reposte

FIC: Inside Your Hand (Sanada/multiple, Rish)

reposte — Sat, 21 May 2011 19:21:07 GMT

Title: Inside Your Hand
Author: Ociwen
Rating: Rish
Wordcount: 4700
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, except for Pointillism and Pisarro.
Summary: Sanada learns to move on. Sanada/multiple (*gaspshock!*)
Author's Notes: Written for Sanada's birthday 2011! Happy birthday, Sanada! ♥

It happens at the onsen. He's staring. His eyes follow the lines of Yukimura's body. He's sixteen, and stupid.

Yukimura turns away. The steam obscures his face. "Tomorrow, I think I'm going to ask Haruka out."

The soap slips from Sanada's hands.

***

He takes a long walk. Past the pines and the zelkovas. Past the ridge, riddled with viney roots and ferns that brushed the backs of his calves. Past the crow, sitting on the branch, watching him with black, soulless eyes.

It's dark. Light glows from the windows of the house. The corridor creaks as he steps inside. His mother's shadow moves across the kitchen. Sanada closes his eyes. His jaw trembles again. His cheeks burn with shame.

In the morning, Yagyuu's sister sits on the stands. She has a big smile. Yukimura waves back at her.

Sanada walks straight past the clubhouse.

***

Renji says, "Maybe you should consider another sport."

Sanada's chest tightens. His pulse echoes in his ears. There is a long pause, then Renji adds, "For the time being, that is."

Sanada holds a breath until Renji hangs up.

***

He hacks at the straw dummy. His katana bounces back. Sanada grinds his teeth. He screams. He lunges. He steps back, and strikes left.

Shadows move across the tokonoma.

He turns. Sweat slithers from his temple. His concentration falters. His mind is clouded.

Sasuke says, "Wanna play tennis, oji-san?"

Sanada thrusts the katana into the dummy. Straw filaments drift in the air.

Sasuke says, "Can I practice too, oji-san?"

Sanada inhales. He drops his shoulders, and tightens his jaw. He raises the katana. It slashes through the straw.

The top of the dummy falls to the floor.

"Get me another," he says.

***

The koi floats on the surface of the pond. Sasuke prods it with a stick.

"Don't," Sanada says.

"Why don't you take Sasuke-chan to get a new koi?" his mother says. Sasuke raps at her ankles. She shakes her head and laughs.

The store is on the line toward Tokyo, three blocks from the train station. Sasuke runs ahead. Sanada walks between rows of tanks. Electric gobies flicker under the blue lighting. Sasuke yells about a loach. Sanada's temple throbs. He counts to ten.

Someone walks into him. Sanada stumbles back. The other guy does too. "I'm so sorry," he says. He brushes off his knees. Sanada reaches down for the box of fish food the guy dropped.

He blinks. "Seigaku's Oishi?"

Oishi's eyes widen. "Rikkai's Sanada?" His face starts to flush. He glances to the fish food in Sanada's hands. Sanada holds it out.

Sasuke grabs Sanada's sleeve. "Ojiiii-san, I found the perfect one!"

Oishi nods his head at Sanada. "Guppies are great for kids," he said.

Sanada nods back, just once.

***

The washitsu is used by the ikebana club on Thursdays. Sanada goes to the rooftop. The hum of cicadas permeats the hanging humidity.

There is a giggle. Sanada narrows his eyes. His breathing catches. His body is leaden, and unmoving.

Yukimura offers a flower to Haruka. His eyes gleam in the sunlight. She mutters something, too low to catch.

Sanada swallows. He grabs the railing. The metal sears his palms. Yukimura's voice stabs at his chest, and twists.

He walks past them. Yukimura says his name. "When are you coming to practice again?" His voice is haughty and his pronouns formal.

Sanada closes the door to the stairwell behind himself.

From behind the vending machine Niou slips out. His mouth has a crooked smile. He slouches as he walks next to Sanada.

"Gross, huh?"

Sanada says, "I don't know what you're talking about." He walks faster. Niou jogs ahead to cut him off.

Niou lifts his chin high. "Yagyuu and Yukimura. Double-dating each other's sisters. You know."

Sanada meets Niou's gaze. The words almost don't come out. "I don't care."

***

A limo pulls up to the sidewalk. He's walking home after kendo club. His throat hurts from yelling at the other members—they can't hold the shinai properly, their footwork was atrocious, they're all out-of-shape morons.

The window rolls down. Atobe sticks his head out.

"You're not playing tennis," he says.

Sanada keeps walking.

Atobe purses his lips. He flips back his hair. "You should play with me, at least, Sanada."

Sanada glances toward Atobe. Atobe smirks at him. Sanada walks faster.

The limo moves too.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Atobe asks.

"I'm busy," Sanada mutters.

"No, you're not!" Atobe snaps.

Sanada raises an eyebrow. Atobe leans back in the limo for a moment. Then he says, "If Yukimura asked, you would."

Sanada cuts down an alley too tight for the limo. Atobe doesn't follow, but his voice cuts Sanada sharp in the gut.

***

"How is the kendo club?" Renji asks.

Sanada scowls. "Terrible. They have no discipline."

"And you're correcting this, I presume?"

Sanada snorts. He leans out his window. The night air wafts against his face. He sighs. "They're on break for the summer."

"And are you…."

"No," Sanada says.

***

Something hits the wall. Sanada stirs. A second something whizzes through his window. He stumbles to the open window with a yawn.

On the ground, Niou wiggles his fingers. He holds up a tennis ball.

"Game?"

If he was awake Sanada would have answered differently. Instead, on Saturday afternoon, he and Niou slam balls across the net. Niou aims for Sanada's left blind spot. Sanada aims for Niou's face. His muscles tingle. His shots are straight and sharp. Niou blows raspberries. He sticks out his tongue, then he serves short.

Sanada lunges for the shot. His racket nicks the balls.

Niou clicks his tongue. "Outta bounds."

Sanada wipes his forehead with the hem of his tshirt. A shiver of frisson runs up his arms and down his legs. Niou is staring.

***

"Sanada, do you know who this is?"

Sanada rolls his eyes. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't hang up on you?"

Atobe chuckles. The sound grates Sanada's ear. He narrows his eyes, glares at the koi pond where Sasuke added the guppie three months ago.

"Hyoutei won the Nationals, of course."

Sanada's chest seizes for a moment. He stiffens.

"It was because you weren't there to play me," Atobe says.

"Go play with Tezuka," Sanada says.

Atobe makes a noise. "I can't do that right now, either. Victory just isn't the same if you aren't there to lose to me."

Sanada gets a new cell—and a new number—the next morning.

***

On the first day back from August vacation, he walks past the tennis courts. The nets slag in the thick heat. Leaves and the shells of dead cicadas litter the clay surface. There's a broom propped up against the side of the clubhouse, but no one has swept yet.

Niou whistles from behind the tool shed. Sanada pulls at the brim of his cap. "I already know," he grumbles.

Niou kicks at a piece of gravel. He raises his eyebrows and says nothing except "Puri."

***

They meet at the streetcourts across from Dai-ni Elementary. His feet pound the pavement. His heart pounds, harder than it ever does in Kendo Club. Niou shoots lobs into the dying sun. It blinds Sanada to look up and search. He circles. He swings. A shadow flickers, then the ball thwops once.

He lunges with a backhand shot. His body contorts and his calves strain.

Niou sucks his teeth. He flips his hair back. Sanada twists his wrist as the ball flies off his racket. The ball careens at a hard angle. Niou dives across the clay.

The ball rolls against the chain link fence. Niou touches his knee. He licks at the blood on his fingers, and spits.

Sunset washes mauve streaks across the sky. The floodlights flicker. Sanada takes a swig from a PET bottle. Niou leans into him.

He knows, vaguely, what Niou is doing. But not until Niou's mouth touches his does Sanada fully realize. He tenses. His jaw slackens. He closes his eyes as the blood rushes to his head and between his legs.

Someone moans. Sanada opens his mouth. He lets Niou's hot, sticky tongue meet his. He grabs at Niou's face. Their noses bump, their foreheads brush. Niou kisses him and Sanada kisses him back hard.

A hand pulls at his waistband. Sanada arches into Niou's body. He's feverish. He's frantic to keep up. His mind swims with a thousand half-thoughts. His body flushes hot and cold and hot again. Niou's fingers dip into his sweaty, clinging underpants. Sanada pulls back. Saliva trails between their mouths as he mutters a name.

He tilts his head to kiss Niou. Niou jerks back. He yanks his hand back. The deepening shadows hide his face.

Sanada wipes his mouth. He can taste the tang of blood on his lips all night.

***

Yukimura kisses his girlfriend in the third floor annex. His hands are under her skirt. Her leg is wrapped around his waist.

Sanada touches the band on his arm. He watches for a little too long. His hands shake. He tells himself to breathe.

***

In the corridor, Yukimura narrows his eyes. Sanada reaches for his cap, but his hand touches only air.

"I know it was you who told the head teacher," Yukimura hisses. "Thanks for giving me detention for a week!"

Sanada clenches his jaw.

***

A rumour spreads around the second years. Guys prod each other in the sides. They snigger behind backs. Girls type illicit emails on their cells in class. They whisper behind their hands.

Three of the kendo club members hand in resignations to the coach. They shoot Sanada sideways glares. Sanada asks a third year if he wants to spar. The third year takes a step back.

"Maybe another time," he says.

Sanada's skin crawls. He glances around. Two first years turn away.

"There's a fag on one of the sports teams," a senior tells a friend. He pulls his mask off, and wipes his face. His friend curls his lip.

When Sanada steps into the changeroom after practice, no one speaks.

***

He hands in his resignation to the coach on Friday.

His mother pokes her head into the dojo that evening. "I saved you some supper, Genichirou," she says.

Sanada hacks and chops at the dummy until a pile of straw splinters remains.

***

There is an announcement over the PA that Yukimura Seiichi is leaving the school to start training in Miami.

Sanada looks out the window. The first blush of autumn scarlet tinges the trees on campus. The hard lump in his throat doesn't go away all afternoon.

***

He takes the bus for two hours. The road winds around mountains and zig-zags through valleys. The air is crisp. Sanada opens the window and breathes it in. He's alone on the bus, except for the driver.

The driver stops at a bridge. "Right here where you wanted?" He says something about it being a popular place today.

Sanada picks up the fishing line and the tin box. He nods. The bus disappears into the mossy firs. The next won't come for another four hours.

He follows the river bed for ten minutes, around a soft bend. The river isn't too deep, but the spray on his face is frigid. He settles down on the pebbly bank. At this time of year, the current is leisurely, bubbling around him.

Sanada adjusts his cap. He squints up the river. The tackle drops from his fingers. There's another figure, standing at the water's edge, in the distance.

The figure waves. Sanada frowns. It comes closer. Sanada's frown deepens.

Seigaku's Oishi sets his fishing gear down beside Sanada's. He smiles. "Of all the places!"

"How do you know about this place?" Sanada grumbles.

Oishi laughs. His hairfangs drift in the mountain breeze. "Tezuka told me, ages ago." He sighs, and looks at the water.

Sanada closes his mouth. Oishi asks how he knows about this place.

Sanada snorts. "My grandfather and I went fishing with Tezuka and his grandfather."

"Ah," Oishi says.

Sanada grunts.

"I caught a really nice trout the last time I was here," Oishi says. "Then I released it, of course. It looked at me with its big eyes and we spoke the same language."

"Trout?" Sanada asks. He mouth almost twitches. So does Oishi's.

They exchange numbers and make pretences to call and do this again. But they never do.

***

"He asked about you," Renji says. He blows into the phone. "Genichirou?"

"I heard," Sanada says. He touches the pull on the drawer and opens it. Under the pile of antique shop pamphlets and old math tests, there's a photo. Sanada runs his finger along the dog-eared edge. The back says, "Nationals, First Year". He doesn't turn it over.

"He asked if you were on the tennis team now that he was gone."

Sanada answers with a grunt. His mouth is filled with sand. He closes his eyes, closes the drawer.

"Was I right in telling him there was a ninety-five percent chance it would not happen?"

"Don't you always want to be right?" Sanada asks.

***

In his last year of high school, Sanada finds Kirihara standing beside his shoe cubby. He's grown a foot and can look straight in the eye. His awkward laugh is still the same, and so is the seaweed mop.

"Ne, fukubuchou," Kirihara says.

Sanada pulls his left shoe on. He looks at Kirihara for a moment. Kirihara smiles with all his teeth.

"Since buchou is gone, you're gonna have to help me figure out how to be captain." Kirihara puffs his chest out. He laughs. "Since I am and all now."

"Yagyuu or Renji should be captain," Sanada mutters. Kirihara deflates. He makes a nervous little noise. He jogs behind Sanada.

"They tied in the vote so it went to me," Kirihara says.

Under his breath, Sanada says, "You're the least responsible moron they could have picked."

Kirihara looks at him. "Hn?"

Sanada snorts.

***

"Neither Yagyuu nor I wanted to do it," Renji says.

"Entrance exams," Sanada says.

Renji makes a noise, almost like a laugh. Sanada asks what.

"Yagyuu doesn't want to be there at six to set up, and nor do I," Renji says.

Sanada furrows his brow. Sasuke streaks across the yard into the pile of leaves Sanada just raked. Sanada grimaces. Leaves fly all around. Sanada picks one out of his hair. He adjusts his cellphone.

"That is the most pathetic reason to avoid being tennis club captain I have ever heard," he says.

***

The seasonal apple drink is out at Starbucks. Sanada walks from school after morals committee. Signs for nabe and shabushabu clutter the sidewalks. Garlic and oil and deep-fried scents of shrimp and pork fill the air of the shopping arcade. Sanada breathes in deep. He stops for a second.

There's a loud crash behind him. He glances over his shoulder. A sign for the chococro shop has tipped over. Sanada pulls his cap over his eyes.

The Starbucks paper cup is warm in his hands. The drink is a little too hot. His cell reads half-past five. Sanada frowns. He steps outside of the Starbucks. Cold air blasts his face. Across the arcade lane, a familiar mop of hair peaks out from the top of a rack of shoes.

Sanada waits for a moment. Then he cuts right, down the alley, and toward the subway station. He listens, but there are too many pedestrians swarming past. He jogs down the stairs to the station, and catches the train pulling up to the platform.

The subway car is overheated with people. Sanada squeezes between an OL and a group of university students. His eyes drift to the ads overhead. One for a women's clinic, and the other for indoor golf. A third, above the doors, has a man and woman holding hands. A wedding reception hall outside the city. He clenches his jaw.

He walks from the station to home. His hands are numb. The Starbucks drink is cold, and the whipped cream congealed into oily patches on the surface. Leaves crunch underfoot. His breath clouds in front of him.

The leaves crunch underfoot again.

Sanada turns. Kirihara is thirty feet behind, and trying to hide behind a skeletal tree.

"Err…" he says.

"Are you following me?" Sanada snaps.

"Ah…" Kirihara scratches at his head. He laughs. "Can I ask you some questions about being a captain and shit?"

Sanada flares his nostrils. He snorts. "You idiot! Why didn't you just email?"

Kirihara's shoulders sink a little. He rolls his eyes. "You changed your number, duh. Only Yanagi-senpai knows it and he won’t share."

Sanada's face feels warmer than it should.

***

Kirihara invites himself over. Sanada tucks the newspaper into a drawer of the step-chest.

"You heard buchou beat that Swedish guy in the first round?" Kirihara asks. "He totally kicked his ass in Sydney!"

Sanada says nothing. Behind his back, he tightens his fist. His skin crawls with heat.

"What do you want?" Sanada asks.

"Uh…" Kirihara looks around the dojo. He runs his finger along the beam of the tokonoma. Sanada's eyes twitches. Kirihara steps toward the glass display of the swords. Sanada sucks in a breath. Kirihara creeps across the tatami floors in grey, grimy sweatsocks. Sanada scowls.

"Did you even bring anything?" Sanada snaps.

Kirihara stops mid-creep. He turns his head. There's a blank little smile slacking to the side. "Uh…sorry?"

"Idiot," Sanada hisses.

"There is stuff I came to know," Kirihara says. He sticks out his lower jaw. His eyes flicker in the weak light. He sits down next to Sanada, smelling of sweat and soap and something vaguely like the felt of tennis balls.

Sanada swallows.

"That was you, right?" Kirihara murmurs. His face leans into Sanada's. Nerves explode over Sanada's body as his mind races.

He goes for stern. The words are thick. "I don't know what you are talking—"

Kirihara's mouth cuts him off.

***

He lies in bed. His fingers tingle, his skin hums. Sanada closes his eyes. His body remembers the soft hair between his fingertips, and the sticky, sweaty skin pressed to his. He remembers the smell of tennis and soap and sweat. His heart pounds, then flutters, then pounds all over again.

***

"Will you come watch the prefecturals?"

"No."

***

The air in the clubhouse stifles. It smells of mold and rank sweat. Heady ozone from the storm seeps under the grimed window. Sanada presses his palm against the glass. He gasps. His legs shake. He leans forward and digs his other hand into Kirihara's hair. Kirihara runs his tongue along Sanada's dick.

His body shudders. Thunder claps outside.

Sanada bites down on his lip, but he groans anyway.

***

"Do you want to go to the arcade and check out—"

"No."

***

Kirihara's tshirt is glued to his back. His hair clings to Sanada's fingers. Cloying saliva sticks their lips together.

"Akaya, not he—"

Kirihara drags his teeth over Sanada's neck. Sanada squeezes his hand around Kirihara's dick. He chokes into Sanada's mouth. Sanada kisses back. A train rattles past. Lights and shadows alternate on the opposite wall.

Between pants, Kirihara says, "No one can see us here." It's a tucked-away corner of a train station, on a Sunday afternoon.

His dick is hot and hard in Sanada's hand. Sanada tightens his grip until Kirihara moans.

***

"Do you want to come visit my grandma's place up in Gumma? There's, like, hiking and fishing and onsens and lots of cool road kill!"

Sanada thinks for a moment.

"No."

***

"He's ranked forty-second now. If he defeats the Italian player in New York," Renji says.

Rain patters on the rooftop. Sanada touches the side of his neck. The skin pulses with faint pain from the bruise Kirihara left.

"Genichirou?"

Sanada grunts.

"Do you miss tennis?"

Sanada doesn't answer.

***

But he opens the drawer, and turns the photograph over. His throat closes up, and his chest shudders.

***

Kirihara breaks a vase in the dojo tokonoma. Sanada calls him an idiot, a fool. He smacks Kirihara across the face. Kirihara punches him back.

He phones Sanada three days later. "Sorry," he grumbles. "Can I pay you back when I get the money?"

"It doesn't matter," Sanada says.

He doesn't ever call back.

***

Sanada records the game on tv. He watches at three am, before his exam. Before anyone else wakes, he deletes the game from the box.

Yukimura lands in the top thirty. It was his fluid serve against the Serbian that won it.

Sanada lands into the university program.

***

Renji catches his eye during the graduation ceremony. He lifts his chin a little.

Across the row of his classmates, Sanada nods back. He turns back to the principal. He squeezes his hand a little harder around the diploma.

After, underneath the first sakura blossoms, Niou grabs Sanada by the shoulder. Yagyuu says congratulations. Marui grabs his hat and chucks it to Jackal. Jackal passes it behind his back to Yagyuu, who throws it high above their heads. Sanada tries to scowl. Renji says, "This'll be the last time."

Sanada glances around. His throat is thick.

***

In between lectures, Sanada creeps on Mixi. It hasn't been updated in months. The photos are old, and generic. The green of a court in Dubai. A picture taken from a rooftop of Paris, at night. Flowers at the airport in Madrid.

Sanada sighs.

And the following day, he creeps again, just in case Yukimura changed something overnight.

***

The back page of the sports section of the newspaper has a tiny photo on the left. Teen Tennis Champion Tezuka went for Starbucks in Stuttgart with Atobe Corp's heir, Keigo.

Marui has psychology class with Sanada. He shows up on Wednesdays, since lectures are after lunch. "It's a great place to nap," Marui says with yawn.

They go for ramen. Marui hits up the bookstore for the gossip rags. Sanada tells him they're trash. Marui chortles. He points to a page in Friday.

"Guess the rumours about Atobe hittin' on dudes were true." Marui waggles his eyebrows. He pokes his finger into Sanada's chest. "That might explain why he was so into you." He rofls.

Sanada shudders.

***

The clock ticks in the darkness. Frogs chorus outside.

Sanada wonders if Yukimura shuddered at him, that day in the onsen.

In the morning, his pillow is wet.

***

Renji hums. The frown on Sanada's face deepens.

"Well, Atobe certainly did want you—"

"Ugh," Sanada says.

"—to play tennis with him. Clearly, he moved on to Tezuka. That would explain why Sadaharu has not returned my emails in six days and five point three hours."

Sanada blinks. Sasuke slams the door when he comes in. His school bag crashes to the floor. "Oi, old man, is there anything to eat?" Sasuke shouts.

Sanada presses his phone closer. "Inui had a crush on Tezuka?"

"No," Renji says, "Processing this new data must be overwhelming."

Sanada doesn't ask.

***

Yukimura plays Andy Roddick at the Wimbledon semifinals. Sanada sits at the Starbucks in Motomachi with his earbuds in and the video stream on. Yukimura lobs. He should know that Roddick will return a low ball, or a drop shot. He runs to the net.

Instead, Roddick turns his wrist. He hits the ball flat, in the sweet spot. The ball goes deep.

Sanada sucks in a breath. It's match point. His heart slams into his ribs.

Yukimura twists his body. Sweat sluices down his rippling muscles. Heat pools between Sanada's legs. Yukimura bears his teeth.

A backhand wins against his idol.

Roddick retires the following week.

***

Astronomy is the only elective that fits in second year.

The lecture hall has seats for three hundred. Thirty come to class.

Oishi sits down beside Sanada. "Hello," he says.

Sanada nods his head. "Oishi," he mutters.

***

"My sources inform me that there was talk of a Tezuka-Yukimura doubles team for Monaco," Renji says.

"You mean Inui told you," Sanada says.

Renji avoids the question. "They were to be sponsored by Atobe Corp."

Sanada grunts.

"Then Tezuka and Atobe were rumoured to have broken up."

"You're a gossip," Sanada says. He mutters, "Tarundoru" under his breath.

Renji says Kirihara will make his debut in Monaco.

***

He does.

And loses spectacularly. His fit on the court makes the newspapers. His bent and broken racket makes the blogs.

Sanada rolls his eyes.

***

The university observatory has a 6-inch reflecting Cassegrain focus telescope in rural Kanagawa. The rest of the group has left for beers. Sanada writes down the last of his observations.

Oishi stands behind him. He chews on his lip.

Sanada furrows his brow. "The lab report is due next week."

Oishi bends for one last look through the telescope. He sighs. "My favourite constellation is Orion," he says.

Sanada sets his pen down. "I thought it would have been Gemini."

Oishi turns. He shakes his head. "Why would you think that?"

Under his cap, Sanada raises his eyebrows. "Your shadow in tennis. Weren't you and Kikumaru like twins?"

Oishi steps back. His expression flickers. He opens his mouth once, and fails. "We haven't talked in a while. The last I heard he had a girlfriend and was working in Shibuya."

Sanada just says, "Aah."

Oishi laughs to himself, almost nervously. He plays with the hems of his jacket sleeves. "I haven't spoken to Tezuka in ages either. We used to play tennis everyday…"

Sanada says nothing.

The technician tells them that he's closing the telescope down for the night. Sanada picks up his bags. Oishi slings his manbag over his shoulder. They walk halfway to the train station before he suddenly stops.

"So how come you aren't playing tennis with them?" he asks.

Sanada's chest tightens. "Injury," he lies. His face burns.

Oishi lifts his arm. "Me too."

The street is deserted. A lone house glows in the middle of a rice paddy. Above, stars peak through the nebulous glow of Tokyo to the east.

Sanada glances toward Oishi. Oishi smiles back, doesn't turn away. Instead, he leans close, his mouth warm and soft. His hair fangs brush Sanada's cheek when he pulls back.

"Orion is my favourite," Sanada mumbles. "I like his sword."

***

His cell rings. It's an unknown number. Sasuke said he was getting a new phone. Sanada picks up.

The voice is too familiar. Sanada's knees start to buckle. He places a hand on the wall to steady himself.

"Kirihara gave me your number," Yukimura says.

Sanada tries to breathe.

"I hope you'll watch my game on Monday," he says.

Sanada swallows. The words are distant, not his own. "I'm busy," he says. He thinks of the emails from last night, the yakiniku date. He shakes his head. He wants to hang up, but his fingers won't move.

"I'm sorry, you know," Yukimura says. "I was sixteen, and stupid."

Water drips in the stone fountain in the courtyard. The floor boards creak underfoot.

Finally, Sanada whispers, "I know."

***

He stares at the photograph for a long while. Shadows shift across the wall. Rain patters against the window. They hold the trophy between them, almost ten years ago. Sanada's the only one scowling.

He shakes his head, and his lips curl up. That was a good tournament, he thinks. He sets the photo down.

That night, he doesn't dream of shifting muscles, sweaty tshirts, the smell of tennis balls or fields of rooftop flowers.

***

He's twenty-two, a poor university student. He doesn't have the money for grand gestures like flying to Paris to watch matches in the flesh.

Yukimura and Tezuka meet in the third round. They shake hands at the net. Sanada squints at the television. Atobe's in the crowd, just behind Tezuka's coach. Oishi's shoulder brushes Sanada's. His hand does too, in the bowl of curry popcorn.

"Tezuka will win," Oishi says.

Sanada scoffs. "His arm will seize up. Yukimura will win."

Oishi's lips twitch. "Loser pays for yakiniku."

Sanada's nostrils flare, but he's smiling. "Only if there's sauce for the meat."

FIC: Indirect Route (SanaYuki, PG13)

reposte — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 20:04:32 GMT

Title: Indirect Route
Author: Ociwen
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 2800
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, except for Pointillism and Pisarro.
Summary: Yukimura takes a detour back home.
Author's Notes: Art historical references are dangerous. As is Kirihara coaching small children. Written for Valentine's 2011.

They lose his luggage on the direct flight from Amsterdam to Narita. He sits by the Lost Luggage desk—his coach is MIA, the toilet maybe. His cell is out of juice. He reaches into his wallet, but the ten euro yen note won't fit into the coin slot of a Japanese payphone.

He scowls. He flicks his hair from his eyes—it's still sweaty and dank from the flight. Ten hours next to a kid who'd been upgraded to business. His temple pounds.

Yukimura can't remember the last time he was here. When has he heard Japanese spoken by airport attendants? Or from the lady across the desk, apologizing on behalf of an airline she doesn't even work for. For a moment, he closes his eyes and absorbs the sounds. He nods once, and tries not to think about those new rackets he'll need next week at the 500s in Memphis.

It's midnight inside, and dawn here. The vacant rice paddies are covered in a brittle golden light. The train rumbles. His eyes sink heavy.

Direct over the Atlantic would have been better.

***

The back page of the newspaper has the international sports section. A photo in monochrome grins from the bottom right corner. Sanada snorts. Germany's revenge in Rotterdam.

He starts to read. A name catches in his throat. He swallows, and folds the paper over. The subway PA announces his stop. Sanada leaves the paper on the window ledge, and rushes onto the platform.

At the escalator, he stops. Sharpness cuts through his knee. A cold draft meanders through the station. He takes a deep breath, then pushes his leg forward. It's been aching since he woke up this morning.

Above the bare trees lining the street, the sun mellows into a translucent sky. An OL in heels clicks past. Sanada inhales, walks a little faster. She's lost into the city before he reaches the cross walk.

He scowls.

The office is empty at this hour. Neither the manager nor the intern from university have shown up. His key rattles. He flicks on the fluorescent lights. The cold seeps through his shoes. His toes creak.

The door clicks behind him. Mai says good morning. "I'll have the report from the conservationists by ten," she says.

"Will they be done?"

Mai keeps smiling. "Yes with the ceramics, no with the prints. The ink…" She bats her lashes, and chews on her lip.

He grunts.

"Ne," she says.

He shifts his eyes toward her. Sharpness stabs through his knee. Shivers rush down his arms.

Mai just bobs her head. She's wearing three layers of sweaters.

***

The floor-to-ceiling windows facing east over the harbour were a great idea when he bought the apartment.

He groans. Then he pulls the blanket over his face. Light seeps through the weave. He squeezes his eyes shut. Moves onto his other side, away from the window. The heater creaks and rattles. He listens to himself huff, and sigh, and rustle the sheet again. His limbs ache. His mind races.

At noon, he flings the blankets off. He pulls on the old tracksuit in the closet with a yawn. On the street, he looks north, then south. He jogs toward the park, wedged between Chinatown and the hospital. Greasy smells waft from the restaurants. He turns sharp at the next street corner. His stomach churns. Winter whips through his hair, chaps his lips. He dodges the salarymen who file like ants westward to the food. Yukimura purses his lips a little thinner. Under his jacket, he's melting.

A building blocks the end of the street, along a perpendicular road. The western-style red bricks stick out from the concrete high-rises all around. He jogs past the iron fence. At the entrance is a sign for the museum.

It's got nothing on the Orsay, he thinks. It was two years ago that he slipped away from practice, the day before the qualifying rounds in Paris. Two hours with Manet's picnic, and watery lilies. Pisarro's suburbs drifting through snow, and the pointillist faces without expression. He'd been alone in a crowd of thousands, pushed at from all sides by loud tourists and the blinding flashes of cameras.

But on the upper level, in the far rooms filled with fin-de-siècle accoutrements, there was nothing except the din in his ears. He walked between the cloisonné vases and Japoniste screens before leaving. Memories clouded the silence, and he turned on his cellphone to the fifteen angry voicemails from the coach.

There is a noise behind him. A syllable spoken from a deep voice. His shoulders stiffen, and the cold catches up with his perspiring skin.

His mouth hangs.

***

He was the last person Sanada expected to see on the museum grounds. His lunch drops to the yellowed grass. The pickles tumble out. He opens his mouth, but the name sticks on his tongue. His face burns.

Sweat darkens patches under Yukimura's arms, and along his collar. He lifts his head higher. Sanada takes a deep breath. His nostrils flare.

In a thin voice, Yukimura says, "What are you doing here?" His eyes flick down to Sanada's legs, then back up.

Numbness prickles his knee. There are a hundred things he could say now. There are a hundred things maybe he wants to say. But instead, he opens his mouth and says, "Your parents will be glad to see you."

He waits. Yukimura wipes at his forehead. He wipes at his upper lip where the beads of sweat collected. He shifts his weight to his other leg. Sanada doesn't move. There is a crow on the roof of the museum.

Winter soughs through the dormant shrubs along the fence.

Yukimura leaves.

Sanada crouches down. He hisses through his teeth. He picks up the remains of his bento with shaking hands, and goes for ramen in Chinatown.

***

"Haven't seen him in ages," Marui says. He blows smoke across the table, then picks up his beer. It sloshes down his hand. "Yagyuu might still talk with him, but I dunno. Haven't seen him in a couple years either."

Yukimura takes a gulp of beer. He hums. His body sways to the side, leaden. He reaches for the dish of edamame. His fingers slip. The bowl tips over the table. Marui just laughs.

His face is flushed. It’s not even half-past eight.

"Now, Jackal, on the other hand," Marui says. He waves his beer into the air. "He should be here in…" He glances down to his cell. He furrows his brow. Yukimura looks at his own cell—the screen blurs.

"Sometime!" Marui shouts. He clinks his glass with Yukimura's. Beer splashes. The tight ball of tension in his gut twists. He can taste acrid bile on his tongue. Marui keeps talking. Yukimura doesn't hear the words. He glances around the bar. The walls ripple: concave, convex. They press down and around. He touches his collar, where his shirt digs into his throat.

Marui raises his beer again. Jackal sits down, perpendicular to Yukimura. He says, "It was a great match! You coulda totally creamed Murray the way Atobe did in the finals!"

Yukimura tries to lift his head. Instead, he slips forward across the table.

***

He can hear the rhythmic sounds from the dojo below. The slapping of the bamboo shinai sticks. He snorts under his breath. Beginners. There is a single shout. Sanada swallows, glances out his window. A skeletal branch raps at his window.

He lays on his futon. His heart won't stop fluttering, ten hours later. He can hear the words in his mind. Still.

A cellphone sits on the tatami by his head. Sanada rolls over. He scrolls through the contact list. It's been four, five, six different phones since. He starts to type in those numbers. It's a memory of the flesh.

Then he stops. He shakes his head. Calls himself a fool, and an idiot. The number won't be the same. A voice would answer hello—the wrong one—and he would hang up. His face would burn hotter than it does now.

The red filament of his kerosene heater glows. He wiggles his toes. His knees throb with a lingering ache. His fingers brush the waistband of his pajamas.

Sanada sucks in a breath. Then he pulls his hand away.

***

There was a knock on his window. Not a coin, or a stone. It was a thwomp that bounced back.

He opened the window. Yukimura stood ten feet below. There was a tennis ball in his hand, and a feline grin spread across his face.

"It's midnight!" Sanada hissed.

Yukimura was silent. He might have raised his eyebrows. It was too dark to make out. Sanada's insides twisted up. As he crept down the stairs, he held his breath. It wasn't until they were down the driveway and past the gate that he exhaled. The tension in his shoulders slackened. Yukimura touched his arm.

It burned under his coat.

"Good way to work on our reflexes," Yukimura said. "Renji even said so."

Sanada rolled his eyes. "But he didn't recommend it."

Yukimura's mouth twitched. His breath clouded in the air.

Sanada snorted. "There's no lights on the streetcourts now."

"Your vision going?"

He shook his head. Yukimura bumped into his side again. The twist in his guts from before was tighter, and spreading below his waistband. Sanada burrowed his face into his scarf to hide the flush.

The balls echoed on the court. The nets were slack. Sanada squinted into the darkness. Yukimura's sneakers pounded the frozen clay. Sanada followed their sound. He anticipated the ball right. It zoomed past his elbow, on the left.

"Focus!" Yukimura shouted.

He served in the darkness. His fingers, frigid on the racket, vibrated with the slap of the ball on the racketstrings. Yukimura's footsteps echoed: one, two, threefourfive. Sanada ran left. Then there was a grinding from the other side. Yukimura switched directions. Sanada looked around. The ball was nowhere. He turned, he moved, and his knee didn't follow with the rest of his body.

***

Yukimura came to the hospital wearing a white mask. Sanada wouldn't be able to see the clench of his jaw behind it. He lay on the bed. His leg was strung up, hidden under a layer of bandages. He opened his eyes.

Yukimura's mouth was filled with acid. He thought of the email from Renji. He squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to take a breath. The hospital reeked of chemicals, and his fingers were going numb.

"Two months?" he said.

The words hang.

Sanada looked up. His eyes burned into Yukimura's. Yukimura looked to the window. The first plum blossoms were almost out.

Yukimura shook his head. "The season starts April 1st."

Sanada's voice caught. "That's all you care about?" He snorted once, then twice. He shook his head, too, and released the ball of sheets from his hand. "Of all people, Yukimura!"

Yukimura's mouth dropped. "'Yukimura'?" he shouted. His hands shook. Inside, he burned. "Since when do you call me that?!"

Sanada's knuckles cracked. He lunged on the bed. There was a scream of pain as he recoiled. A nurse rushed in and pulled at Yukimura.

"You need to leave," she told him.

Yukimura looked to Sanada. Sanada didn't look back.

He never came back to the hospital.

And Sanada never came back to the tennis club.

***

He sits at his narrow desk. Mai shuffles paper on the other side of the divider. Aoki types, clack clack. Clack clack. There is a pause, followed by more frenetic clacking. Sanada stares at his computer screen. He glances down to the report. The numbers blur together.

Fool, he thinks. Under the desk, his fingers brush his kneecap. He sucks in a breath.

Sanada stands up. Mai raises her head.

"I'm leaving," Sanada says.

Aoki turns, too. Mai furrows her brow. Her makeup cracks along her hairline.

"Are you coming back?" she asks. Her lip sticks out a little too much.

Sanada lifts his chin toward the window. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

The racket tape melts into his hand. Years of neglect form into peeling little pills. He weighs the Babolat. Over his shoulder, the crowds in the arena are cheering for Rikkai, ten years after the win. He glances to his right.

The barren zelkova stirs in the wind. There's no one there. Sanada purses his lips.

He bounces the ball with his left. The felt feels the same. He squeezes into the rubber. Kirihara probably still uses knuckle balls with students. Sanada snorts. Of all the people to coach…

The retaining wall slopes, convex near the bottom. Sanada tosses the ball straight ahead. He opens the racket with his wrist, and swings his arm back.

He steps. He stiffens. He starts to bend down.

The cartilage grinds.

He falls to the ground. Calls himself an idiot. He's pathetic. The light shifts, and the weak sun dissolves into a greying cloud. His knee throbs, but he shifts his weight. Sanada grits his teeth.

He gets onto his feet. With his legs straight, he hits the ball against the wall. It rebounds back to his racket in a slow arc.

His pocket vibrates. The ball flies past his shoulder. He drops his racket, and flips his cell open. The number is unknown. With a sigh, he thinks, What does she want now?

It isn't Mai's female lilt on the other end.

"It's me," he says.

The cell joins the racket at Sanada's feet.

***

The subway station pipes a remix Valentine's Kiss through the corridors. Yukimura shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. He glances toward a vending machine. A hot coffee milk sounds about right. He reaches for his wallet.

A university-aged kid in a backpack shoves in front. Music blasts from his earbuds. He bops his head.

The last can of coffee milk rolls into the dispenser.

Yukimura narrows his eyes.

He walks up the east exit stairs, then down the street. He walks past the cafes and coffee chains that have been here for ten, fifteen years. The sun hangs low on the horizon behind him. The shadows undulate ahead, growing and decreasing as the traffic rushes past. He stuffs his face into his scarf.

The park by the harbour is nearly empty. A middle-aged man walks a dog. A lone oil tanker prowls the slate water. Yukimura takes a deep breath. Cold, salty air swells his lungs. He coughs.

Solitary roses cling to the bushes. Yukimura walks between them. He runs his finger along the branches. Thorns catch his gloves. The bushes need to be pruned.

He sits down on a bench, behind the roses. The light dims by the minute. He runs his fingers along the edge of his cellphone. Yukimura shakes his head. This is stupid, he thinks.

A flake of snow lands on his arm. It dissolves into his coat.

A voice says his name. Yukimura.

He lifts his head.

Standing against the dying sky is Sanada.

***

For a long moment, Yukimura stares up at him. A lump in his throat bobs, and disappears under his scarf. Sanada doesn't move.

Yukimura closes his eyes. A plume of breath hangs between them. He opens his mouth. Only a choked "I…" emerges.

Sanada's ribs press into his heart. He can't breathe. Above their heads, a gull makes lazy circles on an updrift.

The bench creaks under his weight Sanada he sits. His knee creaks, too.

Yukimura doesn't inch away. Instead, he turns. His eyes are black in the dimming light. They match Sanada's gaze.

"We…there's a lot to catch up on," Yukimura says. His voice is thick.

Sanada nods. He swallows. His throat is thick. His tongue is wool. He clears his throat, and feels the temperature rise on his face. "There's a place down the road. Where we used to go after practice."

Yukimura blinks. "Starbucks?"

Sanada almost laughs.

***

Yukimura lifts his head from Sanada's chest. His pulse pounds in his ears. Sweat slides down his temple, and drips onto Sanada's nipple. He runs his tongue across Sanada's collar. "This isn't coffee," he murmurs.

Below, bamboo shinai sticks slap. The walls rattle. The kerosene heater reflects the shine of Sanada's hair, hanging over his eyes. Yukimura reaches up. His fingertips brush across Sanada's forehead. Sanada sighs into his ear, and the shivers run down Yukimura's spine.

The windows of Sanada's bedroom are fogging over.

Sanada digs his hand into Yukimura's hair. Yukimura arches back. His hips thrust against Sanada's thigh. "We have a lot…" He pulls Yukimura's mouth to his. Yukimura kisses hard. He moans. Sanada's groan vibrates through his mouth.

"We have a lot to catch up on," Sanada says.

FIC: Merry Christmas Yukimura (SanaYuki, Rish)

reposte — Sat, 25 Dec 2010 22:16:13 GMT

Title: Merry Christmas, Yukimura
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 4500
Rating: Soft R
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, except Rolan Garros.
Summary: Yukimura learns the True Meaning of Christmas.
Author's Notes: Festive inappropriateness. ^^

1.

On Monday, he and Sanada walk with Renji to the train station after school.

"They predicted 2cm of snow tonight in Aomori," Sanada says. He frowns, in that constipated sort of way that makes Yukimura bite back a smile. He keeps his hands firmly stuffed in his pockets.

It's single digits, and Sanada's hands are blue without mittens on. The canal running parallel to the street across from school had ice forming at the edge this morning. Their breath is brittle, and the cold bites at Yukimura's knees like Guillain Barré used to.

Still, Sanada doesn't blow on his hands. He keeps them at his sides. The only thing he does is frown more when Renji smiles and says something about the powder on the slopes.

Yukimura wonders if it is a discipline sort of thing.

"It's nice that you're doing something," Yukimura says.

Renji shrugs. "As long as my parents are in a separate room. Earplugs only block out sound below 35 decibels."

Yukimura makes a face. A flush creeps up the back of Sanada's neck. It makes Yukimura's pants a little tighter. He stuffs his face into his scarf, and tries to walk it off. His dick just swells even harder.

This time, Yukimura frowns. Dammit! he thinks.

"I did not need to know that," Sanada says. "Parents do not have sex!"

Renji stops. His snort hangs in the frosty air. Then he turns to Yukimura.

"Is he always this naïve?"

Yukimura laughs, nervous and awkward. Renji is the last person he'd want to talk about this with, especially when Renji lifts his head and glances down his nose in that omniscient, smug sort of way, with his lips twisted at the corners.

"You can be replaced," Sanada mutters. Renji shoves an elbow into Sanada's side. His smirk widens.

"You'll miss me," he says. The station looms across the street. A tall woman waves from the exit. Yukimura stops at the crosswalk. He shifts his weight. His balls ache, and his dick's on fire. He tries to pull his coat hem down a little lower.

Renji says goodbye, he'll see them before the New Year. Sanada nods. He doesn't say much, just waves his hand once. Yukimura chews on his lip. He starts to think about the train station, and how quickly the next train in the direction of home will be coming.

Coming…

He clenches his jaw. Don't think about that!

Renji, though, just has that same know-it-all smile. "You two won't miss me," he says. He winks, then runs across the street to meet his mom. They disappear into the crowd streaming out of the station.

Yukimura swallows. He turns to Sanada, and the urge to slip behind a vending machine and shove his hand down his pants gets even stronger.

"Ne," he says. His voice squeaks. He turns red all over. His balls are set to burst. "Sanada, come over to my house tonight." His heart flutters as all the blood in his body rushes below his belt. An OL rushes past Sanada. Sanada brushes his arm. Yukimura's eyes pop out trying to keep himself in check.

Sanada just frowns. "I have homework." He pulls at his ballcap. "See you tomorrow."

***

Yukimura wipes his hand with a kleenex. His room stinks. He blasts the can of Lysol across the room. He coughs. His hand, though, still reeks like spunk.

He sighs.

His phone hums on the desk. Message from Renji, with an attached picture of frosty rice paddies outside some inaka in Gumma or Iwaki or somewhere else equally as gross.

My sister says theres a good love hotel behind the LUCKY YAY DAY pachinko place. It had 95% approval rating on a mixi poll.

Yukimura flips his phone shut. He flops onto his bed, next to the cat, who glares at him with a single eye.

He rubs the top of the cat's head. "Ne, Rolan," he says, "what kind of place do you think Sanada would like to go with me?"

The cat opens the other eye. He yawns, wide and meaty. Yukimura leans back against his pillows. His fingers toy at the waistband of his jeans. His dick is twitching in his underpants again.

With the other hand, he emails Sanada. Three minutes later, a response:

The dojo needs cleaning.

His cellphone beeps before his eyes take in the rest of Sanada's email. He opens it—another email from Renji. There's a website link attached, for a love hotel.

Yukimura chucks his phone across the room. Rolan jumps off the bed and bolts after it. He lets out a groan. He grinds his teeth. He balls his fist and hot tears prick his eyes. "Dammit!" he hisses. "Dammit, Sanada!"

His dick, though, doesn't seem to care.

2.

Sanada is always the first one to come to school. He's there at six twenty, each and every morning.

Yukimura slams his hand down on the alarm at half-past six. He heaves himself out of bed. Rolan weaves between his feet en route to the toilet. He takes his morning pills, takes a shit, and at quarter-past seven, frantically pulls on his school uniform.

He bolts to make the 34 bus, leaving at 7:18. For all he complains about laps and laziness, his morning dash for the bus is as fast as on the tennis court. He stares out the window. He watches the traffic sit idle at the lights. He toys with his phone charms, then emails Sanada Good morning.

He thinks about the one day that he'll set his alarm early, skip to the bus, and pin Sanada down against the bench in the clubhouse. Sanada will lick his ear. Yukimura will shiver. He'll stick his hand down Sanada's trackpants, and they'll rub their dicks together and it'll be amazing. Or messy. Or both.

But that won't be today.

Yagyuu and Jackal are already walking through the school gate. Yukimura runs up behind them. He raises his hands, but Yagyuu turns.

Yukimura deflates. He stuffs his hands back in his pockets. "Morning," he says.

Yagyuu says "Good Morning". Jackal mumbles something under his tube scarf and Cossack hat. Someone else is running laps around the courts. Sneakers slap the clay in perfect, even timing.

Sanada rounds the far court. His cheeks are flushed. Sweat beads along his hairline by his ears, and under his cap. Yukimura's ribs tighten and creak. He touches his chest. His dick wakes up.

"Sanada!" Yukimura shouts.

Sanada's breathing rises and falls with the beat of his sneakers. He runs right past Yukimura without a single word. A rush of heady, sweaty teenage boy flutters Yukimura's hair.

He frowns. He turns to Yagyuu and Jackal, and says, "Fifty laps."

***

At lunch, Marui sidles up to Yukimura. "Any reason for the extra laps?"

Yukimura stabs his fish with the end of his chopstick. His eye twitches. "Our form is atrophying," he lies. His face feels hot all over. It burns hotter when Marui lets out a whistle.

"Can't be good in this weather. Didn't Yanagi say something about optimal training temperatures?"

Yukimura spits out a fish bone. He narrows an eye. "He's not here."

Marui leans back against the lockers. "Yeah, I'm jealous. Ski slopes. Yamagata girls. Moon faces and moonlight soirees in the mixed resort onsen…." He starts to snicker.

Yukimura's chopstick clatters on the ground.

"Speaking of excellent things," Marui says. He waves his hands across the air. His eyes gleam in the track lighting. "Wanna come with me after school?"

"Busy," Yukimura says. He opens his cellphone and starts to type. The shadow of Marui hovers over his keypad. Yukimura looks up.

Marui just waggles his eyebrows, and says "Sure, man. Some other time."

***

The email was the same as always.

In literature: don’t email me during class!!! :<

Then, as soon as the last bell rings: Going on a hike with Grandfather and his friend tonight.

Yukimura snorts. There's not even an apology!

He hangs out by the shoe cubbies. Someone calls his name. He lifts his head.

Marui slides an arm across Yukimura's shoulders. He taps his temple with his other hand. "This genius just knew you'd come around."

***

"The supermarket?" Yukimura asks.

Marui grabs a trolley. "Yeah, don’t you know what day it is?" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Yukimura waits. The AKB48 song loops on the intercom. It'll be days before he has it out of his head. He scowls.

"It's the optimum day for Christmas cake buying!" Marui shrieks. He claps his hands together. He bolts down the aisles of tea and rice and mega-size Calpis bottles faster than he ever moves in tennis. Yukimura dodges a manager with a trolley full of tofu. He nearly careens into a display of mandarins.

At the far end of the star, the lights shine down upon a large display, covered in red ribbons and fake pine boughs. There are blinking lights and an inflatable snowman, three feet tall.

Marui gasps. He reaches out for a cake. He holds it aloft for a long moment. Yukimura scratches the back of his neck.

"Look," Marui says, "at the perfect peaks of cream!"

Yukimura looks.

"Look! At these luscious, gleaming berries!"

Yukimura looks. He raises an eyebrow.

Marui inhales so deep, he has to step backward. "Look at the perfect calligraphic words spelling out, MARY Crisumasu!"

Yukimura raises his second eyebrow. He folds his arms across his chest. Marui cradles the cake in his arms a moment longer. The plastic reindeer on the cake start to lurch. Gingerly, he places the cake into the trolley. The plastic lid shines.

"That," Marui says at last, "is the true purpose of Christmas."

"To eat cake?" He blinks. Yukimura blinks a second time. His belly tightens. So do his balls. He shakes his head. "You're wrong."

It's Marui's turn to blink.

Yukimura shifts his eyes. A woman pushes a trolley past them. His face pinkens as he leans close.

"It's to get laid," he whispers.

Marui turns to him. Their faces are inches apart. Close enough for Yukimura to smell the Starbucks on Marui's breath.

"Dude," Marui says. He bursts out laughing.

"You're totally wrong! The true meaning of Christmas is cake and KFC Chicken Dinner! Just like Americans!"

3.

"Don’t listen to a word Bunta says," Jackal says. "I mean, about Christmas."

Yukimura grabs his tennis bag. Niou and Yagyuu are still in the showers. Sanada's on the courts, pushing the broom.

Yukimura cups his hands around his mouth. "Sanada!"

The broom stops. Sanada squints.

"Ramen?" Yukimura shouts. Under his scarf his neck burns. His dick stiffens, too. The last time after they went for ramen, Yukimura's parents were out. He pulled at Sanada's collar. Sanada pushed him into the flatscreen. Their tongues were tangled up, and Sanada's knee shoved between Yukimura's legs when the crash exploded through the room.

And the leaded glass bowl from Hungary was scattered in a hundred pieces across the floor.

Luckily, Rolan was around.

This afternoon Sanada just says, "No. I'm busy." There is a short pause. "I have to help my mother with the groceries." He starts to push the broom across the baseline. There's nothing on the courts except a few late leaves, and a few stray candy wrappers.

Yukimura's chest deflates. Jackal pats his shoulder. "We can get some grub at my dad's restaurant," he says. "They do the fish special on Wednesdays. We can eat in the back for free."

Yukimura reaches into his pocket. His wallet is flat. He nods once, with a sigh. "Okay."

Jackal's dad's restaurant is a few blocks from school, past the fabric store, and the streets filled with post-war concrete apartment blocks. Yukimura sticks close to Jackal.

The restaurant is called El Rio. Jackal says something about the name not being very authentic. A ring goes off. Yukimura looks at Jackal. The music keeps playing. Jackal looks at him.

"It's not my ring tone," Yukimura says.

"It's Lady Gaga," Jackal says. "Poker Face. And it's coming from your bag."

Yukimura unzips the bag. The uniform looks familiar, but the foam darts definitely are not. Neither is the silver cellphone with the Stitch charm. Yukimura flips it open. "Hello?"

"You have it," Niou says. There's a second voice in the background. Then Niou says, "Don't touch anything. Bring my bag tomorrow and I won't tell Sanada about the brochure."

Yukimura thinks for a moment. "Brochure?" The word sinks in. Then hot shame fills his gut. "Fine," he says.

Niou hangs up. Jackal raises his eyebrows. "Niou?"

"How'd you guess?"

Jackal holds up a DVD case of The Sound of Music. On the top corner is a big glittery heart tag that says, For Hiro.

Yukimura just says, "Oh."

Jackal smiles a little. "I had to help pick it out."

Yukimura zips the bag up, with the DVD inside. His own phone is safely ensconced in his pocket, with no new emails from Sanada. The restaurant is just around the corner of a chain sushi place. Pink salmon and creamy yellowtail float by through the window. Yukimura licks his lips. Jackal says, "Come on," and grabs Yukimura's arm.

Jackal yanks open the door of El Rio. A bell chimes. The place is dimly lit. No one else is here. Yukimura creeps across El Rio's threshold. The only light is from behind a closed door: silhouetted like an eclipse. There's a bang, then a clatter of tin pots. A voice shouts, then the door bursts open with the thick, savoury smell of garlic and tomato and fish and Yukimura breathes it all in deep.

A man in grubby white shouts at Jackal. Jackal shouts back, all smiles. He turns to Yukimura, "This is Felipe. He's from Recife."

"Okay," Yukimura says. Felipe holds out a hand. It's meaty and gleams with sweat. Carefully, Yukimura extends his own hand. Felipe practically crushes his knuckles in a handshake.

"He says it's shrimp and okra tonight," Jackal says. He rubs his stomach and says something in Brazilian. Yukimura shifts his weight. He rocks back on his heels and rather wishes he could go and drop Niou's bag off now-ish.

Until there's a plate in front of him. Of steaming shrimp and okra in soupy sauce, piled onto a heap of rice. Jackal dives into with a spoon. Yukimura takes a deep breath, then he shoves his spoon in deep. Sweet coconut milk glides over his tongue, just as velvety as Sanada. The shrimp are tender, bursting under his teeth. Yukimura leans back and moans. From his milk crate seat, Jackal does the same.

"Good, huh?" he says.

Yukimura nods.

"It's even better at Christmas," Jackal says. He wipes the corners of his mouth with his sleeve. "The restaurant does this whole spread of stuff for the Dekasegi. Ham and beans and shrimp and the biggest pineapples we can get. Last year they roasted a pork leg. Passionfruit mousse…" Jackal's eyes roll back as the smile spreads across his face. "It was awesome. My mom helped with the flower arrangements, you know."

Felipe walks by, spewing more gobbledegook at Jackal. He waves his ladle and shouts some more. Yukimura polishes off the last shrimp. He lets out a belch, and leans back on the milk crate.

"Wanna help?" Jackal asks.

"With what?" Yukimura asks.

"Decorating."

Yukimura grins. "Do you even need to ask?"

Felipe descends into a storeroom and returns with a large box. Jackal pulls out tangled strings of fairy lights. Yukimura pulls the other end. Jackal stands on the tables to tack the lights to the restaurant wall, and Yukimura unwinds the strings from the floor.

"Marui said the true meaning of Christmas is cake," Yukimura says. "I thought it was something…" He bites his lip and tries not to think of the soft place under Sanada's jaw. Or behind his ear. Or…

"Yeah," Jackal says. "It's Jesus' birthday."

"Jesus?"

Jackal rolls his eyes. "Duh."

Yukimura unknots the next metre of lights. "Oh. So he comes here for the party? I went to primary school with him, you know. Jesus "

Jackal's end of the lights clatters to the table. "What?"

Yukimura stares right back at Jackal. "Sakai Jesus. He was a hafu, just like you. I didn't know it was his birthday."

