for his turn in the bathroom, he found only cold water blasted from the creaking pipes. Shivering under the frigid liquid, Sanada discarded his previous idea and instead washed himself in record time before turning the water off to wrap himself in a towel. He had forgotten; the runners had taken their showers first and as sweaty as they all were, Yukimura refused to let them eat until they were clean. While they were no strangers to the stink of sweat, their buchou was adamant that five drenched teenagers eating together would spoil anyone’s appetite.

Of course, that resulted in all the hot water being used up. Scowling at being thwarted, Sanada dried himself before pulling on his pajamas. After performing his nightly cleaning rituals, he stepped out of the bathroom just in time to hear another argument gearing up in the bedroom.

“Bakaya! That’s my post-dessert dessert!” Marui’s voice shrieked indignantly. “Give my brownies back right now!”

“But I missed dessert because you guys hogged it all while I was taking my shower!” Akaya whined.

“I don’t care! It’s your fault you’re so slow! Give it bac—no, wait, stop!”

Sanada winced as he heard a startled cry and something – someone? – hit the ground with a loud thud, followed by a yelp that sounded more surprised than hurt, and glass breaking. Silence ensued for a few long seconds and then Akaya’s sheepish voice said, “Um, you okay, Yagyuu-senpai? Sorry about that.”

“Nice going, Akaya-chan,” Niou said disgustedly. “Now Marui’s desserts are all gone, you managed to drop one of your own teammates with chocolate of all things, and the picture frame is broken. Yukimura’s gonna be soooo mad at you.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Kirihara retorted. “If Marui-senpai hadn’t been so greedy …”

“Greedy?!” Marui shot back. “You left them on the ground where anybody can slip on them!”

As yet another argument started up to replace the earlier one, the shoji slid open and Yanagi stepped out, a resigned expression on his face. “You may not want to go in there right now,” he advised Sanada as he slid the door shut and strode away.

Sanada looked at him, then at the paper rice surface of the door, and decided he would trust Yanagi’s word. His head began throbbing at his temples, a sure sign of an impending headache. First a cold shower and now this; the whole weekend-alone-with-the-team experience was starting to make him wonder if he didn’t have a masochistic streak inside him after all. “Where are you going?” he asked Yanagi.

“To get the first aid kit.” Upon seeing the expression on Sanada’s face, he added, “Don’t worry, Yagyuu only has a shallow cut from the broken glass that just needs to be bandaged.”

“What’s going on here? I thought I heard something break.”

Sanada stiffened slightly as Yukimura’s voice drifted up to them from down the corridor. He appeared, already dressed for bed with a robe flung on top of his pajamas. “Renji?” the captain asked, looking between him and Sanada. It was a testament to Yukimura’s overpowering aura that he could wear a bunny on the breast pocket of his pajama top and look imposing at the same time.

Yanagi gave a resigned sigh. “I’m going to get the first aid kit. Genichirou can fill you in,” he said, and resumed his trek down to the kitchen where they stored the medicine box in case of emergencies.

Yukimura turned expectantly at Sanada, who found himself suddenly trying to swallow past a lump in his throat. Earlier, while they were eating dinner, he had allowed himself to relax his guard just the slightest bit; it seemed so normal sitting together and sharing food that, for a few hours at least, Sanada had managed to pretend that everything was all right. Dinner tasted wonderful in the fresh mountain air and it was just so satisfying to see the others training hard.

But now, with just the two of them in the hallway, Sanada wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. It didn’t help that the noise inside the room had suddenly died, thus making the silence all the more painfully evident. Yukimura stared at him, bemused, until Sanada gathered himself enough to speak.

“There was an argument, as usual, and it appears Yagyuu stepped on some brownies – I don’t know why he didn’t see them – and slipped, knocking the picture frame off the wall, and breaking it. He received what Yanagi called a shallow cut.”

“He had taken his glasses off, Fukubuchou!” Niou called out helpfully from inside the room. “That’s why he didn’t see them. Ow, Marui! What was that elbow for?”

“Idiot,” Marui hissed. “Now he knows we’re listening!”

“Oh, like he didn’t hear you,” Niou retorted.

“He’s hearing all of us now,” Jackal, ever the voice of reason, murmured.

Yukimura chuckled in amusement and slid the shoji open, revealing a row of kneeling tennis players right at the door, listening intently. “Are you all right?” he asked Yagyuu.