Jackal stills for a moment, then he laughs. He slaps his thigh and shakes his head. "No, no, no! I mean, the Jesus on the cross!"

"The guy on the cross, like in your apartment?"

"Yeah, you know. His birthday. Jesus."

Yukimura shakes his head. "I thought the guy on the cross was called God."

Jackal facepalms. "Just…" He shakes his head behind his hand. "Just…never mind. Christmas is that dude's birthday. The guy on the cross."

Yukimura hands Jackal more fairy lights. "I'll remember that," he says. He pats his pocket. His cellphone is warm against his leg. "And I'll remember to send Jesus a birthday email, too."

4.

Yukimura hands the bag to Niou. Niou narrows his eyes. He doesn't bother with an apology, just a "Pupina~!"

Yukimura thinks it sounds rather Brazilian.

"Ne," he says, "what are you doing this weekend?" He peels off his sneakers.

Niou looks up from sifting through his bag. "Nothing."

Yagyuu walks into the clubhouse. He sets his bag on the bench, next to Yukimura. "Ah, Niou-kun," he says, "I can come to your place on Saturday at two."

Yukimura looks at Niou. Niou looks away.

"Yagyuu," Yukimura says, "what is the meaning of Christmas?"

Yagyuu blinks. He pushes his glasses up his nose. Niou slams the toilet door and makes raspberry noises behind it. Yagyuu frowns. He turns to Yukimura.

"To spend time with…" His face looks a little flushed. Yukimura rubs his chin. "Ah…friends."

"Boyfriends and girlfriends?" Yukimura asks.

Yagyuu makes a strange little coughing noise. "Something like that," he mumbles.

Yukimura opens his mouth just as the clubhouse door is flung open. Sanada stomps in. He takes one look at Yukimura. Then he takes a longer look at Yagyuu. Then he listens to the explosive raspberry Niou lets rip from behind the toilet stall door.

Sanada stomps right back outside.

5.

On the last day of school before winter holidays—and coincidentally, Christmas Eve—Sanada doesn't even bother to eat lunch with them.

Yukimura sighs. He rests his chin on his hand, and stirs his chopstick through the spaghetti and burdock soup. He sighs again when Jackal walks by, says he's eating with Mika, and disappears. His shoulders sink when Marui sits down across the table.

"I have a DVD. Of Miss Japan 2010," he says. Marui chortles to himself, and adds, "The hentai version."

Yukimura slurps at a noodle. "That's nice," he mumbles.

"Totally!" Marui says. "She was a former member of SKE48! Idols gone wild!"

Niou and Yagyuu join them. Niou switches Yagyuu's cafeteria tray with his own. He eats the meat bun, and switches them back to eat his meat bun too. Yagyuu says nothing, except, "Yukimura-kun?"

Marui nods to Niou. "I think he's bummed."

Niou looks at him.

Marui says, "It's not a bad thing, you know."

"What?" Yukimura says.

"To be single on Christmas Eve."

Yagyuu and Niou share a brief glance. Yukimura frowns. Marui grabs him by the chin and lifts his head up.

"You are the last person I would have expected to say that, Marui-kun," Yagyuu says.

Marui huffs. "Duh, everyone knows that flyin' solo just means it's time for por—"

Kirihara jumps onto the table. "OH MY GOH!!!" he shrieks. He lets out another unintelligible scream and bounces off the table. Marui grabs him by the collar.

"Chill, man!" he says.

Kirihara's toddlerfist clocks Marui in the cheek. "AAAAAH!!"

Niou grabs Kirihara by the back of his collar. He hoists Kirihara two inches off his feet. Marui rubs his face and sniffles.

Kirihara's grin is blinding. Yukimura stands up. He looks at Kirihara. Kirihara stops vibrating, but his grin remains.

"Buchou?"

"Akaya?"

"It's Christmasu tomorrow!" Kirihara says.

Yukimura sighs. "I know."

Kirihara shivers. He shakes and squirms and more animalistic noises escape his mouth. "You know what that means today is?"

"Time to sing Heartbreak Hotel?" Niou asks.

Yukimura narrows his eyes. He ignores Marui's snigger behind his back. Kirihara's vapid expression doesn't flicker.

"SANTA COMES TONIGHT!"

A collective "Ah" escapes all of them.

"So you don't care about the important things, like…" Yukimura coughs, "getting laid?"

Kirihara's face falls. Then he grimaces. "Gross! No! The most important part about Christmas is SANTA BRINGING ME PRESENTS!"

Yukimura thinks to himself. Then he takes his tray to the stacked carts, and goes to spend the last ten minutes of lunch in the rooftop garden until his fingers are numb. On his way back to his classroom, he can hear Kirihara's excited shrieks echoing in the hallway.

***

So he walks to the bookstore after class. There's a five thousand note burning a hole in his pocket. The only thing he has to look forward to tomorrow is a doctor's appointment at eleven, and maybe a round of slam the ball into the retainer wall behind the alley after that.

At the back of the shop, past the DIY rows packed with homely girls in fur suits and Mori skirts, are the art books. Last week, there was a single copy of the Pisarro monograph. 4500 yen. Sanada looked bored, but he said nothing as Yukimura open the cover. He breathed in the smell of new book: crisp and inky and velvety smooth.

Yukimura stares at the shelf.

There is a hole, 3cm wide.

He swallows. His heart skips a beat. He checks the shelf above, and the shelf below.

Yukimura takes a deep breath. He squeezes his eyes tight, and balls his fist. His eyes sting. His breath hitches.

He's an utter fool.

Dammit dammit DAMMIT!

***

His mom smiles and asks how his day way. Yukimura stomps into the kitchen. He looks around. There's nothing remotely festive about the bowl of leftover fish stew on the table.

He slumps into his chair and glares at the rice. His mom hums an old enka song. Yukimura grits his teeth.

His phone rings. Yukimura flips it open.

Sanada says hi.

Yukimura's eyes widen. Then, they narrow. "What do you want?" he snaps. His mom watches him, so he ducks his head and hisses, "It's suppertime!"

Sanada coughs. He mumbles something about Yukimura coming over, for dinner at his place.

He mutters an apology, too.

Yukimura snorts. Sanada is quiet. After a moment, Yukimura says, "Fine!"

There's a soft sigh on the other end when Yukimura adds, "I'll be a half hour."

The food at Sanada's place is better anyway.

6.

Yukimura knows something is up when he steps off the bus and Sanada is waiting for him. They climb the hill together, under the brittle branches of the zelkovas. There's frost in the air and the ground crunches underfoot. Out in the mountains, Yukimura can almost see the pinpricks of stars above.

Sanada is awfully quiet. Yukimura glares at the back of Sanada's head. Fool! he thinks. If Sanada hadn't been so cantankerous and busy, maybe they could have done something more than hang out in the dojo, where Sasuke always insists they play tag.

Yukimura huffs. His breath leaves a plume in the air. Sanada hesitates a step. He starts to turn around, but then he walks a little faster. Yukimura jogs to keep up.

At the door, Sanada whips out his key. The lights are warm, and soften the darkness.

"What are you doing?" Yukimura asks.

The keys jingle. The door opens. Sanada just says, "Um…"

There isn't a single sound in the house, except the squeak of the floor under Yukimura. The door shuts with a click.

"Sanada?" Yukimura asks. He scrunches up his forehead.

He can hear Sanada swallow. Sanada unwinds his scarf. His cheeks and nose are flushed.

Yukimura shifts his eyes down the corridor to the kitchen. Sanada's mom should be there.

But she's not.

Yukimura glances down at the floor. There are two pairs of sneakers, and seven sets of slippers. There's a poinsettia in the alcove, draped in strings of silver. Below it, there is a book-shaped object wrapped in gold paper.

Yukimura looks at Sanada. His insides feel a little warm, and a little fuzzy,

Sanada holds out a garland of flowers. The cheap kinds that ganguros buy in Tokyu Hands and Harajuku, all pastel blues and beige.

Yukimura doesn't take it. "What's that for?" he asks.

Sanada shifts his weight from foot to foot. His throat bobs again. He clears it, twice. "Akaya said they give them out at Christmas."

Yukimura blinks. Sanada drapes the lei over his head. Then he drapes a mauve one over himself.

All Yukimura can say is, "Oh."

"There's…no one home," Sanada says.

The words hang between them. Yukimura tries to close his mouth. Sanada reaches out. He touches Yukimura's chin with his fingers—cold and shaky and brushing across his jaw.

"It's Christmas Eve," Sanada mutters. He leans into Yukimura's space. They back up, a step, into the wall. Yukimura's hands drift to Sanada's waist. He sneaks his fingertips under the hem of Sanada's shirt, where his skin is hot.

He sighs into Sanada's shoulder. He thinks, I'm the idiot. There's a hardness pressed up against his thigh. He pushes his hips forward, too. He sucks in a breath as his erection stiffens on Sanada's body.

"I…" Yukimura shakes his head. He smiles at himself. He smiles as those familiar lips touch his jaw. He tilts his head, closes his eyes, and sinks into the soft, little kisses Sanada presses across his skin.

"Niou told me about the brochure."

Yukimura stiffens. Sanada's hot laughter blows across his collarbone. "It was nothing," Yukimura says. Shame burns all the way down to his toes. Sanada kisses a little lower.

"Maybe…" Sanada's fingers push Yukimura's shirt. His teeth nip at Yukimura's shoulder. Yukimura moans. "Maybe we can go somewhere like…that sometime."

"A love hotel?" Yukimura asks.

Sanada doesn't answer. He pulls back. Yukimura looks into his pupils. He shivers. Sanada turns his head away from the gaze. He coughs. "I have—there's kamaboko in the fridge."

Yukimura laughs. "Pink kind?"

Sanada says yes. Yukimura punches his arm. "I like fish," he says. "So we feast on…kamaboko?"

Yagyuu and Niou will be having hot pot, or maybe yakiniku tonight. Jackal will be having his Brazilian ham and pineapples and rice and beans and coconuts. And he and Sanada get to eat fish cakes? Yukimura shrugs his shoulders. Sanada's hand slithers across his back. His eyes rest on Yukimura's mouth. That hard bulge on Yukimura's legs grows.

Sanada jerks Yukimura even closer.

"No," he says. He breathes into Yukimura's ear. Yukimura's eyes bulge as a hot, wet tongue snakes down his ear lobe.

His underpants bulge too. A little noise escapes his mouth. His legs are turning to jelly. He shivers.

There's a smirk on Sanada's lips when he says, "I'll make ramen."

FIC: Interlude (SanaYuki, Denouverse, R)

reposte — Sun, 05 Dec 2010 14:58:45 GMT

Title: Interlude
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 4900
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, except the genderswitch verse.
Summary: Yukimura doesn't get it sometimes.
Author's Notes: Written ages ago, because I felt like it. The cleverest readers will get all the varied myu (and Denouverse) references.

This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, Maybe Definitely and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

And since I spent my birthday coding this, please leave a comment if you enjoy.

Class ends early. Four people showed up, one of whom was the prof. The other two were asleep. Sanada spends the train ride thinking about whether or not he should go to school tomorrow. It's almost winter break, anyway.

Yukimura emails him. ill be home for supper!!!

Sanada stops at the grocery store across from the station. It's a little hole in the wall, run by an obasaan who can't be more than four feet stooped over. She's deaf as a doornail and tells Sanada for the fifteenth time that the war took her hearing. She places the mandarins in one bag, and the tofu in another. Sanada nods his head at her. She grins back with her single tooth.

Home is a twenty-minute walk from the station. The streets are narrow, and strung up with telephone lines instead of fairy lights. More garbage rolls around the ground than people walk past. The low-rise buildings have roofs that sag and creak in the cold. Sanada shivers. He walks a little faster. Winter cuts through his jeans. If there was anything other than skinny jeans for women in the stores, he'd buy himself a pair of long underwear for underneath.

Sanada climbs the stairwell. It smells like piss. Some of the idol-wannabees who live on the top floor must have come home plastered last night. Sanada frowns. He watches his steps.

He unlocks the door. The machine flashes. Mother called this afternoon. She wants to know if he and Yukimura want to come for dinner on Sunday. Sanada starts the pot of water. He puts the fish from last night in—they didn't finish it all. He opens a jar of kimchi. It stinks. So he adds that into the pot, too. He stirs the pot around with a chopstick. Fish is Yukimura's favourite.

The clock reads half-past five. It'll be another hour or two.

Sanada spreads his homework on the low table. It tips to the one corner. Yukimura found it beside a dumpster. Sanada leans on it, and his papers fly across the room. He frowns. He picks up a textbook from the pile on the floor. The pages are curling from the damp. He flips to chapter four. Water drips from the bathtub. He can hear it through the wall. He reaches out for something furry to pet. The apartment seems empty without one.

He shivers. He pulls the futon inside off the porch, and curls up in it. His toes are still cold. The pot boils. Steam condenses on the windows. The apartment starts to smell like food. Sanada's stomach growls.

He checks his cellphone. No new emails. Yukimura should be on the train home by now. The draft plays with the hairs at the back of Sanada's neck. He crawls deeper into the futon. His fingertips are icy on his pen.

At seven, he dumps the tofu and onions into the pot. He starts the rice cooker with two cups. Renji emails. Beef is on sale at the grocery store near his place. He still lives at home with his parents. Kirihara won't be finished high school for another three months.

Sanada surfs internet auctions on his phone for antique vases. He taps his pen on the notebook. His stomach growls louder. The water starts to drip from the kitchen faucet, too. He looks down. His cellphone reads half-past eight. The rice cooker has been on warm for a while.

He tries Yukimura's number. Sanada frowns at the pulse tone. He scowls at the voice mail. Yukimura never checks that. The pot bubbles, so Sanada turns it down. The tofu is disintegrating. He snacks on a chocolate bar—it's almost that time of the month anyway. He pops on his iPod, and he emails Renji. Sanada scrubs the toilet seat. Yukimura's aim is off in the mornings. He's no sniper.

Renji calls. "Do you know where I could buy jars of pickles?"

"Pickles?"

"Not Japanese ones." Renji pauses. "A big jar of American-style pickles. Like the ones at McDonald's."

Sanada clenches his jaw. "Tell Akaya to keep his dick in his pants." He hangs up. He stirs the pot. The onions are stringy and unrecognizable. Then he feels bad, and emails Renji. Sorry.

pms, Sanada adds. He cringes.

At nine-thirty, he tries Yukimura again. There's still no answer. Sanada unplugs the rice cooker. He turns off the stove. He sits on the floor with the futon up to his armpits and eats by himself. The cold is deeper after dark. His hands shake. Kimchi stains the futon. Sanada whispers, "Tarundoru."

There isn't enough hot water for a bath. Sanada stands under the lukewarm shower until the first freezing spurts start. He cranks the water off. Cold droplets splash his toes. He jumps out of the tub and into his pajamas. He pulls on three pairs of socks. He unrolls the futon mattress from the cupboard, and puts the cover down. It's after ten. He yawns. He fishes Yukimura's ugly blue sweater from the closet. It's big on Yukimura. Sanada buttons it up—it fits him fine. Then he pulls the electric heater up to nearly the edge of the futon, and shuts off the light. He lays in the dark. His cellphone sits on the table. It doesn't buzz. It doesn't light up. There is a bowl of stew in the fridge wrapped in Clingfilm.

Sanada curls into himself under the futon cover. His teeth chatter. His nipples are stiff. With a huff, he gets out, turns on the light, pulls out the spare blanket, and drapes it over the end of the futon. He tucks it under and double-checks the heater. It glows red on high and hums.

He checks his phone, too. Eleven-thirty. He crawls back under the covers. Where are you? he thinks. He stares at the doorway. Acrid kimchi from dinner crawls up his throat. He reaches under his yukata. His thighs are hot, but he's not in the mood. Sanada sighs.

The doorway opens with a crash. Light from the corridor floods the apartment. Yukimura stumbles inside. He curses under his breath. He shuffles and trips over something and curses again.

Sanada can smell the cigarettes on him. He scowls.

Yukimura rummages in the darkness. Clothes rustle, and then the futon is pulled back. Sanada shivers at the sudden cold. Yukimura's feet dig into his calves. They're icy. Sanada hisses.

"Sorry," Yukimura mumbles. His breath is thick with beer. He reaches for Sanada's side. Sanada elbows him hard.

He curls onto his own side of the futon. Yukimura doesn't seem to notice. He's already snoring.

***

His first class isn't until ten, but he's up at the first crack of light under the curtains. Sanada rolls out of bed. He runs to the toilet, then gets his slippers from cupboard by the door. The lump of Yukimura doesn't move. Dark hair peeks out from under the futon cover. Sanada sighs. His breath puffs in the air.

He starts the rice cooker, and emails Renji. Sanada sits on a cushion on the floor, sipping tea. He organizes his notes for class. He eats a bowl of rice. Then he eats a slice of bread with azuki paste.

There's a pile of clothes from Yukimura. Sanada picks them up between his thumb and index. He coughs on the smell of smoke. The lump stirs.

"You're awake," Sanada says.

Yukimura grunts. He stuffs his face into the pillow and moans. Then he moans again. He staggers to the toilet. Sanada can hear the sound of him pissing. He frowns. "I just cleaned the toilet," he says. Yukimura isn't listening. Sanada can hear the sound of retching, too. He frowns deeper.

Yukimura is huddled over the toilet seat. He's stark naked, but every tiny hair on his body stands up. He lifts his head a little to Sanada. Then he's back down in the bowl. Sanada sprays the air with freshener. He sighs.

Yukimura doesn't thank him when Sanada drapes the blanket over his back. "Don't drink so much," he says. "You're under-age anyway."

Yukimura wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Bags hang under his eyes. Damp hair streaks his face, along with slime trails at the sides of his mouth. He winces. "There were senpais with us last night," he says. His voice scratches Sanada's ears. "The managers…bought rounds for everyone."

"Tarundoru!"

Yukimura cringes. He clutches his forehead. "Sorry…"

Sanada hands him a bowl of rice and a pair of boxers. "Put some clothes on."

Yukimura shuffles back to the main room. Sanada scowls.

"And have a shower! You stink!"

Yukimura shuffles into the bathroom instead.

***

Idiot, Sanada thinks. Fool! He glares. He purses his lips. He clutches his Lacoste bag tight to his chest. An OL across the carriage gives him a dirty look. Sanada blinks. Then he realizes he's scowling. He ducks his head down. His cheeks burn.

Five people show up for economics. Sanada looks for Marui, but he's not there. Half-way through class, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Sanada pulls it out. He holds the charms in his fist to stop the jingling. The prof doesn't look up.

Not coming to class.

Sanada frowns.

Marui does come to the university cafeteria for lunch. They meet in the drinks line. Marui's tray is loaded with the curry special, three white bread buns, and four apple jellies. Sanada has the fried chicken, and kelp and vegetable soup. "Did you get the notes from this morning?" Marui asks.

Sanada looks at him. Marui smiles.

"If you'd showed up, you could have your own," Sanada says.

"You're not gonna share?"

Sanada sits down. He scowls. He pulls his notebook from his bag, and rips the pages at the perforations.

"Thanks pal," Marui says.

On the way home, Sanada stops at the Familymart in the main station between his line change. He buys a small box of laundry soap, and a box of Meiji chocolate almonds. He emails Yukimura about supper. Yukimura responds before Sanada has closed his phone.

whatever u feel like. promise ill be home 2nite.

Sanada thinks about it on the train. He feels like Italian. The little shop has cans of clams. The obasaan places the can in a plastic bag, and smiles with her lone tooth. Sanada tells her to have a good night, too.

The apartment is frigid, but his insides are hot. Sanada checks the heater. It's still on. The curtains are closed. Sanada shifts his eyes. His nipples are hard and tight against his bra. Yukimura won't be home for a little while yet. Sanada slides a hand down his jeans. His pussy is wet. He closes his eyes, leans against the kitchen counter. He rubs his clit a little. It feels good, but…

Renji said something about vibrators a couple months ago. Sanada removes his hand from his pants. He sighs. He checks his cellphone. Yukimura won't be on the train yet. He pulls on the ugly sweater heaped on the floor. It smells like Yukimura: sweat and laundry soap and like his favourite spicy shampoo, too.

thinking of you. im wet…(.ω.)

When he presses send, his face flushes. Sanada waits for a response. He fries up the clams. He boils the water and dumps the spaghetti noodles in. His phone is silent.

Yukimura comes home in a mood. He dumps his bag in the foyer. His pants track mud across the floor. He's wearing his baggy grey tracksuit. His face is a shade of green, and he looks homeless. He shakes his umbrella out. Water splatters the walls. Sanada yells.

Yukimura glares. He stomps into the bathroom. Sanada frowns. He can hear Yukimura take a shit. Sanada sprays the Lysol around the apartment. He looks at the heater, and hopes they don't explode.

Yukimura sits at the table. He pulls an ashtray from the plastic shelf. He pulls a pack from his pocket. Sanada fries the spaghetti with the clams, and soy sauce. He sniffs the air. The smell of cigarettes is overpowering supper.

"Did you take your pills?" Sanada asks.

Yukimura snaps, "Don't nag me!" He stomps off to the bathroom. The cupboard over the sink slams. The cigarette sits in the ashtray. Smoke coils in the air. Sanada stubs it out. Yukimura lights a second one as Sanada passes him a plate of food.

Sanada kneels down on the floor next to him. His thighs start to ache before he's had two bites. He twists around, and sits cross-legged. Yukimura alternates between his smoke and his supper. Sanada turns the other way. He coughs. Yukimura takes another drag.

"That's disgusting!" Sanada says.

Yukimura purses his lips. He blows through his nose instead. Sanada drops his chopsticks. He grabs the pack. He cranks open the window, and he chucks the pack down. It lands on the balcony on the floor below.

"Hey!" Yukimura says. "Those were mine!"

"It's disgusting," Sanada says. He slurps up a mouth of pasta. Yukimura just narrows his eyes. They eat in silence. After, Yukimura leans back. He downs his glass of hot tea like a pint. He lets out a belch.

Sanada picks up the plates. "What is your problem?" he snaps. The dishes clatter in the sink.

"My coach…told me that I need to…" Yukimura shakes his head. He reaches into his jacket pocket. The smokes are probably soggy by now.

"That…I should break up with you."

Sanada's ears ring. His throat closes up.

Yukimura closes his eyes. He takes a deep, shuddered breath. He coughs a little. "The…he said that sports stars have to be careful. Girlfriends can damage reputations. Fans get…nasty." He lifts his head. He stands up, and looks at Sanada.

Sanada's body feels cold all over. His voice cracks. "Being a tennis pro is…" His eyes sting. "What you want to do."

He runs into the bathroom and locks the door. Sanada slumps to the floor. He starts to cry. Yukimura knocks on the other side. He says Sanada's name. He asks if Sanada is okay. Sanada chokes on mucus. He cries harder. He stuffs his face in Yukimura's sweater. It doesn't muffle anything. He hugs it tight to his body. Sanada balls his fists in the sleeves. He stands up. He turns on the shower as hot as it will go before the faucet sticks. He reaches for Yukimura's bottle of shampoo. Sanada closes his eyes. He breathes in the smell. Bubbles burst at his feet.

He walks into the main room in nothing but an old towel. His nipples stiffen at the cold. He hisses at the frozen floor under his feet. Sanada jumps onto the tatami, but it isn't much warmer. Yukimura looks up. He's sitting under the futon cover in a t-shirt. He sets the plant book down. His eyes are pink.

Sanada climbs under the futon. Yukimura throws his t-shirt across the room. Sanada grabs Yukimura hard. His skin is warm and shoulders are broad. Sanada digs his nails into Yukimura's back when Yukimura slides a hand between his legs.

Don't leave me, Sanada wants to say. He squeezes his eyes shut, but he cries anyway. He digs his nails in deeper. Yukimura doesn't say a word.

***

There is an email on his cellphone when Sanada wakes up. He curls into himself under the covers. He smells Yukimura's pillow. He rolls into the indent Yukimura's body made. Sanada thinks about yesterday, and his insides twist. There is a new bruise on his breast.

early meeting

Sanada peaks through the curtains. The sky is murky. He gets dressed. The ugly sweater is gone, so he pulls another from the closet out. Heaped at the bottom, underneath damp tennis shorts, is the lime hoodie with the engrish words on the back. Sanada crawls into it. He hugs it to his chest. It fits wrong. But it smells right.

Instead of going to campus, he meets Jackal at Starbucks. Jackal orders the holiday special, venti, with an extra two shots, and the muffin. Sanada stirs his grande tea. He watches Jackal eat. His stomach complains.

Jackal offers a bite. Sanada shakes his head. He scowls at the table. The baristas play a mix of Edith Piaf and Enrique. Rain slithers down the windows and blurs the lights of Shibuya.

"Sanada?" Jackal asks. "You guys…fighting? Is he still not cleaning the toilet?"

"It's fine," Sanada mutters.

Jackal leans back on the banquette. He licks his finger and wipes the crumbs from his plate. He sighs. "You sure…?"

"It's fine!" Sanada says. He glares. Jackal says okay.

"When do you leave?" Sanada asks.

"Next Friday." A smile breaks across Jackal's face. He unfastens his barrette, and tucks his hair back in. "I need to buy a couple new bras before I go still."

Sanada shifts in his seat. He swirls his tea around the paper cup.

"It's been a couple years since I've seen my grandparents and my cousins." Jackal leans over the table. "And my cousins say they have some friends who…" He winks. "You know. Might be interested."

Sanada grunts. "Marui?"

Jackal rolls his eyes. He sighs. He sips from his coffee. He drums his nails on the table. This week, they're deep blue. "He wants to head out to the club in Chiba before I go. I said fine. It'll shut him up for a while."

Sanada stares out the window. A Loft truck passes by, then a stream of people huddled under their umbrellas. Jackal says his name. Sanada blinks.

"You sure you're okay?" Jackal asks. He touches Sanada's arm. His brow furrows. "Yukimura's sweater?"

Sanada crosses his arms. "Maybe."

***

He goes to the underground arcade with Jackal. Jackal tries on a dozen bras. Sanada stands in the corner. He looks around. The saleswoman asks if he needs anything. Sanada glares.

"Can you grab me the next size smaller?" Jackal shouts. A bra flies over the top of the changing room. Sanada catches it. "I want my tits to look really, really big."

Sanada gets the size smaller. He threads it under the door. Jackal says thanks. Sanada goes back to standing in the corner. He looks around. There's a rack of robin blue bras with beige lace next to him. Sanada swallows. The saleswoman says they have more sizes in the back.

Jackal swings his bag down the street. "Lunch?" he asks. Sanada stuffs his bag into the Lacoste tote. Under his scarf, he nods.

***

Jackal buys a bag of beans for his mother at the supermarket. Sanada buys a package of Chinese stir-fry, then an extra package of beef. They rush back to the train station under Jackal's polka-dot umbrella. On the platform, Jackal says bye. He steps onto his train. "If I don't see you before I leave, have a good Christmas!" Jackal waves. The doors start to close. "It'll be fine. He loves y—"

Sanada gets onto his train in the other direction. The bags sit between his feet. The floor of the carriage is wet. He thinks about emailing Yukimura that he's coming home now. But he doesn't. Sanada leans back in the seat and sighs.

The little shop on the street is boarded up. Sanada stops. He lifts the edge of his umbrella. His heart sinks a little.

The stairs of the apartment building are slippery. The stairwell has a leak. It drip-drops on Sanada's head. He shivers. Inside the apartment it isn't any warmer. Sanada hangs his coat in the closet. He peels off the sweater, and his shirt, then his bra too. The fine hairs on his breasts stand up stiff. He hisses. He has to do the new bra up on the widest hooks. He looks in the mirror of the bathroom. Sanada frowns. The material is thinner than he thought. He can see his nipples dark through the cups.

He pulls his shirt back on, and Yukimura's ugly hoodie too. His phone beeps. Marui sent an email five minutes ago. didnt get to class. can I get ur notes??? thnx!!

Sanada deletes the message.

The door swings open. Yukimura drops his stuff in the foyer. "Good, you're home," he says. In the same breath, he says, "My coach is coming for dinner."

Sanada sniffles.

Yukimura shakes his head. He presses his hands to Sanada's face. They're wet and cold. But his mouth is warm. He kisses Sanada again. His tongue slides over Sanada's lips, then his teeth, too. Yukimura sighs. He pulls Sanada's head down to his chest. Sanada listens to his heartbeat. He sniffles another sob.

"I told my old coach to fuck himself."

Sanada looks up. Yukimura starts to smile. His teeth flash.

"So my new coach is coming over."

"New coach?"

"Yeah, in twenty minutes. I fired the old one this morning."

Sanada stares at the apartment. Yukimura left towels heaped on the floor. There's a pile of rank laundry. The main room can hardly fit a double futon, let alone three people. The tiny folding table is peeling—and missing a leg. Books are stacked three feet high. And there's a box of tampons that exploded in the kitchen. Not to mention the dishes piled in the sink.

Yukimura announces he's going to the bathroom.

Sanada stares at his back. His jaw drops. If he wasn't so upset, he'd smack Yukimura across the head. Instead, he starts to stuff the clothes into the closet. He sprays Lysol around the room, and starts the frying pan. Then he switches the pan with the kettle. The pan sizzles on the counter. Burnt plastic stinks. Sanada swears. There's an eight-inch round burn on the Formica. And Yukimura is in the shower, singing.

"Lazy ass!" Sanada hisses. He sprays more Lysol. The heater starts to spark. Sanada cranks open the window. He hopes this new coach has hot blood.

Yukimura wanders out of the bathroom. Steam creeps out with him. He smiles at Sanada. "I even folded up my towel," he says.

Sanada snorts. He shoves the other musty towels into Yukimura's chest. "Good. Now fold these too."

Yukimura looks at the towels. "And put them…?"

"On top of the washer. Make sure the door is closed. I'll wash them later." Sanada runs between the main room and the hob. He throws the tennis bags onto the porch. He stuffs the books into the closet. He shuts the door, and everything bursts out. Books smash onto the floor. Yukimura pushes Sanada.

Sanada's chin starts to tremble. Yukimura piles the books up. He opens the closet. "I'll get them," he says.

The buzzer sounds. Sanada sucks in a breath. He's still in the ugly lime sweater, and a pair of Yukimura's flannel pajama pants.

There's a loud thump. Then two more. The door shakes.

Sanada opens the door. One of the idol wannabees from upstairs is in the corridor. There's a cigarette dangling from his lips, and his pants hang down halfway to his knees. His hair is dyed. It stands up straight. Sanada thinks he looks ridiculous. He frowns. The guy flicks ash onto the floor.

"Upstairs," Sanada says. "Apartment ten."

"Oh!" Yukimura squeezes past Sanada. "Akutsu. Come in."

***

Sanada doesn't get it.

Akutsu smokes like a chimney. He smokes while he talks. He smokes while he eats. The only time he's not smoking is when he's coughing wet gobs that he wipes on his pants. He swears worse than a Yankee. And he's so tall that he has to duck in the apartment.

(Though, to be fair, it makes Sanada feel short for once)

Sanada pours the tea. The cups slosh on the table. He purses his lips, but he doesn't bow his head. Akutsu doesn't say thanks, either. He slams the beer onto the floor. Sanada looks at Yukimura. Yukimura opens two cans. He passes one to Akutsu, and says, "To winning."

"To kicking some fucking pansy ass," Akutsu says.

Sanada just sips his tea. The rice cooker sputters in the kitchen. The stir-fry cooks on the hob. The place doesn't smell quite so much like Lotus Garden Lysol now.

Sanada looks at Akutsu between smokes. Akutsu stares back at him. He glares at Sanada, straight in the eye. Sanada thinks that he's the first person to do that. He crosses his arms over his chest.

"Do I know you?" Sanada asks.

Akutsu says he doubts it.

"You played tennis," Sanada says. "Yamabuki."

Akutsu snorts. It turns into a cough. He slaps his chest to hork up a wad. Then he narrows his eyes. Sanada sits up straighter. Yukimura nurses his Asahi.

"I remember you," Akutsu says. "I thought you had a dick. When'd you grow the tits?"

Yukimura chokes on his beer. Sanada can't breathe. He makes little noises in the back of his throat. Yukimura speaks for him. Akutsu just shrugs and says whatever, he doesn't care what the hell Yukimura fucks around with in his spare time so long as he fucking wins on the court.

Yukimura pats Sanada on the arm. "Akutsu has the same sort of winning attitude as me." He offers a thin smile. Akutsu blows smoke across the room.

"Whatever," he says.

The rice cooker beeps.

Akutsu isn't the coach Sanada imagined. He thinks that he's probably not the girlfriend Akutsu imagined, either.

Akutsu's phone goes off. The music sounds like American trance. He slams his phone on the table. The dishes clink. The bowls slide to the far edge. Sanada dives for them. He gathers them up, and stacks them in the sink. He takes away the empty cans, too.

"Stupid bitch," Akutsu says.

Sanada glares. Yukimura blinks.

"Fucking mother wants to know where I am," Akutsu says. He coughs.

"It's nice that she cares," Yukimura says.

Akutsu rolls his eyes. He stubs another smoke into the ashtray. Sanada leans on the kitchen counter. He looks out the window. It's raining again. He frowns. Yukimura's equipment will get mouldy if it's out too long.

When Akutsu leaves, he nods from the doorway. He grunts that the stir-fry it's better than the shit his mother makes. Sanada's face feels warm. He mutters "Thanks". Sanada closes the door. The apartment is quiet, except for the drip in the bathroom. He opens the balcony door. It catches halfway on the track. Cold rain blasts into Sanada's face. He hisses.

Yukimura spreads his equipment out in the bathroom. He sets his wristbands behind the toilet to dry out.

"Do you really think he'll help you win?" Sanada asks.

Yukimura runs his thumb across Sanada's cheek. He smiles. Sanada shivers. His eyelashes are fluttering. So is his heart. "I wouldn't give you up for anything."

"You didn't answer the question," Sanada says.

Yukimura laughs. The fluorescent light from the bulb reflects in his pupils. He slides his hands down to Sanada's hips. Then he jerks their bodies together, hard. Sanada squeaks. His face turns red.

"I'll be in the finals in New York," Yukimura says. He pulls at Sanada's sweater. Sanada raises his arms over his head. Yukimura throws it across the kitchen. "Isn't that mine?"

Sanada rubs his face in Yukimura's neck. "That's ambitious…" Yukimura's skin is hot. His hair tickles Sanada's face. Yukimura wriggles his hands up under Sanada's shirt. He fumbles with the bra clasp. Sanada sighs. He moans. Yukimura pulls his shirt off instead.

He blinks.

Sanada's nipples stiffen to the point of pain. He looks down. The bra seems more translucent than ever.

"God," Yukimura whispers. He squeezes Sanada's breasts. He twists Sanada's nipples. He yanks at Sanada's jeans, and fucks him against the wall. Sanada's breasts bounce. His legs shake. His cunt burns. Yukimura's eyes roll back. He groans Sanada's name over and over. When he comes, he groans Sanada's name between his breasts.

Sanada slithers to the floor. Yukimura digs his hand into the back of Sanada's thigh. He pulls him closer.

Yukimura's breathing ghosts across the rise of Sanada's chest. He kisses Sanada's neck. "I've been waiting all my life for this," he says.

***

On Monday, Sanada gets an email on the train. home late. training hard with coach. hope you like it. It's signed with a beating, fuchsia heart.

Sanada buys a six-pack of eggs from the seedy Sunkus across from the station. He buys a box of chocolate almonds, too. His cunt aches a little as he walks. So does his belly. He thanks the cashier, and pulls his earmuffs down.

The stairs of the apartment are icy in spots. Sanada holds the railing tight with one mitten. He holds the plastic bag in the other. The stair well is dim, and the sun has nearly set over the tops of the low apartment blocks to the west. Sanada opens the door. He says, "I'm home" into the silence. There is a little note tucked onto the window sill by the door. Sanada glances at it. He'll read it later. He wiggles. It's about time to change tampons.

Sanada goes to the bathroom. He blinks. There is something small and tabby curled up on the toilet seat cover. He picks her up and drapes her over his shoulder. She wakes up with a meaty yawn. Then she mews.

His throat catches.

***

He calls her Nekochan number two. She kneads the end of the futon, and curls up where Yukimura likes to stick his feet. He frowns a little, and sticks his feet onto Sanada's side instead. His toenails are too long. His toes are icy on Sanada's leg. Sanada curls closer to him.

"Now it's home," Sanada says.

FIC: And All Things Nice (Sanada/Niou, PG13ish)

reposte — Sat, 04 Dec 2010 16:11:36 GMT

Title: And All Things Nice
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 6100
Rating: PG-13ish?
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou always seems to be the cause of Sanada's misfortunes.
Author's Notes: Written for Niou's birthday 2010. Even though it's Sanada POV. Is that even possible…? ;)

1.

Technically, the tennis season is over. Technically, it ended after the Nationals—do not mention them in front of Yukimura!—and it was definitely over by the Invitationals in November.

And yet here Sanada is, standing on the sidelines with a scowl. He's sweaty from laps. The sweat which slithers under his tracksuit and makes him twitch. He could itch. But he won’t. Across the court, another ichinen trips over his feet.

"Lazy ass!" Sanada shouts. The kid stares, red-faced. "Get a move on!" The ichinen are slow this year. Sanada thinks to himself that they never huffed and puffed like that in first year. It's only been twenty laps.

"Pathetic," he whispers.

"Hn?" Renji asks.

Sanada purses his lips. "Nothing."

Renji shrugs.

Another kid falls behind. He tries to walk through part of a lap, hands clutching his sides. Sanada rolls his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?" he yells.

The kid starts to run faster.

"If they can't do laps, why the hell do they think they'd last in a tennis match?" Sanada asks—no one in particular, but of course Renji raises his eyebrows.

"Prestige," Renji says. "Previous so-called experience at the elementary level. Perhaps even goading by parents to join a club lest they—"

"I get it," Sanada says. He clenches his jaw a little tighter. He can see Renji shaking his head.

Technically, Sanada shouldn't even be doing this. But at the shoe cubbies, Yukimura touched his arm.

"Ne, Sanada?"

Sanada's arm tingled.

"Can you do laps this afternoon? Beatification Committee has to plant the crocus bulbs today." Yukimura smiled. Sanada fumbled with his shoelaces. Yukimura chewed on his bottom lip. It was almost a pout, but not quite.

Sanada muttered, "Okay."

And behind him, someone whispered, "Sucker". Sanada turned. So did the shadow on the wall, with its spiky hair and slouching shoulders.

That same someone can't be bothered to come to tennis practice. Even if the practice is technically not mandatory. On the far court, Akaya plays with a handful of balls. Sanada narrows his eyes. Akaya throws three balls in the air. He misses the first with his racket. And the second. And the third ball the racket hits. The ball zooms across the net. Marui falls to his knees, moaning and curling into a fetal position.

The ball rolls past his feet.

"AKAYA!" Sanada yells.

Akaya's laughter echoes between the slap of sneakers doing laps.

Technically, Sanada can't grab Akaya by the ear and call him an idiot.

But he does anyway. Akaya squeaks and squirms and flails his arms. Jackal frowns, behind them, and passes Marui the ice pack. Renji hasn't looked up from the bench, where he parked himself with a novel, next to Yagyuu, who has spread out his math textbook.

The ichinen and juniors skid to stops across the court. Sanada touches his cap. He flicks the brim up to see better in the thinning light. On cue, the kids rush back into their laps.

Sanada just rolls his eyes.

***

He shivers in the showers. The hot water is gone—used up by Akaya and Marui, maybe. All the hairs on his body stand up straight. His balls have retreated into his abdomen. He slides the soap into his armpit one last time. Wincing, he holds his arm up for a second to wash it out. Then he cranks the water off.

It sputters to a stop. He huddles into his towel. It's frayed and thin and he really really should have brought that new one his mom bought last week that he said no, he didn't need it, it would be wasteful to chuck this old rag out.

Sanada slides back into the locker area. He pulls his underpants on, then his socks. His feet stick to the inside. Rank sweat still permeates his school uniform. His legs stick to the wrong parts of his pants. His fingers, still with cold, button his shirt up, one button off.

He sighs.

Everyone else has left. Sanada glances around. Renji is gone too. He frowns. His stomach rumbles.

So much for ramen together tonight…

He rubs the damp towel one last time over his hair. Sanada opens his locker door. He reaches to the top shelf.

His hand hits cold metal. He lifts his head.

There is no cap on the shelf.

He looks at the floor. He pushes his tennis bag aside. Then his school bag. He reaches inside, shuffles through the notebooks, and opens the side pouch.

His cap isn't there.

Sharp panic seizes his chest. Sanada takes a deep breath. He tries to loosen his shoulders. His cap is around here. He set it on the top shelf of his locker, the same as always.

But he looks a second time, and a third: at an empty shelf.

He swallows hard.

He checks the top of the lockers. He checks the showers, and the toilets, too. His socks are wet. His hands shake. His throat thickens, and his eyes sting. He tries to retrace his steps—he definitely wore his hat for practice, didn't he?

Sanada even checks the top of his head.

Nothing.

There is no sign of the hat.

Something slithers down his cheek. Sanada wipes it away with the back of his hand. He tries to think straight, but his mind is clouded. Thoughts of his cap, incinerating in a trash depot, make his chest tighten.

He opens his day planner and flips to the second-to-last page. One by one, he opens the padlocks of seven other lockers with the numbers written on the page. Candy wrappers and a rotten sandwich spill out of Marui's locker. Jackal's door is pasted with posters of Maria Sharapova clutching her boobs. Yukimura has Andy Roddick's calendar, circled every second Friday in red pen: DOCTOR APPT :<

Akaya has broken toys, and more wrappers. Yagyuu's locker is barren, except for a novel. Renji's locker is a cesspit of dirty uniforms and crumpled papers.

Niou's locker is empty, too, save for a small black box on the top shelf. Sanada's eyes widen. He pulls the box down. It is almost shoebox size: perfect to hide a cap in.

He throws the lid off.

The only thing in the box is a small, dirty piece of string.

Sanada slumps onto the bench. His breath hitches, and he starts to cry.

***

Grandfather says, "Lazy ass! I thought you were told to sweep the dojo this evening!"

Ken says, "What's your problem, Gen-chan?" He chuckles. He slaps Sanada on the shoulder, and adds with a wink, "Girl problems?"

Dad doesn't say anything. He's asleep on the couch until Sasuke jumps on his stomach.

Neko-chan weaves between Sanada's feet. She looks up with beady eyes and says, "Nyah?"

Sanada shuffles up to his bedroom. He shuts the door, and crawls under his futon. He presses his face into his pillow.

The door creaks. Light footsteps pad across the tatami. "Is everything okay?" Mom asks.

Sanada sucks in a breath. His chest heaves anyway. Mom pats his back and doesn't say anything else.

2.

"Sanada-kun, did you find your hat?" Yagyuu asks. He doesn't even have the decency to say hello or good morning. That is what hanging out with Niou all the time will do to a person.

Niou slaps Sanada hard on the back. Sanada glares at him. With a shrug, Niou slinks away.

"I'm certain it was simply misplaced," Yagyuu says. "Perhaps a first year took it to the lost-and-found this morning." He smiles blandly. Sanada's temple pounds. He could smack Yagyuu across the face for being a smarmy smartass, but instead he snaps,

"I already checked!"

Yagyuu blinks. He coughs, flushed and flustered for a moment, before he smiles again. "Well, I'm sure it will be found by this afternoon."

Sanada keeps his mouth shut, mostly to avoid any cracks in his voice talking about his hat. His head is naked—okay, so he can't wear his cap in class anyway, but his head felt exposed walking from the bus stop to school. His head feels naked in the hallway. And it especially feels naked as he steps into the classroom and sets his bag down. Miyu and Naoko behind him are snickering from the moment Sanada stomps over to his desk. The back of his neck prickles. Apprehension slithers down his spine, all cold and drafty like the window.

He starts to turn his head.

The snickering stops.

Sanada pulls out his notebook. A pen rolls onto the floor, underneath his desk. He leans down to pick it up. All the hairs on his arms stand up under his blazer.

He shifts his eyes.

The snickering stops a second time.

Sanada scowls.

He scowls even deeper when Miyu leans over to Yagyuu and cups her hand around his ear. Yagyuu blinks, turns a little, and his head nods to Sanada. Sanada thinks, What? as Yagyuu leans back in his chair. He has little smirk on the side of his mouth. And a snicker Sanada can hear across the desks.

Sanada lifts his hand. But his cap is gone. Naoko bites her lip.

It's a conspiracy.

***

Before the math teacher comes to the classroom, Rie walks down the row of desks. Sho and Kouhei at the front whoop and shout and pump their fists. Heat crawls across Sanada's face, and he can't quite place why.

"Ne, Sanada-kun?" Rie says. She glances back to Sho, then she smiles at Sanada. She twirls a curl of permed hair around her green nail. "Me too."

"What?" Sanada says.

Rie skips back to Sho, who bursts into a gale of laughter.

Sanada's skin prickles all over.

***

At lunch time, Sanada stands in the cafeteria line. He gets an extra scoop of rice (his usual). Today there are breaded and fried sardines with cream soup, or the omelette special. Yukimura picks the sardines. Sanada reaches for a plate of the same.

His skin crawls.

The person behind him laughs.

Sanada stiffens. He sets his plate down on his tray. The laughing gets louder. He whips his head around, but it's not Akaya there.

It's some first year, half his size. Sanada narrows his eyes. The ichinen turns away, red in the face and choking on a not-laugh.

Sanada turns back around. The lunch lady asks him something. He grunts, and mumbles if she could repeat herself. She passes a wrapped slice of bread across the counter. "Are they pink?" she asks.

"What?" Sanada stares at her.

Her lips curl up in a wry sort of smile. "Pink? Yellow?"

Sanada stares at her a moment longer. He decides that she's developing early on-set Alzheimer's, like Yagyuu's grandmother. Whenever the team goes to Yagyuu's house, she asks how General Tadamichi is treating the troops.

He walks across the cafeteria. Eyes seem to follow him from every corner. Sanada purses his lips thinner. He walks faster. His head has never felt more naked. He wants a brim to cover his eyes. He wants something to hider the cow-lick in his hair that keeps curling up.

The moment Sanada sits down at the table, Akaya falls over. He rolls on the floor, clutching his stomach. Sanada rolls his eyes. He asks Renji, "Do we need to invest in some Ritalin?"

Renji leans back in his chair. He clears his throat and stands up behind Sanada. Then he sits right back down with a self-righteous smirk.

Students at the adjacent table start to talk about girl's panties and bra sets. Then frills and lace and titty tassels. Sanada clenches his jaw. Their snickering gets louder than Akaya's pained gasps on the floor. And something continues to slither under Sanada's skin.

He turns around. "That's inappropriate!" he snaps at the students.

"You should be talking!" one of them tells Sanada. Some kid from 3D, with frosted hair and a bead necklace.

Heathen, Sanada thinks.

"Inappropriate behaviour gets reported to the head teacher!" Sanada says. He thrusts his arm out. The moral committee band is stitched to his blazer bicep.

"Like…frilly panties rubbing your d—"

"Yo," Niou says. He slides down in the seat across from Sanada—after ripping a section off of Sanada's bread slice and stuffing it in his mouth.

"That was not yours," Sanada tells him. The laughter continues behind him: the lesser of two annoyances.

He picks at his sardines. They're tepid and a little on the soggy side now. Yukimura leans across the table. Sanada squirms in his seat a little. Niou starts to whistle under his breath.

"Sanada, are you not eating those…?" Yukimura licks his top lip.

Niou flicks granules of rice at Sanada's arm.

Sanada says Yukimura can have his sardines. Jackal walks up to them, but not after first peeling something from Sanada's bag.

"'I wear frilly panties'?"

Sanada blinks. Then he grabs the paper from Jackal's hands. He stares at the hiragana. His stomach sinks to the floor with Akaya, who has started to wheeze and gasp even louder.

On a choked laugh.

That the table of 3D boys joins in.

And Renji, too, who slaps his thigh and cackles.

Even Yukimura drops a sardine. His hand reaches up to cover his mouth.

Sanada's face is on fire. His entire body burns with shame as dozens of stares crawl over his skin. His mouth hangs open. His heart pounds. He wants to get up and run, except Niou's chair blocks his path.

Niou sits next to Sanada, his own face flushed. He opens his mouth to join in the laughing.

Sanada does the only thing he can: he takes a deep, shuddered breath. Then, through his teeth, he says, "That is not funny."

He stomps out of the cafeteria. The laughter doesn't die out until he's at the exit doors.

***

Sanada sits outside the clubhouse, right beside the outdoor faucet. He tucks his hands under his legs. His fingertips are cold. He tries to listen to the wind sough the vestigial leaves in the trees. He tries to close his eyes, and think of nothingness. He tries to count to ten, the way Renji told Akaya to calm down.

Mostly, Sanada sits and stews and glares at the ground. His stomach growls. Yukimura has probably polished off his lunch tray by now.

He thinks of how many laps Niou will be running this afternoon. Or perhaps shuttle runs.

If only flagellation were legal these days…

But even that thought just makes Sanada clench his jaw so tight, his muscles crack.

The clubhouse door swings open. Sanada glances around. Marui skips out of the clubhouse with a lollypop in his mouth. He skips past Sanada. Then he backtracks.

"Ah, Sanada," he says.

"Shut up," Sanada snaps.

Marui touches his chest. "Dude, chill." He plunks himself down beside Sanada, and drops a plastic bag between them. A box of Meiji chocolate almonds drops to the ground.

"Ne, guess what?" Marui waggles his eyebrows. He tucks his hands behind his back.

Every fibre of Sanada's being stiffens at his words. His heart skips a beat, and then it pounds hard into his ribs.

"Don't bother me!" Sanada says. "You're as bad as Niou!"

"Hey hey!" Marui sniffs. "I am not like that shithead. Besides," he says, with a flourish of his hands. Something drops into Sanada's lap.

"Look what I found when I was looking for my gum ball behind the trophy—I mean, when I was totally cleaning the clubhouse since it's my job this week."

Sanada looks down.

His fingertips touch the familiar curve of the black brim. His throat is thick, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry or just say thanks.

Instead, he stands up. He unfolds his arms. And he makes for the cafeteria.

***

Sanada watches Niou struggle through the shuttle runs. The sky is black. Niou drags his feet on the ground. His gasps make frosty plumes in the air. Sanada clicks the button again.

95…

"LAZYASS!! PATHETIC!" he shouts. "SHAME!! YOU AREN'T FINISHED YET!! SHAAAME!"

Conveniently, Marui has yet to clean the clubhouse toilets.

Conveniently, they haven't been cleaned in the two years Yukimura has been tennis club captain.

Sanada smiles to himself.

3.

On Monday, there is an emergency.

Yagyuu bursts into the washitsu so fast the door shakes on its track. Sanada turns around. Yagyuu's panting. His moral committee band is untied on his arm.

"Sanada-kun!" he says. "On the rooftop! Moral urgency!"

Sanada stands up. He narrows his eyes. They run down the hallway, past students clustered in classrooms, eating their lunches.

"What has Niou done now?" he asks.

Yagyuu stops in his tracks. Sanada ploughs right into him. Together, they fall to the floor.

Sanada brushes his knees off. Yagyuu says, "Ow" and straightens his glasses.

"Niou-kun hasn't done anything that I am aware of," he says. "It's 3D. On the rooftop."

Sanada takes a deep breath. "It is an emergency. We need to be armed."

Yagyuu blinks. Deadpan, he says, "I apologize. I've left my sword at home."

Sanada says, "That's fine." He runs to the end of the hallway, with Yagyuu on his heels. The stairs to the rooftop are ahead of them. And against the wall there is a glass box: EMERGENCIES ONLY.

Sanada slams his elbow into the glass pane. He grabs the fire extinguisher. Yagyuu pushes open the door and they whip their heads around. Sanada crinkles his nose. He sucks in a breath, and coughs.

"Disgusting," he mutters. "Disrespectful."

Yagyuu nods.

The same 3D boys from lunch the other day are grouped at the far end of the rooftop, leaning over the ledge. Smoke rises from their huddle: acrid and grey and sharp against the frigid cold. Sanada approaches them with a puffed-up chest and a glare from under his cap. Yagyuu is right behind.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sanada asks.

One guy turns around. He's slouched worse than Niou and has beads in his hair. His pants are so baggy he looks homeless. He chucks his chin. With a snort, he says, "What's it look like, grandpa?"

Sanada curls his lip.

So does the guy. Then he flicks cigarette ash at Sanada's feet. It settles on the toe of his school shoes.

Sanada presses the trigger. "That is against school policy."

The foam flies.

***

He and Yagyuu walk back into the school, a job well done. Sanada has a bounce in his step. He almost smiles. When he glances to the rooftop garden, where Yukimura waves them over, he pulls at his brim to hide the tug of his lips.

Yukimura says hey. Sanada grunts back. Yagyuu says he'll just be going now.

Sanada kneels down next to Yukimura. Yukimura digs a fresh hole with a trowel. Dirt cakes under his fingernails. He wipes a hand across his face. Dirt smudges his cheek, too.

Sanada clears his throat.

"Ne," Yukimura says, "have you seen any of my salvia plants?"

Sanada blinks. Yukimura frowns.

"They had some really pretty flowers and now they're all gone." He nods to a row of stumpy little green plants that look uprooted and ripped apart. A single red petal litters the ground beside them.

Sanada says he hasn't seen anything.

Yukimura sighs. He rocks back on his heels. He drives his trowel into the soil, and twists hard. A hair falls out from his headband.

"It's just…I really wanted to give some to Mika, in class D, you know?"

***

Sanada slinks into the washitsu. His throat is so thick that he can't even ask Niou what the heck he's doing in here. Niou takes one look at Sanada and creeps out.

The door closes without a sound.

Sanada sinks to his knees. The light from the paper windows has shifted and dimmed. His blazer brushes the tatami floor with the briefest of rustles. Sanada takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes.

The bell for class rings. Sanada takes one last, shuddered breath. He grabs his school bag, and slams the door behind himself.

***

In the middle of the test in chemistry class, a cellphone rings.

Sanada looks up from his paper. He clenches his jaw, and thinks, Fool! He glances around the classroom with narrowed eyes, along with everyone else. The tune is shrill and mid-tempo, the sort of tune you hear in an anime, or a video game.

Yuki in the first row starts to giggle. "That's Sailor Moon!" she whispers.

The teacher looks up. He shakes his head. "Turn your cellphone off!" he tells the class.

The girls start to whisper more.

"No," Aya says. She rolls her eyes at Yuki. "That's Sailor Chibi Moon Eternal!"

"Ridiculous!" Sanada hisses. He glares at Kyoko next to him. The cellphone loops the song again. And it's awfully close to him. "Turn off your phone!" he snaps at her.

Kyoko sniffs. She flips her hair back, and picks at one of her nails. The cellphone won't shut up.

"It's not mine," she says. She clicks her tongue, and nods to Sanada's bag, which is conveniently on the floor next to her hobo bag.

"It's yours."

Realization that the noise is permeating from his bag is a fast, feverish flush up his neck and across his face.

Life would be so much easier if he could crawl under his cap, rather than frantically reach into his bag as thirty-five sets of eyes stare.

As soon as Sanada flips his phone open, his stomach sinks even lower. His eyes pop out of his head. It can't be possible to flush any harder without spontaneously combusting.

His entire screen is covered in illegible script. He blinks. He presses the 'end' button. He presses three more times, and still Eternal Sailor Chibi Moon Transformation plays on loop. His fingers fumble even worse. His phone drops to the floor with a crunch.

The screen goes black.

Only then does the music stop.

***

Only one person can be at fault.

And it's his fault, too, that Sanada couldn't concentrate on his test. The words ran together, blurry and squiggly and just like his cellphone screen. Thai? Persian? Urdu?

He doesn't know. And he doesn't care.

As soon as the school bell rings, Sanada storms out of his classroom. He marches past classroom 3B. He ignores Marui calling out his name. He pushes through the cluster of girls pointing and giggling at the top of the stairwell.

Of course, the last person to come to class is the first to leave.

Sanada catches up to him by the shoe cubbies. He grabs Niou by the collar and slams him against the wall.

"YOU!" he shouts.

Niou just blinks at him. He doesn't say anything, he just stares straight into Sanada's eyes. Sanada's blood begins to boil. He tightens his grip on Niou's blazer. Niou doesn't even struggle.

"You immature….CLOWN!" Sanada yells. "What is wrong with you? WHY DO YOU DO THIS?"

Niou's throat bobs, just once.

"You fool…you immature….BRAT!" Sanada's knuckles crack. He wants to slam Niou's head into the cinderblock wall. He wants Niou to laugh, or shrug, or just react!

But instead Niou has no expression at all.

Sanada's nostrils puff up. He grinds his teeth. He calls Niou a fool, an idiot, a complete ASS! He shoves his knuckles into Niou's chin, where his skin is warm and his Adam's Apple moves a second time.

But Niou still does nothing.

Sanada loosens his grip. He steps back. His neck prickles. Students are staring and watching and blinking.

Sanada pulls the brim of his cap down over his eyes. He shoves right through the crowd.

He'll deal with Niou tomorrow.

Because first he has a new cellphone to buy.

4.

Except that Niou doesn't show up for morning tennis practice.

Granted, it is December. A sludgy sort of rain drizzled the bus windows. The tennis courts are muddy. It's cold without mittens, but the rain seeps through them. Renji stands under an umbrella. Sanada crosses his arms. Rain drips from the brim of his cap. He tries to bite down on the chatter of his teeth when he calls out, "Fifty laps!"

Jackal's tracksuit is soaked through. Marui has a rain jacket on.

"It's team coloured, at least," Renji says, to Yukimura's frown.

Sanada flips his cellphone open. It's metallic purple and feels all wrong. The menu screen is different. He hasn't had a chance to string his phone charms on. And he hasn't even changed it from the generic ringtone.

Sanada tightens his jaw. He keeps his eyes peeled for a bleached head among the dark heads running around the courts. Yagyuu shows up, five minutes late and all apologies.

"The bus was late," Yagyuu says. He reaches to push his glasses up, but it doesn't completely hide the yawn behind his hand.

Sanada narrows his eyes. "Fifty," he says.

Yagyuu nods.

"Plus five for tardiness."

Yagyuu purses his lips, and nods again.

At quarter to eight—a half hour late—Akaya bursts onto the courts. Sanada takes one look at him, and Akaya is on the court with the others, starting his laps, too.

"Sixty!" Sanada shouts at him. Akaya runs past. Sanada doesn't have to see his face to know damn well that Akaya is rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

"Seventy!!" Sanada shouts, even louder this time.

"English project due?" Renji asks.

Sanada snorts. "No."

Renji hums—Sanada is suspicious. "What?"

Renji makes a non-committal noise. Marui pops up from behind him, unwrapping a stick of gum.

"He means that you seem…"

"Cranky," Renji says.

"A little more than usual," Marui admits.

Sanada draws his hand back. Marui starts to wince, but before Sanada can backhand him across the face, someone else grabs his hand.

Renji raises his eyebrows. "Point proven."

***

Lunch is hot pot, with steamed rice and dried smelt. Sanada asks for two scoops of rice. He sits down at the usual cafeteria table, in one of three free seats at the end.

Akaya tries to shove a chopstick in Jackal's ear. Sanada grabs the chopstick from his hand. He narrows his eyes.

Akaya sticks out his bottom lip.

"Spoon?" Marui offers. He snickers. Yagyuu makes a noise behind his hand, and says excuse me.

Renji has a stack of papers beside his cafeteria tray. Sanada picks one up. It's a copy of August's training schedule, colour-coded with highlighters.

Sanada's brow furrows. Renji says, "Urayama will be in charge of the team training menu next year. He's asked for help."

Sanada grunts. He looks around the table. "Where's Niou?" he asks.

Marui says he doesn't know. "He was definitely in Chem class, since he was the idiot who spilled acid all over the teacher's sleeve." He smirks. "Probably detention?"

Akaya snickers along with Marui.

***

The last bell of the day rings. Sanada grabs his bag, pockets his cellphone, and marches down the hallway for 3B.

A voice calls his name out. He glances up. Yukimura waves from the doorway of 3C. He jogs over, past the students heading the opposite direction.

"Ramen tonight," Yukimura says.

Sanada grunts. He taps his foot on the floor. Yukimura keeps talking, but Sanada ignores him. He waits for a break between students and steps inside the classroom.

Marui is halfway down the first row. Two desks back and an aisle over, right in the back corner, is Niou.

"Niou!" Sanada snaps.

A pair of eyes peers out from underneath Niou's hair. The glance is too fleeting to catch Sanada's eyes. Niou slings his back over his shoulder. Sanada calls his name a second time. He asks Niou where the hell he was this morning. He folds his arms over his chest, and stands in Niou's way.

Niou extends his arm. He jumps over a desk, then he sidesteps to the right in a prancing little grapevine. He darts out the door before Sanada has time to blink.

Marui blows a raspberry. "So what, he's trying out for ACROBATIC CLASS now?"

Yukimura bites his lip. He's smiling, anyway.

Sanada glares at the doorway, but Niou doesn't come back.

And he doesn't come out for ramen with everyone, either.

***

He's sitting in literature class—if studying post-1960s popular novels counts as literature (which Sanada doesn't think it does). There are no messages written backwards sent to his cellphone. There is no ink in his hair, or spitballs stuck to the back of his blazer. There is no gum inside his school shoes, and there have definitely been no topless bar flyers inserted into his textbooks.

This week has been eerily, oddly quiet.

The teacher is droning on. Yagyuu bolts up from his seat to answer another question. Sanada taps his pen on the spine of his notebook.

He glances to the window, and sigh escapes.

"—therefore the literary topos of a boy terrorizing a girl with pranks, as proof that he actually is in love with her can be seen in chapter 4, page 56 when Hiro…"

Sanada's eyes snap open. His pen rolls across the desk.

No…

***

Except that no one else smeared girl's deodorant all over the back of his locker padlock in the clubhouse last month. No one else hid that rubber snake in his shoe cubby for three days straight in August. No one else drew the wrong characters on his pep rally headband, the ones that read Large horse seafoam humping.

Sanada stares at the tokonoma alcove of the dojo. His grandfather has turned the light out to go to bed some time before. A cold draft pricks at the hairs on Sanada's arms. His toes tingle, cold and sleepy under his knees. Neko-chan is mewling on the other side of the door.

The calligraphic scroll hanging above has four vertical characters. Even in the darkness, Sanada can make out the bold, fluid strokes of his grandfather's brush. His eyes settle on the last character, the same as one from his name.

One of the meanings, Sanada knows, is to be at peace.

A wry tug pulls at his mouth.

5.

Marui emails promptly at 11:30 on Saturday.

Cakee BUFFET!!!

Sanada responds with one word: Why?

His cellphone buzzes in the pocket of his cableknit sweater. He finishes raking the pile of leaves in the garden. The sliding door opens and Sanada rolls his eyes. "Took you long enough," he says.

Sasuke sticks his tongue out. Then he jumps straight into the pile. Leaves scatter in the air. Sanada picks one off his shoulder, as he shakes his head.

A muffled Ryoma-den OP starts to play from his pocket. Sanada chucks the leaf at Sasuke, and flips his cellphone open.

***

Sanada asks Yagyuu, "Why are we here?"

Marui sticks his head between the two of them. "One never needs a reason for a 2-hour all-you-can-eat cake buffet!" He licks his lips. Sanada snorts. He looks at Yagyuu.

Yagyuu checks his watch. With a frown, he says, "It is also Niou-kun's birthday…"

A woman walks past them through the hotel lobby. Akaya clambers over an arm chair. It tips, and in slow-motion, Sanada watches Akaya arc towards the floor, and end up sprawled in a heap by Yukimura's feet.

"I don't know these idiots," Sanada mutters.

Renji hums. "Nor I."

Jackal stands up. "Guys, it's already two thirty."

Marui joins him. He claps his hands together. Akaya stands up, salutes him, and lines up behind Jackal.

"We can start without him," Marui says. "Gosh darn."

Yagyuu flips his cellphone shut. "He hasn't responded to any of my emails all morning."

Akaya laughs. "Maybe he's pissed because I beat him at darts last night."

"Or he's bitter that my natural genius trumps his at Donkey Kong?" Marui adds. He and Akaya share toothy grins.

Yukimura stands up, too. He rubs his stomach. "Well, I'm going in now. If we wait any longer, I won't make it tonight."

"Tonight?" Renji asks. Yukimura shifts his eyes. Renji narrows his. "Ah, yes, you have a da—"

"This is ridiculous!" Sanada says. He scoffs. He walks straight past Jackal and Akaya. Jackal calls his name, but Sanada doesn't turn around.

He adjusts his scarf, and heads through the revolving door.

***

He has been here a total of once, while Yukimura was sick and they were locked out of the clubhouse because someone misplaced the keys even though they were supposed to be in Sanada's tennis bag. Like usual.

Sanada vaguely remembers the street. It's up a hill from the pachinko parlour and the used book shop beside the Familymart. He steps into the Familymart first, and stands in front of a rack of disposable salaryman-type shirts.

This could be a very, very stupid idea.

He takes a deep breath, and goes back outside. He stuffs his hands deep into his jacket pockets and starts up the hill. There is only one house on the street with a buzzer labelled 'NIOU'. In fact, the house looks normal in every respect: leafless vines hang over the cement fence, there is an NHK sticker pasted to the gate, and through the slats, Sanada can see a compact Toyota parked in a spotless driveway.

There is a thick lump pressing at the bottom of his throat. Sanada swallows. Nothing happens. He reminds himself that this is foolish. The whole idea is just…

But he presses the buzzer.

A female voice says, "Come in!" The same voice greets him at the door. Sanada bows his head to Niou's mom. It's warm inside, and filled with the salty, heady smell of something cooking in the kitchen.

"You must be…one of Masaharu's tennis club friends?" she asks. She smiles at Sanada. At the same time, her brows furrow together above her glasses.

Sanada mumbles a yes. He stands in the foyer, silent and in his socks. His eyes drift to the stairs. His face feels hot. Then he remembers about the cap on his head. He grabs it, and holds it by the brim.

"He's here?" Sanada asks. He clears his throat. The lump won't go away.

Niou's mom nods. "Just let yourself upstairs."

So he does. It's pretty obvious which room is his. There's a Biohazardous Waste sign on the doorway, with balloon stickers forming the name MaSAhArU underneath.

Sanada doesn't bother with knocking. Niou is sitting at a desk, with his head hung low in front of a leaning stack of notes. He mumbles something that sounds like, "I said leave me alone."

"That's just pathetic!" Sanada says.

Niou whips his head around. His eyes pop out from behind a pair of glasses. Which he yanks off his face and chucks onto the messy piles of blankets that must hide a bed. This is the first time Sanada has ever seen Niou with his jaw on the floor.

"What…what are you doing here?"

It's Sanada's turn to be slackjawed. He clears his throat. His face burns even hotter than before, and Niou's room is oddly well-lit.

He hadn't actually thought ahead this far.

He opens his mouth. Sweat must be beading along his temple. His throat is drier than the cakes Marui was raving about earlier. He tries to think of something to say that won't come out as a croak. Or a lie.

But instead, Sanada does something else. He reaches out to Niou's chin, where his skin is warm and a little clammy. His heart hammers against his ribs. He hopes that Yagyuu is right, literary topoi and all.

Because Sanada's eyes flit down to Niou's mouth, still open just a little. His lips shine with saliva. Sanada can't remember if he's supposed to breathe or not or when as he leans closer.

Niou's breath is hot. His nose bumps against Sanada's. He doesn't move an inch when Sanada presses his mouth against Niou's.

The same sort of tingle runs down his spine, except Sanada isn't annoyed or pissed off with Niou's. He's sliding his hand—shaking, sweating—behind Niou's neck. He touches Niou's rat tail, and the hot skin.

Then, it occurs to Sanada just what he is doing. He pulls back. He stares straight at Niou, who is just as stiff as he is. Niou stands, unmoving, for the longest while. A clock ticks. A cellphone vibrates. The hot flush spreads across every corner of Sanada's body.

And Niou's jaw drops.

Sanada swallows. "I…" He starts to remove his hand from Niou's neck. But another hand reaches up for it. Niou's eyes flutter as he leans forward this time. His mouth hasn't closed, and Sanada realizes that it's a rather good thing when he tentatively slides his tongue over Niou's.

The sparks through his body explode.

He can feel Niou's lips curling into a smile.

Sanada leans his forehead to Niou's. He likes the touch of skin to skin. He likes the feeling of Niou's fingers creeping between his. He likes the sensation, too, of Niou's hot exhale ghosting his lips.

"Well," Sanada says. His eyes meet Niou's. "Will you come out with us now?"

Niou has all of one word to say, as his thumb brushes over Sanada's palm.

"Puri."

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 7/7

reposte — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 21:03:03 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (7/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 39 000
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

Kirihara sits under the willow. He has his school uniform on. The sun is bright. The sky is translucent. Renji walks up to him. Kirihara wipes the milk moustache from his face. He lets out a long milky-smelling belch, and lies down on the grass.

"Akaya," Renji says.

Kirihara tosses his milk carton over his head. He closes his eyes.

Renji says his name louder.

Kirihara's chest rises slowly. Renji's insides burn. He touches his stomach. It's flat. His fingertips are red and sticky. A dark patch is soaking through his shirt. Renji remembers the fetus.

"No!"

He falls to his knees. The grass becomes nothingness. His body is too heavy to hold up. Renji can hardly keep his eyes open. He tries to count, he tries to list tennis line-ups, he tries to remember the numbers of π.

This isn't what is supposed to happen.

The pull is too strong. Renji closes his eyes, and sinks.

***

Death is awfully bright.

The light is brighter than the sun. It hurts. He tries to move. His body moves through jelly. His muscles forget how to function.

So this is what it's like, he thinks.

"Renji," Death says. Death touches his cheek. Death takes his hand, and squeezes it like a racket handle. "You're alive."

"I am?"

Through gluey crust Renji pries an eyelid open.

Kirihara looms three inches from his face.

He cracks open his other eye. His vision starts to sharpen. There's a window, and a track of green-tinted fluorescent lights shining behind Kirihara's head. Renji starts to sit up. Nausea yanks him down. He retches. His mouth fills with vomit. Kirihara holds a bed pan.

His body aches all over, but his middle explodes with pain. He gasps. He can't breathe through the pain. Then he reaches down.

"Where's my—"

Kirihara is quicker. He reaches past a hanging IV drip. "She's right here," he says. He picks something up from a bassinette. Renji starts to choke.
"S—she?"

Kirihara grins at the bundled thing. "Yeah, it's a her. You wanna hold her? The nurses showed me how already." He looks up. His eyes shine.

Renji tries to shake his head. His hands are slippery. The lump is warm, and not very heavy. He looks down. Kirihara's cellphone camera clicks three or four times. Renji pushes the IV tube to the side. There's a red, wrinkled face, and pink fingers, complete with tiny fingernails.

"Watch this." Kirihara sticks his finger in the palm. He starts to snicker. The fingers latch around his. "Total death grip. We'll have to teach her how to hold a racket right."

Renji glances down again.

He starts to cry.

***

Kirihara refuses to leave the room. The nurse gives up after two hours.

"They wouldn't let me come before," he says. "And I got so mad, my eyes went purple." Kirihara nods. Renji touches the back of the baby's hand. The skin is paper-thin and soft. "And then they made me see the cardiologist, which was kinda good because my blood pressure was crazy again."

Renji stiffens. "Akaya…"

Kirihara laughs. "It's okay now. They gave me drugs. It's not like…" He looks out the window. The sky is punctured with the lights from office towers. He sighs. "And you're okay, too."

Renji leans against the side of the bed. Kirihara presses his lips to Renji's forehead. His throat bobs. "You're both okay now," he whispers.

***

There is an angry slice six inches down his middle. Renji sucks in a breath. He pulls the gown back down.

The baby starts to cry. Renji picks her up. The nurse showed him what to do. It takes more than a few tries, and it feels weird. His breasts are three times the size he remembers.

The door slides open. Kirihara stops. "Oh—er…" He ducks his head. Renji says its fine. Kirihara stares at the floor. He reaches under his t-shirt. "I had to sneak it in." He hands Renji the PET bottle.

"It's the right kind," Renji says. He licks his lips. Kirihara unscrews the cap for him. Renji gives him a look.

"Sorry," Kirihara says.

Renji snorts.

"It's kinda weird seeing you do that."

He snorts again. The baby pulls away. His chest dribbles. He switches the baby with the tea, and downs it in three gulps. Renji settles back against the bed. His pillow is thin, and the mattress hard.

And his incision hurts constantly since they stopped the morphine.

On the third day, the team comes to visit. Sanada walks in first. He gives Renji a thin smile and a present wrapped in pink. Behind him, Yukimura turns green. Marui brings a cake—"You're not supposed to eat it, but shhh! It's a celebration!" Jackal brings a foil balloon. He ties it to the side of the bassinette. He picks the baby up, and babbles nonsense at her.

Yagyuu hands Renji a card. "Niou signed it, too."

"Uh…where is Niou-senpai?" Kirihara asks. Renji narrows his eyes.

Yagyuu says Niou said he was sick. Kirihara pokes at the plant Yukimura brought.

"Chrysanthemum?" Renji asks. The flowers stink. Yukimura breathes into a handkerchief, and says yes.

When they leave, Kirihara stands in front of the door.

Renji sets down his cake fork. "What did Niou do?"

"Um, Niou had a present for you, but it's really…" Kirihara shifts his eyes.

"Tasteless?"

"…yeah."

He holds up a pair of underpants. There's no crotch.

Renji clutches his middle. "Don't make me laugh," he says. "My stitches will split."

***

"So," Jackal says, "what are you guys going to call her?"

Kirihara shrugs. Renji says they have a list.

"Because you can't call her 'the baby' forever," Jackal says. "Personally, I like Adriana and Shakira and Luisana—"

"How do you even say those names?" Kirihara sounds one out. It comes out closer to Angelina.

"No foreign names," Renji says.

"So…CocoaPuff is out?" Marui asks.

Renji looks at him. Marui rolls his eyes, and calls him a traditionalist.

"You could name her after a famous tennis player?" Yukimura lists the top five female seeds. All foreign, half American.

Renji says no. Sanada stares at Yukimura with his mouth open.

***

Something normal, something not-too-old-fashioned-but-not-a-Kamen Rider-character-either ends up being Natsuko.

Renji says it three times. Kirihara went home for a shower. The baby is asleep—hopefully for a couple hours. Renji touches the novel on his lap, an old edition of Soseki Natsumi. Then he tucks the book under the birth certificate, and writes the name on the form.

***

The day after his release, the Regionals are held in Tokyo. Renji packs all of the baby's things into an old tennis bag of Kirihara's. He straps the baby to his chest in the Baby Bjorn.

His mom takes one look at him and says no.

"You're right," Renji says. He walks back upstairs. He comes back down. The baby has a little red cap over her scalp.

"You're not going out," his mom says.

Renji looks at the baby. Slate eyes are open, but unfocused on him. "She's fine."

"You have to think of her!" His mom frowns. "You shouldn't take her out of the house before she's at least a month old!"

Renji puts his sneakers on. He sucks in a breath. The incision pulls. The logical thing would be to have done this first. He lays the baby on the floor. She squirms a little. Then he straps her back in. "I'm not a child," he says.

His mom follows them to the gate. "But you have one now." She swallows. Renji's own throat feels thick. He looks away from his mother's sigh, and says he'll be back after dinner.

Cicadas swarm in zelkova canopies. Renji has a headache. His hands itch to hold a racket. The ache of his ruined stomach muscles suggests that it is not a wise idea. He looks through the seas of people. There's a shaved ice stand, and three with stick food. Fifteen tennis players line up at the cart selling takoyaki. It's barely half-past nine.

The baby, at least, is quiet. The main digital board lists the West Courts for Rikkai Dai. Kirihara hasn't answered his emails for forty-five minutes. Renji checks the time on his cellphone. "Late," he murmurs.

Urayama waves his arms. "YANAGI-SENPAI YOU'RE HERE!" His voice cracks, and he's grown 20 cm. "Did you come to watch?" He shoves a line of yellow jerseys down the bench. "You can sit here, beside the regulars."

Cheerleaders sneak over in pairs. They press thumbs into Natsuko's palm, and ask to pick her up. Renji stretches his arms. Kirihara runs half-way across the court before he comes to a stop. His face is purple. His body shines with sweat.

"I forgot...the right bus number…" He collapses onto the bench. Urayama pours a PET bottle over Kirihara's head. Kirihara shakes it off, dog-style.

"Running for two clicks counts as laps," he says.

Renji rolls his eyes. He takes the baby back from a cheerleader, and passes it to another girl.

Kirihara looks up from the roster. "Hey! Is she—?"

Renji says yes.

The onesie reads MY DAD IS NUMBRE ONE

***

He is.

***

"Yukimura is playing Atobe," Renji says. "Clearly the doubles two needs work."

Sanada says yes. Oshitari Yuushi sidles into the Rikkai stands again. Renji sticks his foot out. Oshitari steps over it. He bows his head a little at the baby. He bows his head lower at Sanada. Sanada zips his jacket up to his neck.

"Go away!" he says.

"You played very well," Oshitari says. A point is called for Atobe, followed by three for Yukimura. Oshitari stares at Sanada's tits. Sanada tells him to screw off a second time.

Oshitari squeezes onto the bench between Renji and Sanada. "Oh but I'd love to," he says. He reaches for Sanada's thigh.

Renji sniffs the air. "You need to move," he tells Oshitari. "The baby needs to be changed."

Oshitari takes one glance at the diaper, plugs his nose, and runs.

"You owe me," Renji tells Sanada.

Atobe keeps looking into the stands, too. At court switch, he throws his sweaty towel right into Sanada's lap.

Sanada flushes down to his socks. Yukimura is white-faced on the court, and it's his serve.

Atobe winks.

The presentation ceremony for the junior high players starts in fifteen minutes. Renji straps the baby back into the Baby Bjorn.

"You're on your own now," he says.

***

He'll come back to school after the summer break.

Home is boring. His mom hovers. She corrects how Renji changes diapers. She suggests he rest more. She leaves extra blankets on his bed, and turns off the a/c. She lurks outside his bedroom. Renji closes the door, and shoves a chair in front of it. Then he lifts his shirt to feed the baby.

So he brings the baby to tennis practice, along with his clipboard, and ten kilos of baby crap that he carts everywhere in the old tennis bag.

Yukimura gives him a curt nod. In a loud voice near Yagyuu, he says, "Now that is better sportsmanship than skipping all the time."

Niou hasn't come to practice in two days. On the third, Yagyuu disappears too.

The baby has a doctor's appointment in the morning. She's grown 5cm, and screams at the needle. Renji has a headache the rest of the day. He stays at home. He shuts his cellphone off. He opens a novel, but his temples throb. The baby whines all evening, and refuses to feed. His mom knocks on the door.

"Akaya-kun is here," she says.

Renji shakes his head. He turns up the a/c. He sips green tea, and tries to sleep.

He sleeps until the baby needs a new diaper. She starts to fuss. He pats her back—gas, again. Renji thinks about writing it down. Then he remembers it's been ages since he changed his pad. His underwear is caked with blood. He throws the pair in the garbage, underneath the diapers. Then he switches on the cd, a present from Sanada. Soughing rain percolates from his iPod speakers. His eyes are heavy. The baby is soundless, asleep.

Today is the last day of class before August holidays. The Nationals are in two weeks.

***

He comes to the first practice over the holidays. Yukimura and Sanada were here yesterday, and the day before that too. The weekend was record temperatures, and humid as hell. Sanada calls the senpais pussy behind their backs. Yukimura's muscles have deeper definition that draws Sanada's eyes during laps.

Yukimura is silent. His lips are pursed, and his eyes are narrow. He doesn't say hello to anyone.

Renji shrugs.

Marui plops down beside Renji. "Did you hear?" he whispers. He pops a green apple bubble.

Renji says no.

Marui whistles. "It's…big shit, dataman. I thought you'd be the first to hear!" He offers a stick of gum. Renji shakes his head.

"Niou and Yagyu—"

"MARUI!" the captain shouts. "Ass on the courts, or you won't play a single set at the Nationals!"

Marui ducks his head and runs over. Renji strokes his chin. The baby looks at him. He thinks about Niou's swollen ankles, and his frequent absences. Renji shakes his head, and thinks, No. The likelihood is too small.

He doesn't believe it until Kirihara shows up after junior high practice finishes. Kirihara takes the baby into his arms. He picks her up so her legs dangle. He bops her around, and says, "Look, she's doing a split-step!"

Renji's shoulders relish the freedom. He flexes his fingers and stretches his arms. His breasts are heavy and swollen and leaking through his shirt.

"You heard, right?"

Renji rolls his eyes. "Niou and Yagyuu had an illegitimate child and Yukimura believed it again?"

Kirihara scratches the back of his head. He laughs a little. "Uh…but they did."

He grabs Kirihara's racket. Kirihara doesn't laugh when Renji smacks him on the shin. But Renji does. "Their sense of humour is interesting."

"It's true, though."

The racket clatters. A beat passes, then the baby starts to cry. Kirihara hands her back. Yukimura runs past. The senpais are spread out under the shade of trees, with PET bottles and sweat towels draped over themselves. Even Sanada sits on a bench with a towel over his head. Yukimura is the only person on the courts. His panting echoes. His sneakers slap the ground. His form wavers in the soupy air.

"That explains a lot," Renji says.

"That's really going to fuck them up," Kirihara says. "Seriously, Yagyuu-senpai, and Niou-senpai, with a baby?"

Renji hums. He looks around. With a shrug, he unbuttons his shirt. The baby's hands are sticky on his skin.

Kirihara leans back. He sticks his feet out far. Yukimura pounds the gravel. Kirihara closes his eyes. He has a cat-like smile. "You know, maybe they'll play tennis with each other."

***

The wheels squeak. Renji glances over his shoulders. Evening insects have started to swarm overhead. The sky is purple, the colour of Heian emperors. A shitty dog barks in a gated yard.

In a house half-way down the street, lights stream from behind curtained windows. Renji leans through the gate grating. He holds his breath.

There is a distinctive mewl of a newborn.

He listens for a moment. Then he pushes the stroller past.

***

"This is a problem," Renji says.

Yukimura throws his hands into the air. "It's like the gods hate me!"

Sanada says nothing except, "Tarundoru."

Yukimura stomps around his bedroom. The baby is at home, for an hour or two. Renji's chest feels hollow and bursting at once. He glances at the digital clock by Yukimura's bed.

"Do you think you can play?" Yukimura asks.

Renji says, "I've been bleeding out my crotch for 26 days straight."

Yukimura shrinks. "That's revolting."

Renji raises his eyebrows. "I also have a 15 cm incision that has yet to fully heal."

"But your staples are out," Yukimura says. "I was playing—"

"But you didn't have a baby," Sanada says. "It's different."

Yukimura glares at Sanada. Sanada glares back. Then he snorts. Yukimura makes a noise. He paces the other direction.

"On the plus side," Renji says, "Echizen isn't in high school."

***

Kirihara's apartment is cold, and quiet. Then his sister starts to yell on the phone. Natsuko sleeps through it. Kirihara takes pictures of her. He snaps more photos when she is awake and gumming his hand. She attempts a smile. Kirihara takes thirteen more photos. "That's my girl!" he says. He tries to give her a high five. Her expression flickers. Renji frowns.

"You can change her diaper," he says.

"You can tell?"

"She makes a face, like you, when you think too hard."

Kirihara laughs. Then he thinks for a moment. His brow wrinkles. "Hey!"

Renji shrugs.

They walk to the street courts, which are empty at this hour. The baby sits in her stroller. The frogs are out, with their low bellows of gero gero. Renji takes a deep breath. His skin is sticky already, and he hasn't even unzipped his racket cover.

"You sure this is okay?" Kirhara asks. He bounces the ball. Renji nods. It hurts to bend much. He bites his lip. Kirihara serves a slow lob.

Renji jogs right, and returns the ball. Kirihara narrows his eyes. They rally: back and forth and easy. Renji listens to the sound of his panting. He scowls.

"Sorry," Kirihara mutters.

Renji swings back hard. The ball arcs into the fluorescence of the flood light. Kirihara runs to his baseline, and then into the fence. The ball slams down on the far court.

"You're out of practice." Kirihara hands Renji a PET bottle. Renji pours the water over his face.

"Thank you for reminding me."

"At this rate, I'll beat you by autumn."

"Mn."

Kirihara leans close. He smells musky, and his breath is too hot. "You are gonna keep playing tennis still, right?"

Renji looks over at the baby. Her eyes are closed. He takes a deep breath. His muscles push against the scar. The words are thick, and he can't say them.

A hand weaves under his. Kirihara brushes his nose across Renji's cheek. "You gotta help me be number one."

Renji closes his eyes. He presses his lips to Kirihara's face. Then he pulls back.

"You have to do that by yourself."

Kirihara starts to shake his head. Renji grabs him by the chin. Kirihara starts to make a face. Renji squishes Kirihara's lips together. A smile pulls at his face.

"But we'll be behind you."

***

Yagyuu comes to practice alone with a thin envelope in one hand. Yukimura notices. He runs over to the captain and Yagyuu.

"Oh…shit," Marui says.

Renji leaves the baby in her carrier by the bench. He walks over. Sanada stands nearby. His arms are folded over his chest. They share a glance. Together, they stand around the corner of the clubhouse.

Yagyuu must be bowing as low as he can. "Please," he says, "accept my resignation from the team!"

The captain says sure.

Yukimura shouts, "You can't! He's better than half your regulars combined!"

Renji leans to Sanada. "Seiichi's right."

Sanada grunts.

The captain says something to Yagyuu. Yagyuu thanks him. Renji leans further around the clubhouse to see. Yukimura grabs Yagyuu by the arm.

"If the captain's dumb enough to let you resign this year, well you're sure as hell not resigning when I'm captain next year—"

The captain gives Yukimura fifty laps.

Yagyuu's shoulders have a slight hunch. At the gate, he stops and half-turns back to the tennis courts.

They all look at each other, and no one says a word.

***

Niou's mother stands in the doorway.

"Masaharu is out," she says. A baby screams behind her—somewhere in the house.

Renji raises his eyebrows. Niou's mother touches her collar. With a frown she steps back. Renji lines his shoes up in the foyer.

"I'm the other tennis club teammate with a baby," he says.

Niou's mother relaxes a little. But her frown is carved deep. "Masaharu's upstairs."

The bedroom door to his left slams shut. A baby cries behind it. There's a frantic shuffle, then muffled silence. Renji doesn't knock.

The room smells milky and rank. Filmy light seeps through the curtains. Someone has crammed a folding crib between a desk and a wire-rack shelving unit covered in tennis gear and UFO catcher plushies. The hump of bed sheets moves. Renji peers into the crib. It's empty.

He sits across from the lump. "You do realize that your sheets aren't an invisibility cloak," he says.

Renji picks up a onesie off the floor. The front is crusted with dry spew. He tosses it down. It lands on a tennis ball.

"Yagyuu tried to resign yesterday," Renji says.

The lump doesn't move.

"Yukimura will make him play next year, though."

Niou won't come out, so Renji goes in. "It's very stuffy under here," he says.

Niou rips the sheet off. Renji doesn't recognize him. His face is bloated, and his skin a mess of zits and sweat and exhausted lines. There's something in his arms, wrapped in a pastel blanket. A tiny hand reaches for Niou's neck. Niou stares at the wall. He closes his eyes slowly, and his breath hitches.

Renji's never seen him cry before.

The baby pukes on Niou. Then it starts to scream. Renji takes the baby. He tells Niou to change his shirt while he cleans it up.

It's a boy.

Renji pats the baby on the back. He chucks a diaper into the garbage bin. The baby is smaller than Natsuko was, and bald, and angry. Niou sits on the floor, hugging his knees.

"Yagyuu's not here with you?"

Niou says nothing. Renji sets the baby in the crib. He sits yoga-style beside Niou.

"No…I don't know," Niou whispers.

"Know what?"

Niou jerks his head. "What everyone else asks."

"Neither do I," Renji says.

After a long moment, Renji stands up. He turns on a fan.

Niou lifts his head. He sighs, and his shoulders sink deep into his body. "You're the first one," he mumbles. "Nobody else has…"

Renji raises his eyebrows, but Niou closes his mouth. His back hitches again.

***

Jackal brings a casserole dish of beans. "My mom helped me make it. She said that back home, they used fry up…" He shudders. "Gross things after women have babies, but all we could get was beans and turkey bacon at the supermarket."

"That is really, really nasty," Marui says. He inches away. But he doesn't spit out his gum.

"Don't look at me!" Jackal says.

Sanada looks a bit ill. Renji pats him on the shoulder. "Niou will probably appreciate that," he says.

The wrapped package crinkles. "It's just diapers," Sanada says.

"They come in handy."

Marui snickers. "Maybe if Yagyuu wasn't silly and had wrapped his w—"

Jackal claps a hand over Marui's mouth. He gives Marui the stink eye. Marui pouts.

"Yukimura agrees with me, you know."

Jackal says Yukimura is just bitter.

"About what?"

They stop at the cross walk. Yukimura runs across the street to catch up. "What am I bitter about, Jackal?"

Jackal blushes. His eyelashes flutter as he glances away. "That…um…"

"That Sanada's not wearing that one-piece we saw in Laforet," Marui says.

Jackal nods. Then he and Sanada both say "What?"

Yukimura narrows his eyes. "Yeah…anyway, sorry, my doctor's appointment ran late. Is this going to take long? Sanada and I are going to the streetcourts at four."

"No Akaya?" Marui asks.

"Tennis practice," Renji says.

"Where we should all be now," Yukimura says.

Renji walks faster. His scar rubs against his waistband. The baby is heavy against his chest. Sweat pools at the base of his spine. There's ozone in the atmosphere, and a typhoon forecasted to hit Shizuoka prefecture in the evening.

Renji rings the buzzer. There's no answer. He rings a second time. He looks into the peephole. A shadow moves across. The door opens.

"We're here to see Masaharu."

***

It's not really a date. But it's the first time they've really been out since she was born.

Kirihara shows up after his practice is done. His hair is damp from a shower and from the heat. He's got a blue and white jinbei on, with red plastic flip-flops that he leaves in the hallway. Renji looks down at his shorts.

"You should wear something nicer," his mom says.

"Look what I brought! My mom said my sister wore it back in the dinosaur age." Kirihara holds up a baby-sized jinpbei romper, covered in bursting pink peonies.

"You should definitely dress up," Renji's sister tells him. "But not in my old yukata."

He agrees to a frilly, lacy blouse. The shorts stay. His mom takes pictures with the Kodak camera. His sister takes a snapshot of Natsuko in the jinbei. The baby makes a face.

Kirihara's smile sinks. Renji hands the baby to him. Then a clean diaper.

"Don't be too late," his mom tells them at the gate.

Kirihara waves the baby's arms bye-bye.

The sun hovers low, but it still bakes the rooftops. "The park will be packed by now," Renji says.

"I know a better place."

"Oh?"

"Yeah oh."

Kirihara offers to buy snacks in the supermarket. He tosses gyoza and tempura and congealing yakiori sticks into the basket. Renji puts them back on the shelf.

"But…you liked that stuff," Kirihara says. He sniffles.

Renji puts the gyoza back into the basket. "Not anymore." He takes three packages of mochi and two melon pans. Kirihara sneaks a bag of curry popcorn underneath.

The train is thick with people. Renji closes his eyes. His arm is bumped. His foot is stepped on. Kirihara tells an elementary school student to fucking watch out for the baby. It makes Renji's insides all hot and liquid.

They get off at a stop in the suburbs. No one else does.

Renji raises his eyebrows.

"Trust me," Kirihara says. He carries the stroller up the station stairs. Then he carries it down the stairs to the south exit. Renji lets Kirihara take his hand after. He squeezes back.

The streets weave between mid-rise apartment blocks and rows of houses. Girls shuffling in yukata and clopping geta walk in the opposite direction. One stops and says the station is that way. Kirihara rolls his eyes.

"I'm not stupid!" he says.

Her eyes drift to the stroller. She says nothing.

There's nothing around, except a seedy pachinko parlour and a run-down cluster of bars. Renji purses his lips.

"Trust me," Kirihara says, at a traffic light.

After three blocks, there's a wooden sign that says 'beach'. The sand is rocky. The ground is littered with sea weed and cigarette butts. And there's a clear view to downtown Yokohama harbour.

"See?"

Kirihara kicks aside an empty beer can. He sets a mat down. "My sister's old boyfriend told me this was a good place to bring girls to make out, but…"

"We can do that some time," Renji says.

Kirihara rubs the back of his scalp and laughs.

They eat tofu straight from the package, and the mochi and popcorn, too. Kirihara opens a carton of coffee milk. Renji swipes it. Then he chucks it at Kirihara's head.

"What was that for? You shouldn't be drinking caffeine!"

He grabs Kirihara in a headlock. Kirihara yelps. Renji slackens his arm. Kirihara lays his head in Renji's lap. He looks up. Renji touches Kirihara's hair. His lips part. He starts to lean down. His stomach bursts with a jab of pain.

Kirihara apologizes anyway.

The baby starts to cry. Kirihara changes her, makes a face. "Where's the…" He looks around. The last garbage bin Renji saw was blocks away. He waits for Kirihara, and listens to the lap of the water. Natsuko drains one breast, and leaves the other heavy and sore. Kirihara returns to another dirty diaper. He curls his lip and disappears a second time.

"I had to walk practically all the way back to the station!" he says.

Renji hands him a Pocari Sweat. Kirihara spawls on the tatami mat. He squints at the sky. The sun is magenta behind the houses. Across the water, the sky darkens.

Natsuko lies on the mat next to Kirihara. He rests on his elbow, and stares down. Renji closes his eyes. The breeze combs through his hair.

"Hey! Hey, Renji, look!"

He looks.

"Is she…?"

"Probably gas," he says.

Kirihara shakes his head. He pulls a face. He tickles her toes. Her face crinkles into something that might be a smile. Kirihara grins. He pulls out his cellphone. Her expression changes.

"You did that on purpose." Kirihara plays with her toes. She stares at him, serious and concentrating. Renji sets her in the stroller. She's asleep before he lies down.

He rests his head against Kirihara's arm pit. Kirihara touches Renji's shoulder with his fingertips. "It's crazy," he says. "A year ago, everything was different."

"Normal," Renji says.

"But this is all right." Kirihara starts to sit up. Renji pulls him back down. Kirihara sighs. "It's all right, right?"

Renji inhales the sharp smell of Kirihara's sweat, the salty sea, even their curry-stained fingers. He reaches for Kirihara's hand. He touches the hot skin where his jinbei has ridden up.

"You birthday is coming up."

Kirihara grunts.

Renji strokes the skin between Kirihara's thumb and index. A gust of cool air blows over his face. Kirihara shifts. He's hard. Renji tries not to smile. He strokes Kirihara's palm.

"Oh—oh…"

"Mn."

He rolls on top of Renji's arm. In the dying light, it's hard to make out the contours of his face. Until Kirihara is close enough to kiss.

"It'll be the best birthday."

"Better than the birthday Yukimura told you that you were a regular?"

Kirihara laughs. "Well…maybe. Definitely. Yeah."

Renji kisses him harder.

The fireworks begin at eight sharp. The northwest sky is filled with chrysanthemum blooms of gold and green, and the whirr of the rockets before they explode. Somewhere in the harbour front park in downtown Yokohama, Sanada is crammed into a yukata next to Yukimura. Marui and Jackal are probably watching from the balcony of Marui's parents' condo. Niou is home alone with the baby, and Yagyuu is with his family at the park, sullen and silent.

A heart-shaped firework bursts into the blackness. Kirihara takes a shot with his cellphone. "Neat."

"And corny."

"Both, then."

"They have them every year, Akaya."

Kirihara sits up. His face silhouettes against a dahlia of silver, surrounded by explosions of blue with willowing tails. Renji's insides feel tight. His heart presses into his ribs. The sky crackles. Kirihara's foot touches his shin.

Renji shivers.

"Akaya," he says. He swallows. "You know that I…"

Kirihara turns. His face glows from the glittery trail of a kamuro. Renji's chest bursts with fullness.

Kirihara finishes the words for him.

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 6/7

reposte — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 20:39:39 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (6/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: Long
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

Instead of cram school, his mom signs him up for another evening class.

She frowns at Renji's jeans and t-shirt. "You don't look very pregnant," she says. She tosses the haramaki at him, along with a flowery sack top of his sister's.

Renji holds it up and says no.

His mom gives him the stink eye. Renji slinks into his room. The top hangs off his body in all the wrong ways. His reflection shakes his head in the mirror.

"Do you want a drive?" his mom asks. Renji says no.

"You don't want to get cold. Take a jacket. And your sweater."

Kirihara meets him at the street corner. "Uh…" he says.

Renji tugs at Kirihara's t-shirt. He's got two layered over jeans. Renji peels off his jacket and the sweater, and the floral print mumu too. Kirihara glances around. "Here? It's really…"

Renji purses his lips. He pulls off Kirihara's Gundam tshirt. Kirihara licks his neck.

"What are you doing?" Renji asks.

Kirihara laughs. "Um, sex in a public place?"

Renji says hm. "It's too hot for that." He pulls on Kirihara's t-shirt, and stuffs his clothes into his bag. The air is thick with ozone. It'll be the rainy season soon.

"Aren't you cold?" Kirihara asks. He rubs Renji's arms on the train.

Renji says he's fine.

"But…" Kirihara touches Renji's stomach. His jeans are tight, but they still zipped up.

"It's fine," Renji says. Then he sighs. He sweats under the haramaki. Kirihara leans back on his heels, and hangs on the hand holds. He has a satisfied smile.

The building where the class is held is big, with a long corridor of rooms overlooking a suburban street. "Room 2D," Renji says.

Kirihara squeezes Renji's hand. His voice squeaks when he says, "Okay."

Renji slides the door open. A dozen women look up from mats on the floor. A small lady in a pink jumpsuit says, "The babysitter's course is in room 2A." She starts to close the door on Kirihara.

"No," Renji says, "We're signed up for this."

***

The jumpsuit woman talks about cervixes and mucus and softening. Renji stops writing in his notebook. Kirihara turns green.

"Gross," he mutters.

They share a shudder.

***

On Friday, Renji goes to the municipal offices downtown. He registers the pregnancy with his family's register. Kirihara waits in the lobby. The municipal worker doesn't ask him whether he's here for his mother, or if here's here on a dare from friends. The worker hands Renji a packet, glances down to his middle, and continues to type the information.

He shakes Kirihara's shoulder. Kirihara wakes up, and drops the bottle of Calpis. Renji offers him a Kleenex for the drool. They walk along one of the wide boulevards lined with cafes and high-rise condos. Renji's stomach growls.

"Ne," Kirihara nods up. Renji follows his gaze, in the approximate direction of Landmark Tower. "One day, we'll live there."

"Those buildings are mostly offices," Renji says.

Kirihara laughs. "I mean, around there. You know, in a real apartment and stuff."

Renji says nothing. One of the red gates to Chinatown sits kiddycorner across the street. Renji sniffs the air. His stomach continues to gnaw on his sides. The baby kicks at his liver. He grabs Kirihara's hand, and says, "Let's go."

***

His father looks up from the newspaper.

His mom looks over from the kitchen sink. "And where did you go?"

Renji tosses his shoes into the corner. "For ramen."

"It's nine o'clock," his mom says. She folds the dishtowel three times, and sets it down on the counter.

"Genichirou and Seiichi were there. We were talking for a while," Renji lies.

His mom purses her lips. Renji closes the door to his bedroom. He lies on top of his bed, and rubs his stomach. He and Kirihara sat in the park by the harbour. The sky was filled with the far-off lights of airplanes, and the smell of ocean hung in the air. They held hands, and necked for a while. That was it.

He pulls on his pajama shorts as far they go. Under the sheets, he listens to the first patters of rain on his window outside. He reaches between his legs, but the ache is too deep.

***

Jackal storms through the clubhouse in his skirt and heavy-duty sports bra. Yagyuu finishes dressing extra fast. Yukimura doesn't notice—he's too busy arguing with the captain about training regimens. Marui's voice echoes in the shower.

"WHERE ARE THEY?" Jackal shouts.

Renji raises his eyebrows. He looks at Niou. Niou stops rubbing his flanks.

"…balls?" Niou offers.

Sanada makes a noise. Renji looks at him. Sanada resumes peeling off his grey socks.

Jackal slams his locker door. He shouts Marui's name in the highest pitch Renji has heard yet.

Marui saunters out. His towel barely wraps around his waist. "Yes?"

Jackal clenches his jaw. His face shakes. His knuckles crack. "Where ARE THEY?"

Marui blinks.

"Do not make me say it!" Jackal hisses. "BUNTA!"

Marui blinks twice more.

Jackal takes a deep breathe. His breasts swell. A smirk curves across Renji's face. He shares a glance with Niou.

Jackal shifts his eyes. "My—my panties are missing!"

Every head in the dressing room turns. Jackal flushes a shade of purple. Marui raises his hands.

"I am totally, totally innocent," he says.

Jackal's eyes pop out.

Marui strokes his chin. Then he looks down. "So…that means you're…not wearing anything underneath that skirt?"

Jackal takes a moment to process. Marui is quicker. He dives. Then Jackal runs for the door. Marui chases him around the tennis courts.

The captain sniggers. "Guess I don't need to give them any laps." He elbows the vice-captain. "You can see her ass cheeks when her skirt flips up a bit."

***

Marui says, "I swear I knew nothing."

"The likelihood of Jackal forgiving you is approximately one in a billion," Renji says.

Niou flops down on the grass next to Yagyuu's bento. He picks at his nails. He picks at Yagyuu's lunch. "Shoot," Niou says. "It was Sanada's panties I meant to string up the flag pole."

Marui chases Niou around the tennis courts. "I HATE you!" he screams. "You ruin everything for me, you BASTARD!!"

Yukimura laughs hard enough to show the shiso stuck between his teeth. "That's more laps than I've seen Niou do in months."

Renji counts seventy before Niou collapses on the bench.

***

Niou doesn't show up for morning practice.

Yagyuu disappears, too, after his phone rings. His face drains of colour. He forgets his school bag in the locker room. Sanada scowls, and calls Yagyuu lazy, and Niou worse things.

"He should be afraid!" Marui says. "I'll whoop his ass for what he did to me!" He punches the air around himself. Jackal keeps a wide berth, and brings extra pairs of underwear in his bag.

At lunch, Niou smirks to himself. Renji thinks about asking. He keeps his mouth closed. Jackal asks if anyone wants to do a quick Familymart run for chocolate.

Marui stands up. He offers his arm, and his wallet.

Jackal asks, "Does anyone else want to come?"

Marui bounces from foot to foot. Niou fakes a yawn. Renji works on his literature notes between bites of his cutlet. Sanada doesn't even look up from Yukimura's eyes.

Jackal sniffs. "Fine!"

Marui follows. He skips along, and sings an impromptu acapella version of Beyoncé. He makes it as far as the school gate before Jackal turns around to yell.

"See, they’re fine," Niou says.

Sanada smacks him on the ear.

***

Niou and Yagyuu argue behind the clubhouse shed.

Renji takes his earbuds out.

"—not funny, Niou-kun!"

"And what you did was?"

There is a long pause. Renji creeps closer.

Yagyuu touches the side of Niou's face. He pulls Niou close for a kiss.

Yagyuu whispers, "You know I'm sorry."

Niou doesn't look him in the eye.

***

cum 2 the clubhous at 6

Renji phones him back. "In the evening?"

"No, tomorrow morning."

"That's very early."

Kirihara hums. "…yeah, but—"

"I didn't say I wouldn't come."

***

He rolls out of bed at quarter past five. The only person up at this hour is Sanada. The bus is empty, and the streets are dark. Renji yawns. His body feels stiff and crusty.

There are no lights in the clubhouse. He buys himself a coffee milk from the conbini across the road from the junior high buildings. Kirihara waits by the stands. His hair is a mess. His shirt is buttoned up wrong.

He throws his arms around Renji's neck. "Happy birthday," he says.

Renji breathes in the shampoo smell of Kirihara's hair. His nipples tingle at Kirihara's body brushing against his. "You could have told me later than six," he says.

Hot fingers crawl up his ribs. Renji gasps. Kirihara has a crooked smile. A set of keys jingle in his hand. "Yeah," he says, "but what about this?" He unhooks Renji's bra. Renji bites his lip. Kirihara pushes him against the door of the clubhouse.

His cunt burns as he hooks his leg around Kirihara. He rubs his body into Kirihara's hips. Kirihara's lips move against his neck. The door lock clicks. Renji sighs into Kirihara's mouth.

He's bigger than last time. The logistics are awkward on the narrow bench, and the moist tile floor. Kirihara slides two fingers up inside. Renji practically comes before Kirihara has his pants undone.

"I missed you," Kirihara says. He groans. He pushes deeper.

Renji digs his nails in harder.

***

Renji sets the big bunch of purple irises in a glass pitcher wedged between piles of paper on his desk.

Yukimura storms into the clubhouse. "Sacrilege!" He moans. He stumbles. Sanada turns white, and yells at Yagyuu to call for an ambulance.

"It's not me," Yukimura says.

"Oh." Sanada flushes. He bats his eyelashes a little. "Sorry."

"Someone RUINED my garden at junior high—you know, the one I planted in the autumn on the rooftop, with hostas and irises and astilbes?"

Renji says, "It must have been a vandal."

"A flower thief!" Yukimura pants. Marui offers a paper bag.

"Out to get you," Renji says.

Yukimura groans. He rubs his temples. "All my hard work! My legacy!"

"The Nationals weren't?" Sanada asks.

Yukimura purses his lips. No one speaks.

Marui claps Yukimura on the back. "No worries, Yukimura. They're flowers. They grow back."

***

During laps, Jackal jogs up to Renji. "Kirihara was asking what flowers you liked best last week. I…maybe said something I shouldn't have."

***

Rain flushes out practice. The courts are a swamp of mosquitoes when they rally. The new, taught nets start to sag. Marui complains that his balls aren't the same. Yukimura complains that his form is off anyway.

Renji does fewer laps. He starts to wheeze at fifteen. At twenty, his back burns. He makes it to twenty-five, red-faced and gasping. Sanada shakes his head. Renji sits on the bench during the rest of practice. He doodles faces in a notebook and estimates the fetus is 2700 grams and 45 cm in length. The doctor warned him that he's gained too much weight.

Renji polishes off a super-sized bag of American-style potato chips. It gives him heartburn all morning.

The rain starts again after lunch.

They huddle in the clubhouse. Sticky skin glues them together. Renji peels his arm off Niou.

"At least we're inside today," Niou says. He sits on the bench, and rubs his ankles. Renji looks at him.

"Ball collecting makes them swell," Niou says.

Jackal nods. "Girls seem to retain water. When I'm about to get my per—"

Marui claps his hands over his ears. "LA LA LA!"

Jackal sniggers. "Serves you right." As soon as Marui takes his hands away, Jackal says, "Vagina!"

Marui jumps three feet—vertical.

Niou grins. "Yeast infection!"

Marui turns white. He slinks to the other side of the locker, near Sanada and Yagyuu.

"Can’t we use the workout room?" Yukimura whines.

Renji pulls out his novel.

"The basketball team called dibs," the captain says. "We have to share in high school."

"You're just not being forceful enough," Yukimura grumbles. Renji looks up and says nothing. His insides bubble. The baby has gas, or maybe hiccups.

"This is so boring!" Marui says.

No one disagrees. Especially not when he suggests the new Kamen Rider movie, playing at the cinema in 3D HD.

Renji phones Kirihara and invites him along too.

"But you don't like that stuff," Kirihara says. He bounces. He walks into the cinema wall. Renji grabs the 3D glasses from his face.

Renji says, "There's nothing else to do during the rainy season."

***

Sadaharu says, "I have calculated that your performance will have decreased by forty percent."

Renji frowns. "Thirty, if you must know. I am not an invalid."

"However, as a regular on Rikkai's tennis team, their overall team performance is down over twenty percent."

"You math is wrong, Sadaharu. One divided by eight is twelve point five."

"I was taking other factors into consideration."

"Such as?"

Renji can hear Sadaharu push his glasses up. "Yukimura's distraction by Sanada's…" Sadaharu coughs. He mumbles something about breasts. "…combined with Sanada's reduced performance due to gender increases the net reduction in Rikkai's efficiency by twenty one point five percent."

Renji thinks for a moment. He rubs his back. His flanks are sore. His spine cracks when he shifts. "You know that statistics don't always accurately reflect the truth."

"You are incorrect, Renji. Statistics reflect the facts."

Renji hums. "Remember that when Rikkai whoops your ass at Regionals."

He hangs up, and emails Sanada. Renji goes to the bathroom. It's uncomfortable to sit down on the toilet. His back still aches.

His cellphone flashes. Sanada's email is incomprehensible, and filled with angry red emoticons. Two minutes later, Yukimura sends an email, too. Renji chuckles.

Renji emails Sadaharu. Seigaku is 'dead meat' (^__^)メ

***

Kirihara walks him home.

"Akaya," Renji says.