Yagyuu nodded. “It’s merely a shallow cut. It even stopped bleeding already.”

“Good.” Yukimura surveyed the room. “Thank you for sweeping up the glass and putting the picture aside, Jackal.”

As Jackal nodded in acknowledgement, Kirihara took the opportunity to appeal to his captain. “Buchou!” he pouted, “Marui-senpai wouldn’t share his dessert with me. And I only had one brownie!”

A fond look crossed Yukimura’s face. “Did you, now? How about I promise you extra dessert tomorrow?”

Akaya perked up and shot Marui a smug look. “Really?”

Yukimura nodded. “Really. But you have to train really hard tomorrow. All right?”

Nodding vigorously, Akaya exclaimed, “All right!”

“No fair,” Marui grumbled. “He ate my brownies.”

Smiling, Yukimura said, “If all of you work hard, all of you can get extra dessert. So let’s do our best with the time we have left.”

“Yes, Buchou!” came the chorus of voices.

Those two words were like music to Sanada’s ears, sorely missed and nearly long forgotten. Everything came to his mind: how charismatic a leader Yukimura was, and how easy it was to just obey whatever command he issued. It wasn’t about dessert anymore; it was about pleasing their buchou to the best of their abilities.

Sanada sometimes wished he had even a tenth of the admiration Yukimura commanded so easily. But he also knew his strength in leadership lay more in fear than respect. Yukimura could make silence fall around him just by speaking, whereas Sanada was forced to shout and practically cram orders down peoples’ throat to get them done. That difference made Sanada respect his leader all the more.

While shame at forgetting Yukimura’s charisma filled his heart, at the same time, oddly, Sanada also felt -- for the first time in a very long time -- that everything was finally back to normal. Sure Yukimura wasn’t a hundred percent yet, and he still had months of recovery and training before he could resume his status as the best player in Rikkaidai, but he was no longer in the hospital anymore, looking completely frail and hopeless and completely unlike the Yukimura Seiichi Sanada had come to know and respect.

And Sanada suddenly realized that was what Yanagi had been trying to tell him since the first day of training: Yukimura was back. And nothing -- not doctors or illness, not even Sanada’s iron will -- would keep him away.

“Well, then! Training begins with getting plenty of rest! Let’s all get ready for bed now,” Yukimura said cheerfully, breaking into Sanada’s thoughts. “Ahh, Renji, you’re back. Good. Let’s get Yagyuu’s arm bandaged so we can go to sleep.”

Yanagi did just that, cleaning and bandaging Yagyuu up with quick and expert movements, borne from years of experience with Niou and, later, Akaya on the team. Within a few minutes, everyone settled into their respective sleeping bags and Jackal flicked the lights off.

For the first time in a long time, Sanada fell asleep as soon as his head hit the ground.

**

Another day dawned crisp and clear. Sunlight plastered itself all over the horizon in bright neon colors as the team groggily went for a quick, timed run halfway down the mountain and back up again. The cold air shocked them awake first, and then the adrenaline kicked in enough so they jogged back fast enough to satisfy Yanagi’s strict time limit. A faint breeze tickled the air with just a puff of breath, ghosting against their skin with cool caresses as the sweat dried on their faces.

By the time breakfast rolled around, everyone had been up for a good two hours and starving. Yukimura waited for them at the steps of the house before leading them back to the dining room where their meal awaited. Scarfing all the food down within minutes, they all got up and chorused a thank you to Yukimura’s grandparents.

After breakfast, they washed up and packed most of their things for the trip back home. When they were done, Yukimura and Yanagi conferred for a few minutes before Yukimura announced, “We will be holding elimination matches for our last day of training.”

“Finally!” Marui exclaimed around a mouthful of a large bubble. “I almost forgot how a racket feels in my hand!”

“Yeah!” Kirihara chimed in, looking disturbingly eager.

In their excitement, only Sanada and Jackal tensed as they noticed the unholy tilt of Yanagi’s lips smiling at them. “Who said anything about rackets?” the data expert asked blandly.

“What?” Niou cried. “You don’t mean – no! That’s just evil!”

“What, what?” Kirihara asked, looking at his sempai-tachi in bewilderment as the implication of Yanagi’s ominous words sank in and the rest of the team groaned simultaneously. “What’s going on?”

“I’m assuming it’s one of Rikkai Dai’s secret training methods,” Yagyuu remarked calmly as he adjusted his glasses until they glinted in the bright light. “One of the horror stories Niou-kun has told me about.”