Kirihara holds the umbrella for him. "I don't trust you on these streets by yourself." He looks around. So does Renji. The streets are packed with gated houses, and the occasional bicycle forgotten in the rain.

Renji snorts.

Kirihara carries Renji's tennis bag, too. Renji opens the gate. Kirihara bites his lip.

Renji raises his eyebrows.

"Your parents…kinda hate me," he mutters.

Renji says, "You forgot your umbrella at school. You'll get wet."

Kirihara's brow scrunches up. He slinks in behind Renji. His mom gives Kirihara a terse hello.

They start to walk upstairs. His mom says, "Keep your door open."

Kirihara hangs his head lower. He sits on the far edge of Renji's bed. He wrings his hands.

Renji leans on his pillows. He reaches for Kirihara, and pulls him close. Kirihara stares, upside-down. Renji peels off his damp socks. He flexes his toes in the a/c. Rain splotches blur the window.

"Do you…ever wonder if something really wrong happens?" Kirihara asks.

Renji combs his fingers through the hair above Kirihara's ear.

"If something bad might happen?"

"No," Renji says. His hand goes to his middle. Kirihara hovers his palm above Renji's navel. It sticks out now.

"Don't worry," Renji says.

When Kirihara leaves, Renji cranks his window open wide. The rain is gone, but the wind picks up errant droplets. Renji wraps his arm around his belly. His pulse races so fast he can hardly breathe.

***

The fetus moves around forty percent less. Renji pokes his sides. He prods his navel. He double-checks his notebook. The fetus has been still for five hours and thirty-two minutes.

Sharpness pangs between his breasts. He clutches his cellphone with a sticky hand. Kirihara will be running to make the bus for morning practice, if he's awake.

His skin prickles all over. He flushes hot. Renji waits at the bus stop, and counts his breathing. An old woman with a push cart asks if he's all right. Renji opens his mouth, and nothing comes out.

He catches the thirty-eight express instead of the 103B for school. No one stands up for him. He doesn't really care.

He runs for the clinic. The receptionist's smile falters. "Don't you have school, Yanagi-chan?"

Renji takes a deep breath in. The words come out in a rush. He clears his throat. He fans his face with his hand. "Please."

The doctor takes one glance at Renji's file. She feels around. She presses a stethoscope to Renji's skin. Renji digs his nails into the tissue cover on the examination table.

"Is it…" Renji swallows. The room spins.

The doctor smiles. "No, it's fine. There's not much room anymore for the fetus to move. That's completely normal for the baby to be less active in the ninth month."

Renji blinks.

"Oh."

He makes it back to school by lunch.

"Where the hell were you?" Sanada asks. "You have school!" Then he glances down. "I mean, unless you..." Sanada mutters something about hospitals.

Renji says nothing. Kirihara races across the campus grass. He plows straight past Renji and into Sanada's chest.

Sanada is horrified. Kirihara stares at his hands as if they are covered in napalm.

"An object in motion stays in motion," Renji says.

"Are you okay?!?” Kirihara grabs Renji hard and shakes him. He squeezes too tight. Renji coughs. Kirihara squishes his breasts, too, and they're sore.

"Yes," he says. Kirihara touches his hands all over Renji's middle. Sanada turns pink.

"Can’t you take this elsewhere?"

The baby has fluttery hiccups under Kirihara's palms. Renji feels like a fool.

***

A large box arrives at home. His mom answers the door. Two delivery men drag it inside the house, and into the middle of Renji's bedroom.

He looks up from his novel.

His mom grabs one of the magazine stacks from the floor. She has a garbage bag in her hand.

"What are you doing?" Renji grabs the magazines.

His mom frowns. "You need to clean your room, Renji."

Renji looks around. Snack wrappers and dust balls litter the corners. Dirty clothes and musty uniforms are spread across the floor, along with piles of books and magazines. A paper pile envelops his desk. His bookcase is packed two-deep with novels and the occasional manga confiscated from Niou or Marui. His filing cabinet spews folders and handouts onto a segmented cube shelf.

"There's nothing wrong with it," he says.

His mom shovels a paper stack into the bag. Renji clenches his jaw. She pulls a thick folder from the filing cabinet and throws it in, too.

"What are you doing!?" he says. His voice is shrill.

His mom put a hand on her hip. She nudges the large box. "Where's the baby going to sleep?"

"I don't know," Renji says.

"Where are you going to change diapers?"

"I don't know," Renji says.

She lifts her eyebrows.

He stacks all his tennis notebooks and magazines in his closet. His mom takes out two bags of clothes, all for boys. Renji's chest aches. So does between the legs.

The tennis posters are tacked up over one corner of the room. His filing cabinet disappears into the garbage collection area. So does the cube shelf, and a box of old novels. His mom pins up padded fabric animal shapes. She vacuums under the bed. Renji dives for the magazines crammed under there. His mom pulls the vacuum hose up.

"Why do you have your sister's bra?"

Renji purses his lips. His face is hot.

The crib takes up too much room. He can barely close his door.

"You'll be keeping your door open," his mom says. "If you'd kept it open beforehand, you wouldn't have this problem."

***

Marui takes Jackal to the Justin Bieber concert in Tokyo.

Jackal shows up to school with new buttons on his school bag. He's busy emailing someone. Niou grabs his cellphone.

"Hey!" Jackal shouts.

"I…love…you…Bunbun…" Niou says as he types. Jackal snatches it back, and deletes it. His face is red.

"That's not funny Niou!"

"So…" Niou says.

"So what?"

Renji lobs a ball over the net to them. Niou doesn't bother to pick it up. Renji lobs three more. He aims the last for Niou's middle. Jackal sighs. He hands a ball to Renji. The felt is damp from the ground.

"Niou says his back is sore today," Jackal says. Renji glances over. Niou is busy mooning a senpai, who flubs his serve into a roofball.

Renji rolls his eyes. "How was your concert?"

Jackal says it was good. Great.

"And Marui?"

Jackal blinks. "Oh! Um...he's fine, I guess. Minimal groping once I told him I was on my period. He's harmless."

Niou skips over. His mole twitches. "What about last week, when he serenaded you over morning announcements and the head teacher called you both down to his office over the PA?"

Jackal sputters. He plays with a stumpy pigtail. "Well…" They shift their eyes to Marui, across two courts. He has a tennis ball half-wedged into his mouth. Yagyuu tells him that the vice-captain won't appreciate the saliva.

"He's mostly harmless," Jackal says. "It's not like he's the sort to sneak up on me and rape me in my sleep or anything."

Niou stiffens. Renji watches him. Jackal keeps talking. In a thin voice Niou says, "He's still disgusting", and walks away.

Jackal looks at Renji, and shrugs. "What's his problem?" Then he pulls his cellphone from his pocket. It buzzes with a message.

Renji raises his eyebrows. "Important?"

Jackal avoids his eye. "Naw, it's nothing at all.

***

28/06
Weather: 32 degrees, variable clouds, 78% humidity, precipitation during pre-dawn

Jackal: 15 suspicious emails during practice (1 hour, 20 minute duration in afternoon) Possible relationship?? Unable to observe at lunch.

Niou: Acting strange after jokes (made by Jackal). Possible history of abuse by family?? Gropers on trains??

Sanada: Unable to locate at lunch. Yagyuu reported strange noises from washitsu. Sex with Yukimura third time this week (Yukimura not present at lunch). Hypocritical behaviour.

Note: washitsu vacant at lunch + second period. Tell Akaya.

Captain scratched his crotch 27 times during practice, increase of 20% from 27/06. Suspect crotch rot. Told Yukimura to make habit of washing his uniforms.

***

Renji alphabetizes his novels. He rearranges the ball canisters in his clubhouse locker, then he dusts the trophy cabinets too. Marui lounges on the clubhouse bench. Niou fans himself with an uchiwa. Jackal types 21 more emails on his cellphone. The soft click of his typing is the only sound, other than Yukimura making stupid noises into the oscillating fan.

"Do you think the rain is worse this year?" Yagyuu asks.

Renji says no. Sanada says yes. He wipes at his forehead with a towel. Then he dabs at his neck, too. When he thinks no one is looking, Sanada stuffs the towel down his shirt to wipe his cleavage too.

Renji wipes above the lockers. Dust balls drop onto the floor. Yukimura picks one out of his hair. "Do you mind?" he asks.

"Not really," Renji says.

"My mom did the same thing," Marui says. "Before she punched out my youngest brother."

"Did what?" Niou asks. "Was preggers?"

Marui pops a bubble. "Cleaning. Like, obsessive cleaning and shit. I only remember because that was the last time my room was vacuumed."

"That's disgusting!" Sanada says.

Marui shrugs.

"Well, you need to hurry up and have it," Yukimura says. "For team security and all. I figure two weeks' leave is enough."

"Technically my due date was yesterday," Renji says.

"Yeah, and you're being late," Yukimura says. "I took two weeks' leave after my surgery, so you won't need any more than that. I told the captain he can add you to the line-up for the Nationals."

Renji bites his lip. "Did you?"

Yukimura nods. "But since it's your first baby, the captain should probably just have you play easy positions like doubles with Sanada." Sanada tenses his shoulders. Yukimura smiles at him. "Sanada can pick up your slack, Renji. I don't trust the senpais. They're lazy."

"It's true," Yagyuu says. "When practice was cancelled, they all went home."

"The rain will let up soon," Yukimura says. "Then we can go finish our laps."

Renji cracks open the door. A thick sheet of rain pelts his feet. He closes the door.

It rains all night.

***

Then the rain stops.

The sun comes out, along with hoards of cicadas, which follow him to school. He used to be able to run away. Now, he can hardly waddle. His back aches all the time. His stomach is heavy, and he sweats more than Marui and Yukimura combined. Renji sprays himself with deodorant in the school bathroom. The cicadas hum through the open window.

His face breaks out. He looks like a pizza. Kirihara still walks him home after school. He reaches for Renji's hand, like always. Renji yanks his hand away.

"It's too hot!" he says.

Kirihara grinds his sneakers into the pavement. He kicks at cicada shells on the sidewalk. "You're really grouchy like fukubuchou," he mutters.

Renji stops. The baby pushes on his liver. Renji sucks a breath in. He leans forward. Kirihara catches his arm.

"Are you all right?"

Renji pushes him away. His skin drips. His hair burns under the sun.

"I'm sorry if I said something," Kirihara says. "Really really."

Renji cranks the a/c in his room down to twelve degrees. He can't get comfortable in bed. The baby sinks back onto his kidneys, or down to his bladder. He gets up to go to the toilet thirteen times before midnight—before he stops counting. He paces his room. He flicks on the light and stacks his tennis magazines in ascending dates. His knees creak. His back cracks when he lies back down. He yawns, but he still can't sleep.

He visits the doctor on Saturday. "If the baby hasn't come by Wednesday, we'll have to induce you."

Renji's fingers go numb. He takes a deep breath, and thanks the doctor for her time. He walks back into the lobby. Kirihara throws his magazine on the floor. He hops from foot to foot.

"Is everything—?"

Renji nods.

Kirihara presses his face to Renji's middle. Renji picks at a pimple on the side of his face. "Ne, you can't stay in there forever," Kirihara says.

There is an email from Yukimura waiting on his phone.

38 days until Natls

Kirihara asks why he's frowning. Renji deletes the message.

"Soba for lunch?"

***

He wakes up on Monday at 1:52am. His clock ticks softly. The fridge and the a/c hum. Renji clutches his belly, and squeezes his eyes tight. The pain is sharp, and deep, and brief. His body aches for sleep. His mind races.

He doesn't know what else to do.

So he calls Kirihara.

His muscles contract again. Renji bites his lip. He makes a noise, and Kirihara says, "I'm coming right now!"

At the twelve minute mark, his insides seize up. Renji digs his fingers into the edge of the mattress. He clenches his jaw. Sweat beads along his hairline. He tries to remember how to breathe. He tries not to curl into a ball and start to cry. It hurts more than the day his parents told him they were moving.

The cramps release after a minute, or maybe a little less. The pain stretches like forever. Light shines on the street below his window. Renji opens the edge of his curtain. Kirihara slams the passenger side door of a Toyota. Then he trips on the pavement.

Renji rushes to the door. He yanks it open. Kirihara's finger hovers over the buzzer.

"Are you ready?" Kirihara asks. His eyes are wild. His hair is too.

Renji shakes his head. He waddles to the car anyway. Kirihara's sister sits in the driver's side. He gives him a curt nod. Her hair is an afro, and she's got bloodshot eyes.

"This is the only time I do this, you hear?" she says.

Renji climbs into the back.

Kirihara stands on the curb. He keeps blinking. He scratches his head. He looks back at the dark house. "Aren't…your parents coming?"

Kirihara's sister puts the Toyota in drive. "Retard, get in now!"

He runs to the other side, and climbs in next to Renji. His sister accelerates. The car jumps on the road. Renji bumps the back of the passenger seat. His muscles seize up in a cramp again. He grabs Kirihara's hand.

Kirihara screams at the crunch of cartilage.

***

Kirihara's sister—Ayaka—runs four red lights, and dodges an off-duty police cruiser down an alleyway. Kirihara whoops. Renji breathes hard through his nose. He squeezes Kirihara's hand harder. His body shudders all over. His insides are turning themselves inside out.

"You look like you're dying," Kirihara says.

Renji whips his head around. He glares. Kirihara winces. He pats the back of Renji's hand, and says asinine things in a simpering voice: you're so awesome, you're number one, this'll be way easier than winning the Nationals.

"We lost the Nationals," Renji says.

Kirihara laughs. "Oh yeah."

The hospital glows between the high rises of downtown. Renji takes a deep breath. His heart pounds. He turns to Kirihara. The city lights reflect in his pupils. Renji feels cold all over.

There's no contraction, but he holds Kirihara tight.

Ayaka slams on the breaks in the middle of the Emergency Pull-Up. She has a crooked grin in the rear-view mirror, and a thumbs up.

"No turning back now, you dumb morons," she says.

Kirihara runs out. He runs around the trunk to open the door for Renji.

"Good luck!" she calls out. "And next time, use a condom, seaweed head!"

The car swerves out of sight toward the underground parking entrance. Kirihara sniffs.

"I hate her," he says.

Renji's smile is broken by another contraction.

A nurse tries to whisk him inside in a wheelchair. Renji walks. Another nurse stops Kirihara at the ward doors. Renji doubles over. A nurse supports his side. He lets go of Kirihara's sticky grasp. The last he sees of Kirihara is a red-eyed tantrum. The double-doors close behind him.

They prod him with an IV. They hold up a blue dressing gown. Renji closes his eyes, and holds his arms up. A cold draft tickles his naked backside. The nurse tells him to spread his legs wide.

Renji wants to crawl under the beeping machines and stay there until the fetus slides out. His head aches. The smell of chemical antiseptic makes the room spin around him.

"Only four cm," the nurse says.

Renji's shoulders sink. He closes his eyes. His body feels strange. The bed is uneven. He grips the edge hard.

She wraps a cuff around his arm, and tightens it. She stares at a screen. Renji tries to look over at it. "Please stay still," the nurse whispers. Her lips are white. She doesn't look at him.

A second nurse comes in. Her eyes flick to the monitor. "I'll get the doctor." She runs out.

For the briefest moment, Renji knows. He can't think of anyone else except Kirihara. Sadness floods through his body. The staccato of the machine increases. The sounds blur together. He opens his mouth to say Tell Akaya I—

He never finishes.

FIC: Backhand Birthday, Jackal + Team Gen, PGish

reposte — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 22:26:42 GMT

Title: Backhand Birthday
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 7300
Rating: PGish
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all,
Warning: Mancrushes, Maria Sharapova, shifty Swiss, and lots of garlic. And no, get your minds out of the gutter! This is gen!
Summary: It's Jackal's birthday, and the ATP tournament is coming to Tokyo.
Author's Notes: Written for Jackal's birthday, 2010. A little late, but hopefully forgiven.

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

The first thing Bunta says at practice is, "Dude, you know the ATP Masters is coming to Tokyo on your birthday?"

"Cool," Jackal says. Then he thinks about it for a moment. "But I'd have to see if my parents let me go."

Bunta slides his arm across Jackal's shoulder. He peaks into the paper Starbucks bag and helps himself to Jackal's extra sour-cream glazed doughnut. "Don't worry about the price," he says, "Hiroshi and I have that covered for you."

"You sure?"

Bunta nods. Jackal nods.

"Sweet. Thanks."

Bunta polishes off the last of the doughnut. He wipes his hands on his sides. "No probs, biff."

Across the tennis court, Sanada lets out a blood curdling scream. He drops to his knees. Everyone comes running to see him, clutching Yukimura's hand, as Yukimura convulses on the ground.

"Marui!" Sanada shouts. "CALL AN AMBULANCE!"

Bunta looks at Jackal. Jackal toes Yukimura in the side with his sneaker to turn him over. Sanada yanks open Yukimura's jacket and places his hands over Yukimura's chest. Yukimura continues to froth at the mouth. His lips move over a name.

"…Roddick…Andy…Roddick…"

"Sanada, he's fine," Jackal says.

Sanada whips his head around. Jackal squats down next to Yukimura. He pries the iPhone from Yukimura's hand. The screen is open to a twitter account.

Jackal clears his throat. "'im comin to the tourney in tokyo sunday morning!'"

Yukimura twitches, epileptic-style. His moans get louder.

Jackal places a hand on Sanada's shoulder. "He's just excited to see his hero, that's all."

Sanada takes a deep breath. He sniffles a little, and wipes his nose with the handkerchief Yagyuu offers. "It's…not a relapse?"

"Andy…" Yukimura whispers. "I'm coming…"

***

Jackal dumps his bags by the door. He pads across the floor in his sock feet—a little stained from tennis practice, but that's okay. The whole apartment smells like Bobó de Camarão. Jackal inhales it over his mom's shoulder. She offers him a spoon for testing.

Jackal swipes a piece of shrimp from the cream sauce. It's like curry at Bunta's house, but a thousand times better.

"Is dad home for supper?" he asks. In Portuguese, of course.

"No, he's working later again," she says. "Set the table for supper, Jackal, I'm starving at this time of the month, you know?" She pats her middle. Jackal winces.

"TMI," he says.

"Set the table!" she shouts, louder, over the bubbling pot. "Before the beans burn!"

The buzzer rings. Jackal races for the speaker. "Yo!"

"'Sup? Mind if I come up?"

Jackal laughs under his breath. He glances back at his mom, who rolls her eyes. Jackal hesitates for a moment. His mom scoffs. "Well, invite him up, Jackal! None of us are getting any younger!"

"Yeah, my mom says it's fine."

Bunta grins in the doorway. He says, in a loud, clipped voice, "Thanks Kuwahara-san!"

"It's a good thing I made extra," Jackal's mom says, in Portuguese. "Your friend eats as much as a gaúcho." Then, she switches to really, really bad Japanese. "You welcome come eat, Bun-bun."

Bunta tucks the napkin into his shirt collar. "Thanks K-san. You're the best!"

Jackal's mom smiles at Bunta. Behind his back, she rolls her eyes. "Jackal, help with the food!" she shouts.

Jackal carries the pot of stew to the table. Bunta licks his lips. So does Jackal. Bunta reaches for the spoon, but Jackal's mom swats his hand away.

"We thank the Almighty Father and Maria for the food your useless father scrapes by an earning to pay for first," she says. Then, she crosses herself. "O Senhor, now we eat. Amen."

Bunta stares at Jackal blankly. Jackal dives into the rice and beans before he finishes an Amen in response.

"It was fish Friday at home," Bunta says. "Except I couldn't stop thinking about the sushi at Hiroshi's birthday." He shudders. Jackal joins him.

"We told the kid to stop."

"Yeah."

"My mom was really pissed about the barf all over my blazer. Dry clean."

"Akaya so owes us."

"Totally."

They hang out in Jackal's room with the magazines Bunta brought: Sports Illustrated, Tennis Pro Monthly, and the latest Jump Square that Bunta swiped off a packed train, the usual. Bunta lets out a big belch. Jackal cranks open the window, even though it's kinda cold and he took off his socks at dinner.

Bunta pats his stomach. "Your mom's food is awesome." He lets one rip. Jackal sticks his head outside the window and pretends to choke.

"So it says here that—OH MY GOD!"

Jackal asks what. His mom bangs the kitchen wall and yells at them to shut up (in Portuguese).

Bunta clutches his chest. He swoons across Jackal's bed, and lands on a heap in the floor. Jackal catches the magazine.

"So Maria Sharapova's getting married. She is, like, old, you know."

"She was supposed to wait for me!"

Jackal shrugs. "You can still, like, think she's hot and stuff."

Bunta huffs. He snatches the magazine back. Then he rummages in Jackal's school bag for a pen. He scribbles a moustache and angry Xs all over Sasha Vujacic's face.

"And if I see him next week," Bunta says, "I'll kick his ass."

"It said that he's 201cm."

Bunta glares at Jackal. He cracks his knuckles anyway. Jackal shakes his head and laughs. He peers over Bunta's shoulder at the article.

"And he's 93 kilos. All he'd have to do is sit on you."

"Ruined," Bunta mutters. "He's so ugly. She could do so much better!"

Jackal grins.

Then he remembers about his homework. Japanese class. Essay on Japanese uniqueness due tomorrow.

"Shit," Jackal says. He smacks his hand to his forehead. His mom bangs on the wall again.

"I'm doomed," he says.

"Yanagi'll write it for 1000."

"Really?" Jackal's shoulders sink. "I don't—"

Bunta slaps Jackal on the back. "We can call it even for dinner."

***

Yanagi hands Jackal a print-out before class. Bunta hands Yanagi a thousand yen note. Jackal hands Bunta an empanidha at lunch.

Pastry flakes get all over Niou, who glares and calls Bunta a fat pig. Bunta sniffs, stuffs the rest of the empanidha into his mouth, and says, "You're just jealous because that—" He nods to Niou's school lunch—mystery sea creature rice bowl—"is nowhere near as good as this."

He opens his mouth, to reveal half-chewed food all over his tongue. Sanada calls Bunta uncouth. Yagyuu turns away. Jackal bites down on his lip until Akaya starts to laugh too, and then he joins in. Because it is pretty funny to see Niou sputter like that.

Jackal finishes his pastry. Chicken today, with the cheap, marked-down chicken at the supermarket and leftovers from Jackal's dad's restaurant. The chicken special must have been on the menu last night.

Yukimura isn't paying any attention to any of them. He scrolls through his iPhone touch screen, which his eyes don't leave, not even when Yanagi asks if he actually understands what the website says.

"I am planning our attack," he says.

"Attack?" Jackal asks.

Bunta leans over. "He's helping with the ticket get-o. For the semis, on Sunday. Best chance of the good players, we figure."

"I figured," Yanagi says. "Based on the win-lose ratios of the most recent ATP tournament at Shanghai."

"We're not just going for, I dunno, watching some good tennis?" Jackal asks.

Slowly, Yukimura lifts his head. The air stills, and the crows stop cackling on the rooftop. He blinks once. Jackal sucks in a breath.

"Don't be silly," Yukimura says. His smile sends a cold shiver down Jackal's spine.

***

"So?" Jackal asks.

Across the net, Yukimura is stomping around, with his iPhone plastered to his ear. Sanada opens his mouth, and Yukimura tells him to shut up, he's on the phone!

"It's not going well," Bunta says.

"Clearly," Yagyuu adds.

"As long as we get seats, it doesn't matter where," Jackal says. "It's the company that matters."

Yanagi raises his eyebrows, and says nothing.

***

Jackal and Bunta follow Yukimura downtown after school.

"You probably shouldn't come," Yukimura says.

Jackal shrugs. "I don't mind. Besides," he says, as they step off the train and into the station. "There's a Starbucks nearby."

"True that," Bunta says. He high-fives Jackal. "Autumn specials came out Monday."

Yukimura frowns a little. Jackal thinks he looks a little lonely without Sanada's shadow behind him, but Sanada and Yagyuu had Morals Committee. Yukimura walks ahead of them. Jackal can keep up, but Bunta breaks into a jog.

"Where are we going so fast?" Bunta gasps.

There's a Tokyu Hands around the corner. And a big, flashing sign held by a freeter that says there is a 50% off stationary sale.

"Oh," Jackal says.

Bunta collapses on the electronics floor. "I'll just…wait here…" he moans. "Right by this display of new, shiny videogame consoles…"

The stationary floor is filled with chicks. Jackal grins to himself—definitely the right decision to come here. He smiles at the girls in the Yokohama Central blazers. He waves at the girls in the plaid skirts from Higashi Junior High. In the sticker aisle, a girl in a sailor suit with a silver crest—Motomachi Technical—ducks her head and flushes as Jackal walks past. Butterflies flit around his stomach, in a totally good way.

Then Yukimura hands him a basket. And a pile of large, glitter decal letters.

Jackal blinks. "Oh, if this is for a birthday card, maybe I shouldn't—"

Yukimura blinks too. "Birthday card?"

"For me?"

Yukimura gives him a funny look. He picks out five sheets of foil heart. "Who said anything about a birthday card?"

In Starbucks, Bunta flips open his phone. "And see her?" He shows Jackal a picture of the back of a girl. Yukimura slurps his frappuccino and spreads decal letters across the table spelling out NUMBRE ONE ANDY RO

Bunta scrolls through a series of photos on his phone. All backs and bums of girls, all wearing short school uniform skirts, and all suspiciously with electronics equipment in the background.

"It was, like, a plethora of otaku chicks," Bunta says. He points to his screen. "This one, well you can't see it here, but she had this fox tail clipped to her skirt. You know chicks like that are into kinky stuff."

"I thought otaku chicks like boys' love and stuff," Jackal says.

Bunta closes his phone. He looks at Jackal, dead pan and silent, and they share a horrified grimace.

"Do you think I should put a heart here, or here?" Yukimura asks.

***

On Saturday, Akaya phones.

"Do you wanna go to the arcade, Jackal-sempai?" he asks.

Jackal rolls out of bed. He rubs the back of his head, where the bristles are starting to poke through. "Okay," he says.

"Cool, except can you, um, lend me some money?"

Jackal sighs. He says okay, and hangs up. His mom is up, in the kitchen, and whipping up a bowl of melons for breakfast. Jackal picks up a slice. He nibbles around the bruise spot. He mom swats him across the ear and says, "There's nothing wrong with that spot!"

His dad is sprawled across the couch, which is two-feet too small. He's still got his grease-splattered uniform from the restaurant on. Jackal glances back to his mom. She's scowling in the vague direction of his dad.

Jackal winces.

"Mom?"

The knife gleams in the light from the window. The toaster dings. She slides a piece of toast in front of Jackal, and a little tea cup full of espresso, too.

"Can I, uh, borrow some money again?"

She rolls her eyes, and hands him two thousand notes. Jackal cringes. He holds his hand out, still.

"You said a thousand was enough for a person."

Jackal sorta laughs. On the couch, his dad grunts and shifts in his sleep.

"Yeah…"

***

Bunta is waiting with Akaya at the bus stop.

"We'll buy you ramen tomorrow at the stadium," Bunta tells Jackal. "Thanks man, you're a real pal."

The arcade with the best games—Blood Splatter, Nascar Ultimate, Pokemon Whack-em—and the best UFO catchers ("The ones with the zombie toys!" Akaya says) is out in the sticks, not too far from Sanada's place. They take turns between Bunta's two ear buds, listening to the new Alice Nine album. Jackal bops his head. Bunta taps his fingers on the bus seat. Akaya stamps his foot—onto a girl's.

"Sorry sorry!!!" he shrieks.

She gives him the death glare.

Jackal presses the button for the next stop, even though it's too early. They slink off the bus. "Jeez, Akaya," Bunta says.

Akaya ducks his head lower. He mumbles a half-apology with a nervous laugh.

They walk along the pavement, past a cheap yakiniku family-style joint, and the Jusco too. Then past the supermarket, where there's some tall kid in a black cap helping load groceries and mega packages of toilet paper into a Honda.

"SANADA!" Bunta shouts. He flaps his hands around. Akaya starts to wave, too.

Jackal cups his hands around his mouth. "HEY!"

Sanada looks up from the Honda's hatch back. The woman next to him wears a matching Mickey Mouse jumper. She leans to say something to Sanada. Bunta shouts Sanada's name again, but Sanada only reluctantly lifts his hand in a pathetic wave before throwing himself into the Honda.

"Man," Bunta says, "did you see his mom's rack?" He wolf-whistles. The Honda pulls out of the parking lot, and drives past them. Sanada keeps his head down.

A sideways smile pulls at Jackal's mouth. "I was more paying attention to his Mickey jumper."

Akaya snickers.

The arcade is busy—it's Saturday, after all, and there's a new Ultimate Fighter Ninja Death Battle game with a line-up to play it. Akaya makes a beeline for the game. Bunta makes a beeline for the snack counter. Jackal says hi to Niou, who's playing a game of darts with a dirty old freeter.

"Isn't that a bit sketchy?" Jackal asks Niou.

Niou shifts his eyes. The freeter is lurking behind the blinking whack-a-Charmander game. Niou shrugs. He holds out his hand. There's a wad of bills.

"I bet him that he can't win and he takes the bait," Niou says.

"And if you lose?"

Niou smirks. "I don't."

Jackal doesn't want to think about that.

They've only got enough money for a few rounds of the Ultimate Fighter Ninja, not even when Bunta asks Niou for some spare change, and Niou rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah fucking right." Akaya hangs out around the UFO catcher until the girls come by. He splits.

Bunta sidles over to one side. Jackal sidles over to the other.

"Hey," Bunta says to the taller one. He flips his hair and blows a big bubble with his chewing gum.

Jackal runs his hand across his scalp. He grins down at the megane girl with the pigtails. "Hey."

"You girls headin' somewhere?" Bunta asks.

The taller girl loops her arm through megane's. Megane narrows her eyes at Bunta. "You gonna put your phone away from my skirt?

Bunta blinks. He holds his phone up. "I swear it wasn't on camera."

Jackal nods. "I can vouch."

Megane huffs. She pokes Jackal in the chest with her plushie seal cellphone charm. "You may be cute," she says, before she whips around to Bunta, "but you are a perv."

Tall girl sniffs. "Yeah!"

Jackal pats Bunta on the shoulder. Akaya slinks out from his hidey-hole as soon as the girls are out of earshot. "It's all right," Jackal says. "They probably didn't mean it."

"PERV!" Megane shouts from across the whirring, flashing games.

"Ramen?" Bunta whispers.

Jackal reaches into his pocket. Two five hundred coins and a handful of ones. He sighs and says okay.

***

Yukimura brings a large plastic garbage bag to school. He dumps it in the middle of the clubhouse.

"What's that for?" Jackal asks.

Sanada says nothing. Yanagi has a creepy smile and writes something down on the expenses sheet for the coach.

"Echizen's corpse?" Akaya offers. He and Niou snigger. Jackal joins in, until Yukimura goes deathly still. There is a single, sick crunch under his sneaker as he crushes a wayward cicada shell.

"Bunta?" Yukimura asks.

Bunta swallows. "Sei—Seiichi?"

"Have you received the tickets?"

"They're supposed to come in the mail today."

Yukimura's lips move. "Good, good," he whispers. He reaches deep into the bag, and pulls something out with a flourish. Jackal squeezes his eyes shut, just in case.

Yagyuu is the first to speak. He looks down, and then slowly picks up a Lacoste polo, in blue and white check.

"Do we have…new uniforms, Yukimura-kun?"

Yukimura giggles under his breath. He smacks Yagyuu on the shoulder. "No, Yagyuu. These are our ATP outfits."

Yagyuu rubs his arm, wincing. Jackal looks around. Everyone else looks at him, except those three, who always seem to know what's going on.

Yanagi hands a polo to each of them. "We ordered the same sizes as your tennis club t-shirts. To the coach's expense."

"But…why?" Jackal asks. "I don't care what you guys wear to my birthd—"

Yukimura folds his arms across his chest. "So we can support Andy, of course."

***

In Japanese language tutoring, Sanada scoots his desk a little closer to Jackal.

"Is this the right radical?" Jackal asks.

Sanada frowns. He makes a couple quick marks with his pen.

"Uh, okay," Jackal says. It looks practically the same as what he just drew out on the big practice grid.

"Jackal," Sanada whispers. He closes his cellphone, but it keeps vibrating with a message.

"Sanada?"

Sanada shifts his eyes. He leans dangerously close. Jackal remembers all the jokes Niou made about Sanada and Yukimura and the hospital room with the closed door. Jackal swallows.

"Don't tell Yukimura but…I don't like Andy Roddick," Sanada whispers.

Jackal says, "Okay?"

***

It doesn't hit until breakfast. Jackal is eating a slice of melon. His dad is in the shower, and there's leftover BBQ flank steak from the restaurant on the table. Jackal douses his beef in chimichurri sauce and rolls the garlicy, herby, delicious meat across his tongue. The sun is almost shining outside, except there's a typhoon in the forecast for tonight and wind whips around the leaves outside.

He's going to watch professional tennis live.

Not staying up until 3am to watch a match broadcast in California, or watching the clips on Bunta's iPad the morning after. Not clipping tiny articles from Tennis Pro Weekly issues that Sanada leaves in the clubhouse toilet, or hoping the news on tv might say a sentence about the US Open.

Nope, he is going to watch real, live tennis.

"Happy Birthday, my baby boy!" his mom says. She wraps her arms around Jackal's head, and squeezes his face to her boobs. Which are squishy and so not right!

Jackal cringes. When she pulls away, she wipes the corners of her eyes. "What kind of cake do you want, mi precioso? Coconut? Banana?"

Jackal slathers another piece of beef in chimichurri. He says whatever's fine. "Oh, and Mom?"

She sniffles. "Hm?"

"Thanks."

***

They meet at Starbucks, of course.

"What can I get you, biff?" Bunta asks.

Jackal grins. "The usual."

Bunta nods sagely. "A venti double-espresso latte with soy foam it is!"

Yukimura immediately gives Jackal a one-up-down with his eyes. "Good," he says.

Jackal looks down at the polo. He glances to Sanada, who clenches his jaw a little tighter—and wears the same, matching polo as the rest of them.

"Do you have the tickets?" Yukimura asks.

Bunta hands one to Yukimura. Yukimura grabs the lot, and stuffs them into his fanny pack. He pats his pack with a satisfied nod. "We have to make sure they are in a secure spot," he says.

They take the train to the Shimbashi, where Bunta heads for the station conbini. Jackal picks out a bag of curry popcorn. Akaya throws in five bottles of Pepsi. Sanada removes the Pepsi and replaces it with water.

Akaya sticks his bottom lip out.

Sanada narrows his eyes. Akaya's lip retreats. As soon as Sanada turns his back, a Pepsi slides back into the basket.

"Hurry up!" Yukimura shouts. "We only have two hours until the match!"

Jackal leans on the counter as Bunta pays for the snacks. "Isn't that, like, a ton of time?"

"You'd think so," Bunta says. "Yukimura's just antsy."

"Even though it's my birthday."

Bunta snickers. "You know where you fall in his scheme of things." Jackal just rolls his eyes, and takes one of the plastic bags.

There's a line to the monorail entrance. Yukimura flaps his arms to flag them down. He huffs and puffs and pulls them in line, right ahead of a group of elementary-aged kids. Jackal frowns, and feels kinda bad when one kid sniffles. He mutters, "Sorry".

The kid stamps on his foot.

Akaya cracks his knuckles. "Want a sandwich?" he asks the brat.

The brat says, "What?"

Akaya swings his arm back. "A knuckle sand—"

Jackal grabs Akaya's fist. "He's just a kid." The kid sticks his tongue out at both of them. Jackal shakes his head. To Akaya he mutters, "An obnoxious kid."

An obnoxious kid who cuts the line into the monorail on the platform and slides into the only vacant seat in the carriage. That Sanada was standing beside to hold for Yukimura.

Sanada inhales so deep, his nostrils nearly explode. Jackal shuffles over to the window, where Bunta presses into his right side. Niou shoves up against Jackal's left side, a little harder than he needs to.

"Sorry," Niou says.

"It's okay," Jackal says.

The monorail jerks into motion. Niou pushes Jackal into the window.

"Sorry," he says, again.

"It's…okay," Jackal says.

Bunta sniffs the air. It's thick with too many people, and too tight a space. Jackal watches the platform packed en masse disappear. He sighs.

"Who stinks?" Bunta says. He makes a face at Niou. "You have nastay BO, stinkbomb."

Niou says, "Puri!" He pushes Bunta into Jackal's back. Jackal smushes into the window. He closes his eyes as his back and arms are pushed and prodded and pulled. Sanada isn't close enough to break them up. The bratty kid's father and mother are wedged in between.

And the stadium is on the far side of Odaiba.

Jackal frowns.

***

Yukimura takes one look at the seats, and stomps his foot. "These are shit!"

"They're the best I could get," Bunta says. "You know how hard it is to get eight tickets?" He looks at Jackal. Jackal shrugs his shoulders, and says, "Hard, I guess?"

Yukimura just scoffs. He sends a dark look to Niou and Yagyuu at the end of the row. Niou climbs over the lap of a gal. Yagyuu squeezes by, apologizing profusely for inconveniencing her.

"Nobody said you needed eight tickets," Yukimura says.

"But it's my birthday," Jackal says. "It's nice to spend it with everyone."

Yanagi raises his eyebrows. Jackal says nothing when Yukimura takes the best seat, at the end of the eight spots and least nosebleed-y—if that was possible. Sanada sits next to him. Then Yanagi, Akaya—who sets a contraband bottle of pepsi in his cup holder—Yagyuu and Niou.

Jackal squeezes past Bunta. "You and Niou really shouldn't sit next to each other," he says.

Bunta blinks and asks why ever not. Niou picks his nose and pretends to try to stuff a booger into Jackal's ear. Jackal squirms and twists, but Niou shoves his index into Jackal's ear.

And it's slimy.

Jackal frowns.

Niou smirks. "Happy birthday," he says.

Jackal grimaces. He wipes out his ear with the collar of his polo. "Thanks…"

There's nothing on the courts yet, just the sweepers with their brooms and a recap of the previous matches on the gigantotron screen. Jackal crunches on his popcorn. Bunta reaches into the bag and helps himself to a handful, too. Then Akaya crawls over Yagyuu and Niou and says, "I want some too, senpais."

Yagyuu lets out a high-pitched shriek. Niou bristles. Akaya climbs back into his seat, takes one look down, and says, "Shit."

His Pepsi spilled all over Yagyuu's lap, and his checkered polo.

Akaya says, "Oops?"

Instead of turning purple, Yukimura doesn't seem to notice. He paws through his program pamphlet, pointing out the relevant pages to Sanada and Yanagi. He claps his hands and squeals when Andy Roddick's name appears on the gigantotron, with his win over some nobody from Canada.

"An easy win," Bunta whispers. "Let's face it, Andy Roddick? On the way out this year. Just like Federer."

Jackal claps his hand over Bunta's mouth. "Shh!" he whispers. "They'll hear."

Sanada starts to turn his head toward them, and Jackal's heart pounds. But Yukimura keeps chatting, and Sanada turns back to him.

Jackal exhales. He flips through his pamphlet, with the glossy pictures and current stats, and sits back in the hard plastic seat with a happy sigh. He breathes in the smell of stadium ramen and beer and even Akaya's spilled Pepsi. He takes in the atmosphere of the real ATP tournament, with the crisp green court a hundred or two feet below, and it makes his toes tingle.

"This is exciting," he says.

"Yeah," Bunta says. "Your favourite player is up against Andy Roddick."

"Favourite?"

Bunta smiles, and shakes his head ruefully. "Obviously. Juan Martin del Potro."

Jackal scratches his scalp. "Uh, he is?"

"Duh. You're both Brazilian."

"He's not," Jackal says.

"He is," Bunta insists.

"He's from Argentina!"

Bunta snorts. "Whatever, dude. That's practically the same thing."

Jackal snorts, too. "Not really. Like, at all."

Niou dives across Jackal's lap. Jackal jerks back. Bunta jumps up. Niou stands, slowly, and brushes his polo off at the end of the row. Then, he slinks down the stairs toward the gate.

"Where the hell is he going?" Bunta asks.

Yagyuu says he doesn't know.

Sanada says he doesn't care.

Bunta sniffs. "Well, if he was going for snacks, he could have at least asked, because I really wanted a package of wasabi peanuts. And a fanta."

Jackal scraps the bottom of the popcorn bag. Nothing but crumbs and kernels left. His stomach gurgles at the peanuts. It sounds good. "Me too," he says. He turns to Bunta. "Want me to go?"

Bunta grabs Jackal's arm. "No! LOOK!"

Sure enough, down far far below on the edge of the court, one of the tennis players has stepped out. Jackal squints, but he still can't make out who it is. Yukimura has curled into a whimpering ball, so Jackal makes an assumption.

Yanagi whips out a pair of binoculars. Akaya quickly absconds them for himself. Yagyuu passes them politely to Jackal. Jackal licks his lips as he adjusts the focus on the lenses.

"Wow…" he whispers.

Sure enough, dressed in the same matching polo as the entire tennis club, is a tall, tanned American with a blue ball cap and a tennis racket. He's not playing or doing anything, just standing, looking deep and serious, as he talks with someone who must be his coach.

Jackal hands the binoculars to Bunta. The mewling at the other end of the row continues. Bunta sets the binculars down, and snickers.

"I think we need the smelling salts, Jackal."

***

With ten minutes to first serve, Niou returns. He shoves into Bunta, and crawls over Jackal's lap. Sans snack bags and fanta cans.

Then he climbs over Yagyuu and Yanagi, Akaya and lands on Sanada's lap.

Niou looks up at Sanada, and smiles. Sanada scowls.

Niou tells Yukimura, "Come with me. I found seats."

Jackal looks at his ticket. He doublechecks the seat number. A perfect match. Niou and Yukimura, however, march straight out of the row—squeezing and shoving past the rest of them—and down the stand stairs.

"But these are our seats here," Jackal says, as Akaya and Yanagi stand up.

Bunta shrugs. "If there's better spots, why not, man?" He nods to the screen, where the time ticks down. "If they're not already here, it's not like they're gonna be."

Yagyuu, dead pan, says, "We won't be stealing. Some of us have vision impairments." He touches his glasses.

Jackal frowns. He looks at Sanada, who sits at the other end, surrounded by now-empty seats as the rest of the team leaves.

"This isn't right," Sanada mutters. "These are our seats here."

Jackal glances from Sanada, to the team. Then back to Sanada, still sitting. With a sigh, Jackal picks up his manbag and stands up, too.

***

The seats are second row.

Jackal's eyes nearly pop out of his skull. He can see del Potro's calf muscles bulge during the warm-up. He can smell the salty sweat of the players, and taste the dust from the courts. Jackal slithers down in the seat.

"These are…" he says.

"Amazing?" Bunta offers.

Niou smirks. Bunta immediately closes his mouth. But his eyes are still the size of saucers just like Jackal's.

Yukimura is too Japanese to scream, but he's too devoted to sit still. He glues himself to the stand barrier, holding his large sign, and flaking glitter everywhere. He shakes when Andy Roddick approaches the net. He quivers and quakes when Andy Roddick wipes sweat from his forehead on a sweat towel, and hands it to his coach.

A woman sits down in front of Jackal. Jackal sits up a little higher to see around her head. Andy Roddick serves a low ball, but del Potro backhands it to the back court. Roddick dives and misses and Yukimura winces.

"Unusual," Yanagi says. "Del Potro has a history of aggressive offensive baseline plays."

Sanada stands up. He mutters something about having to go to the toilet. Jackal glances around—as the players change courts, he can see across the packed stands, outside, to where another player, outside the main stadium, is practicing.

"Isn't Federer playing tonight?" Yagyuu asks Yanagi.

Jackal thinks, Hm…

Del Potro has the serve. He whips the ball across the net before Jackal has time to blink. And Roddick, too, because he is a fraction of a second too slow. The ball catches the edge of his racket, and veers out of bounds.

Jackal glances to Yukimura. Yukimura is half-way across the barrier, and perhaps ten feet from Andy Roddick—who doesn't notice him at all.

But someone else does.

A man in a security vest walks down to Yukimura, who waves his hand to swat the man away. Then the security officers grabs Yukimura by the arm. He hauls Yukimura, squirming and saying, "No! NO!" back up to the second row.

Yukimura sits back down with a huff. The security officer bows his head, and says, "Sorry for the trouble."

Then he asks to check tickets.

"Shit," Akaya says.

Niou makes a break for it. He dives across Jackal to the end of the row, but a swarm of neon vests descend. Jackal looks at Bunta, who jumps so high in his seat that his bag of candy explodes over Yagyuu. The security guy next to Jackal shakes his head, and mutters something about "Kids these days."

Jackal hangs his head. He stands up, and sighs.

They're frogmarched through the stadium, and into a back office. The door closes with a sick little click. Yukimura runs for the door. He bangs on the frosted window and shrieks, "No! NO! I'M MISSING THE MATCH!!!"

A man behind a desk says, "You boys are in a lot of trouble."

Yagyuu slithers to the floor. Yanagi leans down, and prods Yagyuu with his index. "He's out."

"It was his idea!" Akaya points his finger at Niou. Niou blinks, innocently, and holds his hands up. He nods to Yukimura, struggling in the arms of another security officer.

"He looks guilty, doesn't he, Officer…" Niou leans forward to read the name on the man's ID tag. "Officer Koda-sama."

Niou smiles.

The man puffs his chest out a little more. "Well, boys will be boys, but we can't let you off the hook that easily."

Jackal leans against the wall. He sighs again. "It's my birthday," he mutters under his breath.

Officer Koda turns. He waves his hand. "If it's your birthday, well…go back to your real seat and watch."

Jackal blinks. "Eh?"

So does Bunta. "What?"

Another officer opens the door. Jackal hesitates, but Koda nods him on. Yukimura flails and screams that he NEEDS to leave now and SUPPORT ANY RODDICK!!

The door closes, just as Jackal hears Koda ask one of the other officials if he's still got that taser.

In the hallway, Jackal exhales. "I knew it," he says. He balls his fist. "I knew it was a bad idea." He pulls out the real ticket. He's down the middle of a cinder-block corridor leading to nowhere. He looks around. He can hear the muffled din of the match going on. He sighs.

And starts to wander.

He goes left, first. The sounds of the stadium get louder, and a little crisper. He holds his breath for a moment, and a point is announced for Roddick. A smile creeps over Jackal's face. If Yukimura could hear, he'd be pleased. But instead he's dealing with security—probably calling their moms—and Jackal is out here, kinda sorta lost. He types a fast email to Bunta and presses send. He waits a second, but there's no response.

The security guys probably swiped all their phones, too.

Jackal keeps walking. There's light at the end of the corridor, so bright that Jackal shields his eyes to see.

As someone walks straight into him with an "Oomph!"

Jackal steps back, squinting.

"Sanada?"

Sanada pulls on his cap. "I…"

"What are you doing here?"

Sanada flushes. "I…got lost on the way back from the toilets," he mumbles.

"Oh," Jackal says.

Sanada's lips disappear into a frown.

"I won't tell anyone," Jackal says. He nods. "Is it that way?"

Sanada shakes his head. "Restricted area."

Jackal snorts. "Don't tell Yukimura!"

Sanada's mouth twitches. They head back, the other direction. They pass the security office, with the frosted glass window in the door. Sanada doesn't give it a glance. Jackal bites his lip, and tells himself to keep going. It's his birthday, after all. And it was Niou's idea.

The corridor ends with a wall, splitting into two directions.

"Left or right?" Jackal asks.

Sanada pauses a moment, then he says, "Right."

There are voices beyond the corridor, getting louder the further they walk. Jackal picks up the pace. If they hurry, they can still make the last sets—provided del Potro's wrist doesn't give out and Andy Roddick doesn't totally choke.

"Ne, Sanada?"

Sanada grunts.

"Who do you think'll win?"

Sanada snorts. "Andy Roddick will win, then he'll play Federer in the quarterfinals and lose." It might be the awful greenish fluorescent lighting bouncing off the cinderblock walls, but Jackal swears Sanada smirks at that.

"And Federer will win the tournament?"

"He was number one for 285 weeks for a reason."

"Right."

Sanada says nothing. The voices are getting louder, and they're getting closer. Jackal can see the end of the corridor clearly. He skips a step, and keeps going. A door to his left opens, and a man in white steps into the corridor, five feet from them.

Jackal stops.

Sanada stops.

Jackal's eyes go wide.

Sanada sucks in a breath.

The man nods to them. A strange mewling sound emerges next to Jackal. And there's something clutching his hand tightly.

"Uh…" Jackal says, in his best English. "Are you…?"

Roger Federer smiles.

Nails dig into Jackal's palm. And Sanada is bouncing beside him.

"Uh…" Jackal says. "It my birthday today."

As soon as the words come out, he winces. He sounds like a moron.

Like Roger Federer cares!

Except Roger Federer just says, "Cool. You want a picture?"

There's another mewl. Jackal fumbles with his cellphone in his pocket. He pulls it out. His hand shakes so badly that his knees start to shake, too, with fear of droppage. "Uh…my friend, also?"

Roger Federer says sure. And he puts his Grand Slam-Winning arm around Jackal. Then the other around Sanada, who sucks in a breath.

From deep, deep within, Jackal manages to say, "Cheesu!" And his finger manages to press down on the camera button.

Then Roger Federer slides his warm arm away from Jackal's shoulder. Jackal says thank you about five times in a row. Sanada bows his head low and forgets to come up.

"Nice shirts," Roger Federer says. He smirks to himself—kinda creepy, a bit like Niou. Maybe it's a Swiss thing.

Jackal stares blankly.

Roger Federer reaches into his pocket. "Happy Birthday," he says, with a wink. He chucks something at Jackal. Jackal looks down, blinking, as Roger Federer walks down the corridor, the other direction.

It's a red-wrapped chocolate.

"Lin…dor…?" Jackal reads. He shrugs. His entire body vibrates all over. He met a Grand Slam player. On his birthday. Jackal squeezes his eyes shut, and does a happy dance on the spot.

"Oh my god," he says. He looks at Sanada.

Sanada says, "Oh my god." Jackal has never seen Sanada with a grin like that before. Sanada touches his shoulder, and brings his hand to his nose, inhaling deeply.

Jackal stares at the picture on his phone. Roger Federer has a sideways smile. Jackal is in too much awe to care about the fact he looks red in the face, or that his eyes have a creepy look to them. Sanada has a massive, toolish grin—they both do.

With good reason.

Jackal does another happy dance.

He starts to type an email to Bunta. A shadow creeps over Jackal, cold and dark. Sanada purses his lips and lifts his chin high.

"Jackal," he says.

"S-Sanada?"

"Do not tell them."

Jackal gulps. He deletes the email. Sanada nods slowly. And shifts his eyes.

"Email me the photo!" he says.

Jackal sends it over. Sanada stares at his LCD screen, mewling and shivering for a moment before he composes himself.

"You know," Jackal says. He ducks under the 'IDs beyond this point' rope, following Sanada. They turn a corner, and the main corridor of the stadium, lined with concessions, glows ahead of them.

"This is possibly the best day ever."

***

Even given the fact they miss the rest of the match, where Roddick pulverizes del Potro 6-3, 6-4, 6-3, and advances to the quarterfinals.

They catch up with everyone at the station.

Yukimura doesn't ask where Sanada was. Sanada doesn't ask where Yukimura was. He walks with a daze, tripping over his toes on the escalator, and humming the Ryoma-den OP to himself. Jackal bites his lip on the platform. The chocolate is safe in the hidden pocket in his bag. He squirms on the monorail. His insides feel so light and fluttery that he'll explode.

Except he doesn't.

He leans over to Bunta. "You guys, uh…?"

Bunta lifts his head. "They let us off the hook. Gave us a lecture. Rah rah, that section is for players' families, rah rah, seats are assigned for a reason."

"Yukimura looks…"

Bunta's mouth twitches. "He was pretty pissed about missing the match."

"But I'm lining up tonight," Yukimura says.

"Where?" Jackal asks.

Yukimura sniffs. "The stadium. For lottery tickets for tomorrow's quarterfinal."

"Speaking of tonight," Bunta says. He rubs his stomach. He scoots a little closer to Jackal, and offers a big smile.

Jackal shakes his head, loling under his breath. "Yeah, you can come over." Then, louder, he says, "All you guys can come over!"

Yagyuu frowns. "Won't it impose on your mother?"

Jackal shrugs. "I'll tell her we’re coming."

On the phone, his mom shrieks at him so loud that Niou doesn't have to lean over to listen. "If you told me hours ago, I could have made something better! Your friends will think we're poor!"

"It's okay," Jackal says. He sighs. He sniffs into the speaker on his cellphone. There's a pause.

"Well," his mom says, "when are they coming? Ay caramba…"

"An hour?"

She lets out a stream of half-hearted curses in Portuguese as Jackal hangs up. Bunta edges up on the edge of his seat.

Jackal nods. "It's cool."

Akaya gives him a high-five. "Thanks, senpai!" he says, grinning. "Now I'll still have enough money to take the bus home tonight!"

Jackal rubs his scalp, smiling anyway.

***

"You lied K-san," Bunta says. "This stuff looks amazing!" He waves his hands six feet apart. Jackal's mom waves him off with a flush on her face.

There's palm heart salad, and black beans and rice, bolinhos de bacalhau still hot and steaming from the deep fryer, and crab meat with coconut milk served up in the nabe pot, coconut cookies and leftover empanidhas and Styrofoam containers packed with segments of Brazilian beef cubes from the restaurant.

Jackal licks his lips. His mom stands in the doorway of the kitchen, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "My baby boy…" She sniffles.

They don't have enough chairs, so the desk chair is appropriated from Jackal's room for Yanagi, and the bean bag chairs are dragged over for Yukimura and Akaya. Niou doubles up on Yagyuu's chair, and Jackal sits wedged between Bunta and Sanada and the shrimp and Catupiry cheese casserole.

"This is really good," Akaya says, between bites. Coconut milk sauce dribbles down his chin. He licks it off the back of his hand.

"Mm," Niou agrees. He hasn't come up from the BBQ beef. Neither has Sanada, not even when Yukimura asked for him to pass to the cod balls.

The wind may be howling outside with the coming typhoon, but inside, the windows are fogging up with condensation. Jackal's mom clears the empty dishes and brings out more empanidhas and more beans—once the rice runs out.

"So how does it feel," Bunta asks, "to be older than him now?" He nods to Niou. Niou has a mouthful, and can only manage to narrow his eyes.

Jackal leans back in his chair. A belch emerges, pungent with garlic. He pats his stomach—groaning, his waistband straining—and starts to laugh with everyone else.

Yukimura stands up, and heads for the door. Jackal looks to Sanada, who just scowls and shrugs and mouths, "I don't know." Niou waggles his eyebrows when Yukimura returns, holding an envelope.