Niou patted Kirihara’s shoulder gravely. “Just count yourself lucky that this is your first time playing this way. Or,” here, he a shot Yanagi a vicious glare that was placidly returned, “I should say the first indignation in playing this way.”

“This training method requires that you measure the amount of power you need to return the ball, as well as further develop your hand-eye coordination. As an added bonus, it will train you find the sweet spot on your racket more easily,” Yanagi explained.

“It’s just good training overall,” Yukimura added cheerfully. “I remember how well it went last year when we tried it. But I’m expecting all of you do better than that this time around.”

“But what is it?” Kirihara asked. “How is this training method different?”

Marui grumpily worked his bubblegum at twice the speed in his annoyance. “We’re using bats. Plastic bats.”

“Bats usually used for wiffle ball, to be precise,” Yanagi corrected. “Small American children use it when they first learn to play baseball and it has turned into a popular pastime for them. The bat is light, slightly larger at the end to make hitting the ball easier, and weak in terms of return power. You must find a way to compensate for your ‘racket’s’ weakness if you wish to win a point from your opponent.”

“Oh.” Kirihara thought about that for a moment. “That sounds simple enough.”

“Oh, you’ll see how simple it is,” Niou said darkly as he marched up to Yanagi to get his bat. “Just wait and see.”

Sanada stood on the sidelines and watched as Jackal and Yagyuu prepared to play on Court 1. He didn’t look forward to his game, either, but the former captain of Rikkai Dai had sworn to this training method, and proceeded to win the Nationals for the school. Sanada’s stomach tightened at the reminder; on the heels of that thought came reminders of his own failure in the semi-finals.

Behind him, Kirihara and Yanagi started their own game. The familiar shuffle of tennis shoes on the clay courts sounded comforting and familiar, yet the dull thwacks of wiffle bats trying valiantly to return the hard tennis balls over the net interrupted the usual music. Sanada frowned as Yagyuu just barely caught the ball with one end of the bat and sent the yellow sphere spinning into the net.

“This is much harder than it looks,” Yagyuu murmured, looking at his bat in dismay.

“You have no idea,” Jackal said grimly, crouching in readiness to receive the next serve.

Behind Sanada, an odd cracking sound erupted and Kirihara shouted, “Hey, my bat broke!”

Trying to stifle a sigh, Sanada turned and saw their youngest player staring at his own ‘racket’ with a fixed glare. The hard plastic had collapsed in on itself on one side where the ball lodged within the hollow part of the bat.

“Oh, no, our first victim,” Marui moaned from across the court as he saw the broken bat. “Good luck, Bakaya-chan, you’re going to need it!”

“What? My bat broke. It’s not my fault I lost the point,” Kirihara said stubbornly.

Yanagi approached Kirihara and took the bat from his hands. “We forgot to tell you the rules for losing a game or breaking your racket.”

“What? What rules?” the junior exclaimed. “Why can’t I just get a new bat?”

“After much testing and calculating, I have found that these bats lasts, on average, 17 games,” Yanagi said. “Even with Jackal’s firepower or Yagyuu’s golf swing, the plastic can withstand up to 13 games at the very least. So this exercise is partially power training. However, excess power will deplete your stamina and energy faster. Therefore, this method of training also teaches you to regulate and control the amount of power you output in every shot. If you put too much power into your swing to accommodate the weakness of the bat, the bat will break.”

“And you are penalized for failing,” Sanada added sternly. “Kirihara, report to Yukimura to receive your punishment.”

“What? No fair! I didn’t know anything about this!” Kirihara protested. “Give me a second chance! I’ll do better next time! I didn’t know I couldn’t break the bat!”

“Rikkai Dai’s tennis club does not give second chances,” Sanada said testily. The words churned uneasily in his stomach as he realized the implication of what he just said. Trying to shake off the tension, he added, “Go!”

Muttering angrily to himself, Kirihara stomped off the court and Niou, who acted as the referee for their game, announced, “Winner, Yanagi!”

Turning around, Sanada noticed even Yagyuu and Jackal had stopped playing to see what was going on. “What are you doing? Resume your game!” Sanada barked.

“Genichirou, it’s your turn,” Yanagi said as he came up to the vice-captain. “Marui’s already on the court.” He handed Sanada a bat. “Good luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Sanada said stiffly and walked onto court.