Yukimura hands it to Jackal. Jackal pulls out a card. He opens it, and says "Thanks" as a glittery decal letter falls onto his lap.

"I made it with the extras from my sign," Yukimura says. He holds up a finger and points. "You'll notice how I left off the hearts?"

"Thanks," Jackal says.

"Bet he's saving the hearts for Sanada's card," Niou whispers, a fraction too loud. Yagyuu coughs, but Bunta starts to snicker. Jackal bites down on his own snicker.

"Today was…" Jackal glances around the table. Yukimura dives for the last garlic shrimp. Niou finishes off the cod ball sitting on Yagyuu's plate. Akaya moans and groans and says he can't go on. Sanada and Yanagi lock eyes for the last piece of beef, which Yagyuu snipers from underneath.

And Bunta's eyes light up.

"Memorable," Jackal says. He glances to Sanada. Sanada shifts his eyes, then there's a flash of a wink.

The lights go dark. Except for the kitchen—the direction Bunta was looking—where Jackal's mom brings out a flan, dripping with little candles and caramel sauce.

"Happy birthday, filho," she says. As she sets the flan down in front of Jackal, she pecks him on the forehead. Jackal recoils, horrified and stunned that his mother just kissed him in front of his friends!!

His face burns.

And so do the candles.

Bunta is the first one to break into song. "Happy Birthday to you…" The candlelight seems to dance across the table, illuminating the empty dishes, but also the faces of everyone here.

Jackal leans back, sucking in a deep breath.

He doesn't need to make any wish at all.

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 5/7

reposte — Sun, 24 Oct 2010 20:29:09 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (5/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: Long
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

Kirihara avoids Renji all day. He does say hello, and good morning. He does eat lunch with them, and he does say thanks when Renji hands him a photocopy of last season's training schedule. But the clipboard shakes. Kirihara looks away.

Renji doesn't like it.

He walks home with Yagyuu for once. Yagyuu doesn't stop talking until Renji slams the gate at home. Renji rubs his temples. He doesn't care about Inspector Morse. Although he nods and hums in agreement, he isn’t interested in Niou's fellatio skills either.

His sister has the sewing machine out in the main room. Fabric drapes down the hallway at dinner. Renji helps himself to extra fish. Under the table, he undoes the top button of his pants.

The door bell rings.

Kirihara stands in the doorway. His hair is plastered down with wax. He's wearing his school uniform—for once, his tie is tight, and his shirt buttoned up all the way.

"No," Renji mouths.

His chopsticks roll across the floor.

Kirihara pushes past him. Renji's ears ring. Kirihara tells Renji's parents everything. He's a girl, they're dating, he's pregnant. Renji sinks to the floor. He keeps shaking his head. His mother gasps. His father sets the evening newspaper down, and rubs the bridge of his nose. His sister whispers, oh my god.

All of their jaws hit the floor.

Kirihara is on his knees. He says he's sorry, he's so sorry, he'll do his best. Renji can't breathe. He shakes all over and tells Kirihara to Stop, STOP!

Kirihara doesn't. He kisses the floor by Renji's father's feet.

"Oh Renji," his mom says. Her face ages ten years in ten seconds. "Why didn't you say something?"

Renji shakes his head. He can't even say, "I couldn't."

***

They all sit around the table. Kirihara's parents and sister drove over. Their sisters glare at each other—if they sat any closer, there would be hair-pulling. Renji stares at the chopstick holder. Kirihara reaches for his hand. Renji pulls away. He turns, and glares.

He wants to crawl under a rock. Every square centimetre of his skin is on fire when his parents ask how far he is, and how long they've known, and they're both children!

Out of nowhere, Kirihara slams his fist down. Tea sloshes onto the table. "I'm going to do my best!" he shouts. Kirihara's mother starts to shriek. Renji's father opens the sake cabinet. He pours a glass, and downs it in one shot before offering a cup to Kirihara's father.

The clock ticks.

Renji hangs his head lower.

He used to think that his match with Sadaharu was the longer time ever.

Now he knows better.

***

"I had to," Kirihara says.

Renji stares out the train window. He purses his lips. The train rushes through rice paddies, and into another concrete suburb. He can still hear his mother's words, and the tangible disappointment: why didn't you say something?

"Don’t hate me," Kirihara says.

Renji frowns. "I don't."

Kirihara frowns, too. He rakes his fingernail over the pages of his Jump volume. "Do you know what my mom said to me?"

The train doors open. The stop closest to Rikkai is next.

"She said that I was throwing my life away. She said she was…" Kirihara takes a deep breath. "She was ashamed I was her son."

Renji opens his mouth.

Kirihara shrugs. "I said it just means I have a reason to do my best." Their eyes meet. "You know, to be number one."

Renji lets Kirihara hold his hand all the way to the school gate. There's no one around anyway. Tennis practice started ten minutes ago, school won't for another hour. Kirihara's skin is warm, and solid. When they part, Renji walks ahead. He closes his palm over the sensation.

The baby tickles his ribs.

***

His mother goes with him to the clinic. She sits in the waiting room. The doctor prods cold, metal instruments up inside. Renji stares at the ceiling. He winces. His bare legs are cold.

He comes home after school. Graduation is coming up. Renji leaves a folder of student council minutes for next year. He passes the last of his tests. Yukimura finally hands over the second key to the clubhouse after his birthday.

It takes Renji five days to realize Sanada and Yukimura have stopped talking. He's spent all his lunches with Kirihara, in a classroom on the fourth floor annex. They look at pamphlets, and books. Kirihara flips through tennis magazines. Renji reads a book with Kirihara's head in his lap. His fingers comb Kirihara's hair. His eyes rake the worn pages.

"I'm not allowed to hang out with you unless I have a chaperone," Kirihara mumbles. He smells like milk, from the carton he drank.

Renji says, "I'm not allowed to hang out with you unless I have a chaperone."

"This sucks," Kirihara says. He wiggles. He's got an erection. Renji shifts. He's hot between the legs, too.

Yukimura pushes the door open. Kirihara rolls onto the floor and hits his head. Renji drops his novel. Yukimura doesn't say anything. He pushes through a row of desks, and sits on the window ledge with a huff.

Renji looks at Kirihara. Kirihara shrugs.

Renji invites himself to Sanada's house. For once, Sanada is alone. He's sullen and silent the entire bus ride. His skirt whips up with a breeze, and he doesn't bother to blush. Renji strokes his chin.

"You two had sex," he says.

Sanada stops. He says, "I don't know what you are talking about." They sit on the dojo floor, and eat curry popcorn. A flush creeps up Sanada's neck, and down his chest, too. His nipples stiffen under his shirt. Renji sympathizes.

"That's why you're not talking."

"That's none of your business!"

Renji rolls his eyes. "Don't be a prude, Genichirou. It's not a big deal."

Sanada closes his mouth. He unfolds his arms from his chest to grab another handful of popcorn. "Maybe not for you," he mutters.

"But that's what you wanted."

Sanada says they're too young. Renji shakes his head. "You're afraid."

Sanada snorts.

"That he only likes you because you're a girl, and you'll put out." Renji brushes a kernel off his sweater. He sits up. When he leans forward, the fly of his pants bursts open. Sanada is too busy sniffling to notice.

"He loves your boobs," Renji says. Sanada starts to cry more. His chest shakes. Renji wonders if Sanada's back hurts, or if his shoulders are used to it now. He offers a Kleenex. Sanada uses his sleeve instead.

"He loves you, too. Deep down," Renji says.

Sanada's grandfather moves around the courtyard garden with a straw broom. He waves to Renji through the glass panels. Renji waves back.

He looks down at Sanada. "But aren’t you glad that even though you're a girl now, your body grew parts that Yukimura would love?"

"What do you mean?" Sanada blows his nose. His face is red and splotchy.

"Yukimura is a boobs-man, so he loves you more for it."

"You're not helping."

Renji smiles. "Do you want to be a girl, and have a normal relationship now?"

Sanada never answers.

On White Day, Renji and Niou and Kirihara follow behind Sanada. He sits on a bench, on the roof. Yukimura touches his hair. Sanada opens a little box. Yukimura presses kisses to his mouth, and slides a clip through Sanada's hair. He reaches up Sanada's skirt. Niou shoves Kirihara down the stairs.

"Not for your eyes, kid."

"Hey!" Kirihara shouts.

Yukimura and Sanada look over. Renji hides behind a wall with Niou. They laugh so hard, Renji feels something warm and wet between his legs.

***

"Is it…normal?" he asks.

His mom looks up from the box. There are baby clothes piled on the floor, and a folding crib in the corner.

"When I was pregnant with you, your sister used to constantly do things to make me laugh after it happened the first time." She rolls her eyes. Renji's sister smirks. Then his sister checks her cellphone.

"Shit, I have an appointment with Ayaka," she says. "We're going to Yuzawaya to look at bootie patterns."

Renji looks at her. "You don't wear booties."

She shakes her head. She pokes his middle. "For that, Renji. Knocked up, remember?"

Unless Kirihara's sister has a scooter, the rev of a motorcycle outside suggests Izumi is out with someone else.

***

Graduation is tomorrow. It's been three weeks, and two days since they last had sex. Renji reaches under his pajama bottoms. He rubs the little nub. It feels good. He spits on his hand, and rubs some more. He thinks of Kirihara, on top of him, pushing in.

His cellphone buzzes.

whatcha doing??

Renji sighs. He wipes his hand on his sheets. thinking of you He presses send, and shuts his phone in the drawer. He slides a finger up his cunt.

His cellphone keeps buzzing.

yeah??

Renji frowns.

Yes

gud things?

Akaya, stop emailing. I'm horny.

There is no response. Renji rubs his clit until shudders. He lies back, and listens to his parents moving around the main room. His cunt aches. He sighs. It's not the same.

Five minutes later, there's a new email.

i was thinkin of u 2

I want you inside me. His insides tingle at the words on the screen. Renji hesitates on the send button.

He presses. Then he puts his phone on manner mode.

Kirihara calls. "Me, too," he whispers.

***

Renji says, "I have to get to school early to help clean out the tennis clubhouse."

His mom says, "We'll see you at the ceremony at ten."

Kirihara sits on the bench inside the clubhouse. This is the first time he's been here before seven. Renji locks the door. His belt is already unbuckled. Kirihara launches himself at Renji. Renji yanks his pants off. Kirihara fucks him against the row of lockers, so hard that the last locker crashes to the floor.

Then Kirihara flips Renji over, and fucks him over that.

Renji pushes back on Kirihara's cock as far as he can. His pussy drips. His hips hip the metal door. Kirihara stuffs his hand in Renji's mouth. It feels so good Renji screams.

***

He forces a smile for the camera. Renji holds up the graduation certificate. On either side, his parents purse their lips.

There are other parents around. Yukimura's parents say hello. Renji bows, and holds his breath. He looks at his parents. They say hello back. They ask how Yukimura's parents are, now that Seiichi is out of the hospital—and nothing else.

Renji closes his eyes, and exhales. At least Kirihara left before the ceremony.

Sanada's parents invite them to a restaurant, near their house, out in the suburbs. Renji thinks of excuses. His parents smile. In the car, Renji's mom sighs. "Your only graduation," she says.

Renji asks why.

She gives him a look. Renji shrinks two feet. "You have to quit school now."

"I start high school in a week." Renji stares at her. Her eyes drift to his middle.

"You can't be serious," she whispers.

He narrows his eyes. The car jumps over a hill on the road. The baby kicks his ribs. There is a tiny beat that follows. Renji shifts in his seat. His back hurts. There's another tiny beat. Hiccups, he thinks.

The restaurant is old fashioned kaiseki-style food. A woman in a kimono sets ceramic dishes on a long, lacquer table. Sanada and Renji sit at the end. Their parents sit at the other. Renji's knees ache sitting on the floor. Sanada spills a dish of soup on his skirt, and turns as pink as the salmon.

"And Renji, are you entering the academic stream of high school?" Sanada's mother looks like Sanada, except with a smaller chest.

Renji's father stiffens his back. His mom looks at the wall scroll.

Renji nods and says yes.

***

His father swirls a cup of sake. He frowns.

He says, "If you're expelled, you'll have to stay with your uncle."

***

The high school head teacher looks at Renji. Renji holds the uniform to his chest. His mom taps her pump on the side of a chair.

The head teacher pushes his glasses up his nose. "Can't be worse than the one who was caught with his dog on the roof three years ago."

"That's…an odd place for a walk," Renji's mom says.

The head teacher looks over the rim of his glasses. His eyebrow hairs bristle. "It wasn't a walk up there."

Renji and his mom look at each other. His mom keeps the same stunned expression for the remainder of the meeting.

The head teacher shakes Renji's hand. "Well," he says, "good luck in high school."

***

Renji develops a face full of pus-y pimples. The sakura blossoms start to open. His nose drips, and his eyes match Kirihara's. He keeps a box of Kleenex in his bag, along with jellies and snack bars.

Jackal is on vacation in Saipan. Marui was stopped at the gates in Haneda and told to go home. Niou and Yagyuu are MIA—Renji assumes they are either at Yagyuu's having sex, or at the golf course twenty minutes out from school. The course opened two weeks ago.

Renji phones Sanada.

There's heavy breathing on the other end. "…yes?" Sanada pants. Something rustles. Yukimura hisses, "Who's calling?"

Renji rolls his eyes. "I'll call back later," he says. "You're evidently in the middle of intercourse."

He smiles at Sanada's silence. Then he hangs up.

Kirihara comes over with his tennis bag. He slinks past Renji's mom. She has a sour face for him. Renji snacks on a jar of pickled daikon. Kirihara flops on his stomach, on Renji's bed. He props himself up on his elbows.

"We could play tennis?" he asks.

Renji shrugs. He starts to close his door. His mom tells him to open it back up.

Renji leans back on his mattress. He trails his fingers up Kirihara's calf. Kirihara shivers. His mom is downstairs, even if the door is open. His cunt is still sore from graduation.

He unzips the fly of Kirihara's cargos.

Kirihara squeaks.

There are footsteps on the stairs. Kirihara yanks at his zip.

They play a five-set match of tennis on the street courts after all. Petals float on the wind. Renji sneezes as he serves. Kirihara kisses him over the net. "I'm not super mad that you beat me," he says. "I wasn't really trying to win."

Renji raises his eyebrows. "Your serve was very…regular."

Kirihara licks his lips. The sunset gleams on them. "Well I figured that it'd be pretty bad if I, uh…accidentally hit a pregnant chick."

"I'm not a chick," Renji says.

Kirihara looks at Renji. Then he raises his eyebrows too.

***

Renji makes a list. It has two columns. He goes through the books on his shelf, one by one, and adds to it.

They sit in the park, near the hospital. Sakura carpet the ground. This morning's rain makes everything a little soggy, including the bench. Renji shifts on the hard wooden seat. He spreads his legs a little wider than usual.

Kirihara asks if he's okay. He has a backpack tucked between his knees—too small for a racket.

Renji opens his novel, and unfolds the list. He hands it to Kirihara. "These are the names I like," he says.

Kirihara turns the page over. Then the second, and the third. "Senpai, these are…" He spells a name out. Renji corrects him.

Kirihara scratches his head. "These are really lame," he says.

Renji blinks.

"Like, the kid's gonna get their ass kicked if we call it Shinosuke or Yasu or Yukiji."

Renji snatches the list back. "I like those."

"Shitosuke! Yassu! Genpachiro!" Kirihara cackles. "That's like fukubuchou's name!" He snickers.

Renji folds his list back up. He crosses his arms over his chest. His belly sticks out below. "And what do you like?" he asks.

Kirihara shrugs. An old lady meanders through the park. She sweeps the sakura off the trail with a wicker broom.

They eat cold bentos spread out on their laps. Renji wipes his nose with his sleeve. He flicks pollen off his onigiri balls. Kirihara yawns. "Oh yeah!" He rummages around his backpack, and pulls out a package. Renji picks the tape off. He holds up a band of red crochet.

"My mom said pregnant women need them," Kirihara says. "So my sister knit a haramaki for you."

Renji leans over. He presses his lips to Kirihara's mouth. He licks the mayonnaise off Kirihara's tongue.

"Tell her I said thanks."

***

Kirihara shows up at Renji's door. He waves a piece of paper.

"I made a list, too," he says. He peels off his grey sneakers.

Renji reads it.

"Akaya?"

Kirihara cringes. "That's what I always call my Mii?"

"Yamapi?"

"Marui-senpai says he's cool." Kirihara nods.

Renji says no way in hell.

"Joong?" Renji says the name twice. It's hard.

"My sister says he's hot."

"It's Korean," Renji says.

"Oh," Kirihara says. "Sorry."

"That's all you have?"

"Well…" Kirihara slides his sock around the floor. His big toe sticks out a hole, and wiggles. "I like Satoshi, too, but you'd get mad because it's from Pokemon."

"Maybe we should pick names out of a hat," Renji says.

"Sanada's hat?"

Renji smacks Kirihara across the ear. But he laughs, too.

***

The new uniform that fit two weeks ago pulls across his middle. Renji sucks in a breath and tries the button again. The zipper strains. He pats his blazer down. No matter how much he sucks his stomach in it still sticks out. Renji frowns in the mirror.

There is no tennis practice yet, which means there is no Kirihara hanging around. Seniors are three feet taller than he is. It takes five times as long to find his new shoe cubby. He can't find any of the familiar faces.

He goes to his classroom and sits. Slowly, last year's classmates file in, along with a few others. He types up a quick email to Kirihara. Faces press to the window from the corridor. Marui and Jackal wave. Renji nods back.

His stomach growls and groans all morning. Yesterday, he snacked when he felt like it. Now, Renji clutches his sides and hunches forward. Stop! he thinks. A girl turns around and gives him the stink eye. Then she gives it to another boy—his stomach gurgles so loud the teacher drops her chalk.

He has to pee, too. The minutes take hours to pass. Renji stops taking notes, and squeezes his legs together. He purses his lips. He chews on his pencil. By lunch bell, he runs to the toilet. The baby dances on his bladder as he pees.

They sit on the grass, close to the junior high campus. Renji rips open his bread bun. He gobbles up the rice bowl bento. He eats three snack bars in two bites. His stomach keeps gnawing. Bile stings his throat. And his mouth waters at the sight of Marui's Cheetos.

He can smell the grease, and the cheesiness. Renji shoves his hand into the bag. Marui shouts. Renji's eyes roll back at the salt, and flavouring. The taste is orgasmic.

"If you wanted your own bag, you could buy them!" Marui pouts. He holds his bag tight to his chest. Niou reaches from above and steals a Cheeto, too.

"Thought you hated Cheetos," Marui says. "If my genius remembers correctly."

Jackal says, "And when we went to Taco Derio last week, you ordered extra cheese nachos."

Sanada and Yukimura stop giving each other googly eyes. Renji starts to sweat. His pants dig into his skin. Niou and Yagyuu exchange glances. "You have been snacking a lot recently, Yanagi-kun," Yagyuu says. He nods to the pile of empty plastic wrappers beside Renji.

Niou prods him in the stomach. Renji hisses. "Don't!"

"Your pudge is a hell of a lot harder than his." Niou flicks Cheeto crumbs at Marui. Marui drops his bag. Renji grabs it. His mouth fills with saliva. His body tenses all over.

Sanada shakes his head. His mouth parts, and he makes a tiny sigh in the back of his throat. "Renji…" he whispers.

He says it. He tells it straight-faced to Sanada, and expects one of two reactions. Sanada does neither. Instead, he turns white all over. Then he starts to shake his head frantically. Then he starts to scream.

He's done it. Renji finally unbuttons the top of his pants, and he finishes off the Cheetos.

"Really?" Yukimura asks. Sanada stomps around them. He balls his fists in the air, and screams that Renji is a fool, and it's AKAYA, and Renji is a GIRL and he never said anything?

Renji winces. He looks down, and picks crumbs off his pants. Yukimura touches his shoulder. "…Renji?"

Renji says nothing.

"Thanks for ruining my winning team," Yukimura says, deadpan.

"Thanks for ruining your LIFE!" Sanada seethes.

Jackal touches his other shoulder. Renji flinches. Jackal looks up at him, and offers a stick of peach pocky. Then he says, "I like kids," and offers to babysit.

***

He phones Kirihara. He keeps his voice even. He cups his hand over his receiver, and tells Sanada to tone it down.

Sanada stops ranting for a moment.

Kirihara says, "Fuck, fukubuchou is going to kill me."

Renji manages to get to the tennis courts in time to see Sanada punch Kirihara in the nose. Blood sprays across the nets. Yukimura gasps. Yagyuu covers his glasses. Sanada wrapped his hands around Kirihara's neck. Kirihara turns blue. His eyes bulge out.

"Stop!" Renji yells.

Yukimura pulls Sanada off Kirihara. Kirihara coughs and gags, and takes Renji's hand to stand up. He spits a wad of foamy blood at Sanada's feet. He wipes his mouth off. "I'm gonna be responsible," he tells Sanada.

Sanada gapes.

Renji squeezes Kirihara's hand. Kirihara stares at him.

"We're walking home together," Renji says. Kirihara leans on his side. Renji leans back.

***

His phone rings before he's even home.

"I knew you'd be calling."

"I needed to confirm the new data."

Kirihara asks who's calling. When Renji hesitates, Kirihara narrows his eyes and mutters something about fucking Inui.

Sadaharu says, "This explains your uncharacteristic actions at the Invitationals."

Renji's face is hot.

"Aa…that."

"Your condition is an interesting experiment," Sadaharu says.

Renji stops walking. "It's not."

***

Sanada doesn't speak to him for a week.

Renji goes to the supermarket, and buys a matcha roll cake. He has every intention of bringing it as a peace offering, except he gets hungry on the bus and eats it all himself.

Sanada's mother opens the door. She looks at Renji's haramaki wrap. "Oh."

Gardening club meets Mondays after class. Tennis club tryouts start tomorrow. Renji doesn't bother to knock on Sanada's door. He lets himself in.

Sanada jumps. He turns around, and then his face darkens. "What do you want?" he snaps.

Renji sits next to him. The flowers in the alcove vase are new. The same sorts of daffodils grow in Yukimura's garden. Sanada fumbles with something. A lipstick rolls out from under his hand. Renji hands it back.

"You're a stupid fool," Sanada says.

"I knew you'd say that."

Sanada snorts. "Were you planning to keep it a secret forever?"

Renji frowns. He shakes his head.

"You just happened to open your legs—" Sanada shudders. "You just happened to have sex with Akaya and—it was a stupid experiment!" Sanada bangs his fist on the floor.

"It wasn't," Renji says.

Sanada shakes his head. "You actually…?"

Renji says nothing.

Sanada slaps his palms to his forehead. "Akaya?"

"He's really not that much younger than Seiichi," Renji says. "And you have sex with him."

"That's different!" Sanada turns red. His nipples stiffen under his jersey shirt.

"If you insist," Renji says. The baby bounces inside. Renji stiffens for a moment. He eases into the familiar tickling. Sanada stops talking.

Renji's hands are on his stomach. Sanada stares. Then he looks down at his own hands.

Renji lifts his shirt.

Sanada says, "You're still an idiot. Both of you!" His hands hover over Renji's skin until Renji takes one.

"Here. Do you feel that?"

Sanada's eyes go wide.

***

Sanada finds Sadaharu hiding behind the tennis clubhouse on the day of the second real practice for the high school team. He drags Sadaharu out by his collar. Sadaharu is horrified to have a girl touch him.

"I assume he's here for you," Sanada tells Renji. Yukimura tells the captain.

Renji confiscates the notebook. Sadaharu tries to grad at it. His glasses fall off. Sanada stands in the way.

"There's no tennis in here," Renji says. Except for a rough sketch of a graph labelled 'female vs male aerodynamics'.

He frowns.

"One needs to investigate for himself," Sadaharu says. He pushes his glasses back up. There are grease marks on the lenses.

The captain escorts Sadaharu to the school gate. Renji's uniform feels tighter than before. His seams strain when he lobs. His pants bunch up around his crotch when he rallies with a senpai. Jackal looks up from picking up balls, and says, "Pssst! Camel toe!"

Niou pushes a basket of balls. It rolls across a court in the direction of Sanada. Renji jogs to catch it. His breasts seem to jiggle under his jacket. Two senpais drop their rackets on the next court.

In the showers, Niou gives him a look. Renji stares back. Niou's body has rounded out in the past few months. "You definitely have a cooch," Niou says.

Renji leans back in the spray. Shampoo washes down his back. Niou is still looking.

"You need to put those away," Niou says.

"Put what away?"

"Your tits."

Renji pulls on his undershirt, and then his school uniform shirt. "You can't see anything," he says.

Jackal makes a noise behind Sanada. Sanada grunts as he pulls his bra around right ways.

"Renji," Sanada says.

Sanada swallows something big and bitter. He cringes like he has PMS cramps.

"Niou is right."

***

His mom buys him three.

Renji wears the white one to school. He takes a deep breath. The back of his neck prickles all the way down to his rib cage. Sweat beads between the cups. For the first time, he feels like everyone knows.

He stays in the clubhouse until halfway through first period.

***

Sanada asks him to play a game. Renji missed the fast pace of Sanada's balls. He runs across the court, and breathes the smell of singed rubber. "Did you ever think—" Sanada rocks back on his sneaker. Slice, Renji thinks. He side-steps to catch the ball. His racket hums.

"About what?" He returns the shot, deep and low.

"About…getting rid of it?" Sanada lobs.

Renji blinks. The ball glances off the rim of his racket. Sanada smashes to take the point. Renji's chest twists.

"I told Akaya no," he says.

Sanada frowns. He throws the ball for the serve. His skirt flips up. He grunts like a girl. Like Serena Williams.

"You're not married," Sanada says. The ball zooms across the net.

Renji narrows his eyes. He dashes two steps forward for a drop shot. Sanada dives. Renji listens to the sound of skin scraping the gravelly clay.

"Genichirou," he says, "you can't stop me."

Sanada stands up. His knees are skinned. His thighs are dusty. "Fine then," he says. "But it's shameful."

He rubs his stomach. Renji adds, "Maybe I just want it."

Sanada doesn't answer.

In a small voice by the clubhouse lockers, he says, "I still think you're both fools."

***

They play Yokohama Central in the Prefectural finals.

Renji is scheduled as alternate. He sits on the bench, and watches Sanada play doubles with the captain. The other team laughs at the girl they have to play. Renji leans over to Yukimura.

"6-1?"

Yukimura doesn't take his eyes off Sanada. He shakes his head. Sanada yells at the other pair, calls them lazyass fools. The captain lets him serve first. The ball burns through the opponent's defence. The court smells of burnt rubber.

"6-0," Yukimura says. "Sanada's really pissed off now."

***

"Well?"

Renji cradles his cellphone to his ear. His sister has the sewing machine out.

"We won, of course."

"Yeah, us too."

"I knew you would."

"Senpai?"

"Hn?"

"Can you tell the baby good night for me?"

Renji smiles to himself. "You can do it yourself." He lifts his shirt. Kirihara's voice vibrates on his skin. "There."

"Thanks. Se—Renji?"

"Hn?"

"Do you think…do you think I'll be good at it?"

The baby moves from his left to his right side. Renji watches the lump shift across his middle.

"Number one."

FIC: Cake or Death? D1, Rish

reposte — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 19:42:00 GMT

Title: Cake or Death?
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 3300
Rating: Rish
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all,
Warning: Saccharine situations.
Summary: It's Yagyuu's birthday.
Author's Notes: Written for Yagyuu's birthday, 2010. Happy Birthday, Yagyuu! Readers, interpret as you will…

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

The first thing in the morning his mother says isn't "Happy birthday" or even "Good morning", but instead, "Have you seen the coffee?"

Yagyuu manages a grunt, and says he doesn't know. He helps himself to the last of the Crispy Cereal because the eggs in the fridge have disappeared, and so have yesterday's leftovers. His mother rummages through the cupboard, and throws half the boxes from the shelf. Yagyuu eats his cereal, and glances over his shoulder once or twice, narrowing his eyes and wishing she'd go back to bed.

There's a note on the table, in his father's illegible scrawl—no worse than Niou-kun's, really—home early at 9pm. Happy birthday, kid.

Yagyuu folds the note over, and tucks it into his shirt pocket. His mother huffs. She tosses a pack of cigarettes on the table. Then she makes her way through the fridge.

"The coffee won't be in there," Yagyuu says.

She doesn't turn around. Beer bottles and jars of pickles clank. The fridge hums. Yagyuu looks left, looks right, and slides the pack into his pocket. He grabs his school bag from the foyer, slips his shoes on, and closes the door a little louder than he really needs to.

At least the weather is decent. Last year, it poured buckets. This year, the ground is soft and damp from last night's rain. The first leaf or two have begun to turn gold in the park down the road. Yagyuu checks his watch—ten to seven. He checks his cellphone. Three messages in his inbox. One from Marui: Happy burrthday! One from Miho in student council asking about the last meeting's minutes. And one from Softbank, Please enjoy this bonus on your birthday…

Yagyuu deletes that one. He frowns.

Nothing from Niou.

He takes the bus, like usual, one stop past the school where he waits on the corner. The smell from Café Doutour is heady, roasted coffee in the crisp air. Yagyuu checks his phone again, then he crosses the street. He grabs a medium milk coffee to go, and sends a quick email to Niou. Where are you? You're late.

Practice starts in ten minutes. Yagyuu steps off the main road, down the alleyway sandwiched between the Café and the post office. He lights a smoke from the pack. He doesn't like the Mild Sevens very much, but it gives him something to do between sips of coffee and tennis practice. Yagyuu runs his tongue over his teeth, tasting the smoke and the coffee, and he flicks half of the cigarette to the ground.

Niou still isn't at their corner.

Yagyuu's frown deepens.

When Yagyuu lets himself into the clubhouse Yukimura is already running laps on the courts. Sanada nods once, on his way out, and mutters something that sounds like, "Happy Birthday, Yagyuu." Yagyuu says thank you anyway. He opens his locker, and reaches for his uniform. Then he stops.

The t-shirt and shorts, which should be neatly folded, have been pushed to the right side of the shelf. The canister of balls he left on the top shelf has relocated to beside his crumpled uniform.

Yagyuu blinks. Suspicion immediately flares in his stomach. He takes his uniform out. "Was someone….in my locker?" he asks. He sniffs his hands, but they're fine. He stands on his toes, but there are no insects, rubber spiders, or puddles of slime.

Yanagi shrugs. "I know nothing."

The suspicion burns even hotter. Yagyuu nods slowly, and says, "Thank you, Yanagi-kun." Yeah right.

He does his runs, then the lunges, the jumping-jacks and a rep of fifty swings, too. Then Yagyuu checks the schedule. There's nothing listed today, no matches, no yoga, and definitely no weight training. The ball machine is out—Yagyuu can hear the schwooping noise of the balls across the courts. Of course, it's Yukimura who has commandeered it, with Sanada manning the machine and supplying the balls. Yagyuu shakes his head to himself.

Jackal asks, "Rally?"

Yagyuu says, "That would be lovely, Jackal-kun."

Jackal's rallies are simple and straight-forward, unlike Niou's constant penchant for trick balls and false starts. Jackal starts the rally with a low ball that skims the net. Yagyuu dashes to mid-court and returns it. He can feel his blood pumping and his heart rate rising. Cool air rushes across his skin as he moves over the court. Jackal hits right, Yagyuu hits back left. Jackal hits a backhand, and Yagyuu returns it with one of his own. The easy rhythm is nice.

"Hey," Jackal says. He hits a volley straight down the court. "It's your birthday today, isn't it?"

Yagyuu steps to the right. The ball hits the sweet spot of his racket, and the force hums through his muscles. "Yes."

"Happy Birthday, Hiroshi," Jackal says. "Any plans?"

Yagyuu starts to open his mouth, but there's a loud shout, followed by a hearty "Fuck YOU! You said it would WORK!"

The ball bounces on Yagyuu's court. He looks over, but so does Jackal. Marui and Niou have each other by the shirt collar, near the equipment shed. Niou's hair is a mess, and he's forgotten his elastic. Marui is red-faced as he pushes back on Niou, grunting and squirming as they struggle. Niou sneers. He tries to shove Marui into the shed wall.

"I didn't say it would for sure, asswipe!" Marui says. "Not my fault you're too stupid to know how to—"

"Niou! MARUI!"

Sanada stomps over. He backhands Niou across the face, and slaps Marui the other way. "Get on the court for your laps NOW!" he shouts. Then Yukimura flashes a smile. "Oh, and Yagyuu? Happy Birthday."

Niou cups his cheek. Marui sniffles and drops his hold on Niou. Yukimura looks up from his court and shouts at Sanada, "Come back here NOW, Sanada! Niou and Marui can sort themselves out!"

As Niou jogs past, Yagyuu asks, "What was that about?"

Niou doesn't answer. Yagyuu can hear the distinct sound of a sniffle from him too.

He wishes he'd finished that smoke earlier.

***

The girls accost him at lunch. Nozomi and Maki and Haruka all bow their heads and present little boxes tied with ribbons. Heat rises to Yagyuu's face. The flush spreads down his neck when Sanada looks over with a snort.

Yagyuu thanks them all. "Happy Birthday," Haruka says. She bats her eyelashes. "Yagyuu-kun is the best, ne?"

Her friends all giggle.

Yagyuu allows himself a lingering glance back into the classroom where the girls cluster around Nozomi's desk in hushed whispers that all seem to involve Yagyuu's name. Then he closes the class door, and walks up two flights to the rooftop. He sits on top of an air vent, sets his lunch beside himself, and opens the boxes one by one.

An onigiri, with a carefully cut umeboshi in the shape of a heart on top.

A set of three chocolates, in gold foil papers. Underneath, a slip of paper with a phone number. Yagyuu reads over the numbers twice. He thinks for a moment, then crumples the note up. He tosses it into a gust of autumn air. Niou is too jealous for Yagyuu to leave anything like that in the box.

In the last box, there is a plaid handkerchief with the characters of his name stitched in tiny embroidery.

He checks his cellphone, but the inbox is empty. The lunch bell rang thirteen minutes ago. Yagyuu opens his bento from the caf—beef with udon and kelp, and edamame salad. There's an agipan in all its fried, cinnamon-y glory, and a milk, too. Yagyuu polishes off the agipan first, leaving the beef. It's Niou's favourite.

Yagyuu checks his watch. Twenty-two minutes have passed. Niou still isn't here, but some of the boys from 3D are. Their smoke drifts across the roof, acrid and stinging and heady. Yagyuu takes a deep breath before deciding he wants that smoke after all.

He alternates between his bento, a beat-up copy of Sherlock Holmes, and the cigarette in his fingers. He can hear the thwops down below on the tennis courts. Yukimura and Sanada and maybe Yanagi must be practicing for the Invitational. Yagyuu would rather finish this chapter of A Study in Scarlet instead.

A throat clears. A shadow slowly looms over Yagyuu's page. He lifts his head as Niou plunks himself down beside Yagyuu. Niou goes for the bento beef without so much as a thanks.

"Where were you?" Yagyuu sets the novel on his leg.

Niou shrugs his shoulders. "Busy."

Yagyuu takes one long, last drag. Then he steps on the butt. Niou fakes a hacking cough.

"Detention?"

"Something like that." Niou lets out a belch after he finishes off the remains of the bento. He grabs one of the boxes and opens it. He purses his lips, and Yagyuu knows what he's thinking when his Adam's Apple bobs.

"You can eat the onigiri," Yagyuu says. "I don't want it."

Niou chucks the umeboshi heart onto the rooftop. He shoves the onigiri into his mouth in two bites. "What else did they give you?"

Yagyuu picks rice pellets from his arm. He makes a bit of a face. Niou's jaw is still clenched. "Nothing much."

Niou grunts. "Puri." He runs his hand through his hair to mess it up. There's a strange smudge of white powder at the side of his face. Yagyuu doesn't ask.

There's no one else on this side of the rooftop, past the garden filled with mums and coreopsis. The 3D guys are behind the greenhouse, and blocked from view. Still, Yagyuu's stomach twists a little with apprehension when he reaches for Niou's chin. He pushes a strand of hair behind Niou's ear, out of his eyes. The white powder smudges into his hairline.

Niou tilts his chin a little, towards Yagyuu. His eyes flutter, but they don't close. "Are you doing anything tonight?"

"My father's shift ends early."

Niou turns away. Yagyuu takes Niou's chin between his thumb and index and drags it back to face him. "He'll still be late," Yagyuu says. He drops his hand onto his lap, and just in time, because the door flings open and Kirihara trips onto the rooftop.

"There you are senpais!" he says. His grin spreads. Kirihara plunks himself right between Niou and Yagyuu, and shoves something into Yagyuu's hands.

"Uh…this is, like, for your birthday and because you helped me pass my English test before."

Yagyuu says thank you. He starts to put the lumpy package into his bag, but Kirihara keeps sitting here, wiggling and jerking his knees. Niou stands up and Kirihara takes over the space Niou vacated.

Yagyuu opens the package. He puts on a smile and a nod of thanks. "No," he says, "I don't have this copy of Agatha Christie, Kirihara-kun. Thank you."

"Good!" Kirihara says. With a salute and a lol, he runs back down the stairs into the building.

"How many do you have of that?" Niou nods to the book.

Yagyuu smiles, ruefully. "Three."

***

In phys ed, Yanagi passes Yagyuu the basketball.

"I forgot earlier," Yanagi says, "but, 'Happy birthday'."

Yagyuu passes the ball to Sanada. Sanada dribbles, spins around, and shouts Sasaki's name. Sasaki looks up as the ball careens over his head, all the way across the gym to where the girls are playing, and slams into Nao's head.

All the boys stop in their tracks. Nao reaches up to her skull. There's not a pin drop, but there is the hitch in her breath that echoes in the gymnasium before she starts to cry.

Yagyuu sits with Sanada outside the head teacher's office.

"It was an accident," Sanada mutters.

Yagyuu says of course.

"I was…thinking of other things," Sanada says.

As tempted as he is, Yagyuu keeps his mouth shut. When the head teach calls Sanada into his office, Yagyuu says, "I'll tell Yukimura you'll be late this afternoon."

***

Niou is certainly not late after school. Only the boys from 3D are quicker out of the school than Niou. Yagyuu traces Niou's usual route through the streets, past the Familymart, then along the old railroad tracks. He catches up at the roadside shrine.

Niou's shoulders slouch more. He jerks his head toward Yagyuu, and his hair seems to prickle even higher.

"You can invite me for supper," Yagyuu says.

Niou shoves his hands into his pockets. He walks faster. Yagyuu jogs to keep up. "Got things to do."

"Marui-kun said you didn't have any homework."

Niou stops. "That shitface," he hisses.

"Why?"

Niou shakes his head. "Doesn't matter." He blows at the hair in his eyes, and sighs heavy and dramatic to let Yagyuu know he's pissed, even if he doesn't say anything.

"You know what day it is today," Yagyuu says.

Niou grunts. "Tuesday."

Yagyuu repeats himself. The closer they get to his house, the more difficult Niou gets. He crosses the street before the light changes to green. Yagyuu grabs him by the jacket, and snaps for him to watch it. Niou pulls himself from Yagyuu's grasp to run into the path of a scooter anyway. As soon as the light changes, Yagyuu runs across.

"Is your house really that terrible?" Yagyuu asks. Niou rolls his eyes, leans away. Yagyuu grabs his collar and pulls Niou right back to him. "Your mother likes me. Surely you should be cordial to me on my birthday."

Niou's hair stands on end. He glances to his sides, and then he hisses under his breath, "I know that."

"Well?"

He sighs again. "Couldn't you come over in a couple hours?"

As much as the thought of being home alone sans parents is appealing—and even hardens Yagyuu's dick a little, too—Yagyuu places his hands to either side of Niou. He braces himself against a retaining wall. They're down the alley parallel to Niou's house, and he can hear the traffic on the other side of the houses. Niou reaches up to Yagyuu's chest. His fingers curl more than they should to push Yagyuu away. Yagyuu breathes into Niou's ear. A liquid sort of desire pools between his legs when he whispers, "No, now is good."

Niou closes his eyes. His mouth parts enough for Yagyuu to feel the heat inside. But Niou mutters something about not in public.

Yagyuu smiles. Before Niou opens the gate at his house, he rummages in his pocket for his glasses. There's a bike by the walkway—his sister must be home too. As Niou pushes the door open, Yagyuu inhales the smells of food cooking and air freshener gone a little stale, mothballs and books and home. He tucks his shoes by the corner and slips his feet into the green slippers, left here just for him.

Niou's mother pads out from the kitchen. Her smile widens when she sees Yagyuu. Niou's scowl deepens.

"You didn't tell me Hiroshi was coming, Masaharu," she says.

Niou snorts. "He invited himself."

"Happy birthday," she tells Yagyuu. Yagyuu bows his head.

"I found a different recipe than your friend's, Masaharu." She looks at Yagyuu, and answers his raised eyebrows with a wink. Then she tells Niou, "You and Hiroshi can help me make it."

Yagyuu glances to Niou, who avoids his eye. His mother hands Niou an apron and a sheet of paper, and Yagyuu a large mixing bowl.

"You look very domestic, Niou-kun," Yagyuu says.

Niou glares. He narrows his eyes at the back of his mother's head, too.

"I don't mind helping with dinner," Yagyuu says.

Niou's mother blinks behind her glasses. Then, slowly, she nods at her son as her lips twitch. The molten afternoon light streaming through the window curtains seems to catch in her eyes.

Yagyuu shifts his weight. He keeps smiling, politely.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Niou mutters.

"Anything will be better than this morning's attempt with your friend Marui's recipe," his mother says. "It took me two hours to clean up all the flour."

Yagyuu glances down at the sheet of paper. At the top, there is a bolded title: American-style birthday cake.

Yagyuu mulls over the heat spreading through his chest for a long moment, as Niou's mother opens cupboards for the flour and the sugar and the cocoa powder. He turns a little, brushing his elbow up to Niou's. Niou stares down at the recipe, but there is a distinctive flush to his cheeks when he says,

"I hope you like strawberries."

***

The cake sits in the centre of the table, studded with candles and strawberries woven between a lattice of cream and chocolate buttons. Niou's family sits, ringed around the table, all singing to Yagyuu—and next to him, tone-deaf and off time, Niou with them. Yagyuu moves his foot under the table. He bumps Niou's shin. Niou bumps his leg back against Yagyuu's on the last bar of "Happy Birthday."

Yagyuu takes a deep breath.

"Don't wish for anything lame," Niou says.

Yagyuu sputters. The candles flicker. Half blown out, half still burning. Yagyuu bites back a huff as Niou's mother clicks her tongue at Niou. Yagyuu inhales again, and blows out the rest to a flourish of clapping.

The cake is lopsided and the cream spread too thin in places, too thick in others. But the taste melts across Yagyuu's tongue. He runs his tongue over the back of his teeth to catch any residual chocolateyness. He finishes his piece, and says no thanks when Niou's mother offers him a second. His waistband strains from the hot pot and rice and pickles with konnyaku, homemade miso soup with mushrooms, and cake to finish. Niou pokes his finger in the cream piped along the side of the cake. His father retreats to the tv, his brother to a pile of homework, and his sister takes the dishes to the sink.

Niou swipes a strawberry from the top of the cake. Yagyuu looks at him, but Niou just shrugs. He pushes his chair back.

An invitation to go upstairs.

Behind himself, Yagyuu closes Niou's bedroom door. Niou flops across his bed, digging his feet into the pile of the blue duvet. Yagyuu steps over the tennis bag, and around the rubber snakes and learn to speak Russian books. He doesn't really want to know.

The mattress creaks as he sits down on Niou's bed. Niou half-rolls toward him, chewing on the strawberry. Red juice collects in the corner of his mouth. He keeps his eyes on Yagyuu as Yagyuu takes the glasses from his face. Then Yagyuu touches Niou's temple, taking his pair off, and folding the arms. Yagyuu blinks as his eyes adjust to the familiar blur. He leans down, close enough for the lines of Niou's face to sharpen.

"I haven't…" Niou whispers.

"What?" Yagyuu brushes his mouth over Niou's. He runs his tongue along Niou's lips, tasting the sweet trace of the berry. Niou sighs against Yagyuu's mouth.

"Wished you a 'Happy Birthday' yet," Niou murmurs.

They kiss properly, Niou opening his mouth as Yagyuu slides his tongue inside, over Niou's tongue, tracing the roof of his mouth as Niou shifts on the bed. Niou's leg rides up and over Yagyuu's thigh.

Niou pulls back. This close, his eyes are black. Yagyuu takes the strawberry from Niou's fingers. He takes a small bite, and kisses Niou again. Niou keeps his lips closed.

"No regurgitated food," he says.

Yagyuu snorts. He swallows the piece of strawberry, but vestiges remain, which Niou's tongue slides over. Yagyuu rolls over Niou, rubbing his erection on Niou's hip. Niou pushes back. Their noses bump. Yagyuu lifts his head. Niou's hand drifts down Yagyuu's back, warm and comfortable as it settles on his butt.

Yagyuu brushes his thumb across the side of Niou's face.

"Don't you need to go home soon?" Niou asks.

Yagyuu rocks his hips forward. His erection burns. His nerves tingle as Niou fumbles with the hem of his shirt. "I'd rather stay here," Yagyuu says. He takes the hand from his stomach and brings it to his mouth. Niou's fingers are stained pink under the nails. Yagyuu drags his teeth across Niou's thumb. Niou's throat bobs. He grabs the back of Yagyuu's neck again to bring him down for a kiss.

Niou's lips move across Yagyuu's as he says, "Happy Birthday, Hiroshi."

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 4/7

reposte — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 19:52:56 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (4/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: Long
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

He's different. Over the past two months, he's changed and Renji isn't sure of why. Maybe it was becoming tennis club captain. Maybe it was having his heart broken. Maybe it was another thing all together.

Kirihara swaggers down the halls of school. He smirks more, and he lifts his chin higher. He holds Renji's hand on the street (but not near school). Renji sweats bullets and leads them down empty alleys. Kirihara kisses him there, like he doesn't care.

He laughs at Marui's jokes—the ones about pussy and tits and girls. He gets them now. And he tells some of his own that, sometimes, Marui doesn't get. Kirihara looks at Renji over his bento box. His eyes are so dark that Renji has to look away. And he thinks about how hard Kirihara will fuck him when they're alone, after school, in the clubhouse.

Kirihara has the clubhouse keys now, too.

He starts to eat lunch with them again. Renji steals Kirihara's avocado rolls, and his cinnamon almond agipan too. He offers Kirihara his milk. It tastes like chalk now. Renji doesn’t remember milk tasting like that before.

"Ne, Akaya," Jackal says. He points at Kirihara with his chopsticks. Sanada twitches. "Where'd you get that funny bruise on your neck?"

Kirihara touches his neck. He turns red.

"Is there something you're not telling us?" Marui asks. He waggles his eyebrows.

Kirihara shakes his head. "No!" His voice squeaks. "No, nothing!"

Renji wipes almond flakes from his pants. "We have your English test to worry about after practice," he says.

He plays a round of tennis with Yukimura. Sanada has a Public Morals Committee meeting. Yukimura serves hard and takes points. Renji volleys. He lobs Yukimura's balls. Yukimura says he's not that dumb. He doesn't smash. He doesn't bother with low shots, either. He hits long, hard balls to the baseline. Renji runs back and forth, panting. Yukimura hardly moves from the spot.

"Your form is terrible," he says.

Renji shrugs.

Kirihara locks up for the night. He presses Renji up against a row of lockers. Renji spreads his legs. Kirihara groans. "You're heavy," he says. He bites Renji's ear. Renji digs his hands into Kirihara's balls. He yelps.

"You can't do it," Renji says. He bites Kirihara's neck. "Jackal will notice that, too."

Kirihara growls. He pushes Renji hard. He unzips his fly. Renji shudders when Kirihara slides inside. He squeezes his legs tighter. His back bangs into the lockers.

There is a loud clank.

Jackal stands in the doorway. A set of keys are at his feet. He raises his hands.

Kirihara stops thrusting. Renji's insides shrivel up.

Jackal backs up. "I didn't. see. anything." He picks up the keys, and leaves.

Kirihara makes a funny noise. "Uh…"

Renji bites his lip. He digs his hands into Kirihara's hair. He pushes his hips forward. "Well, don't stop," he says.

Kirihara pushes deep.

***

In home ec, Renji says, "Jackal."

Jackal sticks his hands in his ears. The sparkly studs are new. "La la la I know NOTHING!" he says. "My brain is not burned at all!"

Marui slides an arm over Renji's shoulder. "Did you know…" He pauses to pop a bubble. "…that, like, the other day, Sanada saw Niou and Yagyuu doing it in the tennis shed? And they were standing up!"

Renji blinks. Jackal drops the bag of flour onto the floor. Their shoes are still dusted white at lunch.

***

There is no eureka. There is no one moment. It gradually dawns upon him. He wakes up, like every morning, and has to pee. But he has to pee more. He has to pee before tennis practice, and then again in physics class. Renji wonders, What if…?

There are some mornings—and an evening, too—where he stays in bed extra long. He clutches his sides. His stomach churns a hundred directions. Bile rises in his throat. He almost heaves into his rubbish bin, but he never quite needs to. He lies on his back. His hands drift over his stomach. He sighs.

His breasts hurt. He rubs them in the bath. He rubs them under his pajamas. He rubs his palms over them as Kirihara lies next to him, naked and warm and asleep. Kirihara burrows his face in Renji's armpit. Renji combs his fingers through Kirihara's hair. It's soft and damp and a mess. He thinks of what it would be like to hold a smaller Kirihara to his chest, and his entire body aches so much for it. He bites his lip on moan.

Kirihara shifts his leg. He murmurs, "Hn?"

Renji trails his fingers over Kirihara's back. "It's nothing," he says.

Kirihara kisses him slowly. He breathes those three words onto Renji's lips. Renji closes his eyes and says he knows.

***

Across from the train station, there's a Matsumoto Kiyoshi branch. Shampoo and green tea bottles explode onto the street, along with stacks of boxed soap and toilet paper. Renji hunches his shoulders. He's still a foot taller than any of the girls in the tampon aisle. He shuffles to the back, and shifts his eyes.

He side-steps four feet. The cash register is too close. His heart pounds. His pulse races. He looks left. One of the girls takes a tampon box to the counter. Renji grabs the box from the shelf, and stuffs it into his pocket. He looks left again.

Then he relaxes his shoulders. He picks up a package of Lotte gum, and sets it on the counter. "Just this," he says.

At home he locks himself in the toilet room with a tennis magazine. He can't read a single character. He checks the time on his cellphone. He counts the minutes backward. Sanada would say, "The greatest fault in war is hesitation." Yukimura would say, "The greatest fault in tennis is hesitation."

Renji grabs the stick and looks down. There are two stripes.

His body prickles all over.

***

He can't say anything to Jackal.

He won't say anything to Niou.

He shouldn't say anything to Sanada.

Sadaharu wouldn't understand.

He spends Saturday on the third floor of the book shop, in the biology section. Renji stares at the pictures in the books. He blanches. His eyes drift to the maternity section. He goes to the magazines instead. All the covers look the same. His stomach growls, but he wants to puke.

"Renji."

Renji stiffens. Sanada has a plastic bag from the store. "I emailed and you didn't answer."

Renji shrugs. Sanada frowns. They sit in Starbucks, at the back by the toilets. Sanada blows on the steam from his hot chocolate. Renji nurses a matcha latte, and two slices of cake. He offers Sanada a piece. Sanada hesitates.

Renji raises his eyebrows. He pushes the cake closer to Sanada.

"Do you ever think you'll have kids with Yukimura?"

Hot chocolate sprays across the table. Sanada is a shade of purple. Renji offers a napkin.

"Not now," Renji says. "But…later."

"That would be—"

"Biologically possible now."

Sanada closes his mouth. He shakes his head. He plays with his cap brim. "Tarundoru. Don't ask stuff like that."

"But do you?"

"If Yukimura…" Sanada takes a deep breath. His nostrils flare. His chest rises. "Renji," he says.

"Yes?"

Sanada kicks him under the table. "Stop taking so much data."

***

Nobody ever uses the eighth floor men's toilets in the department store across from the shopping arcade.

Renji buries his face inside his scarf. But he can still hear the echoes of his crying.

***

He goes to the local shrine. The gravel crunches under his trainers. He blows on his hands. His breath hangs in the air.

He rings the bell, and claps, and bows his head. "What do I do?" he whispers. The smell of incense clings to his uniform. The gilded deity sits, expressionless. Renji throws a 50 yen coin into the box. He lights a stick of incense, and breathes it in.

Candle light bounces off the gold. The wooden floor creaks. A monk has started to chant a sutra in an adjoining building. Renji closes his eyes. The words curve and coil with the smoke.

He leaves through the back gate, under a red torii. Small jizo line the path. They're covered in moss, and crumbling with age. Renji tosses a coin into the lap of one.

"Psst."

He blinks. He looks over his shoulder. The pines are still.

"Down here."

Renji looks down. The jizo sits with coins covering his lap, smiling.

***

Kirihara kisses his neck. He touches Renji's cheek. He presses another kiss to Renji's chin.

"Senpai?"

Renji looks down at him. Kirihara looks up. Hair curls around his face. He doesn't look away.

"Are you all right?"

Renji takes Kirihara's hand, and slides it under his shirt.

***

Jackal breaks up with his girlfriend after two weeks.

"She was just too…"

"Demanding?" Marui offers. He holds out his shrimp chip bag. Jackal takes a handful.

"She wanted to talk about feelings all the time," Jackal says. "And do each other's hair. I just wanted something more."

"Like hot, heavy lesbian petting?" Marui asks.

Jackal ignores him. "I just couldn't handle all the mind games. She took my favourite hair clip, too." He runs his hands through his hair. It’s almost a couple inches long.

"Maybe she wasn't a real lesbian," Marui says.

"Maybe," Jackal says. "Or maybe I'm not."

"Maybe you like dick?" Marui offers his shrimp chips again. He smiles.

"You're a prick," Jackal says. He takes the whole bag.

"At least Yukimura doesn't talk to you like that," Renji tells Sanada. Sanada sits up in Yukimura's lap. He mumbles something that sounds like yes.

"Oi!" Marui shouts. "Give those back!"

Jackal shakes his head. "I'm PMSing and I have a salt craving."

Marui takes a wide step back. He has his hands up. "Way, way TMI, Jackal."

Yukimura's eyes go wide. He inches back from Sanada, like a crab.

Kirihara shifts his eyes. Renji looks away.

***

Renji runs his tongue over the underside of Kirihara's dick.

"I like dick," he murmurs.

Kirihara comes.

***

A week before Christmas, Kirihara asks where Renji wants to go, like, on a date. They're sitting on Kirihara's bedroom floor. Kirihara is draped over Renji's lap. Homework is strewed across a low folding table. Renji doesn't have a shirt on.