It had been a while since he had played with a bat. Thankfully, Yukimura hadn’t been a total tyrant as their captain had been the year before so this was the first time they did the exercise. But it suddenly seemed so much harder than Sanada remembered. Perhaps because now he didn’t have the luxury of messing up anymore.

Whatever the case, it cost Sanada a game to finally get the hang of it. He didn’t dare use his invisible swing or serve in case the sheer speed and power broke the bat as Kirihara had done. As it was, he almost felt sorry for the junior at being punished so severely.

Marui seemed to adapt to the bat quite well, utilizing his quick agility and the confidence that his swing concentrated more on control than power. They traded shots back and forth, each one focusing on returning the ball while simultaneously praying they hadn’t somehow damaged their bats in any way.

To Sanada’s disgust, his caution made it overly difficult for him to gain the lead over Marui, who kept chewing his gum, blowing bubbles, and smirking at Sanada. At the eleventh game, with Sanada holding onto a slim lead, 5 games to 4, he decided to take a risk and slammed the ball hard back to Marui’s court, praying that his bat would hold.

It did. And the ball spun right passed Marui, hit the baseline precisely, and skittered back until it hit the fence.

Marui’s jaw dropped open as he twisted to look behind him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that!” he exclaimed. “You’re nuts, Fukubuchou.”

Sanada glared at him and walked back to his own baseline. His gamble had paid off and now it was match point; Marui would pay for his comment with the punishment.

His reckless display showed in the next shot Sanada returned. Tasting victory close at hand, he pulled off the same move as before. This time, Marui seemed ready for it, but even as he tried to return the ball, his bat broke from the sheer force of power.

“Oh, great,” Marui said, looking at his ‘racket’ in disgust. He tossed it away with a sigh. “I think I’m going to need another slice of pie before I find Yukimura.”

Relief and elation swept through Sanada at his win. At least he hadn’t failed this time. And Marui really needed the exercise regiment Yukimura put them through to work on his stamina. Sanada looked his own bat over and noticed thousands of tiny cracks running through it. Miraculously, it hadn’t broken apart yet.

The next match passed in a blur. Niou played against Yanagi, whose first game ended within two minutes. Jackal sat in the referee chair while Sanada watched the two battle back and forth. In the end, however, Yanagi won the victory and Niou was sent with the other two for punishment.

Sanada and Jackal played after them in the semi-finals to see who would play against Yanagi. Despite Jackal’s best effort, however, Sanada overcame him and won the game.

“Is it just the two of us, then?” Yanagi asked calmly as he took his place on the court.

“It is. How are the others doing?” While he and Marui were playing, Yanagi had gone to check on their progress.

“They are faring rather well, considering. Of course, Kirihara looks the worst as he’s been doing it the longest. Yukimura hasn’t softened in the least,” Yanagi explained with a certain amount of fondness in his voice.

“Of course not,” Sanada said stiffly. “Your serve.”

Yanagi served. As the ball went into play, he remarked, “Seiichi was talking to me about a training regiment to bring him back into shape again for the Nationals.”

Sanada grunted as he returned the ball, careful not to put too much pressure onto his bat. He hadn’t expected Yukimura to wait very long until he spoke with Yanagi about that.

“The doctors agree that light exercises would help aid his recovery, provided he begins slowly and build up on it again,” their data collector continued, returning the ball in a gentle volley. “As you know, he’s lost much of his muscle weight, which is weight he can ill afford to lose. So I put him on a high protein, high carbohydrate diet, along with several reps of sit-ups, squats, and leg-lifts for the first two weeks. Afterwards, we will reevaluate his condition and make adjustments accordingly.”

Sanada grimaced as he barely returned the ball, watching it land awkwardly on the other side of the court. “Is there a reason why you’re telling me all this?” he asked bluntly.

Yanagi looked surprised. “I thought you would have wanted to know, Genichirou. Was I wrong?”

Thinking about it for a moment, Sanada finally concluded his friend wasn’t. “No,” he said reluctantly. “But you will watch him and make sure he doesn’t overdo it?”

Yanagi smiled. “I, too, had anticipated Seiichi’s natural obstinacy and made several changes to his menu so the impact is less harsh on him. However, I think Seiichi knows us as well as we know him and will still do more than prescribed. However, he will also not go over what is optimal.”

“Good,” Sanada said. Yukimura certainly did know them well enough to realize they would reduce his training regiment. In response, he would compensate for the lowered amount by doing more. This was definite proof that Yukimura was determined to come back to the team as quickly as possible. But it also meant he was going to talk to Sanada about what had happened in the semi-finals, a conversation Sanada desperately wanted to avoid but knew he couldn’t.

“Genichirou.”

Jerked from his thoughts, Sanada looked over at Yanagi. The ball was nowhere in sight until Sanada glanced over his shoulder and realized it was resting against the chain link of the fence. “My mind wandered for a moment,” he said. It was the closest thing he could say as an apology.

Luckily, Yanagi knew him well. He only smiled. “Talk to him, Genichirou,” he advised the capped man. “Just talk to him.”

*****

Sanada forced himself to concentrate on the rest of the game and eventually won a hard-fought battle against Yanagi. As they walked back to where the rest of the team was, they heard a rhythmic thud behind the house. Rounding the corner, Sanada spotted everyone standing around, looking as if they had seen a spirit wandering around the area. He opened his mouth to bark at them as to why they weren’t doing their exercises when the source of the noise suddenly registered in his brain.

Someone was hitting a tennis ball against the wall in a steady beat.

Yukimura.

The rest of the team continued to stare in shock. Sanada himself stopped walking and stared at a sweaty Yukimura hit the ball with a forehand and then a backhand and alternating back and forth. The back of his shirt was completely soaked in sweat and he panted for breath but never let up the rhythm. Despite his obvious weariness and the grayness of his exhausted face, what arrested Sanada was the fierce gleam of joy in their captain’s blue, blue eyes.

Joy of the game. Joy of hitting the tennis ball again.

Which was why, despite his flagging strength and pain etched on his face, Sanada didn’t stop Yukimura. He told himself he would after another set of ten hits, then twenty, then thirty. And finally, Yukimura missed the ball, which bounced passed the entire team. No one made a move to grab it.

Yukimura turned and smiled at them all. Rivulets of sweat ran down his temples and forehead, running into his eyes, which he wiped away with the sweat guard on his wrist. “Tennis. What a fun game.”

And his knees buckled underneath him. Sanada took five long strides and caught Yukimura before he collapsed on the ground.

“My hero,” Yukimura murmured with a tired chuckle. “Would you help me inside, please, Sanada? I think I should lie down for a while.”

Although he desperately wanted to say something, Sanada remained silent as he wrapped his arm around the other teen and took most of the weight to walk him inside to the bedroom.

Despite his sweat-soaked clothes, Yukimura laid down on his sleeping bag in relief. He closed his eyes and murmured, “You don’t have to lecture me, Genichirou. I know I should have been more careful, but would you deny me the chance to hold a tennis racket in my hands for the first time in a long time?”

And Sanda, who had actually just opened his mouth to ask if Yukimura needed anything, knew he wouldn’t. However, Yukimura fell asleep before he had to say so.

Trusting Yanagi and Jackal would keep the others in line, Sanada sat by Yukimura for the rest of the day. Jackal brought him a tray for lunch, inquired about the captain’s health, and left them alone again. When Sanada saw the faint wisps of shadow creeping across the land as dusk settled down, he got up. And when Yukimura began to stir from his nap, Sanada left and informed Yukimura’s grandparents he had finally awoken.

The team straggled in, obviously tired and dirty, two signs that Sanada approved of as evidence of hard training. They briefly fought over the shower and the unlucky ones waited with Sanada outside the captain’s dorm, where he had gone to lie down so he could be more comfortable. Yanagi went into the bedroom briefly and spoke with Yukimura’s grandmother before returning to report that Yukimra was just fine.

“Hungry and still a little tired, but perfectly fine otherwise,” Yanagi reassured them. “He’s sitting up and feeding himself. He also asked for everyone’s status so it’s safe to say he’ll recover quickly from this.”

Relief suffused Sanada though he didn’t say so. He took his turn for the shower and didn’t even notice cold needles of rain stinging his body. Instead, he remained in deep thought as he ate dinner with the team. Afterwards, he excused himself and went outside for some fresh air.

By then, darkness had settled around them in a cloak of blackness. Only the stars peeped out from the expanse, glittering brightly against the backdrop. Up in the mountains, the temperature had dropped quite a few degrees and Sanada almost shivered from the cool air breathing on him. He listened to the quiet chirps of the crickets as other nocturnal animals slithered around him in search of food.