He wants to say Kamakura, or maybe the palace gardens in Tokyo. Instead, he says, "The gardens by the harbour." It's cheaper.

He bombs his math test two days before Christmas Eve. Renji stuffs the test into his garbage bin. His face burns, but in the long run, it won't matter. He signed the form for the technical stream of high school. All it needs is his parents' hanko stamp.

Christmas Eve falls on Friday this year. Renji sits on the rooftop at lunch. The smell of the cafeteria makes his stomach turn. He eats three packages of matcha chocolates and a bag and a box and a half of salad-flavoured Jagariko. In gym class, he pukes it all up in a squat toilet.

Kirihara has tennis practice, so Renji walks home alone. He calls Sanada. "What are you doing tonight?"

There is a pause. Then a muffled voice, and Sanada whispering that it's Renji. Sanada says, "…Yukimura and I are going out for ramen."

"Oh," Renji says. He hangs up. Flakes of snow try to land on Renji's wool coat. They dissolve on impact.

He calls Sadaharu. "What are you doing tonight?"

Sadaharu sucks in a breath. "Renji, the percent chance of me feeling the same way—"

"—remains ninety five."

"…yes."

Renji hangs up.

Kirihara phones. He's out of breath and his words run together, a mile a minute.

"WecanmeetatMotomachiexitfouratseven. Isthatokay?"

Renji swallows.

***

His sister gives him a funny look when he puts his shoes on.

"I'm going to the bookstore," Renji says.

She nods slowly. "So am I."

Their mom tells them to have a good night. His sister shuts the front door behind them. At the front gate, she narrows his eyes.

"You don't tell, I don't tell."

Renji nods.

A scooter shows up. The engine revs. Izumi jumps on the back, and clings to a man in a leather jacket. Renji pulls his cellphone out to snap a photo.

He's five minutes early at the station exit. People flood through the automated gates. Couples are everywhere. A man helps a woman carry a stroller up the exit steps. Renji watches them.

"Senpai!" Kirihara waves his arms. His scarf dangles down his back. They walk outside, and across the street. Renji stuffs his hands deep into his pockets. Freeters flock the exit with pamphlets for half-price date meals and hair salon ads. The trees lining the street are studded with lights. Christmas music floats out from shops and restaurants.

"Um…" Kirihara tugs his arm. "Do you wanna, uh, get some crepes? Or parfaits?"

Renji shakes his head. He avoids looking at Kirihara. "Maybe later," he says.

Kirihara smiles, but his voice is flat. "Okay."

There's a park behind a temple, not too far from the private hospital. "Too bad my parents are home," Kirihara says. He laughs. Renji doesn't. A frosted sigh puffs in the air.

The park is dark, and quiet. Renji sits on a bench. His butt is cold. Kirihara sits beside him. He reaches for Renji's shoulders. Renji leans away. The lump in his throat is so big, it could explode. Renji can't feel his fingers, either.

Kirihara wrings his mittens together. He swings his feet. Renji closes his eyes. "Akaya," he says.

Kirihara pulls Renji by the arm to face him. Renji takes a deep breath. He practiced the words a hundred times in his head.

He says them.

"I'm pregnant" shatters the brittle cold. Renji bows his head.

"I'm 100% certain," he says. Kirihara jumps off the bench. Renji starts to cry. Moonlight gleams on the crystallized tears on the collar of his coat.

Kirihara balls his mittens into fists. He purses his lips, and takes a deep breath. Then he snaps his body into a bow. He shouts, "I promise to do MY BEST!"

Renji pulls him up. "Don't," he mouths. "Akaya." Kirihara wipes his eyes with a package of Kleenex. He holds it out. Renji sniffles.

They go for crepes in a café overlooking the main street. Their knees tangle under the table. Renji checks three times, but there's no one from school here.

"How do you know?" Kirihara asks. He shakes his head. "We're just—we can't. We're not old enough!" He stirs his parfait into a pulp.

Renji eats the French toast off the top of his parfait. "You know how they're made," he says.

Kirihara rolls his eyes. "I'm not stupid, senpai. I know all about the tadpoles that live in your jizz and stick to a girl's insides."

Renji starts to laugh. Kirihara scratches the back of his head. "It's true. I learned it last year in Sex Ed class. But…" He licks his spoon. Renji eats the last of his cream layer.

"We're just kids."

***

Kirihara asks him for extra newspapers. Renji asks if he's getting a pet guinea pig, or maybe a gerbil.

Kirihara shifts his eyes. Renji pinches his bum. "No," Kirihara says.

Renji tries to kiss him. He slings his leg over Kirihara's lap. Kirihara crawls backwards into his closet. "Akaya," Renji says.

"My parents are gonna be home soon," Kirihara says.

Renji rocks his hips. He can feel Kirihara's erection. "Akaya," he says, again.

Kirihara shakes his head.

***

They're supposed to go out for ramen on the last night before school starts. Renji is on the train. His cellphone vibrates. soree I hav homework

Renji gets off at the next stop. He walks to the other side of the platform, and takes a train right back home. Ads flutter overhead, for the Dinosaur exhibition at a museum in Chiba, for hanami in March, for women's clinics. Renji crosses his arms over his stomach. He repeats the address in his head. As soon as he steps off the train, he types an email on his cell, and sends it to himself.

***

Kirihara falls asleep in his lunch. Marui threatens to prop his eyes open with chopsticks. Niou just laughs at the sauce dripping from his hair. Renji offers a handkerchief.

"Don't study too hard," Yukimura tells him.

Kirihara nods. His eyes droop.

Renji hangs around the tennis courts after school finishes. Urayama Shiita has a megaphone, and a stopwatch hanging from a lanyard. There is no sign of Kirihara.

"Where is Akaya?" Renji asks. Something moves inside. He freezes. Urayama says something. There's another tiny sensation. It feels like a gas bubble. Renji closes his eyes.

"Yanagi-senpai?" Urayama asks.

Renji tells him to have a good night. "Don't forget ankle stretches before the reverse runs."

Urayama salutes him. "Yes, sir!"

***

"Ne, Data Man."

Renji pulls his other school shoe on. Niou pops out from the end of the row of cubbies. He shifts his eyes. His shirt is unbuttoned all the way down to his cleavage. Niou pushes his breasts up. He's wearing a pink bra today.

"The kid's offering to do school cleaning duties."

Renji picks up his bag, a moment too late. "…is that so?"

Niou says, "Puri."

There's a hiccup in Renji's belly.

Kirihara isn't at the tennis courts. He isn't on the third floor, or in his classroom. He doesn't come to lunch. Renji checks the first floor annex. The sun is low through the windows. He rubs his arms and walks faster. He has to pee, and he's hungry. The music appreciation club have a boombox. JuJu blares into the corridor.

Renji walks up the stairs. He stops at the top. Down the hallway, Kirihara pushes a broom. Renji bites a sneeze back.

He takes a step closer. His shoe squeaks.

Kirihara stands up. His shadow is long in the half-light from the flood lights shining through the stairwell windows.

"What are you doing? Renji asks. He takes the broom from Kirihara. He swings it—to smack Kirihara hard behind the knees.

Kirihara swallows. He starts to cry. "You—I need money. I gotta pay for your ab…"

The broom hits the floor. Renji grabs Kirihara's arm and shakes him hard. Kirihara looks at him with red eyes. There are purple bags under them. "Oh, Akaya…" he says. Kirihara's back shudders with another sob. Renji hurts all over.

"No, I'm not," he says.

Kirihara shakes his head. His teeth flash. "What? You can't—you have to, senpai!"

Renji smacks him across the face. The slap echoes, then JuJu starts to sing again.

"I'm not having one. If—I was given this chance, so I think I'll take it," Renji says. He takes a deep breath. "You can't stop me, Akaya."

"People will know!" Kirihara says.

"It's not normal to wake up as a…" Renji swallows hard. "As a girl. Anything could happen." He touches his stomach. Kirihara keeps saying no, he can't, he can't. Renji lifts his jumper, and presses Kirihara's hand to his skin. Kirihara hisses. He tries to pull back. Renji's insides move around. Kirihara's eyes go wide.

"You…said you didn't want anyone to find out." His eyes are wet. His fingers thread through Renji's.

Renji tells him it's okay to cry. Because he is, too.

***

"So, um, what are we gonna do?" Kirihara digs his sneaker into the snow.

Renji says they should probably do some research. Kirihara grabs his hand. They hold mittens.

"You know…it's really weird," Kirihara says. "Parents."

***

The bus to the clinic takes almost an hour. He told his mother he was meeting Sadaharu in Tokyo. He didn't tell Kirihara anything.

The receptionist hands him a clipboard. Renji fills it out. None of the women in the waiting room notice him. A toddler crawls under the chairs. Renji brought a novel in his bag, but he doesn't touch it. He stares at the clock. He stares at his shoes. He picks pills off his coat. A nurse hands him a little plastic container. "The toilet is the second door on the left," she says.

He sits on the toilet. It would be easy with a dick. Renji swallows. He takes a deep breath. He attempts to position the little cup. He gets piss all over his fingers.

The nurse takes him to a room where a female doctor in a white coat says hello. Then she smiles, ruefully. "Do your parents know?"

Renji bows his head.

"I thought so."

The receptionist schedules an ultrasound for next week. Renji shifts his eyes. The toddler bangs plastic blocks together. Another woman waddles out from a back room. Renji leans over the receptionist's desk. "Can it be later?" he asks. "I have school then."

Kirihara phones. They meet Renji at a ramen joint. Renji eats two plates of fried gyoza. He sops up the grease with the last dumpling. Kirihara stops slurping.

"We gotta tell our parents," Kirihara says.

Renji just says, "Not yet."

***

They pool their allowances together. Renji has never set foot in this section of the bookstore before. Renji feels vaguely nauseous. Kirihara whispers, "The coast is clear!"

There's a woman in the book aisle. She's got a melon-shaped middle. Her hands rub her belly.

Renji sighs.

"Where do we, uh, start?" Kirihara pulls a book from the shelf. "Giving Birth Naturally." Kirihara shudders. He puts the book back and takes another. "Birth Preparation: All You Want to Know about Vaginal Birthing." Kirihara grimaces. "Mind Over Labour." He looks at Renji.

The woman taps Renji on the shoulder. "Are you expecting?" she asks.

Renji's mouth opens. In a small voice, he says yes. Kirihara squeezes his hand. "Yeah, my girlfriend's pregnant," he says.

The woman pulls a book from the shelf. "This one is good for beginners. And," She hands the book to Renji. "When you register your pregnancy at the city office, they have lots of good pamphlets for free. Sometimes they have other freebies too."

She waddles away.

Renji folds the bookshop bag over twice. It burns his hand. He stuffs it into his shoulder bag.

Kirihara tugs on his arm. "I wanna see if the new RADWIMPS CD is out." He pulls Renji into HMV. Renji hangs around the enka section instead. He paws through some music magazines. His eyes glaze over.

"Oi, Renji!" Renji whips his head around. Jackal waves. Kirihara looks up from a rack of CDs. Renji kicks him hard in the shin. Kirihara crumples to the ground. Jackal walks over.

"What are you doing here?" Jackal asks.

Renji picks up the first CD his fingers touch. Kirihara moans on the ground, so Renji kicks him again.

"Looking for…the Best of DBSK," Renji says.

Jackal stares at him like he has three heads.

"What are you doing here?" Renji nods to the HMV bag Jackal has.

Jackal rubs the back of his head. "Eheh, I am so totally not buying the Platinum Deluxe Edition of Justin Bieber. Nope." Jackal flashes a smile.

Renji says, "Hn."

"So, are you and Akaya…?" Jackal asks.

Renji blinks.

Jackal winces. "You know…since you have a—" Jackal clears his throat. "Girl bits, too."

"I don't need to answer you," Renji says. Kirihara starts to say something. Jackal peers over the rack. Renji's stomach sinks.

Jackal backs up. His eyes are moon-shaped. "You guys are into some weird kinky stuff…And I don't wanna know."

Kirihara says, "Hey!"

Jackal backs up into the security barrier. "Say nothing about Bieber, and I say nothing to Sanada."

Kirihara hisses. Renji stiffens.

Jackal waves. "See you guys Monday!"

Kirihara stands up. "At least I found my CD," he mumbles. He rubs his ribs.

Renji feels bad enough that at home, he unzips Kirihara's pants. It's easier than apologizing.

***

Kirihara doesn't want to have sex.

Renji pushes him onto the bed. He crawls over Kirihara. He kisses the side of Kirihara's face. He kisses his lips. He licks Kirihara's neck.

"We—we shouldn't!" Kirihara pushes on Renji's chest. Renji kneels back on his ankles. He pulls his sweater off, then he settles down on Kirihara's hips. Kirihara makes a noise. Renji rocks back on Kirihara's erection.

"You want to," he whispers. He runs his tongue in the shell of Kirihara's ear.

Kirihara shakes his head. "No, we—nngh!" His eyes flutter. Renji smiles. He pulls Kirihara's shirt off. It feels good to press his chest to Kirihara's hot skin. His breasts are so sensitive that Renji moans.

"Senpai, we can't!" Kirihara hisses. He squirms. His legs thrash. Renji rides him. "You—we'll squish it!"

Renji tilts his head. "No, we won't."

"We—what?"

Renji rolls his eyes. "It's fine to have sex when you're pregnant." Kirihara's mouth twitches. He rubs his hands over Renji's stomach. The beginnings of a convex curve stretch his muscles.

"Really?"

Kirihara has him pinned on his back, and a leg between his thighs before Renji can nod.

***

"When are you gonna tell your parents?" Kirihara asks.

Renji says, "Not yet."

Kirihara digs the toe of his sneaker into a stretch of pebbly snow. His sigh freezes in the air.

***

Marui runs through the hallway. He waves two tickets in his hand. "JACKAL WHERE ARE YOU?"

Jackal shifts his eyes. "Say nothing." He shuts the door of the girls' bathroom. Renji shrugs. He finishes his bag of Cheetos.

Marui skids to a halt. His face is red and sweaty even though the school is barely managing fifteen degrees in the cafeteria kitchen.

Marui looks at him. "Have you seen Jackal?"

Niou swings a bead necklace in his fingers. He leans on the wall, and lifts his skirt a couple inches up his thigh. "Yep," he says. He nods to the bathroom door. Marui barges in.

Renji shakes his head. "You shouldn't have."

Niou smirks.

Girls scream on the other side of the door. Marui bolts out with saucer eyes. Jackal yanks the door open. "Don't you have any respect?!"

Marui shrinks to half his size. He holds up the tickets. "I got them," he says. "I got two tickets to Bieber, just like you wanted. He's playing this spring, and it cost me 50 000."

Jackal's face softens. "W—what?"

Marui gets down on one knee. He offers the tickets. "Will you be my Valentine, sexy lady?"

"You spent 50 000?" Niou asks. He whistles, and mutters that Marui is fucking stupid. Marui tells Niou to shut up, he's ruining the moment, and duh, it was on his dad's visa.

"So, like, you have to date me, now," Marui says.

Jackal takes the tickets. "All right, fine!"

Marui whoops. Jackal pushes him over onto the floor. "Now, let me piss in peace!"

Renji asks Niou, "What's Yagyuu doing for you?"

Niou's smirk stiffens. "Probably the usual three thrusts to a finish."

"That's not very romantic."

Niou snorts. "Aren't you a romanticist all of a sudden."

Renji doesn't bother to answer Niou. Niou nods to the empty Cheeto bag on the floor. "You got the last from the vending machine, didn't you?"

Renji smiles.

Niou punches him in the arm. It hurts.

"You're an asshole, you know," Niou says.

***

Renji thinks about leaving Niou a bag of Cheetos in his shoe cubby. Then he touches his arm. A purple bruise formed on his skim.

He buys all eight bags from the conbini across from school, and eats them all.

***

His mom hands him a plate of toast. Renji polishes his rice off.

"Your uncle wants to know if you friends are coming up for the holiday weekend," she says.

His sister announces she won't be back until late. "I have shopping to do." The door slams behind her.

Renji wipes the toast crumbs from his tie. He thinks for a moment. "Just my kouhai and me."

His mom says, "Isn't that nice of you."

***

The doctor points at the blob on the screen. It looks like static on tv. Renji squints.

"You're about eighteen weeks," the doctor says. "There's the head. There's the heart." She hands Kirihara her stethoscope. "Do you want to listen?"

The stethoscope is cold. Renji sucks in a breath. He watches Kirihara's face flicker with emotion. Kirihara hands the stethoscope back. He turns away, and sniffles.

The first plum blossoms are out on the trees in the tiny front garden of the clinic. Renji takes a deep breath. His shoes squelch in the mud.

On the train, he hands Kirihara the envelope. Kirihara takes the picture out. He looks at Renji. "I…"

Renji nods.

Kirihara sits back in the seat. "I'm gonna keep this safe and frame it." He asks Renji to hold the photo for a sec. Kirihara flips his cellphone open to take a picture.

"It's not very good," Renji says. "You should have taken a close-up, rather than me."

Kiirhara shakes his head. "It's got both of you."

***

"Akaya needs to work on his discipline," Renji says. He looks at Sanada and Yukimura. Yukimura's hand keeps snaking around Sanada's waist. Sanada's eye keeps twitching.

"That's a good idea, Renji," Yukimura says.

Sanada glances to Kirihara, who fights Niou for a cream puff from Niou's cafeteria tray. "Don't let him act up."

Renji smiles. "Of course."

***

His uncle is blind in one eye (accident trying to shoot tanuki before Renji was born), and missing three fingers. He limps, and has an old bloodhound that sleeps by the wood burning stove. Kirihara plays with Mimi's ears until the dog lifts her chin and yowls.

Snow still clings to the mountains, and winter cold creeps into the old wooden house. Renji brings a bag full of books. Kirihara brings an extra gameboy console and jumbo sized bags of Mitsuya cider jellies that Renji devours. There's nothing to eat in his uncle's tiny kitchen except oden cans, and freeze-dried tofu.

His uncle drives to the local bar every night on his scooter, and passes out drunk when he comes back—with or without the scooter. The boarders won't arrive until April, or May. Renji and Kirihara spread out over a five tatami-mat room. They slide the door shut, and have sex until their muscles turn limp and noodley and Kirihara is covered in bite marks.

In the afternoon, Renji's uncle smokes pot and complains about losing his job at a factory—fifteen years before. Renji and Kirihara throw melting snowballs at each other outside. Renji listens to the chirping birds, and the slow, dripping death of the icicles on the eaves. Kirihara rolls snowman balls that pick up gravel and yellowed grass.

before dinner, they go for a walk. Renji tries the reception for his cellphone at the top of a hill. There's no signal. He looks down at the valley, and their footprints leading up the pathway through skeletal trees. Kirihara flops down on the ground. He makes a snow angel. Renji presses his shoes into the snow in quatrefoil patterns. The sun wavers in the west.

On the way back, Kirihara holds Renji's hand. He brings it to his mouth, and presses his lips to Renji's wrist. "We have to tell our parents," Kirihara says.

Renji opens his mouth.

"Don't say 'not yet', either! We gotta tell them. We're gonna be in really big shit the longer we wait!"

Renji walks ahead. He doesn't want Kirihara to see him cry.

***

"Sorry," Kirihara mutters. He's damp from the bath, and warm. He wraps an arm behind Renji's shoulders. The scooter revs and drives into the distance. There is nothing but the sound of Kirihara's breathing, and the raccoon dogs digging in the trash bin.

Renji swallows the lump in his throat, and closes his eyes. It's a long time before he falls asleep.

***

On Valentine's, a lumpy, badly-wrapped box tumbles out of his shoe cubby. Renji picks it up.

Niou wolf-whistles behind him. "Who's the lady?" He winks.

Marui rummages around his cubby. He dumps box after candy box. He narrows his eyes at Jackal. "Where's my mochalicious giri-chocos?"

Jackal shrugs.

At lunch, Renji sneaks into the clubhouse with Yukimura's keys—there were always two copies, Yukimura said. "I won't give these up over my dead body!" Kirihara never bothered to hide his padlock combo from Renji. Dirty jerseys, crumpled paper, found pieces from phone charms, and the smell of mouldy sweat pours out. Renji pushes a racket cover aside. He tucks a box underneath.

He waits at the tonkatsu joint in the arcade. Renji unwraps the box. He pulls out a Kawabata Yatsunari novel. Then he peels the Book Off sticker from the back. Renji reads over the first couple paragraphs.

Kirihara collapses on the banquet across from him. He gasps. Renji slides his tea across. Kirihara polishes it off. He dumps his tennis bag on the floor. "Sorry, I ran all the way after practice."

Renji raises an eyebrow. "You ran?"

Kirihara laughs. "Uh…well…I used up all my allowance."

Renji runs his fingers over the spine of the novel. "Thank you," he says.

Kirihara pushes the empty box at him. "Didn't you see the rest?"

At the bottom of the box is something golden, and shiny. Renji pulls a button out, which dangles from the end of a gold chain. Kirihara's blazer is missing the top button: the one closest to his heart.

Renji's heart flutters. Something else pokes his insides. He presses his hand to his middle, and sucks in a breath. "Akaya…"

"Will…you wear it?" Kirihara asks. His blazer gapes a bit when he reaches over the table. His hand wraps over Renji's, and closes the necklace in his palm.

"Did you open yours?" Renji asks. "It's girls giving presents today."

Kirihara shrugs. "Yeah, but since we're not really normal, I didn't think it mattered."

"True," Renji says.

Kirihara tears into the paper. His eyes go wide. He throws the box on the seat, and holds up the wii sports pack soft sword in one hand. He holds up the mini tennis racket with his other hand, and launches himself at Renji.

"Oh my god!" Kirihara shouts. Renji hisses "SHH!" Kirihara ducks his head. His grin spreads between his ears. "This is PERFECT!"

Instead of having sex back at Kirihara's apartment, they play wii tennis with the soft rackets. Kirihara jumps up and smashes his racket in the air. Renji swings a little. The shot on the screen is wide, and out of bounds.

"This is rigged," he says. "That shot was fifteen degrees too far to the right."

"Hah!" Kirihara pumps his fist. "Match point for ME! I'll beat you, senpai!" He starts to cackle. Renji narrows his eyes. He swings tighter to his body. The ball shoots across the net. Kirihara flails and dives. His mii swings aimlessly, and misses.

"Really, Akaya?" Renji asks.

"Shut up," he mumbles.

Renji lets him win anyway.

Kirihara walks him home. With each passing block, Renji's shoulders stiffen. He slows his pace. The moon is heavy, and bright.

"Wait." Kirihara sticks his fingers into Renji's pocket. They tickle. Renji leans into a cement wall.

Kirihara pulls out the button necklace.

"I can't wear it yet," Renji says.

Kirihara frowns. "No one will see under your uniform."

Renji closes his eyes. He has to pee, too. He shifts his weight. Finally, he whispers, "Okay."

Kirihara fumbles with the clasp. Renji says they should walk to the street lamp where he can see better. Renji holds it up in the orange phosphorescence. Kirihara rubs it between his fingers, and tucks it under Renji's shirt. It feels heavy, and light, all at once.

"Please wear it," Kirihara says. His eyes flicker.

Renji kisses him, light and long, until the first car drives by. Kirihara takes his hand off Renji's side.

In bed, Renji closes his eyes, and lies back on his pillow. His fingers spread across his stomach. Soon, he thinks.

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 3/7

reposte — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 20:17:49 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (3/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: Long
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

Yukimura is scowling before he walks into the clubhouse. No one moves, not even Sanada. Renji doesn't even blink until Yukimura sucks in a deep breath.

"We have a problem," Yukimura says.

Renji's heart skips a beat.

Yukimura walks around the room. He narrows his eyes at Renji. Bile burns the back of Renji's mouth. "Sei-ichi?"

Yukimura pulls a sheet of paper from his bag. "The coach says he talked to the head coach at the Invitationals and we can only go if we come up with a 'non-suggestive' rooming arrangement."

"What—what's that supposed to mean?" Marui looks at Jackal. So does Renji. Jackal nods.

Niou and Yagyuu share a look. Sanada hides his face under his cap.

"It's two to a room," Yukimura says.

"So one of the girls has to room with a guy," Renji says.

"I'm not a girl!" Sanada says.

Renji thinks of Jackal last night. They went for udon. Renji said nothing, but he paid for both of them.

"They know that there's some girls on the team," Yukimura says. "But…they don't know who."

Renji straightens his back.

"Renji."

"Seiichi?"

"I'm counting on you to sort this out."

***

Yukimura adds in an email, bcuz me and sanada are gonna share but DONT TELL NIOU AND JACKAL OK??

***

"Are you aware of this?" Renji asks.

Sanada avoids his eye. "I said we're too young," he mutters.

"You should probably buy some condoms just in case."

Renji reminds Sanada that he looks like a koi fish with his mouth hanging like that.

***

He meets Marui and Yukimura at the ramen shop.

Renji pokes around his ramen. He grabs the shichimi and shakes it into his bowl. The broth turns pink.

"How do I get Sanada to have sex with me?" Yukimura asks.

Renji raises his eyebrows. Marui sprays ramen across the table.

Yukimura leans forward. "Well?"

Marui clears his throat. He strokes his chin. "You have come to the right guys," he says.

"Not Yagyuu?" Renji asks.

Yukimura says, "He said he was busy."

Renji's voice is thick. "Akaya?"

Marui rolls his eyes. "Puh-leeez, like the kid's gonna ever have sex in the next, like, twelve years!"

Yukimura nods. Renji purses his lips.

"So, how do I get Sanada to want to…you know…do it with me?"

Marui puts a finger up. "The first thing you need to do is seduce him."

Yukimura nods. "Yes."

"Well, what does he like?" Renji asks.

"Tennis, duh."

"And…?"

"Antiques?"

"And?"

"His pet rock?"

"Sounds like we're talking about my grandpa," Marui says. He snickers. Renji almost smiles.

Yukimura glares. "No time for jokes, this is serious!"

"Okay okay," Marui says. "The thing about girls is…"

They lean so far forward, their foreheads touch.

"Some people are lucky, and some people aren't."

Yukimura keeps nodding. "So I should bring my lucky pajamas."

Marui grins. "Exactly. Are they silk?"

"No, flannel."

"Red?"

"Well, they have hearts. I wore them before my…" Yukimura pauses. "My operation."

"Good choice, then," Marui says. He pops a bubble. "They'll become your Lucky Love Pajamas. Sanada won't be able to resist."

Renji thinks about the word seduce all night.

***

The bus leaves at quarter to seven for Gumma. Renji spends a half-hour throwing clothes around his room until he finds the bra. At half-past six, he grabs his bag and bikes to school. He's covered in sweat when he peddles into the bike rack. His skin is flushed when he rushes for the bus—the engine is running. Everyone stares at him. He sits down in the seat behind Jackal and Kirihara. Renji takes a deep breath.

"Do you have them?" he asks Sanada.

Sanada pulls a stack of sarashi cloths from his backpack. "We were supposed to do this before," he says.

Renji says he had last minute preparations. Sanada gives him a look.

Niou kicks Marui out of the back seat. He chucks Marui's candy bags from the other.

Jackal just says, "No one look!"

They wrap Niou first. Niou sits around longer than he needs to shirtless. Renji hasn't seen any of the others up close yet. He makes estimates in his head. Cup size B. Rib cage, 85cm in circumference. Niou squishes his nipples down. They're pinkish and poke through the first thin layer of cloth. Renji holds the far end. Jackal does the winding. Sanada says, "Tighter!" Yagyuu keeps turning his head around.

Niou sits back down next to Yagyuu. He gasps for air. "Can't…breathe…" He grabs his chest, and falls onto Yagyuu's shoulder. Sanada tells him to stop joking around.

"This is serious!" Sanada says.

"Yeah!" Yukimura says. "No one can find out who the girls are."

Renji looks at Jackal. Jackal rolls his eyes. Niou refuses to take his skirt off.

"I just shaved these damn things!" he says. He sticks his legs out. When Marui reaches for a feel, Niou says, "Puri! Fat chance, fatty!"

But he lets Yagyuu test his thigh.

They wrap Jackal next. Cup size A. Rib cage, 90cm. Sanada pulls tighter. Jackal chokes. Renji feeds more of the cloth. He and Sanada nod at each other. Jackal walks back to his seat. Renji pulls the electric razor from his bag.

"I charged it last night."

Jackal's hands go to his head. "No! I…it took me a long time to grow it this much," Jackal says.

Renji does Sanada's sarashi by himself. He avoids Sanada's skin at first, but he can feel the heat through the cloth. Cup size E. Rib cage 90cm. Sanada covers his chest with his palms. They crouch behind the seat backs. "Faster!" Sanada hisses. Renji slips. His fingers brush Sanada's breasts. He freezes. Sanada makes a strangled sound.

"Just…keep going!" Sanada snaps. He's red in the face. Renji gives up. He touches Sanada's side. He squishes Sanada's breasts against his ribs. He wraps tighter, and winds faster. Sanada pulls his uniform shirt back on. Then he zips up his jacket.

Sanada looks down, and he frowns.

Yukimura stares at Sanada's chest. He frowns, too.

"This isn't working," Sanada mutters. He reaches under his jacket, and his tshirt. Sanada crouches back down behind the seat. The sportsbras go with him.

"You realize they have sabotaged your plan," Renji says.

Yukimura grabs a handful of ramune popcorn from Marui's bag. Marui shouts. Yukimura crunches. "I know," he says.

"Should we even try stuffing the socks?" Renji asks.

Yukimura brushes popcorn bits off his shirt. "I guess not." He pats the back of Sanada's hand. "I'll have to defend my honour on my own," he says.

They stop at a family-style restaurant. Niou and Jackal disappear into the toilets. They hand Renji the sarashi cloths on their way out.

Renji stares out the window. Up in the mountains the leaves have changed. The air is crispy and cool. His udon noodles coil in the bowl. He blows on the steam. Kirihara sits at the other end of the table, gobbling his food up.

For a split-second, their eyes meet.

***

The high school players whoop and cheer. Atobe and Oshitari from Hyoutei hang around the Rikkai table in the cafeteria. Renji zips his jacket up to his neck. He closes his eyes, and thanks the kami-sama. His breasts ache. His insides ache, too, when Kirihara walks past him in the food line.

Jackal is wedged between Marui, and Hyoutei's Jiroh. Jiroh waggles his eyebrows. Marui huffs. He tells Jiroh to go away. Jiroh pulls on Jackal's arm. "Whatever Marui-kun thinks is great, so do—"

"No!" Marui shouts. He grabs Jackal's other arm. "Jackal is MINE!"

Jackal pulls his arm free of Jiroh. Then he shoves Marui away. "I am not a sexual commodity!" he shouts. "Stop OBJECTIFYING ME!"

Marui and Jiroh both blink.

Jackal smoothes down his shirt. He walks off to a corner table, where Hyoutei's Hiyoshi is eating by himself.

Niou struts past the high school players. On the courts, he bends low for his balls. He's got green panties on. Renji can hear Yagyuu grind his teeth, even during jumping jack reps.

Renji stays close to Sadaharu. Kaidoh is never far behind. Sadaharu counts Renji's shuttle runs. Renji times Sadaharu's stretches. Kaidoh hisses words like "traitor" and "hypocrite" under his breath. Renji narrows his eyes at Kaidoh.

Then his skin crawls all over. Two courts over, Kirihara is staring.

***

Yukimura destroys a basket of balls. Sanada goes to get another. Renji stands at the baseline. He waits until Sanada is out of earshot.

"You'll have other opportunities," he says.

Yukimura pushes his headband up. His face is twisted. "It's not FAIR!" His fist shakes. Renji shrugs.

"Surely you can’t be surprised they're having all the girls room together—"

"NOT A GIRL!" Sanada shouts, three courts over. A group of high schoolers wolf-whistle.

Renji steps closer to Yukimura. "Besides, there's always the north stairwell of the building."

Yukimura perks up. A thin smile creeps over his face. He grabs Renji in a tight hug. "I love you," he says.

The high schoolers whistle at that, until Yukimura offers to play them.

"Wait until tomorrow, pipsqueaks," the biggest one says. They all hur hur.

***

Renji emails Sadaharu.

Tomorrow. We're playing games with the high school students.

that is as I preadicted

Oh?

my sources indicated dubbles games

Jrs vs SRs?

Renji leans back against the wall. The tiny pillow digs into his lower back. He pulls it out. "Hm," he says.

On the bed next to him, Ibu Shinji says, "I see you're talking with your friends. That must be nice. Kamio never answers my emails anymore. And when he does, he only uses a couple words. Should I use only a few words too? You can't say enough in just a few words…"

Renji shuts out his light. He rolls onto his side. Ibu Shinji keeps mumbling in the dark. Renji sighs, and mouths a name on his breath.

***

He dreams that he and Kirihara are playing tennis. Kirihara has the first serve. "I will be number ONE!" he screams. The ball flies over Renji's head. Instead of going to get it, Renji walks up to the net.

Kirihara has red eyes. He tilts his head to the side, and laughs. His teeth are sharp. His skin is scarlet. Renji says that he's number one. Kirihara grabs him by the shoulders. He shakes Renji so hard his teeth rattle. They fall to the ground.

Kirihara crunches his sneaker down. Renji is on his hands and knees. Blood drips from his mouth all over the shards. Kirihara laughs louder and louder. When Renji finally lifts his head, Kirihara's head explodes.

Renji sits up in bed, gasping.

Ibu Shinji murmurs in his sleep. Renji takes his bar of soap, and a towel. He creeps through the hallways. The air is cold in the mountains. He squints in the darkness. The only sounds are the soughing breeze through the trees outside, and the hum of the sports centre furnaces.

Renji takes a hot shower. He stays under the spray until his fingertips wrinkle. He rolls his shoulders under the patter. He reaches between his legs. Nothing has changed. He leans against the tiles, and says, "Fuck."

He changes back into his pajamas, shuts off the light, and creeps back through the dark hallway. Something squeaks. Renji tightens his hand on the soap box. A shadow moves around the corner. It's small. It has a mess of hair. Renji sucks in a breath. He slips his slippers off, and runs. The shadow moves. Renji whispers, "Akaya?"

But there is no one.

***

Renji asks the caf lady for extra pickles.

Next in line, Niou picks a wedgie. Shitenhoji's Shiraishi walks past. His eyes trail down Niou's body. "Ne, Rikkai's Niou, huh?"

Niou stops mid-scratch. "Yeah?"

Shiraishi winks. A stack of caf trays collapses. He looks up, and reaches for his arm bandages. "Kin-chan," he says. The freshman kid cowers in the centre of the mess.

"Don't kill me, Shiraishi! Pleeeease!"

At the table, Niou says, "Dataman, did you know girls still snore?"

Renji says no.

"You can add to your notebook that Sanada snores," Niou says.

Kirihara jerks his head up from his fish. Renji says nothing. He nods once. He goes back to dumping his pickles onto the orange slices. Sanada and Jackal give him funny looks.

"Vitamin C is essential," Renji says.

"That's a lot of pickles," Jackal says. He slurps his coffee.

"Isn't that your third coffee?"

Jackal doesn't answer.

"Where did you learn that word?" Renji asks.

"Objectifying?" Jackal drains his coffee. "My mom gave me this book about feminism and stuff. I didn't get anything, but I liked the word."

Marui drops his chopsticks. "You…you're not going to burn your bra and start going all man-hating, are you?"

Sanada snorts.

Seigaku's table is filling up. Sadaharu is there, with a notebook under his nose. When he reaches for the soy sauce, so does Kaidoh. Sadaharu's mouth moves in apology.

Kirihara grabs the soy sauce from the middle of the table. He dumps it over his plate. Then he pours it into his tea, too. Marui snickers. Niou asks if he's too worried about creaming all the high school players.

Renji says, "Did you sleep all right?"

Kirihara ignores him.

Renji eats another pickle. It's not his mouth that stings.

***

Renji asks first, before Kirihara has a chance to ask Sanada, or Yukimura, or anyone else.

Kirihara yanks his arm away. Renji holds his breath. Please, he wants to add. "We can play together."

Kirihara swings his racket over his shoulder. "Fine. We'll crush some dumbasses from Fudomine."

Renji has a thick lump in his throat. He nods.

Sanada and Yukimura hold hands. Yukimura says something about Atobe. Oshitari lurks behind Sanada. His short friend asks if he has a partner yet, and hey Yuushi stop staring at that chick's fat ass!

The coach makes the announcement with a chuckle. Renji's stomach shrivels up.

Kirihara is already walking to the other side of the net. A ball strains under his knuckles. He starts to laugh under his breath. "I'm gonna defeat one of you…" He whips his head around. His eyes bulge at the corners.

"I WILL BE NUMBER ONE!"

Renji lifts his chin. His shoulders are tight, and tense. Sun blinds his side of the court. Kirihara serves a knuckle ball from the shadows.

"So this is what you want," Renji whispers. He loosens his hand on his racket. He takes a step back. The ball veers right. He dashes to mid-court and swings wide. It's a low pass that skims the net cording. Kirihara is too far left. The ball drops over the net.

Renji takes the first point.

"So be it."

***

Kirihara screams through his serves. He seethes during the rallies he tries to set up. Renji slices the Knuckle Serves. He smashes through the Devil Mode. He keeps his face even, and his balls fast. Kirihara sweats and shouts. He runs for the balls that fly over his head. He dives for balls that are out of bounds. Renji looks down his nose. He squeezes his hand around the ball.

Sadaharu sits in the stands. Kaidoh stands next to him. Kirihara paces his baseline. His face is red, and he's panting. He clenches his fist.

It's match point.

Renji takes a deep breath. He raises his arm.

"Referee!"

The referee turns. Kirihara's eyes go wide. Blood drains from his face.

"I quit," Renji says.

Kirihara chokes. He shakes his head. Sweat splatters the ground. "Tell me you're joking," he says. He keeps shaking his head. Something slithers down from his eyes.

For a moment, Renji has three words on his tongue.

He swallows down.

Sadaharu hobbles out of the stands. Renji walks beside him. The sound of Kirihara smashing his racket follows him.

Sadaharu pushes his glasses up. His face is chartreuse. "Renji?"

"Let's go home, Sadaharu." Renji's shoulders sink.

Sadaharu nods. The he falls to his knees, and starts to retch. Renji leans down next to him. "Are you all right?"

Sadaharu takes a drink from a muddy-coloured PET bottle. "Something…I ate…" he croaks.

Renji looks back at the tennis courts. Kirihara pushes Marui and Yagyuu away. He flails his arms, and smacks Marui in the face.

"Go be number one, Akaya," Renji whispers.

***

He stops Shiraishi outside the toilets. Yukimura isn't around, neither is Marui.

"Would you…" Renji takes a deep breath. Shiraishi cocks his head a little. Sanada's stomping onto the bus so hard his shorts ride up. "Do me a favour?"

Shiraishi asks what.

"We made a mistake, thinking the only way Akaya can beat his opponents is through his Devil Mode."

Shiraishi snorts. "You want me to help."

"Since I'm gone…" Renji glances back. The bus engine starts. Renji leans closer. "Keep him in check. If you can control Tooyama, you can help Akaya."

He runs to make the bus. No one talks. Sadaharu opens the window. He sticks his head out. Renji offers him a brown bag.

He sends Sanada an email. Did you two do it?

Sanada whips his head around from the front seat. He glares. Renji leans back in his seat. The bus jerks and jumps from the gravel road.

Momoshiro jumps up. "Are we just gonna sit here on our ASSES? Aren't we gonna be PISSED OFF?"

Renji closes his eyes. Jackal and Sanada and Higa's Tanishi start to argue with Momoshiro. The paper bag crunches in Sadaharu's lap.

The bus lurches to a stop. The bus driver shouts. Renji climbs off. They're in the middle of a zelkova forest and there's a prediction of frost tonight. The coach looks down at them. He smiles. "Now our real job begins."

***

His calves ache from the climb. His fingers bleed; his palms are cut up. His head throbs. Momoshiro and Kaidoh argued for an hour straight, until Niou suggested Momoshiro carry Kaidoh up on his shoulders.

Renji sits on a precipice. Crows circle overhead. A rock hits Renji on the arm. He winces. A shadow looms over him: another coach, hairy and barefoot and large.

"Get your ass up!"

Renji gets up.

"You're all FUCKING LATE!" he screams. He stinks of alcohol. A group of high school students in black come out of the trees. They all have rackets. Renji squeezes his hands into balls. Blood trickles down his arms.

There's only a shack behind a copse of trees, and bushes littered with empty sake bottles. There's no toilet, and no running water. Renji swirls saliva around his mouth. His tongue is dusty. He's hungry. His lips are cracked. Wind whips around his hair. He shivers.

There's a stack of white uniforms. Sanada turns the same colour when everyone else starts to change.

Shitenhoji's Koharu dances over. He drags Zaizen in hand. "We'll help you, Sanada-kun!"

Sanada doesn't move. Neither does Renji.

The coach hiccups. "NO HELPING! ARE YOU HERE TO BE PUSSIES???" he screams.

Jackal and Niou share a glance. Renji turns around. He switches t-shirts. Smears of blood stain the white shorts. The high school players throw a barrage of shovels. Sanada refuses to change his t-shirt.

"…so what do we do now?" Echizen asks.

"Dig?" Kenya offers. He winks at Sanada.

Sanada scowls.

"Of course," Renji says. The crack in his lip starts to bleed.

***

Occasionally last year Renji questioned the number of laps Sanada would assign for practice. Laps were practical, and stamina-building. Digging a hole for the coach to piss is useless. A sudden death match with the high schoolers could make sense, except there are too many players and too many rackets. Mukahi hits Shishido and knocks him out cold. Jackal runs into Jiroh, who cops a feel, so Jackal runs the other way, into Momoshiro, who cops another feel. Sanada hits Oishi's racket three times.

"Get out of my way!" he shouts. He runs up to mid-court. His breasts bounce. The high schoolers stare. Sanada volleys. The ball isn't returned. The coach throws a bottle. It smashes at Sanada's feet.

"Play like a man, or get off."

Sanada's chin trembles.

Renji frowns. Sadaharu says his name.

"We haven't played in—"

"—four years seven months and twenty-one days."

"Quit yer yackin!"

The ball slams between them. Renji swings back. His shot is straight and deep. A high schooler uses a backhand. Renji steps back. Sadaharu steps forward.

"Zero percent chance of a mistake," he says. He turns his wrist to make the shot.

Renji's skin flushes. The ball drops over the net.

"STOP right there!" the coach says. He points at the high schoolers. "It's their win."

"He was 100% incorrect," Sadaharu says, later.

They sit at the edge of the cave. Bats fly in and out. Renji rests his chin on his hands. He squints into the darkness. There are no lights. The hairs on his body stand up. He rubs his hands together. His nipples are chafed.

"Sadaharu," Renji says.

"Hn?"

Renji leans close. Sadaharu smells like sweat, and dirt. Renji presses his mouth to Sadaharu's. His lips crack when he parts them. He slides his tongue inside. Renji tries to kiss harder, but Sadaharu doesn't move. Renji's insides shrivel.

Nylon rustles behind them. Jackal moans that he has a cramp. Jiroh offers to share his sleeping bag.

"…Sadaharu?"

He doesn't answer. Renji tries again. "I'm not…"

"Your actions suggest otherwise. There is a ninety-five percent chance that I do not reciprocate your feelings."

"Ninety-five?"

"Taking into account five percent error."

Renji says nothing. He leans on Sadaharu's shoulder. He's warm, and solid, and he leans back on Renji.

Renji licks his bottom lip. All he tastes is blood.

***

The coach ties meat balloons to their wrists. He wakes them at three in the morning, and sends them marching through swamps. He throws rocks instead of tennis balls. He buries their uniforms. On the third day, Sanada walks off the court and doesn’t come back.

Jackal slinks around camp. The coach is passed out. Tanishi and Kenya hold the bottles upside down over their mouths.

"Not even a drop left," Kenya says. He chucks a bottle into the bonfire. Tanishi crushes the other in his hand.

Renji closes his eyes. His body is worn out. His stomach claws at his ribs. The thought of the rice gruel and empty sandwiches they've been fed makes bile burn his throat. Sadaharu asks if he's okay. Renji stands up, and walks into the forest. It's too dark to see anything except the thin pathway. His stomach churns. Hot vomit fills his mouth.

He pukes until his stomach chokes. He gags and his stomach heaves again. Renji staggers over to a large rock. He presses his palms to the cold stone.

"Renji?"

"Jackal."

"Um…heat stroke?"

Renji says perhaps.

Jackal offers a leaf. Renji wipes the sweat from his forehead.

"You wanna know what really sucks?" Jackal asks. "My period showed up here, and I have to stuff leaves up my snatch."

Renj's mouth doesn't close, not even after Mifune is air-lifted to a hospital for alcohol poisoning and the bus arrives to take them back to the sports centre.

***

They show up at the courts. Sanada gets three games off Yukimura, and wins a spot at the Invitationals.

Kirihara stands with the winners in samurai blue, next to Shitenhoji's Shiraishi. Renji says, "Congratulations." Kirihara starts to lift his head. Then he turns to Atobe and says, "The coach'd better not make us play doubles."

Atobe snorts. "Sanada and I will, though." He winks at Sanada. Sanada tells him to fuck off. But he's still not talking to Yukimura.

The Invitational team members stay longer to play their official matches the following week in Sendai, against the American team. Renji stuffs his bag in the cargo hold of the Rikkai bus. Through the hold, Kaidoh and Sadaharu shove their tennis bags onto the Seigaku bus.

Renji sits by himself. On the next bus over Sadaharu reaches for his shade curtain. He raises his hand. Renji waves back.

He watches the trees whizz by for five hours.

***

Sanada sends an email on Tuesday. No we didn't.

***

Jackal announces he has a girlfriend.

"Told you I was a lesbian," he tells Marui. "I'm fighting for vaginal rights, too!"

Marui passes out into his soup curry.

***

Sanada blushes and Yukimura brushes Sanada's hair from his eyes when they come back.

"We played doubles," Yukimura says. "It was amazing."

Sanada shakes his head behind Yukimura's back. "He's a ball hog," he mutters to Renji. Renji rolls his eyes. Yukimura's fingers slither down to Sanada's skirt. He pinches Sanada's bum. Sanada nearly slaps him.

It's just like things used to be, except that Kirihara spends his lunch hours slamming balls at the cement retaining wall.

Renji looks down at his novel. He rubs his hands over his waistband. His chest is empty.

***

There is a Peach John branch in the underground arcade, six stops away on the line to Tokyo. There is another branch in a department store four stops beyond that. Renji takes a deep breath.

There are women everywhere.

Christmas carols about Santa Claus are piped through the PA system instead of Arashi. Renji is lost in the racks of coloured bras and panty sets. Women stare. He's got his school uniform on.

He clears his throat. He asks the clerk if she can help. She offers a vapid smile and says yes, what colours does Renji's girlfriend like?

He shakes his head. "For me," he says. "I think…I'm an A cup."

Her smile is glued on. "We can measure you. What colours do you like?"

Renji says the word boyfriend for the first time. "He likes red. And black."

"Frills? Lace? Ribbons?"

"I don't know."

The salesclerk adjusts the straps, and the band. She nods at one bra, and shakes her head at the next. Renji tries not to crawl under the change room seat.

He doesn't recognize the body in the mirror. There are curves where straight lines should be. His hips jut. His breasts fill the cups—almost.

"Do you want the matching panties?" she asks. "We have thong, boy cut, and a cute bikini brief."

Renji says boy cut. She puts the panties in a labelled bag. Renji says he doesn't need one. He stuffs them into his tennis bag instead. He turns to escape. A woman steps aside.

"I'm sorry," she says. She smiles at him. The boy next to her lifts his bandana up from his eyes. His mother pulls him close and says, "Kaoru, let the tall girl by."

***

Renji dunks his head under the bath water.

The water absorbs his frustration.

***

And Sadaharu never emails to ask.

Renji waits a week. Sadaharu does, however, email to ask if Renji has seen any of the import issues of Tennis World with the paragraph on Tezuka.

***

It's been fifty-three days.

The student council meeting runs late. Renji hands out the minutes from the last meeting. They pick colours for the Christmas dance—red, and gold. Renji plays with the hem of his blazer. He shifts in his seat. The lace itches his sternum. It scratches his pants, and rides up his butt crack.

After, Renji knocks on the clubhouse door. He tries the handle. He buries his face into his scarf. Damp cold bites his cheeks.

His hands shake the entire bus ride. And then his fingers don't work on the buzzer. He looks at the concrete hallway of the apartment building. His head is too light, and his feet too heavy.

The door swings open. Kirihara's sister walks into him. She rolls her eyes and tells him to watch it, and Akaya's inside in his room being a hikikomori again. She runs into the elevator as the door closes.

But she leaves the front door of the apartment open for him.

Renji toes his sneakers off. He sets his tennis bag down. Dusky evening creeps through the curtains. Down the hallway, a light peeks out from under a door.

Renji's heart sticks in his throat. He pushes the door open, and closes it behind himself. He leans back on it. Kirihara drops his gameboy console on the floor. He turns on his light.

Renji takes a step closer. Kirihara's expression burns a hole through his belly. Renji trails his fingers over the candy wrappers and empty milk cartons on Kirihara's desk. He has a stack of Jump issues, and a Tennis Pro Weekly, too. A filmy layer of dust coats everything.

He looks at Kirihara and he wants to puke. Kirihara curls his lip. Renji says, "Just listen to me."

"It's true that I…I did it for the data."

Kirihara's knuckles crack. Renji's squeezes his eyes shut. "It's true that I took data on you—Akaya, I'm sorry. But you…" He shakes his head. Hot tears prick his eyes. "I woke up—if you woke up and your dick was gone…"

He tries to take a deep breath. His chest shudders. Kirihara's eyes widen when Renji pulls off his blazer.

"I started to like what you did," Renji whispers. He unties his tie.

"I liked you." He takes his jumper off.

Renji unbuckles his belt. His pants hit the floor. The panties ride up higher into his butt. Kirihara is breathing hard when Renji stands next to the bed.

"I do like you," he says. He unbuttons his shirt. Kirihara's eyes move up and down his body. Renji lets the shirt fall. He keeps his hands in front of his stomach. He's never felt more naked in his life.

Kirihara looks up. Renji reaches for Kirihara's face. He sits down beside Kirihara and holds Kirihara's face to his chest. "I'm so sorry," he mutters. "I'm so sorry, Akaya..."

Hands touch his hip. Renji sniffles. Kirihara brushes his nose over Renji's jaw, and his cheek too, so soft that Renji shivers. Fingers slip under his panties. Renji arches into the touch. He spreads his legs wider. "Akaya…no more data…" The finger curls up. Renji's moans. Kirihara starts to kiss him. He cups Renji's breast, and kneads the skin. Renji kisses Kirihara back as hard as he can.

"Don't ever stop," he says. Kirihara licks off the tears. Renji rips Kirihara's sweatshirt off, and his pants and underwear, too. He squeezes Kirihara's dick. Kirihara bites Renji through the bra. He fingers Renji until he's straining and his muscles shake.

"Do it," he groans. "Fuck me, Akaya."

Kirihara growls. Renji rides him until his eyes roll back. Then Kirihara flips him back over. The pillow muffles his shouts as Kirihara thrusts deep and hard and fast. Kirihara digs his nails into Renji's hips and pushes deeper. Renji chokes on moans as he pushes his hips back to meet the thrusts. He says things he doesn't remember, and things he doesn't want to remember. Their bodies slap until Kirihara stiffens and comes. He collapses on Renji's back.

Renji's body is on fire. His cunt is raw. His voice is too. Kirihara pulls out. Renji turns around. He takes Kirihara's hand. He slips Kirihara's index finger into his mouth. Kirihara shoves his face under a pillow.

Renji looks at him. Kirihara has a sideways smile.

"Akaya?" Renji presses his lips to Kirihara's neck.

Kirihara shakes his head. He's laughing. He hooks his fingers under the lacy boy cut panties and pulls them down Renji's legs. They unhook the bra together. Kirihara chews on the side of Renji's breast. Renji bites his lip. His cunt is tingly and numb again.

"Is it true?" Kirihara asks. "That I'm…?"

Renji raises his eyebrows.

"You said I'm number one."

Renji hums. Kirihara's hand brushes his bum. It tickles. His cunt throbs.

"I don't think I'll be able to move for a week," Renji says.

Kirihara's grin widens. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

***

They walk as far as the Seven-Eleven across from the school campus. Renji buys a PET bottle of tea. Kirihara flips through comics. The school bell rings. The cashier looks at her nails.

Instead of crossing the street, they walk back to Kirihara's apartment. And spend the entire day naked, in bed. They have sex until Kirihara whimpers his dick will fall off. Then they have sex some more, until Renji begs Kirihara not to. His chest and thighs are covered in bruises. Renji wraps his lips around Kirihara's cock. Kirihara's legs give out.

On Monday, Renji winces when he walks through the school doors.

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 2/7

reposte — Sun, 03 Oct 2010 19:30:34 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (2/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: Long
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

Niou tiptoes across the courts. He has a Peach John shopping bag under his arm. Renji pushes a broom around. Jackal is still in the shower. Yukimura and Sanada rally on the third court.

"Can I ask your opinion?" Niou says. Yagyuu looks back from the school gate. He meets Niou's gaze. Then he runs out of sight. Niou's shoulders slump. "Since you're a guy and all."

Renji nods.

Niou pulls something purple from his bag. Then he pulls out polka-dot yellow, and then blue with black lace. Renji stops pushing the broom.

"Which is hotter, do you think?" Niou holds the bras up. The purple is filmy. The blue has a satin-sheen. The yellow has thick padding.

"Doesn't he like moss green best?" Renji asks.

Niou stuffs the bras back into the bag. "I have no idea who you are talking about!" he snaps.

***

Sadaharu phones.

"I have been unable to determine any causes besides the possibility of aliens."

Renji frowns. "I came to the same conclusion."

***

Kirihara lifts his t-shirt to wipe sweat from his face. Renji stops tying his shoelace. Kirihara's face turns red all over, and Renji thinks about cherries. And Kirihara's pale, flat stomach.

Renji sits at his desk in his bedroom. He thinks about writing in his notebook. Instead, he crawls into bed. He thinks about the sweat on Kirihara's upper lip, the pout of his lips, and his dark eyes.

***

Kirihara blurts out, "Do you wanna go on a date with me?"

Renji says yes. They stare at each other.

Kirihara clamps a hand over his mouth. He runs into the weight training room. Renji swings his racket three hundred times. He watches Marui chase Jackal around the courts. He watches Niou flip his t-shirt up to wipe non-existent sweat from his forehead. He watches Yagyuu excuse himself to the toilets. He watches Sanada and Yukimura watch the balls, and each other.