The quiet seemed so unlike what he was used to. Still, Sanada didn’t dislike it. Between the noise at school and the constant fights on the tennis team, the otherwise natural silence was refreshing. Yanagi and Sanada had agreed to wait a few hours until Yukimura recovered enough to head back home. They could afford to let him have some rest, and that gave Sanada some time to think.

That afternoon, stupid as the thought was, it had felt like years since Sanada had seen Yukimura with a tennis racket in his hand. And picturing it again in his head, Sanada knew that look in Yukimura’s eyes would remain for him for the rest of his life.

He didn’t know how long he sat on the chilly blades of grass, thinking about it and tennis and the finals and the upcoming Nationals until footsteps sounded behind him. But before Sanada could react, the newcomer spoke.

“You seem to be in a tense mood tonight,” Yukimura remarked lightly as he came up behind Sanada. He held up a hand as if to stop the fukubuchou from speaking. “And yes, I’m fine. Even my grandmother said so.” The tennis captain plopped down next to him and leaned back on his hands to look up at the stars. “They’re never this clear at home,” he added with a sigh of appreciation.

Sanada didn’t say anything, finding himself suddenly tongue-tied at what to say. He hadn’t expected Yukimura to come out and look for him. Although he wouldn’t blame the captain at all, considering how rowdy the rest of the team got.

“Are you all right, Genichirou?” Yukimura finally asked, breaking the silence between them. He slanted the capped man a sideways look that, oddly enough showed concern in the sheer blue eyes. “You seem so distant. As if you’re not really here with me.”

Sanada wondered how to respond to that. That he really wasn’t with Yukimura, at least not until he proved to his captain and friend that Rikkai Dai was still a championship team, that they hadn’t truly faltered in their quest for a fourth national title, that Sanada hadn’t let him down …

And there was no way he could answer Yukimura, Sanada realized abruptly. At least, not satisfactorily. No excuses, no response, no choice.

He got up to leave, too ashamed to stay in the presence of someone who had counted on him and whom he failed, for the first time in a long time.

But a warm hand gripped his tightly as he moved passed Yukimura, finding his palm roughened by years of tennis and kendo unerringly, as if it belonged there. Stunned, Sanada froze, hardly daring to breathe as he felt the softly calloused fingers clasp his in a weak grip. Yet at the same time, it was the hardest clenching of fingers Sanada had ever felt in his life. He turned to look at Yukimura.

“Sit,” Yukimura said, his voice no longer gentle. His voice sounded stern and expected immediate obeisance. And Sanada, helpless to resist, tumbled back down next to the captain. “Good. Now,” he continued, looking over at Sanada with narrow eyes, “what is going on with you, Genichirou? You’ve been acting differently since the last time you came to visit me at the hospi—”

“Stop,” Sanada interrupted. He gently tugged his left hand from Yukimura; sitting on the captain’s left, his hand stretched across his body in an uncomfortable angle. But Yukimura pretended not to notice and clung onto it, as if he was afraid Sanada would bolt the moment he was free.

“Why don’t you want to talk about your visit?” Yukimura sounded frustrated, a change from his normal, even tone. “Why are you shutting me out? Are you ashamed of me because I can’t play tennis as well as I used to?”

Sanada jerked as if stung, and he yanked his hand free from Yukimura’s grasp. The teen let go of it easily this time. “I would never think that, Yukimura,” Sanada protested, the sudden urge to reassure his captain bubbling up inside. “I know you’ll be just as strong as you were before, and maybe even more so. You’re the best player on our team!”

Yukimura relaxed and suddenly he looked tired, yet offered Sanada a smile. “I know. I know you’d never think such a thing about me, Genichirou. But what else am I to think? You left so abruptly that last time, and I’ve barely seen you since, even after I came home from the hospital. I gave Renji at least four migraines trying to talk to him to figure out what was going on with you.”

He had? Sanada shifted uncomfortably, ashamed that Yukimura had been so worried about him instead of concentrating on making a full recovery. “I didn’t mean to concern you,” he muttered.

Had Yukimura just rolled his eyes at him? “I know. But you did,” the captain said, plucking the cap off Sanada’s head and putting it on his own so naturally that Sanada didn’t know if it was alright to protest. “Now tell me what silly thoughts you have in your head so I can dispel them for you.”

“Yukimura,” Sanada began.

“Genichirou,” Yukimura said in his captain voice that left no room for argument. “Tell me. I’ve been buchou of these guys for the whole year, remember? I can help.”