His insides feel hot.

Kirihara doesn't come out of the weight room until after the class bell rings.

***

Kirihara skips eating lunch with them.

Yagyuu isn't there either.

"Where is he?" Niou asks Sanada.

Sanada rolls his eyes. "He said he was sick last class and went to the nurses." Under his breath, he adds, "Lazyass."

Niou stands up.

Renji grabs his arm. Niou tries to shake him off. "Just gonna go check," Niou says.

"He's fine," Sanada says. "Where's Akaya?"

Yukimura says, "He emailed me and said he's got English homework."

Sanada scrunches up his forehead. He looks at Renji. He looks at Yukimura, and at Niou, who pouts. "Since when does he do his homework?"

Yukimura shrugs. "Maybe you should help him, Renji."

The cucumber salad sticks in Renji's throat. He coughs. "Aren't you better at English, Seiichi?"

"Yeah," he says. "But I'm busy after practices with Sanada."

The cucumber still won't go down. "Of…course."

Jackal leans over. "I wouldn't want to tutor Akaya either," he whispers.

"Niou," Renji says instead.

Niou's eyes move under his hair.

"I have a math test tomorrow. We can study tonight at your place."

After lunch, Renji sends Yagyuu an email. Let's study for math tonight.

There are no emails from Kirihara. Renji scrolls through his address book. When Kirihara's name is highlighted, he swallows.

***

Niou's house is homey. The garden is packed with as many stray daisies and overgrown hydrangeas as potted plants. His mother serves tea and shrimp chips and even little smiley-faced jellies, too. She asks if they need anything else from the store before she leaves. Renji sips the tea. He doesn't bother to open his math textbook.

Niou sits next to Yagyuu. Yagyuu squirms away.

Niou fixes his bra. The band snaps. Yagyuu fans his face with an uchiwa even harder.

Niou stretches his legs out. His skirt creeps up his thighs. Yagyuu turns a shade of green.

Renji flips his cellphone closed. "I think I've got the lesson now," he says. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

He walks home. Renji steps on three cicadas. The crunch is satisfying. Sadaharu emailed an hour ago. But there's nothing from Kirihara.

***

His sister has a late seminar. His mother is at the department store. His father is still at the office.

Renji sneaks around her room. He paws through the stack of Seventeens and NonNos. He slips the bottom issue into his shirt. It's six months old: she won't miss it.

He opens the top drawer of her dresser. He pulls one from the very back, hidden underneath other satin cups, and stuffs it into his pants.

Renji creeps back into his bedroom. He pushes his desk chair in front of the door.

He thumbs through the magazine. Fashion. Fashion. New styles of sunglasses for the season. Fashion. A spread of idols, in fashion. Q&A about tampons—he reads this. He reads the following pages, too. All about female orgasms. Renji sticks his hand down his underpants. He frowns.

He shoves the magazine under his bed, underneath a pile of back issues of Tennis Pro Weekly. Then he takes his top off. His nipples stiffen at the a/c. He rolls them between his fingers. Little sparks tingle in his belly.

The hooks are strange. The tight feeling around his ribs is strange. He looks in the mirror. The peach-coloured cups bunch. He doesn't have enough to fill them out. Renji turns. He sticks his chest out. "Akaya," he whispers. "What do you think?"

Crickets chirp outside. The a/c rattles near the ceiling.

He sighs.

***

Yagyuu and Niou don't talk all day. Niou skips tennis practice—morning and afternoon. Yukimura yells at Yagyuu. Yagyuu, white-faced, says he doesn't know where Niou is.

Renji works through another rep of shuttle runs. He smiles to himself, and thinks, So they finally confessed to each other.

"I'm three seconds off," Sanada says. He hands Renji the stopwatch. His breasts heave as he breathes.

Renji hums. "You have more…" He nods down. "Ah…wind resistance."

Sanada mumbles something about getting lazy. Renji pats him on the shoulder.

"It's to be expected," he says. "Game?" He looks around. Kirihara is playing with Yagyuu on the second court. He steps back. Laser, Renji thinks.

Instead, Yagyuu smashes the ball behind Kirihara.

Renji looks at Sanada. Sanada tosses a ball. "Let's go."

***

His sister has a chick flick on. She doesn't look up when he opens the fridge and pulls out the container of cold noodles.

"Hey," she says. "have you seen my peach bra? It's missing and you'd better not steal it. Mayu said her brother started to steal her bras and she found them under his pillow."

Renji pours a tea. "If I see it, I'll tell you," he says.

Her eyes don't leave Kimura Takuya on the tv screen. She grunts.

Renji pulls the bra out from under his mattress. He stuffs it into the back pocket of his tennis bag instead.

***

Kirihara waits by the brick gate. He digs a little hole in the grass with his toes. When Renji clears his throat, Kirihara flushes across to his ears.

"Well?" Renji asks.

Kirihara nods. He takes a deep breath. "Um, is a movie okay?"

Renji looks around. Traffic rushes past, but there's no one around. He nods.

"Okay," Kirihara mutters. "Okay." He wipes his hands on his pants. His lips move. "You can do this."

It's an action movie, with Bruce Willis or Tom Cruise, or some other middle-aged American actor. Kirihara buys the tickets. Renji folds it in half, and tucks it into his pocket. They stand in line for the popcorn and fantas. Renji pulls his wallet out.

Kirihara grabs it. "No! Girls don't—"

Renji purses his lips.

Kirihara winces. "I mean, it's my treat." He croaks out their order. Renji carries the drinks into the theatre. Kernels drop from the box of popcorn. Renji glances down to see Kirihara's hands shaking.

The seats are in the middle of the theatre. Renji doesn't say anything. He reaches for the popcorn. Kirihara squirms. He plays with his pockets. He jiggles his leg. As the lights darken, the space between them shrinks.

Renji thinks about Sanada and Yukimura holding hands at school. He thinks about Niou, who presses his breasts to Yagyuu's back at every opportunity. And Jackal, who sways his hips when he walks and gets wolf-whistles in the hallways. He thinks about everything other than the movie. Kirihara's eyes are glued to the explosions and the machine guns. Renji leans his knee over. His leg brushes Kirihara's. Kirihara stiffens. Renji moves his knee again. Kirihara wriggles to the edge of his seat.

Kirihara reaches for the popcorn. Renji does too. Kirihara jerks away.

The screen explodes with flames. Someone shouts "Motherfucking bastard!" at Bruce Willis. Kirihara mouths the words. His hand sits on his armrest.

Renji's heart flutters. His head is light, and he feels silly. He slides his hand over Kirihara's skin. Slowly, Kirihara turns his palm over. All sorts of different sparks explode between Renji's legs. He hasn't felt that since before. He squeezes their fingers together. It's hot and sweaty.

Kirihara looks at him. His eyes flicker in the changing scenes. Renji stares at the screen. Behind a handful of popcorn, he smiles.

***

They eat curry cutlets in a joint near the theatre. The kitchen is steamy and the portions are big. Renji orders the mild curry and spinach. Kirihara orders extra sauce. They sit side-by-side at the counter. Their knees bump together.

Renji holds Kirihara's hand when they walk home. A car drives by and honks. His chest tightens. So does Kirihara's hand.

At the end of Renji's street, they stop. The light is dying quickly behind the blue and scarlet clouds. The air is still and humid. Renji can feel his back getting sweatier under his tennis bag.

"Thank you," he says.

"So it was okay?" Kirihara says at the same time. He starts to laugh. Renji nods.

"But you can't tell anyone," Renji says.

Kirihara swears his won't. He stands there, looking up at Renji. His mouth is open as he breathes. Renji feels all swollen inside.

Renji pulls his hand away. He thinks, What would… but his mouth is there already. He presses their lips together.

"Thank you," he whispers. Renji runs home and slams the door. He shuts the door of his bedroom, and he lies back on his bed. His fingers slither between his legs, under his underpants. He's hot and he aches. Renji bites his lip, but he doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't remember to write in his notebook until morning.

***

Jackal and Niou are talking in the girls' bathroom. Renji takes a step closer.

"—yeah, my sister's magazine showed me how."

A pause. A toilet flushes. "Really?"

"It's all about technique."

"Like tennis."

"Yeah, but with something called a clit. A mini dick."

"So our dicks didn't disappear, they shrunk."

"That still doesn't explain the pussy."

"Or the tits."

Sanada asks Renji what he's doing. Renji whips his head around. Sanada frowns. "Are you waiting for…?"

Renji hums. He strains to listen, but the voices stop. Niou and Jackal walk out, both wearing the same shade of lip gloss. Jackal zips up a Hello Kitty case. Renji raises his eyebrows. "More makeup?" he asks.

Jackal practically giggles.

"You're too young for that stuff!" Sanada says.

A smirk slithers over Niou's lips. He slides an arm over Sanada's shoulder. "Ne, Gen-chan? Yukimura told me he really, really likes lip gloss." Sanada freezes. Niou's smile sharpens. "He said he wants to lick it off your—"

Sanada slaps Niou across the cheek.

But Sanada shows up to afternoon tennis practice with glossy lips.

***

According to Seventeen, he is not supposed to call for three days.

After five, Renji emails. How was your english quiz?

Kirihara doesn't email. Sadaharu does.

***

Renji says good morning. Kirihara's eyes pop out. He starts to say "Good morning" in return, but his voice breaks. Niou laughs at him. Marui says he's finally becoming a man.

"Help me with the machine," Renji tells him.

Kirihara trips over his shoelaces. Renji leans down to offer a hand. Kirihara jerks away. He brushes gravel from his knees.

"I'll hit first," Renji says.

Kirihara stands behind the machine. The balls are rhythmic and slow. Renji switches from forehand to back hand. He barely moves his feet. The cicadas are still out, but he's barely breaking a sweat.

"Faster!" he shouts.

Kirihara makes a high-pitched noise. The balls come quicker. Renji warms his calves a bit. His muscles work. His forearms and biceps feel the tension. It feels good when the sweat starts to bead on his face.

"Harder!" he yells.

Kirihara says something unintelligible. Renji shakes his head. He can see Kirihara fumbling with the machine. He's red-faced and turned away. Moths fly around Renji's insides. He thinks about last night, and his fingers up his cunt. He thinks about Kirihara's fingers, now on the machine dials.

The first ball zooms past his racket.

***

He pictures Kirihara in the showers. He's naked. Water rolls over his tanned arms and legs. Kirihara has shampoo swirls in his hair. He reaches down for his dick—

Renji sucks a breath in. Something explodes in his belly. He bucks. His body stops. His heart skips. He shakes all over as every nerve in his cunt pulses.

He flops back against his pillow.

There are still no emails from Kirihara.

***

He sits on the bench with Sanada and Yukimura at morning practice.

"Akaya's form is terrible," Yukimura says. "How many balls has he roofed?"

Renji doesn't know.

"Thirty-four," Sanada says. Another ball sails over their heads. "Thirty-five."

Yukimura purses his lips. "We'll have to have a little chat with him."

***

Kirihara drags his feet to afternoon practice. A piece of paper flies out of his bag. Renji picks it up. There's a fat red 26 at the top of his English test.

Yukimura leans over Renji's shoulder. He snatches the test, and stomps back into the clubhouse. Renji follows him.

"This is unacceptable," Yukimura says. He shoves the test under Kirihara's nose. Kirihara has his t-shirt up to his elbows. The muscles in his shoulders tighten. Renji feels warm.

"Tarundoru," Sanada says.

"If you think you can be captain next year with these marks, think again!" Yukimura shouts. "You have to represent not only your team, but your school!"

"And the glorious nation of Japan!" Jackal whispers.

Yukimura shoots him a glare.

"You forgot the Emperor!" Marui hisses.

Yukimura glares at him, too.

"Well, Akaya?"

Kirihara He starts to shrink as he laughs. "I—uh…"

"You can come study at my house," Renji says. The moths in his chest are back. His heart presses against his ribs.

Kirihara shakes his head. He grabs his test from Yukimura. "No! No, it's okay! I swear!" He bows low. "I promise I'll never fail aga—"

Yukimura pulls him up. "We've broken enough promises on this team," he says. No one moves. The rusty fan rattles in the corner. Renji holds his breath.

"Renjii's right," Yukimura says. Sanada looks down his nose at Kirihara. With his boobs, he doesn't have the same effect anymore.

Renji nods. "I'll help."

Kirihara sinks to the floor.

***

In Biology, Renji doesn't copy the overhead notes. He flips his cellphone open under his desk. The Seventeen website is useless. He doesn't want to download new Poupee hats.

He sits in the rooftop garden at lunch. He throws out the school's macaroni salad, and all three of the cheese croquettes, too. His stomach growls. Renji sips on a tea from the vending machine. Yukimura and Sanada are necking by the irises. Renji shakes his head.

He looks across at the tennis courts. Kirihara's not there.

***

Kirihara takes extra long in the shower. Renji sits on a bench outside. He has the new Ogawa novel on his knee, but he doesn't open it. Jackal bangs on the clubhouse door. "Are you DONE YET?" he shouts.

Niou sticks his head through the window. "If you don't hurry up, we're coming in! NAKED GIRLS!"

Sanada paces. He mutters under his breath. Kirihara runs out of the clubhouse. His hair drips down his shirt. His tie is knotted backwards. He cringes at Sanada's cuff. He winces at Niou sticking his chest out.

Renji stands up. His knees shake a little. "Well?"

Kirihara balls his fists for a moment. Then he looks up, and says, "Okay, but I gotta get my bike."

Kirihara grips his handlebars so tight, his knuckles are white. He doesn't talk. Renji thinks about asking which chapter Kirihara is studying, but he never does. Honeyed sun streams over the packed rows of houses.

The shadow next to him disappears. Renji turns around. Kirihara is a half-block back. He holds one palm to the cement retaining wall. His bike leans sideways. Renji's insides are twisted when Kirihara shuffles up the hill.

"Akaya?" he asks. Kirihara says nothing. Renji offers a smile.

The gate creeks when Renji swings it open. The car park is empty. His mother's bicycle is gone, too. Kirihara sets his bike against the side of the house.

Renji fumbles on the key. Kirihara sets his bags beside the potted palm. He takes a heavy breath. Renji's mouth is dry. He takes a step up the first stair. He glances back. Kirihara is right behind him now.

Kirihara has been here before, a few times. Renji thinks that he should have picked up some of the dirty clothes. He should have made his bed. He asks Kirihara if he would like some tea. Kirihara says nothing.

"What chapter are you working on?" Renji asks. He leans down to sit on his bed. Kirihara tackles him from the side. There's a foot in his knee. Renji falls onto the mattress. His body is on fire. There's an erection pressed to his leg. Renji can't breathe. He moves his head. Their noses brush. He remembers the first kiss. He slides his tongue into Kirihara's mouth. Kirihara moans.

Hands fumble with his tie. Renji pulls at the buttons of Kirihara's shirt. They kiss, and gasp, and Kirihara peels Renji's shirt off. Renji sits back on his knees. Kirihara sits up, too. He licks the side of Renji's face. "Senpai…" he whispers. His hands are on Renji's hips. They knead his skin through his pants. Renji starts to moan, too.

Kirihara pulls away.

Then Kirihara licks his nipples. Renji bites his lip. His cunt burns. Kirihara pushes him down. His tongue weaves little patterns. Renji digs his fingers into Kirihara's hair. There's a sharp bite to his nipple. He smacks Kirihara on the ear.

Kirihara ducks his head. "I—sorry." He starts to laugh.

Renji takes a deep breath. His lips are swollen. His thigh burns where Kirihara's erection was pressed. His cunt tingles, too. His legs aren't steady as he unbuckles his belt. Kirihara digs his hands into the sheets.

"Akaya," Renji says. He steps out of his y-fronts. He kisses Kirihara, who lets Renji tugs his pants down, and his boxers, too.

Renji eases into the sweaty hands on his hips. He's coiled up tight inside, and his breath catches. It's not pain, per se. He's stretched and hot and wet and Kirihara slides deeper. Someone shouts. Someone moans. Renji rocks on Kirihara's dick. He moves faster, and faster. Sensations explode inside. His body shivers. His heart pounds. Kirihara thrusts hard. Renji squeezes himself around Kirihara. Kirihara digs his nails into Renji's hips, and he comes.

They're pressed, hip to hip, and chest to chest. Renji touches the damp curls of Kirihara's hair. Kirihara whispers three, thick words in his ear. Something wet slides down Renji's temple into the pillow.

***

Renji opens the window. It smells of ozone. Under the orange street lamps, the first rain water glows.

He writes down in his notebook. Kirihara curls into the depression in the middle of his bed. His mouth hangs open with sleep. Renji rubs his arms. The skin is cool with the a/c on.

When he lies back down, Kirihara stirs. The bed is too narrow for two. Kirihara rolls a little to the side. He cracks open an eye.

"Senpai…" he whispers. "Was it…was I…?"

Renji presses his lips to Kirihara's mouth. Their breathing falls in perfect unison.

***

The next afternoon, Kirihara waits by the school gate.

Renji smiles. "Are you waiting for someone, Akaya?"

"Uh…" Kirihara scratches the side of his head. He laughs a little. "Uh, English is really important to know." His voice gets louder. Jackal walks by, and says good night.

"We should study harder," Renji says.

Kirihara licks his lips. "Yeah."

Before Renji closes his bedroom door, Kirihara has his hands under Renji's shirt.

***

Sometimes they do study English. Renji earns a fat, bloody 65 written across the top of his test. He tucks it into his notebook, and says nothing when Sanada asks about his mark.

"Parse, 'to go'," he says.

Kirihara looks up from Renji's navel. He blinks. "Um…I go?"

Renji hums. Kirihara kisses his hip. Renji sucks in a breath. He tightens his leg around Kirihara's ribs. He rubs his cunt against Kirihara's chest. "And then?"

"You go," Kirihara says. He kisses the inside of Renji's thigh. Renji shivers. He digs his fingers into Kirihara's shoulder. Kirihara's tongue slides over his other thigh, right up to his cunt. Renji gasps. He squeezes his pussy around Kirihara's finger. He's aching.

"You know," Kirihara says. His finger wiggles inside. Renji bites his lip. His body shudders. Don't beg, he thinks. Don't, don't beg.

The fingers stroke something. Renji tenses all over. His legs twitch and tighten and he bucks up. He wants to spread his legs and squeeze his knees together all at once. He rides the waves that rock through his muscles.

Kirihara whispers, "I'd rather parse, 'to come', senpai."

***

Renji draws the yoga formation on the chalk board. "Hold it for ten, and exhale," he says.

Marui wheezes on his mat. Renji walks past Kirihara. Kirihara looks through his legs. Renji doesn't smile. "You're doing it wrong, Akaya," he says. His eyes linger on Kirihara's butt sticking up in the air. Renji touches Kirihara's hip. Kirihara tenses. He's hard.

"Higher," Renji says.

"It h-urts," Marui whines. He collapses onto the floor. "Jack-al…I need your…h-elp!"

"You sound like a lovesick crackhead," Jackal says. He stretches his hips further back. "That should teach you for singing from the roof."

"K…esha…" Marui gasps.

"What?"

Marui coughs. "I prefer someone…class-ier, Jackal…like…Miley…"

Jackal facepalms. He falls flat on his face on his mat. Renji tells him to hold his pose next time. He looks back at Kirihara. Sweat slithers down his red face. He shifts, and his glutes move. Renji's insides wither.

"We going to do the doggie style next?" Niou asks. Renji blinks. Yagyuu falls face-first into his mat.

***

The room smells like popcorn, and sex. Renji swirls the bitter taste around his mouth. He thinks, Interesting. Kirihara touches his arm. He's still awake.

Renji glances to the clock. Kirihara pulls Renji close. A tongue slides over his. Renji moans. He climbs over Kirihara's hips. His dick is half-hard. Renji rubs his cunt over it to make Kirihara whimper.

He rubs slower until he hits the sweet spot. He hisses. Kirihara reaches down. His fingers work Renji's clit. Kirihara's fingers are fast, and good. Renji whispers, "Not yet…"

Kirihara slides inside, deep. Renji rocks his hips. His breath catches, and he comes.

When Kirihara's breathing softens, Renji climbs off the bed. He steps on something plastic and hard. He picks up three pieces of Gundam, and sets them on Kirihara's desk.

Kirihara sleeps with his mouth open. His drool glistens. Renji shuts his notebook, and stretches out beside him. He pulls Kirihara's arm over his shoulders. He takes a deep breath—Kirihara smells like sweat and sex and soap and the rubber of tennis balls. He whispers, "I love you…" and Renji can't tell if he's asleep or not.

His insides ache all night.

***

On Kirihara's birthday, Marui says, "Let's go to the arcade!" Even Sanada comes. He hangs around the UFO catcher with Renji. University-aged guys walk past. Their eyes lower to Sanada's chest. Sanada crosses his arms. His cleavage deepens.

Yukimura loses a Nascar race to Jackal. He stomps over to Sanada, and then he blows 2000 yen trying to catch a limited edition Disney plushie with the catcher.

Niou throws a dart. "Triple ring," he says.

Kirihara makes a face. He sticks out his tongue, and chews on it. Renji's mouth is dry. Yukimura curses that he's lost another hundred yen. Kirihara throws his dart, and it bounces off the board.

Kirihara pouts when Niou holds out his hand. He hands over a thousand yen note. Yagyuu tells Niou it's not very nice of him. Niou rolls his eyes, and says, "Puri."

The humidity melts them on the walk to the shopping arcade, where cheap ramen joints punctuate stationary and sock shops, fashionable t-shirts stands and an ABCmart. Jackal disappears into a shop selling hair extension clip-ons. Marui offers to go get him.

Renji does it instead.

He finds Jackal at the shop counter with yellow barrettes, ribbon hairbands, and clip-in strands of pink and brown. Jackal says, "Um…"

Renji frowns.

"I'd share with you, but it'd be kinda gay," Jackal says.

Renji's looks at Jackal. Jackal looks at him. His skin crawls under his shirt, especially around his breasts and hips. His pants feel too tight as they walk back through the arcade corridor. The heat pushes down. Renji walks faster.

At the ramen shop, Renji sits at the far end, across from Jackal. He swirls the ice around in his cup. He doesn't look at Kirihara. Kiriharas laugh at Marui's Rafael Nadal jokes. Renji takes a deep breath, but he can't smell anything except the fruity perfume Jackal has on.

He takes a bite of his ramen noodles, and his stomach turns.

Sanada and Yukimura leave first. As soon as they're outside the shop, Yukimura takes Sanada's hand. Niou pretends to gag.

Yagyuu pays for his ramen, and Niou's too. Niou lets out a long belch of "Happy Birthday". He follows Yagyuu out the door.

"Guess it's just us four singletons," Marui says. He looks at Jackal. "For now."

Renji says nothing. Jackal sighs. "All right, I have shopping to do," he says.

Marui stands up. "I'll accompany you."

"Tampon shopping?" Jackal asks. Marui's jaw hangs open.

Jackal's skirt swishes behind him. Marui hesitates a moment, then he runs out after him. Renji can hear him call Jackal's name through the window of the ramen shop.

He turns around.

Kirihara's eyes are black. His lips are parted.

When they get to Kirihara's apartment, Kirihara runs up the stairs. Renji rips off his tie in the dark hallway. He's naked and straining under Kirihara before the front door clicks shut.

They don't make it past the couch.

***

The weather cools enough that the a/c is barely on. The curtains are closed, but there is still enough light that Renji can see Kirihara's erection, and the muscles of his butt. He kisses Kirihara harder. He rubs his fingers over Kirihara's hip.

He lets Kirihara take off his shirt. He lets Kirihara wiggle his fingers down his pants, and his y-fronts, too. Kirihara strokes the inside of Renji's knee. Renji groans. Kirihara licks his bellybutton. Renji digs his hands into Kirihara's hair. Renji spreads his legs wider. He whispers Kirihara's name. Kirihara licks him all over, until Renji's eyes roll back.

"I wanna hear you," Kirihara says. Renji arches his back. His body flushes with heat, and spasms. He jerks Kirihara off, after. Kirihara doesn't last more than three strokes.

Renji sighs.

His skin is warm where Kirihara pressed against him. "Twelve minutes," he says. He writes the number in his notebook, and spoons back against Kirihara's chest.

His eyes are too heavy, his body is liquid and boneless boneless. He is vaguely aware of the mattress creaking. Kirihara moves from his side.

Then he hears a sharp "Fuck". He opens his eyes to see Kirihara at his desk. The notebook is open. Renji opens his mouth, but he can't breathe. Kirihara pulls his clothes on. He grabs his bag. The door slams before Renji has on his underpants.

Renji's hands shake so badly he can barely pull on his tennis shorts, and his school uniform shirt. He runs out the front door without shoes on. Hot tears ruin his vision. He tries to yell "AKAYA!", but the sound dies on his tongue.

There's no one on the street. There's not even an echo.

***

It rains for the better part of a week.

Renji tells his mom he has a cold. He skips school. Sanada sends emails asking if he is all right. Yukimura sends an email asking Renji where the match schedule is. Kirihara blocks his number.

Renji tears up his notebook and throws the pieces onto the roof. They swell, and disintegrate in the rain. He leaves his window open and shivers all night. He sends more emails to Kirihara. They all bounce back. He tries calling, too. This number is out of service. Please try again—

On the second morning his mom presses her hand to his forehead. She says he's fine, and he can go to school. Renji pulls the facemask off when he rounds the block. One of the spokes of his umbrella snaps. Rain drips onto his arm.

Kirihara is at practice. He and Yagyuu are the only regulars running laps. Niou stands under the eaves of the clubhouse. He lifts the side of his umbrella and nods. Renji shifts his hands on the handle of his umbrella.

The look in Kirihara's eyes is murder. Renji can't breathe. Any words die in his mouth. Kirihara runs past, panting hard. His pupils are lost in his glower. Renji shrinks back against the side of the clubhouse.

Kirihara has the upper hand. He knows, and he could tell anyone, any time. Renji tries to email Kirihara in the middle of literature class. He clutches his cellphone.

Another bounce.

His shoulders sink. Rain patters at the window.

***

On Friday, there's no morning tennis practice. Yukimura emailed last night to say that he's might hand over his keys next week. Renji touches his chest. He loosens his tie a little, too. He looks down the hallway.

Kirihara has his bag slung over his shoulder. He plows through two senior girls, who shriek at him. He curls his lip. Then he lifts his head. Renji digs his nails into his textbook cover.

Kirihara's eyes widen. They burn into Renji's chest. All the hairs on his body stiffen.

Kirihara walks right past him, and doesn't say a word.

***

When Yukimura gives Kirihara the keys to the clubhouse everyone slaps Kirihara on the shoulder. Marui high-fives him. Jackal says, "Buchou." Sanada just says, "Don't fuck up."

Renji thinks, It's over.

He calls Sadaharu that night. "Are you busy this weekend?"

Sadaharu makes a noise in the back of his throat. "I can meet you Sunday afternoon."

***

They meet in the subway station. Sadaharu has a single bandage on the left side of his face. Renji's stomach knots up. He keeps his hands loose at his hips. He tries to walk normally. The sweater he's wearing is too warm for today. It hangs off his body, though.

"Ah, Renji," Sadaharu says. "It's been forty-nine days."

Renji nods once. "How…are you?" he asks. Sadaharu touches his bandage. Renji looks away.

The bookstore is busy. Sadaharu heads for the magazines, and emerges with a stack.

Renji raises his eyebrows.

Sadaharu says, "They mention the Nationals matches."

"You have a scrapbook."

Sadaharu's lips twitch. "Data."

"Scrapbook."

"We won."

Renji winces. "Touché."

They walk through the underground mall leading back to the subway station. There's a bra shop on the right, and on the left, three stores selling purses and accessories. A girl with bleached hair is at the cashier of the last. She starts to turn her head. Renji walks faster. He ducks into a donburi joint around the corner. He sits at the far table, behind a group of middle-aged men under a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Bile rises. Renji closes his eyes. His hand slides over his stomach. Sadaharu sits across from him. He pushes his glasses up. "Renji?"

Renji loosens his shoulders. "The donburi here is good."

"Aa."

"Your team is done for the season."

"Kaidoh is captain."

"Your kouhai."

"Yes. Rikkai changed captains last week."

Renji tightens his grip on his mug of tea. "Yes."

"Kirihara Akaya."

"Yes," Renji says. He exhales, holds it for three, and breathes in. Sadaharu eats a slice of his porkchop.

"And your former teammates remain female."

Renji stares at Sadaharu. Sadaharu takes a swig from a PET bottle, then a sip of his tea. "Yes," Renji says. "I haven't determined the cause for this…"

Sadaharu cringes when Renji says, "Vaginitis." Renji does too. His insides sink.

If no one knows, it's not real.

***

He goes to the student council meetings every Wednesday lunch, and Thursday after school. Sanada and Yukimura still practice tennis most days before and after school. Renji goes to the library instead. He sits by the window and looks down at the green courts. He pushes the windows open. Crisp autumn air rustles his papers. He listens to Kirihara shouting out laps, and screaming out orders. Kirihara never looks up.

They meet up for Yagyuu's birthday. Niou shows up in a one-suit. He picks wedgies all through karaoke. Renji sits across the booth from Kirihara. Kirihara glares at his Pepsi. Marui sings ballad after ballad. He butchers Miley, and he warbles Whitney Houston until Jackal throws a PET bottle. It hits Marui in the forehead.

They spend the rest of the evening in the emergency room waiting area. Renji rubs his knees with his palms. Kirihara curls up, two rows away, and sleeps. His breathing isn't even. Every once in a while, the back of Renji's neck prickles. He looks over. Kirihara's eyes are closed.

Marui gets two stitches.

Jackal agrees to hold his hand on the train home.

Renji walks alone in the dark. He pukes up the ramen on the pavement. The hot, bitter smell follows him home.

***

"I have a theory," Sadaharu says.

"What?"

"Karma."

Renji sets his pen down. He rubs his temples. He thinks of Sadaharu's bandage. He closes his eyes, and says, "There's no scientific proof."

But he doesn't disagree, either.

***

Yukimura says, "Get your lazyass on the tennis courts—we have the Invitationals in two weeks."

Renji closes his textbook. Yukimura stands beside Sanada, who frowns.

"The coach informed you, then," Renji says.

Yukimura nods.

Renji looks at Sanada's chest. "This could be…awkward." Sanada's frown deepens. Yukimura glances at Sanada. His eyes drift down. Sanada says, "Eyes up."

"Exactly," Renji says. "There will be a couple hundred teenage boys at the training camp."

Sanada's face whitens. Yukimura sputters. "But…but Sanada's my girlfriend."

Marui pops out from behind the biology aisle. "You need to mark your territory, Seiichi," he says. He holds his fist out. "Defend your honour. And your girlfriend."

"Defend my girlfriend!" Yukimura bumps Marui's fist.

Sanada smacks them both.

***

Renji adjusts the speed dial on the ball machine. He sets the timer for ten seconds.

"Does defending your honour include stalking?" he asks Marui.

Marui roofs the ball.

***

On Jackal's birthday, they all go to a Brazilian buffet. Marui offers to pay for Jackal. "My treat, my lovely lady lumps," he says. He looks at the menu. His eyes bulge.

"Thanks," Jackal says. "This'll save me 5000. I can buy that new flat iron I wanted."

Niou narrows his eyes. "You sharing?"

"We can have a sleepover," Jackal says. He looks at Sanada. Sanada narrows his eyes, too.

Renji stacks his plate. He goes back three times. Jackal rolls onto the floor after one round. Yagyuu unbuckles his belt after two. Yukimura steals Sanada's leftovers. He finishes with belch, and holds up his white napkin in defeat.

Marui and Kirihara come back with more meat. Kirihara glares at his stacked plate. He shoves piece after piece into his mouth.

"You won't be number one at this," Marui says. He digs his chopsticks in.

Renji stands up.

"Are you done?" Niou moans from the floor. He hiccups. Then he cups his hands over his mouth, and runs to the toilets.

Renji's stomach gurgles. He shrugs, and gets another plate. He ladles over cheese sauce, and Tabasco, and sits back down.

Marui's mouth hangs open. Half-chewed meat drops onto his plate. "I underestimated you," he says.

Renji smiles—until Kirihara looks at him.

His shoulders sink.

***

Jackal doesn't show up to afternoon practice. Marui drags his feet during laps. He huffs when Yukimura tells him to work on swings with Kirihara.

"In-vi-tational!" Yukimura says. "We're not done for the season yet!"

"Except the fact we officially retired last month," Niou mutters.

Marui sighs. He turns to Kirihara, and moans. "He's not even answering my emails!"

"Time of the month?" Renji asks. His hands feel cold. He pulls his sleeves over his fingers. Renji looks at Niou.

Niou whistles. He plays with the zipper of his coat. "I'm irregular."

"I didn't want to know about that," Renji says.

"Thought the data man wanted all the juicy details," Niou says.

Renji doesn't respond. The first and second-years lunge and do jumping jacks on the main courts. Kirihara screams at them. Yukimura doesn't pay any attention. He yells at Sanada to serve faster, and harder, and don't be a pussy with his backhand.

Marui swoons instead of swinging. "Jackal, oh Jackal, I don't love the way you lie!"

Renji raises his eyebrows. Marui slumps onto the bench. When Kirihara runs to Yukimura, Renji looks away. There's someone in the window of the biology lab on the third floor.

Inside the school some of the classroom doors are open. The trivia club, and the travel club must be meeting. A group of second years in tight t-shirts and shorts walk past. Their t-shirts read Rikkai Rhythmic Gymnastics. Renji snorts. The captain glares.

Renji knocks on the lab door. No one answers, so he slides it open. Something rustles behind the bench at the back of the room.

Jackal wipes his eyes, and looks up.

"Oh, it's you," he mumbles. He sniffles. He blows his nose into a handkerchief.

Renji crouches down. "Are you…?"

Jackal keeps crying. Renji shifts his weight onto his other foot.

"Why—why did this happen?" Jackal asks. Mucus slithers down from his nose. Renji tries not to cringe. "I don't…" Jackal wipes at his face. "I don't want this."

Renji sits down. Jackal rubs his face with the handkerchief again. "I don't want this," he mumbles. "I…I don't even know if I'm a girl, or a boy, or some…freaking chick with a former dick!"

Renji puts his hand on Jackal's shoulder. He doesn't know what to say. His eyes sting a little, and his throat is tight.

"Like…do I like girls now? Or should I like boys?" Jackal snorts a really big wad. Renji winces when Jackal swallows it. "I still like my Gisele poster, but sometimes…when Bunta sings Justin Bieber songs, it's…" He shakes his head. Renji pats his shoulder once or twice.

"I don't know…what I am…" Jackal's voice trails off into a sob. He shakes his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Renji whispers.

***

He sits in the bathtub. Water laps at his chin. He dunks his head a little lower, until the surface brushes his nostrils. The water ripples.

If no one knows, it's not real.

FIC: Shishido Sensei, Vague Ohtori/Shishido, PG13

reposte — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 17:25:57 GMT

Title: Shishido Sensei
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: 5700
Rating: PG13?
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, except Atobe's Range Rover.
Warning: Vague references to other fics, including Dénoument and The Twelve Ways of Christmas. Also, potential pervs from Rikkai.
Summary: Shishido gets a job, and becomes a Real Man. Only problem is, his job isn’t what he expects.
Author's Notes: Written for doovlynsidhe &hearts

If you like/love/loathe, please leave a comment to let me know.

Atobe says, "I have contacts, you know."

Shishido rolls his eyes. Then he hangs up his cell.

His father says, "I have colleagues who have contacts."

Shishido says thanks, but no thanks, Dad.

Ohtori says, "What about the classifieds?"

Shishido looks up at him. "I already tried that."

Ohtori frowns. He pussyfoots around job-talk by switching topics. Performance technique classes at the conservatory, and composition lessons at the main campus building. Ethnomusicology and blah blah. Shishido does his best to nod and mmm hmm that's nice, Choutarou, you play those ivories hard! But truth be told, his pride stings when Ohtori is the one to pay for their ramen dinner. Again.

So on Monday, after Ohtori is off to school for his important degree in something something musical stuff, Shishido heads to the bookstore in the underground shopping arcade. He buys the National, Regional, and City papers—with Ohtori's money, kindly left on top of the fridge for him. Then Shishido sits in a café and spreads the classifieds out.

On the last page, under 'General Positions', there's a teacher for hire. And a position not in the middle of rural Saitama to boot! Shishido circles it with his pen. He whips out his phone, and tries to keep himself from whooping his fist into the salaryman's shoulder to his left.

"We need someone to start Monday," the woman says.

Shishido grins. "Sounds cool to me."

And Atobe said he'd never get anywhere without a four-year university degree!

***

It wasn't that he didn't try university. Because he tried the first semester. He went to classes…for a couple weeks. Then he worked on the writeups after the chemistry labs. He wrote essays for history seminars that were pretty darn good, if anyone had bothered to get his argument about the effects of war (Ohtori helped a bit on that, but no one has to know). Then he just got kinda bored. The chemistry labs were lame, too fixated on calculations rather than cool explosions of residue and the blinding burn of magnesium. Jiroh would call up for a tennis game. Oshitari had tickets for Namuro Amie (no one has to know, Oshitari said. No one, Shishido agreed). Atobe had that pool party, and then Ohtori's family sorta invited him to Guam for a week and frankly, Shishido was done with school.

His profs were done with him, too.

Even after Shishido's mom begged him to stay a little longer, to gambare and stick it out.

That was three years ago, though. Three years of Ohtori telling him it's okay, Shishido-san, I'll pay for dinner. It's okay, Shishido-san, I'll pay for the new television. It's okay, Shishido-san, I'll pay for the rent and the condoms, too.

There's a poster outside the train station by their apartment. Behind the vending machine that Shishido buys his Pocari Sweat every morning before his jog to the park to watch the dogs on their walks. The poster has some girlie-boy idol, flippy-hair Atobe-style, and perfect teeth like Kabaji. There's a chick on his arms who's practically as hot as Hiyoshi's girlfriend, and the caption:

Real Men Use AXE sakura bloom hair mist.

Which may not be entirely true, since there was a fruity fag in that feathered boa at the Tokyo Pride parade who smelled like the hair mist, but whatever. The Real Men sticks in Shishido's mind.

He chugs the last of his Pocari Sweat, and picks out the clothes to wear for work tomorrow.

Be a REAL MEN, he thinks.

***

"Um…are you sure it's high school?" Ohtori asks. They're in bed, in their boxers, and Shishido is tucked under Ohtori's hot, sweaty armpit.

"Yeah," Shishido says. He leaves out the part about the school's name. Bad memories from tennis tournaments and all that. "Their one assistant teacher just fucked off on a long-term depression or something, and they need someone who can start mid-term."

"But…" Ohtori moves his arm around Shishido, so his fingers play with Shishido's waistband. "Don't they require any…"

"Any what?"

"Qualifications?"

Shishido snorts. "I have qualifications!"

"I'm not sure if a six-week course to teach tennis counts," Ohtori says.

Shishido pushes out from under the futon. He rolls over, miffed and hurt and refusing to speak to Ohtori until Ohtori says he can be on top for once. Like Real Men.

After, all sweaty and breathless and covered in spunk and lube and everything nice, Ohtori leans on his elbow and looks down at Shishido. Shishido tucks himself back under Ohtori's armpit.

"Are you sure sure?" Ohtori asks.

Shishido has a satisfied little smile.

"I start Monday."

***

The classroom looks a bit suspect. The walls are covered in cartoon characters and kana charts. There are chairs for midgets, and a sand table—in addition to the macaroni-bead station.

Shishido surveys the classroom. "Guess it's true what they say about learning going down the tube lately," he says. His hems drag in the water table. His pant legs are rolled up to his ankles. Luckily, the other teacher doesn't comment about his greying sneakers. She's got on a pair of Adidas herself. Albeit with a Mickey Mouse jersey dress under an apron.

She hands Shishido an apron. "You'll need this." She grows three more heads, all of which smile at him.

"Uh…why?" He scratches the back of his head. "High schoolers aren't usually that messy." At least he wasn't. Oshitari during a movie night with Koizora? Maybe.

Kimura-san starts to giggle. The doors open. And Shishido's mouth hits the floor when the principal of the school frogmarches a line of five-year olds into the classroom.

***

"Way, way uncool," he says.

Toshi looks up from the water station. He's got Kenta in an armlock, and both of them are dripping in half the water. The rest is on the floor, where a girl who's lost her nametag is sitting and playing with Barbies.

Barbies.

Shishido shudders. He might take it up the ass, but Barbies are a whole other level of wrong. He tries to wrestle Toshi to the floor, then the kid has to start screaming and biting and "OW!"

Four more kids start to scream. The water's gone. There's a big messy. They can't find their TEDDY.

A girl, with a nametag that says YuRI, tugs his sleeve. What was a clean—albeit baggy and musty-smelling—suit is covered in glue and ground-up balls of snack-time crackers. Shishido asks her what she wants. She sniffles. Shishido's stomach sinks with images of diapers, or more glue, or kids drowning each other in the sandbox.

"I…a girl pee-peed in the sandbox," she says. She clutches a ratty blanket to her chest. She's missing her little yellow school hat, too. Shishido just facepalms, and groans.

"That's nasty," he mutters.

The girl perks up. She wasn't meant to hear that. Oops. "No," she says, as a smile breaks across her face, "That's just like my cat Muffy!"

***

Shishido hates cats.

His deep, dark secret that Ohtori doesn't know. The one thing he avoids talking about, when Ohtori brings up pets and future apartments that are bigger than eight tatami with a closet—or, 'bathroom', as the ad for the place listed. Ohtori sings to his cat on the phone when his mom calls. He coos over cats in petshop windows, and clutches his chest when there are kittens on tv. Shishido grinds his teeth. World peace is at stake.

Kimura-san hands him a shovel, and a garbage bag. It's like cleaning a human-sized cat litter, except the sandbox is still filled with some of the first-years, older, wiser, and slightly less likely to pee in sand now that they can, Shishido assumes, read or play tennis or important things like that.

Way uncool, he thinks. Way, way WAY uncool! He scrubs his hands in the school toilets until the soap dispenser's empty. It's anal retentive and Atobe-like to do it. Shishido flings the water droplets against the wall. He's a REAL MEN and air dries.

Ohtori has late class. Shishido fries up gyoza on the lone burner in the place. He eats on the floor, and listens for the sound of Ohtori's keys. He can still smell glue on himself. Visions of sandboxes swim in his head.

"How was work?" Ohtori asks.

Shishido takes a deep breath. Then he hangs his head. Ohtori completely shoots his pride by rubbing his shoulders, and kissing his neck, and saying, it's okay, he knows that Shishido will make a super kindergarten teacher. Shishido almost wants to push him away, except Ohtori notices the leftover gyoza in the pan. His eyes are three times the size they should be, dog-like and watery, when he says, "You made dinner?"

He grunts. Ohtori devours each and every dumpling, licking his lips and his fingers, and then Shishido's, too.

***

"Really," Ohtori says. He brushes his nose across Shishido's cheek. Shishido digs his nails into the warmth of Ohtori's back. He presses himself, skin to sweating skin. He breathes in Ohtori and his insides burn even hotter.

Ohtori spreads his hand across Shishido's butt. Shishido whimpers. Ohtori whispers, "You'll be a great teacher."

***

The suit is ditched for trainers and jeans, which Atobe scoffs at. "Heathen," he says. "Infidel!" Of course, he wears Armani suits to university classes, and Ralph Lauren polos for a walk to the street courts. Shishido mentions nothing about the job. The little smirks Atobe gives him make his pride wither enough as is.

None of the kids really like him much. Shishido doesn't remember who sleeps where during naptime. He tells them to pick up their own macaroni beads. He doesn't remember the words to Head and Shoulders, or what the heck Dora the Explorer is. And frankly, he doesn't care that much when little Matsu has to pee during sing-song, except for the fact he'll have to clean it up if Matsu doesn't make it to the bathroom again.

If Ohtori didn't hate it, Shishido might be apt to pick up smoking, along with half the other teachers who meet in the office after classes finish. Instead, he's helping three different children search for their Build-a-Bears in the classroom because, wah, they can't find them, and they can’t remember where they were, or even if they brought them to school.

Shishido fishes one bear out of a cubby. "This yours?"

Keita screams louder. "Noooo!"

Tachi shrieks. "MY TEDDY!"

And Mayami drips snot from her nose even faster. She shakes her head and keeps blubbering until a second bear is pulled from a second cubby—with the label Mayami underneath it.

Keita punches Shishido in the leg. Shishido shouts, "Hey, you little br—"

Kimura-san clucks her tongue. Shishido shrinks a little. He shifts his eyes, and almost feels bad. If Keita didn't punch his other leg, that is, and run crying to his mom at the doorway that Shishido-san is a meanie.

Two or three more moms show up. Kids whisper loud, and they point. Shishido straightens his back, and straightens the crayon station. Their eyes prod him, pull him inside-out and wonder, why the heck he's helping with kindergarteners. Keita's mom sniffs at him. There's another mom loaded with a toddler and twin stroller who bristles like a scaredy cat. She looks almost familiar, but he can't place the face or the bad bleach job.

He takes the bus home. He gets off early, and walks three more blocks so he can stop at the conbini for the today's new releases of manga. And pick up that milk coffee he's been craving half the afternoon, since the vending machine at school only has apple juices and watered down teas. Shishido slurps on his coffee and flips through the issues until a group of junior high kids—Yamabuki white and green, and Shishido remembers kicking some of their asses in his second year of junior high school. He smiles to himself. Ah, memories.

He purposely takes the long route past the pet shop. His heart twists at the puppies in the window: sleeping dachshunds and schnoodles crawling all over each other, yapping little shits of puppy love. There's a trio of beagle puppies bounding back and forth across the cage, tussling each other's ears and making Shishido melt into a puddle of wistful goo on the sidewalk. The salesclerk sweeps him up, and the sky is purple before he manages to crawl up the three flights of stairs to home.

"There you are," Ohtori says. He looks up from his glasses and the big book of music sheets on his lap. Shishido drops his manbag on the floor, and hangs his cap on the plastic hook. He sniffs the air. The sour milk smell isn't from the apartment, it's from the crusty patch on his t-shirt.

"Aw, shit," he says. He frowns. No wonder the conbini salesclerk crinkled his nose at Shishido when he went to pay. Ohtori smiles at him the same as always, though. He clears the sheet music and Shishido takes it's place.

"Long day?"

Shishido says not really. It was fine, same 'ol.

"Classical performance practice ended early," Ohtori says.

Shishido looks out the balcony window. His fingers rummage under Ohtori's shirt, liking the familiarity of his skin. Ohtori squirms a bit—still ticklish, even at almost twenty. Across the murky canal, there's a street court strung up with nets and glowing green. Shishido turns his head.

"Up for a game?"

Ohtori blinks. "But we haven’t played in—"

Shishido scoffs. He says, "Pffft, you're rusty already? What happened to all your heart and soul?" He ruffled Ohtori's hair. The glasses hang off the end of his nose.

Ohtori stands up for a stretch. Their tennis bags are piled in the far corner, with stacks of musical theory textbooks and Shishido's manga volumes.

"Okay," he says.

Shishido opens his mouth to say something like he missed Ohtori's serve, he's missed watching Ohtori's long, lean body stretch into that serve when he throws himself into the game. But that would be lame, and really uncool. So instead, he just grabs his cap and says,

"You can serve first."

***

Ohtori's across the net, his legs longer, and his reach even longer to catch that net ball Shishido just slugged from his baseline. The floodlight makes Ohtori's hair glow, and the beads of sweat under his lip too. He grunts and bares his teeth. Shishido does his best to ignore that tightness in his boxers when he shudders.

And then he remembers who that woman was, with the toddler and the twins coming to pick up Hiromi from school.

"No fucking way," he says.

Ohtori's lob lands with a sharp thwock by Shishido's feet.

***

Shishido shows up to school with the bag of construction paper and the child-friendly crinkle scissors Kimura told him to buy for this week. He sits on the floor, and cuts out animal shapes for twenty-three rugrats who paste and tear the damn paper all over the floor, the paper, and each other.

"This looks like a frog," Keiko says. She makes frog noises and hops across Kenta, who pastes his giraffe to his face.

"It's a bear," Shishido says.

"Frog."

"Bear."

"Gero gero. Geeeero gero."

He throws his hands in the air, and rolls his eyes. "Jeez…"

Five year olds are worse to argue with than Oshitari. He doesn't whine nearly as much when Shishido doesn't know what a fucking dugong is. Where do they even learn this stuff?

He watches Hiromi in the corner. The kid's glasses fall off his face, and he doesn't really look like the woman who picked him up, except for maybe the mole on his cheek. The kid rubs his dripping nose with his sleeve. Shishido passes the box of Kleenex over. Three more kids ask for one too.

And all four of them hand the Kleenex right back. Shishido makes a face. Way, way not cool at all. At least it's better than last week, when Shoutarou used Shishido's apron as a Kleenex instead.

"Say," Shishido says, "did your mom ever play tennis?"

Hiromi gives him a long, blank look. He shrugs and says he doesn't know.

"I used to play tennis," Shishido says. He leans back with a smirk. "Yep, I played for the best team on the circuit."

Hiromi perks up. "Rikkai?"

Shishido rolls his eyes. "As if."

Kimura shuffles over to tap Shishido on the shoulder. "School spirit, Shishido-sensei," she says.

Shishido sniffs. "Oh, right." He raises his hands, and, deadpan, says, "Go go Rikkai Attached Kindergarten."

Kimura offers a thin smile. She shuffles back to the front of the classroom to announce snack time, followed quickly by naptime. Shishido's already there, yawning and stomach pawing at his sides, and the pile of thin mats in the corner looks rather inviting. At least as inviting as the thin futon back in the apartment—sans Ohtori's hot hands and bony knees wedged against his back.

After class, he waits with Kimura. The moms glare at Shishido and grabs the hands of their precious ickle scholars. They smile and say goodbye to Kimura, who bows her head and thanks them for a good day's work. Shishido wonders if Dai's post-snack barf all over the craft table was really a good day. He pulls at the hangnails on his thumbs until the students thin out, and he can make out the woman with the bleached hair waiting on the tarmac.

He walks up to her with the kid. Hiromi tries to hand her a gluey paper mess. She purses her lips at Shishido. Her nostrils flare.

"Uh, hi," Shishido says, "I'm the AKT."

The woman narrows her eyes. She tells Hiromi it's time to go. The kid doesn't take her hand, since she's got the toddler in a harness and a twin stroller packed with two screaming babies.

"Did you ever play tennis?" Shishido asks.

The woman stops walking. She starts to look back over her shoulder, then she rushes faster. The kids in the stroller scream louder.

"Weird," Shishido mutters. "Whatever."

***

Then Atobe shows up at school. He's in his polo shirt and Armani capris, even though there's a cold rain outside. Shishido is squatting by the sand station, scooping litter back into the station after today's accident with Haruna.

"So," Atobe says. He surveys the classroom with a smirk playing at his lips. Shishido is torn between wanting to bury himself under the crayon pile, and asking Atobe if he wants to play dress up with the girls and Keita instead.

He opts for the latter.

"I do not dress up," Atobe says.

"Except at your parties," Shishido mutters.

Atobe whips his head around to glare. Shishido snickers under his breath. Oshitari's still got those pictures with Atobe in the feather boa and tin foil hat on his mixi page.

Kimura-san finishes story time, then she looks up. She fixes her hair, and smoothes out her apron. She sidles up to Atobe, who winks and asks her name, age, and if she speaks German at all. Shishido starts to gag. A trio of girls start to make kissy-noises around Atobe's feet.

"Could you start handing out snacks?" Kimura asks him.

Shishido narrows his eyes. Atobe flips his hair back. He tells Kimura he's got his Range Rover parked outside, he's here visiting an old friend, checking up on poor, silly Shishido.

"Ass," Shishido mutters.

"Ass," Matsu and Kenichi whisper in unison.

"Aw, shit!" Shishido says. He facepalms.

"Aw, shit!" Koki joins them, along with the two Meis.

Surely it's not allowed that Kimura-san wanders off with Atobe for a tour of the neighbourhood in his flashy SUV. There isn't even much of a neighbourhood that Shishido knows of, except the conbini around the corner, and the pebbly, dirty beach where junior high and high school students supposedly go to make out. Shishido glares daggers at Atobe's back. He curses his luck when Tachi misses the toilet and pisses on the floor. He swears he's done with all this for good when a chorus of kids start to whine that the class hamster is missing.

The mothers start to show up. Kouta runs up to his mom, who wears stiletto pumps and an OL's uniform. Also a member of the Kindergarten Parent's Group. Shishido shakes his head, no no, don't!

"Hammy's gone," Kouta tells his mom.

Shishido could facepalm.

Rina runs up to her mom. She clings to her mom's legs. She clung to Shishido's shins ten minutes beforehand, a fifty-pound lead weight that wouldn't let go no matter how hard Shishido tried to pry her off. "Guess what, Mom? Shishido-sensai LOST HAMMY!"

Rina's mom looks at him. She happens to be the head of the Parent's Association for the entire primary school.

Shishido could bang his head against the shoe cubbies.

"Thanks, Rina," he mutters.

She grins at him. Devil in a kindergartener's blue uniform.

It's dark by the time he finds the hamster: behind the toilet, chewing on a rouge carrot stick from snack. Except Shishido can't recall the last time they've had carrots for snack in the last two weeks. He corners the hamster—his reflexes may have been sharp during his tennis-playing years of school, but he fumbles now and barely manages to grab the hamster by the hind end. Hammy squeaks. Shishido swears. But he padlocks the door to the hamster cage.

He brushes dust from his arms. There's an email from Ohtori on his cellphone. hey, how r u? movie 2nite at home?

Shishido closes his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck, and his body flushes with warm fuzzies at the thought of snuggling with Ohtori, thigh to thigh and his head tucked under Ohtori's chin, feeding each other mochi and popcorn snacks. He sighs. Lame, maybe, but he doesn't care.

Then he hears the snuffling from the cubbies. He looks around, but the classroom is empty. The sky is black, and rain patters the windows with one of the first spring storms. There's a hitch of breath, and a muffled sob. A cold shiver runs down Shishido's spine. He rubs his arm hairs.

There's a pair of scuffed school shoes sticking out from below the coats on the rack. Shishido pushes the coats away. Hiromi looks up at him from behind foggy, tear-streaked glasses.

"Your mom not show, kid?" Shishido asks.

Hiromi is silent. He rubs at his eyes, and hugs his legs.

Shishido thinks of Ohtori's email. He looks toward the door, and outside the window. The tarmac area is empty. Everyone else left a couple hours ago, or more. And his neck aches from crawling around to find the damn hamster. Shishido cracks his neck. He blows out a long exhale.