Could he? Sanada wondered. But Yukimura had all but ordered him to speak so he did. At first, it came out slowly, with him stumbling over the words to describe the frustration and agony and sheer lack of patience (here, Yukimura laughed) at trying to lead and to live up to Yukimura’s footsteps and failing and realizing that he had broken his promise…

And suddenly, the words started coming out faster and faster and Sanada felt as though he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know what he said anymore, only spilling his guts in front of the person he admired the most. At several points, Sanada became horrified at himself for showing such weakness, but he couldn’t stop, and didn’t until the words trickled down and eventually slowed to a halt.

Through it all, Yukimura listened without interrupting even once, watching his face, his eyes, his mouth. And when Sanada finally fell silent, the captain didn’t speak for a long while. Finally, “Feel better?” he asked with a half a smile.

“Yes,” Sanada admitted and found it to be true. “Yes,” he said again with more surprise.

“Hmm, I thought it might,” Yukimura mused, tipping Sanada’s cap back so it wouldn’t obscure his vision. “My little sister sometimes does the same thing you do and bottles everything up. She tries to pretend everything is okay when obviously it’s not. And there comes a point when the pot boils over and she needs to vent. I find letting her just speak helps alleviate some of the burdens she’s unnecessarily carrying.”

Sanada didn’t say anything, partly mortified that he had done such a thing. He had bared his soul in front of someone. The fact that it was Yukimura made it both relieving and embarrassing. Sanada didn’t remember the last time when he hadn’t worked out his frustration with kendo.

“The thing is, Genichirou, if I didn’t think you were qualified, would I have made you captain in my absence?” Yukimura asked with an odd glint in his eye. “Or even asked you to be my fukubuchou in the first place?”

“I failed,” Sanada murmured, somehow feeling broken, yet relieved. At least he didn’t have to pretend everything was all right anymore. “I had never failed you before.”

“Always win, Rikkai Dai?” Yukimura asked softly. “Tell me, Genichirou, do you want me to tell you what the others think of you?”

“Not really,” Sanada said in all honesty. He could only imagine what Niou or Marui or Kirihara said about his dictatorial methods that included harsh punishments.

Yukimura chuckled. “Well, yes, I imagine you wouldn’t. However, it’s what they also don’t say that caught my attention.”

Sanada eyed Yukimura askance. What did he mean?

As if reading his mind, Yukimura answered him. “Although the team seemed to miss me –” here, Sanada snorted at the understatement of his words, “– and called you the worst slave driver since Okubo-sensei in chemistry class, they never once said you were incompetent or that you held them back. In fact, in some ways, I think you’ve made them work harder than before.” The captain smiled at him in fondness and amusement. “You’re a hard man to please, Sanada Genichirou .”

“They didn’t do it for me,” Sanada muttered. “They did it for you.”

“They did it for me because of you,” Yukimura corrected gently. “There’s a difference. They wanted me well and back on the team, yes. But the respect and awe that the fukubuchou commanded was such that they also knew that doing their best would please you, and therefore would also please me.”

Sanada scoffed. “You almost make them sound as though they actually like me.”

Yukimura chuckled. “I do, don’t I?” But he didn’t deny the comment and only stood, brushing his clothes free from grass and dirt. Reaching up, he took off the cap and dropped it back onto Sanada’s head. “Let’s go home, Genichirou. We have a national championship to train for.”

Sanada looked up at the frail teenager beside him. But this time, he saw beyond the deceptively fragile look and noticed the familiar steel of determination glinting in Yukimura’s otherwise gentle eyes. He recognized the look of resolve – the scene on the roof of the hospital the day before Yukimura’s surgery flashed to mind – and something close to elation filled his heart.

Yukimura was back.

He stood and adjusted his hat absently so it rested better on his head. The gesture suddenly reminded Sanada of Seigaku’s freshmen and his mocking golden eyes and he frowned. “Echizen Ryoma --” he began.

“Will be crushed,” Yukimura finished. He smiled sweetly at Sanada. “Don’t worry, Genichirou, we’ll get our revenge. Always win, Rikkai Dai, remember?”

Yes, Yukimura was definitely back. As they headed towards the house side-by-side, Yukimura’s hand brushed Sanada’s briefly, sending a flood of warmth through his otherwise cold body. He glanced down at his captain beside him, reassured by the sure, confident stride and deep, even breathing. And as they drew closer, the door spilled open to reveal what sounded like yet another argument, and welcomed them back inside.

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