"Well." He thinks for a moment. "I guess we can wait together."

***

He makes cup ramen with the stale stash in the office. He emails Ohtori, babe gonna b late 2nite :((( He emails Atobe, too, just because he can: I dont get overtime asshOle

Shishido crams himself into a kiddie-sized chair at the craft table, across from the kid. The kid fumbles with the chopsticks and gets more ramen on his shirt than in his mouth. Shishido tries calling Niou three more times with the class mailing list. The line goes to voicemail. Shishido curses Niou under his breath. "Shitty parent."

At half-past nine, the kid is asleep on the nap mats, and Shishido is playing a fifteenth round of table tennis on his cellphone. The door blasts open with a shower of frigid rain and howling wind. And a guy under a flipped umbrella, dripping onto the floor.

Shishido stands up. He narrows his eyes. He lifts his chin up high. "Can I help you?"

The guy wipes his glasses with a cloth. He glances around. He's about Shishido's age, maybe, and has the manbag of a university student. Shishido hates him immediately. That, and he's making a giant puddle on the floor that Shishido will have to mop up before he can leave.

"I'm looking for—oh!" The guy's thin mouth curves a little. He walks over, and touches the kid on the shoulder. The kid mumbles something as he wakes up. Something about dad.

Oh.

"Sorry I'm so late, I had class," the guy says. He slings the kid over one shoulder, but his body sags under the weight.

Shishido dashes to the door. "Not so fast!" He's read the class mailing list. He's read the permission slips and student bios. "Only authorized parents can pick them up. And," he says, "class ended five hours ago."

The guy apologizes again. "I'm his dad, it's fine," he says. "My…girlfriend couldn't pick him up."

As if Shishido's believing that bull shit! He threatens to call the head teacher. He tells the guy to fucking leave, you sick pervert!

Then Hiromi lifts his head. He blinks, and has the same blank expression as the pervert university student. "It's okay, sensei," he mumbles. "It's really my dad."

Shishido raises one eyebrow. Hiromi smiles, half-asleep.

"Just remember," Shishido tells the guy, "I can report you to the police like that."

The guy apologizes for a third time, says his girlfriend was sick, and he had classes running late, excuses excuses. Shishido follows them half-way across the campus lawn, just to make sure the guy's not going to pull down his pants or anything. Until he realizes that he's dripping wet, too, and has to take three trains to get home at this hour.

In addition to cleaning up the mud puddle in the classroom first.

***

Ohtori is asleep by the time Shishido crawls into bed. Ohtori turns to the light. He pulls out an earbud and his long lashes flutter. If Shishido wasn't so drenched and smelling like the rank canal behind the building, he might be tempted to kiss Ohtori.

Instead he stomps into the shower and drowns himself under the hot spray until the shower sputters cold and his fingers are wrinklier than umeboshi.

There's probably a hundred jobs out the he could do instead of cleaning up after five year olds, and singing dumb songs in a circle, cutting up vegetables for snack time, and mopping up daily toilet accidents. In fact, Atobe could get him interviews for another fifty, if Shishido asked him to. But he won’t. He can do it himself.

Shishido sets his alarm for six, and presses his face to the heat of Ohtori's shoulders.

***

He corners Niou after class ends the next day. Niou is a shade of grey from head to toe, rather similar to the gluey mess five students concocted in the water station tub this morning.

"I'm only allowed to send kids home with authorized parents," Shishido says.

Niou doesn't even have the decency to grunt.

Shishido huffs. He balls his fist to stop the urge to poke Niou in the chest and really tell her off. "It's really, really uncool to abandon kids like that," Shishido says. He does his best to look down on Niou, even though they're the same height (with his sneakers on).

The kid has more courtesy than his mom, whose hand he reaches for. He whispers to Shishido, "It's okay. Sometimes my mom is like this."

"Yeah," Shishido mutters under his breath. Niou is shuffling away, dragging her feet and eyes so glazed she nearly runs the twin stroller into Manami's younger sister. Shishido rolls his eyes. "Someone needs some drugs to function. Lame."

He meets Ohtori at a noodle bar not too far from the school. Ohtori didn't have afternoon classes, Shishido was done early. He almost doesn't know what to do with himself, besides order a large beer and share a dish of edamame with Ohori. They reach for the dish at the same time. It's Shishido who's the blushing dork now. Ohtori just smiles, and has that look in his eye. The same look when Shishido reaches for the hem of his t-shirt when they're alone, and it's dark, and there's nothing except the sighs of their breathing, and the sounds of wet kisses.

"Good day?" Ohtori asks.

Shishido grunts. "I guess."

"You've been there almost six weeks now."

Shishido looks up. Then he looks over at Ohtori, who keeps smiling softly at him. "You're right," he says.

Except that's not a good thing. Six weeks marks the end of the trial period. Six weeks could be the end of his job, and his own money, and being a REAL MAN.

"Jeez…" Shishido mutters. "Dammit!"

***

The head teacher comes to the classroom for the evaluation. Shishido was up half the night last night. He couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned and paced the apartment so much, Ohtori muttered something, and threw a sneaker at his head. Then Shishido slammed balls into a walled fence by a park until dawn broke, and the insects swarmed around his sweaty, dripping, exhausted body.

Ohtori catches him outside the shower with a misplaced kiss. Their noses smash together. Shishido swears. Ohtori apologizes. Then Shishido feels bad, too.

"Good luck," Ohtori says. He squeezes Shishido's hand tight, at the doorway. Anyone could walk by and see this ridiculous amount of mushy lame, because Shishido won't let go for a moment too long.

He pulls his cap over his eyes. "Yeah," he mutters.

He grabs Kenta and Toshi as soon as their moms turn their backs on the tarmac. The kids squirm. Toshi kicks Shishido dangerously close to the family jewels. Shishido grits his teeth. Kenta goes for an arm. "No acting up today," Shishido says.

"Whyyyyyy?" Toshi asks.

Shishido purses his lips. Kenta chomps. "Just—be good!" Shishido snaps. "Or else I lose my job."

A lightbulb goes off over twenty-five heads. YuRI, Mayami and Keiko launch an assault of Barbie accessories across the room as soon as the head teacher walks in. Shishido dives to catch the frilly dresses. He skips his knees, and the head teacher looks down, frowning. Her piggy eyes narrow into pin-prick pupils.

"Shishido-san," she says.

Shishido whips his head around to the girls. He glares. The girls giggle.

Tachi leaves a trail of crayons across the floor. The head teacher catches her heel on a green stub, and skids four feet into the sand station, where Kouta's carefully placed stack of sand pours over the edge. And Shishido can't find the broom to clean it up.

He asks Rina where she hid it. She doesn't know, smiling, of course, and looking awfully guilty. Shishido searches the cubbies. He rifles through the coat racks. He flings open the door to the toilet room.

Head Teacher is sitting on the toilet with her skirt around her ankles and the smell of shit ripe.

Mei One starts to heave behind him.

"Shit," Shishido says. He slams the door closed on the Head Teacher's slackjaw face. He rushes Mei One under his arm to the sink. She pukes all over Shishido's side instead, conveniently bypassing the apron he's wearing.

And that's before lunch. The Head Teacher is gone without a word to Shishido. Kimura-san doesn't smile during song time. Her warbling voice is off more than usual. Shishido looks longingly at the sink. His stomach churns around. At naptime, he sits on the step to the tarmac, in the open doorway. The last cherry blossoms are stirred around by a moist breeze. Shishido sighs. He flips his cellphone open, but the I told you so email from Atobe hasn't arrived yet.

He can still smell Mei One's puke on his hands, despite three washes with antibacterial soap.

Someone sits down next to him. Shishido looks over. He picks Hiromi's glasses up and hands them to the kid. The kid's eyes droop, but he's not asleep. Kimura-san is missing, too.

"Last day here, kid," Shishido says.

"Why?" The kid blinks like a frog. So much for Oshitari's convincement that glasses add to the aesthetic appeal.

Shishido snorts. "Did you miss the Head Teacher being here? That was my assessment."

The kid blinks again.

"My test," Shishido says. Talk their level, right.

"Oh."

Kimura-san must be in the bathroom, talking on her phone. Little giggles and "Oh, you!"s filter through the air. Shishido wants to barf. Or drown himself in the water station tub when he hears, "Last night was so beautiful, Kei—"

He claps his hands over Hiromi's ears.

"So you're gonna be gone?" the kid says, after a bit.

Shishido's throat feels all thick. He stares out at the pavement tarmac, and the grass campus lawn. He tries to smile, and tell the kid to forget about it. Instead, he turns around the to the soft rustling sounds of more kids waking up, and Kimura-san's voice gradually getting louder, and more animated from behind the toilet door.

He stands up, and fakes a stretch, change the topic away from this uncool sentimentality. But the kid stands up, too, and wraps himself around Shishido's legs. "Shishido-sensei," he says, solemn and serious, "I like you."

Keiko and the two Meis plaster themselves over Shishido's other leg. Mei Two presses her face to his thigh for a kiss. "Me too," she says.

Kindergarteners are like sheep. Twenty five kids swarm Shishido, pressing sticky fingers and sleepy kisses to the hem of his apron, his hands, his belt buckle, anywhere they can reach. "DON'T GOOOO!" Rina shrieks.

Even Toshi, the pain in the ass from day one, minute zero, sniffles. "Shishido-sensei, we like you best!!" he says. And then he joins the soppy, cheesy mess and slimes Shishido's thigh with a five year kiss that smells like the watered down Calpis from snack time.

Shishido gives up being a Real Man. He's hugging back as many students as he can, his arms wide and open and his lower half a little crusty, when the head teacher walks in. Kimura-san emerges from the toilet, flushed and peaked and fanning her face.

"Shishido-san," the Head Teacher says. Her mouth is set. Her jowls are deeper than ever on the long walk of shame to her office. Shishido slinks behind her. Her office is deep within the bowels of the office, pristine, and decorated with nothing else beyond a plastic plant. She has a thin file on her desk, covered in red pen.

"Shishido-san," she says again. Her eyes bore into his, beady and mean and making him feel about the height of a kindergartener.

He brushes his hands over his thighs, still warm from little mouths.

And he lifts his chin up high.

***

Shishido opens the door.

The kids rush over to him, and he grins right back at them.

FIC: Maybe Definitely, YanaKiri, NC17, 1/7

reposte — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 22:37:37 GMT

Title: Maybe Definitely (1/7)
Author: Ociwen
Wordcount: Long
Rating: NC17 overall
Disclaimer: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series, including ShinTenipuri.
Warning: Girl parts, and then some. Crude humour. Misogyny. The usual.
Summary: Renji wakes up as a girl.
Author's Notes: This is a one-shot fic related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, Push/Pull, and Big Brother. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together. Written for Kirihara's birthday 2010. Happy Birthday Akaya! &hearts

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

If you like/love/loathe this fic, please leave a comment to let me know.

He wakes up in a puddle of blood. Renji smiles into his pillow. He reaches for the last, lingering moments of dream. He reaches down between his legs. There is something wrong.

There is something is missing.

His eyes snap open. The clock reads ten to seven. His stomach cramps up, then shudders. His sheets feel stickier, hotter. Renji flings them back. His shorts are bunched up on his thighs, and covered in dark blood. His sheets have dark spots. His mouth goes dry. He pushes his boxer shorts down to his ankles, and his chest tightens.

He shakes his head. This isn't real! But when he reaches down, his fingers curl up inside between his legs. His heart palpitates hard against his ribs. His eyes sting, and something else hot, and wet slithers down his face.

The first thing he does is reach for his cellphone. On the last digit of Sadaharu's number, he stops. His pulse races.

There is a knock on his door. Renji freezes.

"Renji! Are you up? You'll be late for practice!"

He clears his throat. His voice cracks. He winces, but the sound is passable for…himself.

His mom says, "Hurry up and Izumi can drive you."

For a moment, Renji sinks back onto his sheets. His face is hot and his insides are on fire. He folds his sheets over the stains. He grabs his uniform from the top of his desk where his mom leaves them every night. He presses the uniform to his chest, and bolts to the bathroom.

He squints in the mirror. His face is streaked with tears. He swallows a wad of salty mucus. He splashes water on his face, but his eyes are still as red as Akaya's. The tap keeps running, long enough to soak his shorts and wring most of the blood out. The shower washes most of the blood from his legs. When he looks down, his breath hitches again.

He balls up a long stretch of toilet paper and stuffs it inside. At least his uniform fits. His fingers shake as he zips his tennis jacket up. RHis chest shakes one last time as he smoothes out the front of his jacket. It looks different. It looks not right.

This doesn't make any sense at all.

***

The Toyota sprays hot dust as Izumi drives off. There hasn't been any rain since the Nationals, nearly two weeks ago. Renji pats down the top of his hair. His armpits are damp in his jacket and t-shirt. He walks carefully. The wad between his legs is dry and bulky and disgusting. A crow cackles above the rubbish bins at the end of the parking lot. Behind him, footsteps crunch on the pavement. Renji stiffens.

"Ren-ji?"

Sanada is standing in the parking lot. He minces his steps. He's slow and his uniform is too tight. Renji's mouth drops. Sanada stops. He bites his lip, but his chest bounces on the sobs.

Renji swallows.

"Something happened," Sanada says.

Renji nods. "I'll get Seiichi," Renji says. "You…wait here."

Sanada follows him to the clubhouse, slowly. Sanada takes a sharp breath in. He makes a noise and grabs the brim of his cap.

Yukimura walks across the tennis courts. He looks from Renji to Sanada. Renji can't breathe. Sanada's chest jiggles as he holds back his sniffling.

"Oi! You girl!" Yukimura shouts. He points his racket at Sanada. "Go away! The girls' team is in the gym!"

Sanada's voice breaks on Yukimura's name.

"Go away!" Yukimura waves his racket. Kirihara runs up behind him. His eyes go straight for Sanada's heaving chest, and they fall out of his skull. Yukimura keeps yelling. "Girls have cooties! Tell your cousin no girls allowed!"

"Uh…yeah!" Kirihara adds.

Sanada runs away. The seam in his trackpants pulls. Renji stiffens. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his tongue. The crow walks the tightrope of the net.

"Can't say a girl has ever tried to join our team before," Yukimura says. "What the hell does Sanada think? We let anyone on now, even his cousin?" He shakes his head. Then he looks long and hard at Renji. Sweat beads on Renji's forehead. He can feel his chest brushing tight against his t-shirt, under his jacket. He can feel the dry wad stuffed halfway up his—

"You guys?"

Jackal sticks his head out of the clubhouse doorway. His throat bobs. Marui hops down the stands. Renji can smell the bubblegum from here. Marui stops mid-bounce. He trips on the last riser.

Jackal'ss wearing yoga pants and a baggy t-shirt, draped over a distinct new swell in his chest. Yukimura's racket clatters on the ground. Niou walks out behind Jackal. His hips sashay. He cups his chest, and then he squeezes.

"Oh my god," Kirihara says.

"What the hell," Yukimura says.

"Ditto," Jackal says.

***

"At least," Yagyuu says, "we didn't wake up as girls, Yanagi-kun." He folds his Kleenex over, and stuffs it back up to his nostrils.

Renji nods. He says nothing.

He waits until everyone has finished changing. He holds his clipboard and looks down at the papers. Yagyuu is the first gone. Then Yukimura. Renji can hear Yukimura grumbling about girls trying to sneak onto the team. He closes his eyes. His fingers dig into the papers. Jackal sits on the bench next to Niou. Marui keeps looking over his shoulder at them. He flexes his biceps. He waggles his eyebrows. "Like that?" he mouths.

"Are you done?" Renji asks. Marui huffs.

As soon as the clubhouse door closes, Jackal rips off his t-shirt. Niou walks over to the window. He lifts his t-shirt and flashes Marui. Then he glances back.

"You too, Data Man," Niou says.

Jackal peers around the row of lockers. His breasts press against the metal. He says, "Hey! What are you still doing here, Renji? You didn't wake up with—uh…"

"Vaginitis," Niou says. He pulls his pants away from his hips and looks down. He scowls. He looks at Renji, and his lips thin even more.

Renji sets the clipboard down. He grabs his tennis bag. The fourth floor annex bathrooms are quiet. He sneaks into an empty stall. The stall next to him flushes. He listens for the squeak of the door hinges. Renji exhales. He peels his tennis uniform off. This time, he looks down at his chest.

He ignores the bell for classes.

He touches his nipples. The skin is sore. It feels stretched. His nipples stiffen under his fingertips. His insides shudder again. Renji chucks the bloody wad from his underpants into the toilet. The water swirls pink when he flushes. His fingers still smell of blood, so he rolls up another wad.

In the mirror, he looks at his reflection. His face is paler than it should be. He clears his voice, and says, "Yanagi Renji." He clears his throat, and tries again. Deeper. He frowns.

In the stairwell, he stops. He presses his palm to the cement window sill. He takes a deep breath, but his chest is too full.

If no one else knows, it's not real.

***

At lunch, he finds Sanada in the washitsu. Sanada's back is turned. Renji bites his lip. He touches Sanada's shoulder. He says Sanada's name.

"I'll…try talking with Seiichi," Renji says.

Sanada half-turns. His cap is in his lap. His eyes are wet.

"Why did this happen to me?" Sanada mumbles. He snorts. He cries harder. "Why does Yukimura hate me? Why do they hate me?"

Renji blinks. "They?"

"All the girls!"

Sanada stands up. He's got a skirt on. His legs look bigger than before. His thighs are big. And covered in cuts. Sanada pushes the door open. "Leave me ALONE!" he snaps. His thighs disappear down the hallway in the direction of the toilets—the boys' toilets. Renji closes the door, and goes to eat with everyone else.

But not before he sees Sanada run straight out of the boys' toilets. A paper roll follows him out the door, and the loud voices of laughing boys.

Renji shivers.

***

Niou and Jackal come to tennis practice. Yukimura says, "You guys—er…just practice together."

Jackal nods. He keeps his eyes on Marui. Marui struts across his court, right in front of the ball machine that Kirihara is adjusting for Yukimura. Renji watches the first ball shoot straight for Marui's middle.

Jackal rushes over. So does Kirihara. Renji walks up behind them. Jackal leans down. Marui reaches up. "Save me…" he croaks. "I need…mouth to mouth…" He makes a grab at Jackal's face. Jackal smacks him in the middle. Marui slumps back against the ground.

"I'm sure glad I'm not a chick," Kirihara mutters. He laughs a little. Marui waves him off. Renji offers Marui a hand up.

He practices serves with Yukimura. Yukimura isn't in a chatting mood. He smashes balls to Renji's baseline. They skim Renji's ankles. He tries not to run much. The wad in his underpants shifts with each movement. If it slips down…

"Aren’t you hot?" Yukimura asks. He tugs at his shorts. Renji wipes the sweat from his brow with his jacket hem. He says he's fine.

Yukimura nods slowly. He throws another ball up in the air. The sunlight swallows it up, until Renji hears the schwoop two metres to his left. He leans a little, and lets the ball smash his baseline again.

Yukimura shouts. "See, we're all thrown off today by that girl. You can't even return my serves!" Yukimura pulls at his racket strings. He walks over to the bench. Niou takes his hands out of his shorts. Yukimura grabs his bag, and dumps it on the next bench over.

Renji sits next to Niou.

"What does it feel like?" he asks.

Niou blows at the hair over his eyes. He licks his lips. Yagyuu and Kirihara volley. Renji looks at Kirihara's back. Kirihara's shoulders seem wider than he remembers. He shifts on the bench. The blood gushes a little. The heat between his legs makes him clench his teeth.

Niou sighs. "…weird."

***

Yagyuu phones. Renji flips his phone open, and shuts the lid of the washing machine.

"Sanada forgot his cap. I found it in the washitsu after practice."

"I'll take it to him," Renji says.

After dinner, Renji opens the front door. There is a plastic bag, folded over, on the porch. Without a head to cover Sanada's cap looks smaller. He calls Sanada and asks if he can come over.

"On the bright side," Renji says, "you and Seiichi can have a normal relationship now."

Sanada hangs up.

He closes his bedroom door. His mother asks what's in the washer. Renji says his uniform. His face burns. He reaches for the remote and cranks up the a/c in his bedroom. His skin prickles. He stuffs a dirty pair of pants under the door. Then, he peels off his clothes. He pulls out a notebook.

His feet are the same size.

His rib cage is the same circumference.

But the breasts are new. His waist is smaller by several centimetres. His hips are wider still. He writes down the numbers, and closes the book. He stuffs the bloody toilet paper wad into the garbage, and he hides it under crumpled paper. His mom knocks again. "Renji, the bath's been ready for two hours. If you don't use it soon, I'm going to drain it."

He opens the door. His mom hands him the stack of sheets, folded. Blood drains from his face. It aches between his legs.

"If you wanted clean sheets, all you had to do was ask," she says.

He sits in the bathtub. The water is lukewarm. He slides a finger inside, and the water catches his tears.

***

He wakes up the next morning to the sound of his alarm. Renji rolls over. Then he remembers. He flings the sheets off and pulls at his waistband.

It's still missing.

"Fuck," he whispers. The wad he used last night falls to the floor. His boxers are stained again. This time, the blood is bright.

Renji locks himself in the toilet room. He rummages around the cupboard. He pulls the package from the back. And he sucks in a breath.

Super Maxi now with FLOWER SCENT OF ROSE

He stuffs an extra two into his pocket, just in case. His underpants stink like Yukimura's flowerbed at school. Renji sprays extra deodorant under his arms. He coughs. He reeks all over now, but he smells more like a guy at least. He tries to call Sanada. The line rings three times, before it goes to voicemail.

Jackal answers on the second ring. His voice sounds feminine.

"Are you still a girl?" Renji asks.

Jackal sighs.

Renji closes his eyes. On the phone, he says, "Interesting."

At practice, Yukimura corners him. "Have you heard from Sanada? He's not answering his phone!"

"I tried calling, too," Renji says.

Yukimura swears. He calls Sanada the most useless vice-captain in the team's history. Niou and Jackal look at Renji. Renji shrugs.

"Come on, Yagyuu," Yukimura says. "I'll have a new vice-captain if I have to!"

"But…aren't you going to retire soon?" Kirihara asks. He scuffs his sneakers. Yukimura glares at Kirihara. Renji fans himself with a paper uchiwa. The air is thick and humid. The sky is overcast. Renji looks at Kirihara. Kirihara adjusts his shorts. The fabric stretches across his flat butt.

Kirihara sniffs the air. "Does something smell funny?" He takes a step closer. Renji freezes. Kirihara's nose crinkles. "Like…gross flowers?"

Renji keeps his face even. Niou pushes himself off the bench with a long stretch. His breasts bounce. "My sister's deodorant stinks like shit," he says.

Kirihara stares at Niou's chest for a long time. His expression doesn't change. His eyes move, then he shakes his head and says he's going.

Renji runs a few laps next to Yukimura. Yukimura bitches about where the hell Sanada is. He bitches about the girl who showed up to practice yesterday morning. He bitches about how everyone is turning into girls, and it's distracting Marui and Yagyuu!

"Seiichi," Renji says.

"What?" Yukimura says.

Renji closes his mouth, and shakes his head.

***

He stuffs the sheets in the wash as soon as he gets home. The dryer cycle takes 45 minutes. Renji sits next to the machine with a novel on his lap. He checks the timer. He rubs his fingers along the spine of his book. He counts down from the last fifty seconds. He grabs the steaming sheets and runs to his bedroom. Outside, his mother pulls the Toyota into the drive as he smoothes the sheets over his mattress.

He flops back.

Sanada's hat sits on his desk. Renji sips at a cup of cold tea. The glass is damp with condensation. The trees are dripping outside, and the darker clouds are rolling closer. His belly hurts. He lays back and places a palm over his skin. He rubs lower. It still aches, a deep, pulsing hurt that slithers down to his crotch.

Yagyuu phones to ask if he wants to study the new math unit. Renji says his class is one unit behind. Sadaharu sends an email. He asks if Renji wants to meet up next Saturday. Renji deletes it before he's finished reading.

When the house is quiet, he creeps downstairs. His skin is puckered and warm from the bath. His feet stick to the wood floor. He shifts his eyes, and then he opens the fridge a crack. The contents glow. He slides open the second-to-bottom drawer. He takes the bar, then he creeps back up the stairs.

Renji unwraps the chocolate. It's devoured in five minutes.

His belly still aches.

***

"Genichirou?"

"…"

"Genichirou, are you all right?"

A hiccup. Then a sniffle.

"I have your cap at my house. Yagyuu found it on his prefectural rounds the other day."

"I…" Another hiccup. "I was kicked off the girls' tennis team."

"Hn?"

A shuddered sob. Then a sniffle. Sanada hangs up.

Yukimura's number flashes on the screen. Renji picks up before the first ring.

"Seiichi."

"Fuck, Renji. I did something really, really stupid."

"Oh?"

"…That…" Yukimura swears under his breath. "That was Sanada. The girl."

"Yes."

"You didn't say!"

Renji almost smiles. He shakes his head. "It was…rather obvious."

"I…he heard me. And my friends. We laughed at his legs."

"You'll have to apologize."

"I have to call the coach—"

Renji blinks.

"—to make sure Sanada can play with us in high school. The way we used to be."

Yukimura hangs up. Renji glances over to his clock. Half-past eight. He swallows hard, and stuffs one of the pads into his pocket. Then he shuffles to the toilet.

***

He works on his volleys with Yagyuu. It would be better with Sanada—Yagyuu's shots are fast, but not fast enough. Renji curves the balls and flicks his wrist on the follow-through. Yagyuu rocks back on his heel. Renji snorts. Yagyuu swings his arm back. It's another laser beam, the same as always.

Then he feels something squishy slither between his legs. His eyes go wide. Yagyuu's ball grazes his racket. Renji is a moment too late. He catches the edge of the ball, and fumbles the shot. Yagyuu asks if he's all right.

Renji says he'll be a second. Inside the clubhouse, he fumbles with his bag. He stuffs a pad into his pocket, and rushes to the toilets. One of the stalls is closed. He thinks, Shit!

He closes the far stall door behind himself. He waits. Fresh blood dribbles into his underwear. As soon as the other toilet flushes. Renji unwraps the pad. He rips the other from his underpants, and switches them. One of the papers flutters to his feet. Panic stabs his middle. He reaches for it, but the movement stirs the air. The paper flutters out from the stall.

The second pair of sneakers moves closer. Wilson shoes. Renji can feel his heart lodge in his throat. Bile presses up against his tongue.

A hand picks up the paper wrapper. "Super Maxi…?" There is a beat, and then Kirihara says, "Gross!"

Renji doesn't breathe. Blood rushes to his head. His head spins. He presses his hands against his forehead.

Kirihara knocks on the stall door, three times. "Uh…senpai?"

Renji is quiet. Then he swallows. "Yes?"

"Uh, I think Jackal-senpai left a pad or something around. Uh…" Kirihara makes a whining little noise. "Uh…can you tell him not to? It's really…"

"Gross?"

"Yeah."

Renji says he will. He waits. The Wilson sneakers squeak on the flooring.

Renji stuffs everything in the bottom of the garbage can by the lockers. He tries not to think about the tampon applicators his hand touches on the way down.

***

On Monday, Renji comes to practice. He walks a little looser. He feels a little better. His underpants feel less like a diaper.

Yukimura and Sanada are holding hands by the ball machine. Jackal walks up to Renji. He sighs heavily. Renji looks at him. Jackal looks back. His eyes are covered in blue.

"Are you wearing makeup?" Renji asks.

Jackal opens his mouth. His jaw hangs. Then he shifts his eyes. "Maybe."

Niou struts by. His lips are glossy.

***

He writes a list in his notebook.

-(food) poisoned (Seigaku?)
-cursed by bakemono (Seigaku?)
-aliens

***

During afternoon practice, he runs the water in the outdoor fountain. He collects 50ml in a clear vial.

He runs the water in the clubhouse showers. He collects 50ml of that in a clear vial as well. Marui walks over. He slings his racket over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asks. He pops a bubble.

Renji pulls a strip of indicator paper from the roll. Yukimura and Sanada come over, too. Sanada's face is flushed. Yukimura runs his fingertips over the back of Sanada's hand.

"A test," Renji says. He dips the indicator into the fountain sample. The strip stays yellow. He marks the result in his notebook.

The shower sample has a slight green tinge. He writes that down, too. "Ph above 7, less than 8."

Yukimura leans forward. "So that means…?"

"We have scale build-up in the showers," Renji says. He looks at Jackal. Jackal stands on the other side of Yukimura and Sanada. Marui sidles over. He shoves a hand in his pocket and pushes his hips out. Jackal frowns.

"Jackal, did you experience any digestive issues on the night before…?"

Jackal shakes his head.

Renji says "Hm." He flips through his notebook. He crosses food poisoning off his list.

Kirihara and Niou finish their laps. Yagyuu starts a game with Jackal before Niou has a chance to ask. Renji stuffs the indicator strips back into his tennis bag. Niou makes a noise behind him.

"Ne, if you're experimenting, I have some magnesium."

Renji raises his eyebrows. Kirihara scratches his head.

"In case you need it," Niou adds. "It burns really, really bright. Like, it makes you blind for a bit."

"I have concluded that our water supply is safe, and it is doubtful you guys were poisoned," Renji says.

Kirihara looks at him. Renji's mouth feels sandy. The collar of his jacket tightens. Sweat dribbles down his chest. Renji clears his throat.

"Did you experience any supernatural activity the night before…?"

Niou blows a raspberry. "You mean was I jacking off?"

"No," Renji says. "I mean, did any tanukis or inaris visit you and threaten your dick?"

Niou twirls his rat tail around. He hikes his skirt up to scratch his butt. Jackal shouts, "ROOF BALL!" and the entire team turns to stare at Yagyuu.

"No," Niou says. "I just jerked off like usual, and went to bed."

Renji scratches the bakemono from his list, too.

***

Yukimura waits for Sanada outside the clubhouse. Renji keeps his eyes on the windows. He putters. He writes lists of stretches over and over again. He dusts the trophy cases. He suggests that Marui stop trying to climb over the lockers to watch Jackal undress. He offers Yagyuu more Kleenex for his nosebleed. Kirihara races around like a headless chicken.

"I'll be late for my bus!" He slams the door behind himself.

Niou wanders into the locker room. At least his towel is long enough to cover his crotch today. He narrows his eyes at Renji. "What are you still here for?"

Renji's holds up a clipboard. He lies about a training schedule. Niou shrugs.

"Ramen at…?"

"Five-thirty. Seiichi wanted to go buy art supplies with Genichirou first."

Niou grunts. He peels his towel off. Renji sneaks a peek out of the corner of his eyes. Niou scratches his pubes. "Yagyuu?"

Renji looks back down at his clipboard. "I anticipate he'll be there."

Niou whispers a nonsense word. There is a loud snap. Niou is standing in front of his locker in nothing but a blue lace bra. He jiggles his breasts a little. "Needs more support," he says. "Structurally weak."

"Thank you for sharing that," Renji says. Niou snickers. He pulls on a pair of panties, and his skirt.

"Ne," Niou says. Renji raises his eyebrows. The clock reads quarter-to-five. He frowns. Niou rummages in his backpack. He chucks something at Renji.

Renji catches it. He looks down. He drops the tampon from his hands.

"Ne," Niou says. "Whatever tard is using the maxi pads, tell them those work better."

Renji picks the tampon up by the end. It burns his fingertips. "I'll be sure to tell Genichirou."

Niou winks from the doorway. "I meant Jaaaackal."

Renji watches Niou sashay to the front gate through the grimy clubhouse window. He sits on the bench. If no one knows, it's not real. He looks at the tampon in the white plastic packaging. Then he unzips his bag and stuffs it down deep, under his English notes. He loosens his tie, and chucks it into his locker. He unbuttons his shirt, unbuckles his belt, slides his pants and socks down. His soles stick to the wet tiles in the shower. The air is thick and the walls are moist. The last thing he does is take off his underpants. He doesn't look down.

The steam from the shower doesn't hide a lot. When he reaches for his soap, his arm brushes his nipple. He rubs it with his palm. The skin is swollen. It feels sorta good. Between his legs, there's a strange tingle.

Something crashes. Renji looks around.

Kirihara is standing at the edge of the showers.

His mouth hits the floor. Renji shrieks. Kirihara doesn't move. The water sprays Renji's frozen face, and slides down his skin. Kirihara's eyes drift down, then back up.

"Oh my god," Kirihara says. "Oh my god…Senpai, you're a—"

"Shut up!" Renji says. His eyes sting. His chest twists and tightens. He grabs his towel and shuts off the water. "Get out!"

Kirihara scrambles. He slips on the tiles and lands on his butt. Renji winces. He almost holds a hand out, except he's naked. He's not right. And Kirihara is eye-level with his cunt.

Kirihara stares at the wet patches on his knees as Renji pulls on his clothes. His pants stick to his damp skin. His shirt clings to his chest. The omelette from lunch starts to creep up his throat. Renji swallows the half-digested egg chunks back down.

"Senpai, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"You can't tell anyone," Renji says through his teeth. He keeps blinking. His eyes are wet. "I'll kill you," he says. "100% certainty, Akaya."

Kirihara squeaks. "I promise!" He inches back on the bench. Renji tries to take a breath to calm himself. Instead, he starts to cry.

"Uh…" Kirihara lets out a high-pitched little laugh. "Sorry! I'm sorry!"

Renji turns his back. He rubs at his eyes with damp fists, and feels like a fool, no better than Sanada. He tries to tell Kirihara to go home.

Instead, there's a hand on his back.

"It's…okay, senpai," Kirihara mutters. "I promise. I won't spill."

The warmth on his back lingers for a long time. Renji takes one last sniffle. He checks his cellphone and says, "We have twenty minutes to meet everyone."

***

Kirihara stares at him at the ramen shop. Renji kicks hard under the table. Kirihara chokes on a mouth of noodles. Marui asks what’s up. "Or is Jackal's booty bothering you too, kid?"

Then Marui jerks forward and chokes on his noodles, too.

"You can't see my butt right now anyway," Jackal says.

At karaoke, Marui dedicates the first song to "a very special girl". He clears his throat and sways with the swelling bars of Whitney Houston. Niou starts to gag before the chorus. Jackal hides his face in his hands.

"Iiiiiiii will allllllwaaaaaays rabuuuuu youuuuuuuuuu-u!" Marui's voice breaks. Niou throws at empty PET bottle. Jackal wrestles the mic away. He straddles Marui on the floor. Renji looks at Yukimura, but Yukimura just shrugs. He has his arm around Sanada. Kirihara sits on the far edge of the banquette. He chews on his straw. Renji flips through the song book, and tries to avoid Kirihara's eye. His face is hot.

Yagyuu sings his usual Andrew Lloyd Webber. Jackal sneaks the new Lady Gaga in, then some Katy Perry, and then Yukimura yanks the mic for himself. He sings an EXILE song (with Marui and Niou as backup). Then he turns to Sanada.

Marui claps his hands. "Oh my god, it's Enrique!" He waggles his eyebrows at Jackal. "Don't you love him?"

"No," Jackal says.

"But…" Marui shakes his head. Yukimura starts to warble about being a hero. Sanada shifts in his seat. His face is pink. Renji almost laughs a little under his breath.

"But he's Latin!" Marui says.

"And he's dating Anna Kournikova," Jackal says.

"I know," Marui says. "He's my hero! She's so hot."

Jackal frowns. Marui reaches for Jackal's hand across Sanada. Sanada's eyes pop out when Marui's hand grazes his chest. He slaps Marui. Marui slinks back next to Kirihara.

Renji says he'll sing the next song. He picked an enka ballad out, and Hirahara Ayaka. Neither song has popped up yet. Niou gives him the second mic.

The song starts.

"Er…" Jackal says.

Kirihara laughs. His eyes shift. Yagyuu says, "Oh dear."

Renji purses his lips. His throat is all clogged again. He sets the mic down and glares at the screen. The lyrics for Shania Twain's Man I Feel Like a Woman roll across the screen. Yukimura presses pause. Next to Renji, Sanada folds his arms over his chest. He starts to sniffle.

"Whoever thought that was funny has five hundred laps on Monday," Yukimura says. He deletes the song. Hirahara Ayaka pops up. Renji doesn't pick up the mic.

No one fesses up.

On the bus home, Kirihara sits in the seat across from Renji. There's only an elderly lady by the front door. Kirihara whispers anyway. "I don't think anyone can tell." He tries to smile. Renji clenches his jaw.

Kirihara's smile withers when Renji says, "And they'll never find out, either."

***

Kirihara sits under a tree. Dappled shade dances across his arms. He pops a cherry into his mouth.

He turns to Renji. Renji can't speak. He opens his mouth. There is nothing but silence. And the patter of his pulse.

Juice dribbles down Kirihara's chin. He grins, a blood-stained smile that he licks from his lips. "The cherries are really ripe this summer," he says. His voice lingers over the last word, natsu. It's stuck to his tongue. It sticks in Renji's ears.

Kirihara holds up his palm. In the centre is a dark cherry. "Want one, senpai?" Kirihara is close now. Renji can smell the sweetness on Kirihara's breath. He closes his eyes.

And then he opens them, and he's in bed. His heart flutters when he repeats the word in his pillow. He thinks about Kirihara, and the cherries, and the colour of blood. His insides are hot and damp. Renji reaches a hand down. He sniffs. No blood.

He swallows.

Summer is over anyway.

***

He stares all week. Renji can feel the crawl of eyes over his skin. He looks up from the ball machine. Kirihara ducks his head back down.

Renji throws the ball for a volley session with Yagyuu. Yagyuu came up to him, and suggested they practice. Niou slinks around the risers. His jacket is unzipped and his t-shirt is unbuttoned low. Yagyuu sweats and slams balls at Renji. And Renji feels the tickle over his skin. He looks down. The cicadas are still out. They crunch underfoot.

And Kirihara is still staring.

Niou brings pompoms the next day. Marui brings his acoustic guitar. Yagyuu roofs nearly every ball. Jackal leaves practice, and goes to watch the girls' volleyball tryouts instead.

Renji runs laps next to Yukimura. He tallies the sit-ups. Then his muscles tense up.

Kirihara is sitting on the bench, staring. His shoelace is loose, but he doesn't tie it up, even when Renji narrows his eyes and glares.

Yukimura sits up. He winces. "What number?"

Renji looks at his sheet of paper. The last tally mark is a scribble off the page. Renji says, "Three hundred and…thirteen."

Yukimura brushes the dust from his palms. Sanada is stretching on the other side of the courts. He circles his arms. Yukimura's pupils reflect Sanada's t-shirt riding up. "Renji," he says, "should I work on my biceps next?"

Renji blinks.

Yukimura leans over. He whispers, "You know, to get…really buff."

Renji blinks again. Sanada is doing jumping jacks. He holds his chest tight, but his breasts still bounce. Yukimura fans himself with his collar. "Excuse me," he says. Then he runs into the clubhouse. Sanada looks over. He says, "What?"

Renji shrugs. He turns his head a little.

Kirihara's eyes are the size of saucers. And he's still staring.

***

He phones at lunch. His hands shake. He stands on the landing of the stairs, on the fourth floor. If he listens carefully, he can hear Sanada and Yukimura kissing on the rooftop. Marui's warbling drifts up the stair well from the main floor.

On the third ring Sadaharu answers. Renji stiffens.

"Renji," Sadaharu says. His voice is low. Renji waits for a moment.

"Sadaharu," he says.

"It is lunch break," Sadaharu says.

"Have you heard of any causes for…" Renji pauses. Sadaharu hums. "Vaginitis?"

There is a strange, choked sound on the other end. Renji waits. He drums his fingers on the cement railing.

"Renji." Sadaharu gasps. He coughs. He excuses himself. "You asked me if I heard of causes for—"

"Yes," Renji says.

Sadaharu says, "Hn." Then, "So it is true about Rikkai Dai Fuzoku's tennis team."

"You've heard."

"My source informed me."

Renji snorts.

"My secret source," Sadaharu says.

"Mizuki. From St Rudolph."

Sadaharu grunts. Renji smiles a little. The smacking noises from the rooftop get louder.

"I will investigate this further," Sadaharu says.

Renji closes his cellphone, and holds it in his hand for a moment. He looks down through the stair well. The hairs on his arm start to stand up. Four floors down, Kirihara is there. Staring.

***

At lunch, Jackal tells Marui, "I do not want your vertigo stick."

Marui's smile falls. Niou steals one of the gyoza from his bento. The umeboshi is the colour of cherries. Renji remembers his dream. His throat swells.

"And," Jackal says, "I think I might become a lesbian actually."

Marui moans. "That's really, really hot."

Jackal frowns. "Not if I'm the butch one."

Marui gasps. "You wouldn't!"

"Watch me," Jackal says. He gets up to leave, but first he rolls up the waistband of his skirt. His hips swivel a little too much.

Niou whistles. "You got owned, fatty."

Marui stares at Jackal's butt down the hallway. Yagyuu stares at Jackal's butt. Even Yukimura looks up for a moment. Then he looks down at Sanada's chest. "I like you best," he says.

Renji looks up, too.

And Kirihara stares straight at him.

***

Renji pushes a basket of balls out to the machine. Yukimura wraps new grip tape around his racket handle. Everyone else is still busy with laps, except Sanada, who tweaks the machine settings. "Yukimura, how hard do you want me to…" Sanada's voice trails off. He flushes all the way down to his cleavage.

Yukimura stands up awkwardly. He's got his trackpants on today, and they're bunched between his legs. Sanada stares at his feet. Yukimura tries to walk with his racket in front of himself. Renji rolls his eyes.

"Um…maybe you could work with Akaya on his serves," Yukimura says.

Renji purses his lips. Kirihara is crouched by the bushes. Yukimura gives him a funny look..

"Stop staring at Yanagi, Akaya! Go get some balls and start some serves."

Kirihara falls forward. Renji clenches his jaw. Kirihara has his hands at his sides. He stares at the hydrangea bushes.

"No one will ever find out," Renji hisses.

Kirihara nods. He takes a peak at Renji.

Renji draws a finger across his throat. "Ever."

***

He doesn't mean it.

He thinks.

***

FIC: Three with BB, Myuboys, NC17

reposte — Sat, 31 Jul 2010 20:47:07 GMT

Title: Three with BB
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 9400
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, for the most part.
WARNING: Offensive, rude, racist and homophobic—not for PC pussies to read! Basically, no one should read this.
Summary: Baba eats a magical muffin, and loses his mojo. Tough times.
Author's Notes: Does Baba ever learn to think of others before himself? Whatever happened to Takeda Kouhei? Is Kentarou the lamest person around? This is the result of much [interior of] deep thoughts!

Yuka—bad teeth, great head—says, "This isn't working, Toru."

Baba blinks. He says, "We can keep it casual." He offers her his best smile. She starts to cry and stomp her feet. The only thing that jiggles is her hair extensions.

"No! I don't want that!" she whines. "Toooru!"

"Toru," Baba says. "To-ru."

"Too-ooru!" she moans. "I don't want casual!"

Baba's eyes widen. Serious is not good. The bar is starting to stare at them—the permed guy at the counter, the group of four girlfriends (Lesbians? Hot stuff!), even the crossed-eyed dude with the girl in a cupcake dress with a face like a downer. Baba thinks, What would Yuta do?

He thinks some more. Yuka whines and orders another beer. Baba takes a swig from his mixed juice. He leans back on the tatami floor. He taps his feet on the edge of the table. He picks at a fish bone in the back of one of his molars. He thinks about the last time they had sex: last night, in that space-themed place Genki recommended. Yuka wore a puffy bra that got him all excited for nothing. Her tits were as flat as Wada Taiske's personality.

If she wants serious, she needs a present. Like a ring. Or a necklace.

She also wore a string thong. Baba wonders if he remembered to stuff it in his manpurse after all. He strokes his chin. "I could get you a present," he says.

Or a puppy. No, no. Too pricey. Maybe a bracelet.

String thong… He nods to himself. Yuka smacks him on the arm. "We need to taaaaalk! That's the whole problem, Toooooru!!"

Or a…

"String thong?"

Yuka slaps him across the face. She runs out and plows into the server. Beer flies off the platter, all over Baba's lap. The server panics. "I'm so sorry!" He whips out a cloth to wipe Baba's lap and backs up just as fast.

"Er…" Baba says.

The server bolts, too, in a flurry of apologies.

"Damn," Baba says. His dick stiffens a bit more. That's a bit gay, he thinks.

So he calls the tard up on his cell and asks if Kentarou wants to join him at the bar for some drinks. Masa's at some event-o, and Kouhei is MIA. Baba doesn't even finish before Kentarou shouts "Yay!" and says he'll be there in five, he's at Mejiro station right now and he is so excited to come.

Baba lols under his breath. "Retard."

***

Ouji calls. "Tee hee." There's a muffle in the background. Baba takes a drag from his smoke. He shifts his eyes, but the door to the venue hasn't opened with a pissy-faced Ueshima to tell him off again.

"You wanna come to my party?" Ouji asks.

"As long as it's not in your pants," Baba says.

Ouji giggles, all breathy again. Baba isn't so sure about the party anymore.

"My girlfriend's invited some friends," Ouji says. "And there'll be muffins."

"Hot chicks?" Baba flicks the ashes. The door opens. Halu sticks his head out and asks if he can bum one off Baba.

"Sure," Ouji says. "Tomorrow night."

Baba flips his phone shut. Halu puffs away, faster than Ryu going after a crow in the park. There's a blue haze over his head and he's still got his eyeliner on thick.

"Can I bum another?" Halu asks.

Baba hands over the last smoke in the pack. He leans against the brick wall.

"Tough crowd tonight," Halu says. Then he flips out his cellphone. "Aw, shit!" he hisses. "I need to be back for the second act in thirty seconds." He runs back inside the hall with the smoke still hanging from his lips.

Baba takes his time. He swaggers through the hallway to the change rooms. The Rikkai door is wide open. Kentarou wanders by with a box of doughnuts, half of which are stuffed in his grinning mouth. Masa practices his moves against the wall. He sings to himself.

Baba rolls his eyes. Masa's spot in the changeroom is covered in anime pictures that look sorta familiar. His Stitch plushies overflow onto Baba's makeup and juice stash. He shoves it all back with his elbows.

In the middle of the room, the kids sit in a circle.

"Roar!" Masuda says. "Roar roar!"

"Hiss snarl!" Horseface Dokki says. He flails something plastic and shiny around. "Spit!"

"Zoom!" Genki joins in with something like an airplane. With legs. "Pew! Pew!"

"Pow! Boom chicka pow!" The new Genki adds his weirdo gun blaster noises to the mix.

Baba leers over them. All four of them have Gundams in hand and a pile of little tennis playing chibis in the centre of their circle. Baba scratches his balls. "What the hell are you guys doing?"

Genki looks up. His eyes glow red. His teeth gleam in the fluorescent light. And he's still got devil makeup smeared across his face. And his front teeth. "We're playing," he says.

Baba raises an eyebrow. He scratches his ass, too.

"Genki helped me pick this one out," Okki says. He grins :D and holds up a green Gundam. "Isn't it AWESOME?? I LOVE IT!!"

Genki laughs under his breath. He licks his lips. New Genki looks at him, and licks his lips, too.

Masuda holds up his Gundam and starts to make cat noises. Then he grabs a bag of chips from his lap and crunches on them, spewing Gundam parts and potato flakes all over everyone else. Baba makes a face, and wipes the spew from his chin.

"Don't you have, like, a number on or something?" he asks.

Masuda looks at him. He pops another handful of chips into his mouth. "After I finish this bag," he says, "I am so. Hungry." He holds up the bag. Pizza-flavoured. "My fav."

Baba takes a handful. He chews and thinks the chips taste like a cross between lint, and mouldy American cheese. With a hint of salt. "Not bad," he says.

Masuda grins. Then he crashes his Gundam into the middle of the pile. "Smash! Hiss! Smash smash! BOOM! I win!" he says, dead-pan. "I am. God!"

Okki and new Genki nod furiously.

Real Genki's pink eyes twitch. Baba lays a hand on Genki's shoulder. "Cool down, little dude," he says. "They're just kids."

Genki breathes heavily through his nostrils, which flare up. His hair starts to curl into little horns. The Gundam in his hand crumples as he tightens his fist. Baba takes a step back. He opens the pack of smokes, but he's out. Damn. He offers a can of juice.

Genki blinks. "Oh, I don't drink," he says. He stands up and stretches his arms. He gives everyone a sweet smile, and a grating little laugh. "Well, kouhais?" They all link arms and wander out into the hallway. Baba takes a swig from the can of juice. He belches.

Masa latches onto him right down the stairs from the stage. The noise of the music is deafening. All Baba can hear is Kentarou's off-tune singing along with a Shitenhoji song next to him.

"BA-CHON!" Masa says. He makes a face. "You smell."

"Lol," Baba says. "It was the Vanilla Tar Mild Sevens."

Masa nods sagely. He strokes his rat tail.

"Hey, tomodachi," Baba says. "Wanna hit up a party with hot chicks tomorrow?"

Masa strokes his square chin. He rubs the mole off. Baba doesn't say anything. Masa says, "They're not going to, uh, attack me, are they?"

"Naw," Baba says, "Ouji's girlfriend's friends. Safe." Fresh meat!

"I like her muffins!" Masa says. "Well, until my manager said I couldn't eat them anymore. It makes fans angry."

Baba slides an arm around Masa. "Yeah totally, tomodachi. You're in, then? There's a sweet hotel near his place, too." He waggles his eyebrows.

Masa stares blankly at him. Then his face breaks out into a grin. "I LOVE hotel buffets, too! Once, at my birthday party event-o, we—"

"Cool, cool," Baba says. Then he shoves Masa past the curtain onstage. He hangs around the stage exit and drums his fingers on the railing. He looks down the hallway, but no chicks there. Damn. Sucks to be in an all-male cast. Baba sighs.

The back of his neck prickles. He itches his hairline. His pubes prickle, too. He scratches his balls again and adjusts his dick in the shorts. Ueshima suggested thongs, but only other Baba took him up on the offer.

Baba turns around.

Masuda is in his face. He has a blank expression and is awfully pasty. Baba jumps. "Don't creep up on people like that!" he says.

"Sorry," Masuda says. He has pizza-flavoured breath. "Do you know where Kentarou put the doughnuts?" His stomach makes a loud, angry growl. It sounds like Genki onstage.

Baba shrugs. "Dressing room?"

"I checked."

"Don't you have a solo?"

"That can wait." Masuda shakes his head, slowly. "I want the doughnuts first."

"Priorities," Baba says.

Masuda nods. "Exactly."

***

Masa's followed him since practice. A pack of girls hangs around the station near the hall—fat, foreign chicks with pimples. Baba says, "hey" in his best English, and "sankyu berry muchee". He thinks about Ouji's girlfriend's hot friends. Masa huddles on the platform smoking section, and rocked back and forth. When Ryuuki shows up in flower pants and a plaid jacket, the girls dive over Baba to stroke Ryuuki's hair.

Baba sniffs. "Gross. He doesn't even have a dick." He hands Masa a beer. Masa drains it, and hops to his feet.

"All better!"

"Cool," Baba says.

Ouji lives in a dive, way out in west Tokyo. Practically in Saitama. He's got a couch, and a wall of toy cars. Baba brings himself, a mickey of Suntory whiskey, and a pack of condoms. He hasn't had sex in, like, three days. His balls hurt so much they itch.

Masa asks if he needs chafing cream.

Baba offers him another beer. The last time he needed chafing cream was Erika, two years ago, and that hole in Shinjuku that had bed bugs.

The lights are off in Ouji's window. Baba thinks, Sexy times. Masa staggers up the stairs. He drops the four-pack with a hiccup. He starts to dance down the cement steps to get them, and smacks his head on a railing. Masa giggles.

Baba rolls his eyes.

There's a whimpering sound on the other side of Ouji's door. It makes Baba's dick hard, all the girly sex sounds. Masa's struggling in the lobby, and calling "Help, Ba-chon! It’s dark and I can't find my beer!" Baba gives himself a quick jerk off in the hallway corner. The place smells like jizz anyway.

He zips his pants. Masa manages to stagger to Ouji's door. He pushes it open before Baba can say anything.

"SURPRISE!" Masa shouts.

Ouji's curled up on his couch, blubbering. His ass oozes off the side. There's not a chick in sight. Ouji throws an arm over his eyes when Baba flicks the light on. Flies buzz around. There's a pan on the floor, upside-down, and muffins scattered all over.

"You look different," Baba says.

Ouji sniffles. "No glasses?"

Baba shakes his head. "The overhang."

Ouji pulls at his skinny jeans. They don't tug up over his flab flap. He starts to cry more. "She LEFT me!"

"Party time!" Masa says. He holds up a can of beer, and toasts to no one. Then he chucks a can at Ouji's head.

Ouji winces. He feels around for the can. Baba kicks it across the room, Pele-style. He kicks it up one last time, and aims for Ouji.

"My laser vision op didn't work so well," Ouji says. His eyes look red. "He drips snot into his beer can. Baba doesn't share his Suntory.

"Where are the chicks?" Baba asks.

Ouji snuffles and snorts. He whimpers like a girl. Baba's dick twitches. Down!

"We broke up yesterday."

Masa lets out a long belch. He giggles, almost as high-pitched as Ouji. "Just us boys," he says. He grins, and toasts with himself again.

Baba frowns. This is lame. There's an old pudding on the floor that Ouji picks up. He licks the container. Baba takes another swig of the Suntory. It tastes like piss. Ouji's apartment smells like piss, too.

But the muffins scattered around—they still taste good. Baba helps himself to three, after he picks the dust balls off. What's good enough for Ryu is good enough for him.

Ouji offers to put on some old DVDs. "Remember, Pureboys?"

Baba scratches his head. "No…?"

Masa falls over. He's passed out on the muffin tin. Baba grabs one of the beer cans Masa didn't make it through.

"Ameba studios? Green ameba-san?" Ouji asks. "Pureboys with Kei-chan and Kouhei and Hiromi—"

Baba shudders. "The shrimp. Right." He finishes the beer. The dinosaur wallpaper in the room starts to march. "That was a haze."

"Of FUN!" Ouji squeals. He starts to giggle. Like old Ouji.

"Of beer," Baba says. "There was that bar, on Takeshita-dori, with the hottest waitresses—"

The door swings wide open.

The light bulb flickers.

Thunder cracks—somewhere.

The shrimp stands in the doorway. There's an evil little smile on his pointy little idol-orange face.

And behind him, there's a crowd of girls, all pawing at his leather jacket.

"Hiromi!" Ouji runs up to him. His ass jiggles.

Baba waggles his eyebrows at the first girl. She doesn't even look at him.

Hiromi struts inside. He's got four inches on Baba. Baba looks down—Hiromi's got six inches in boots.

The girls push Baba aside. One has iPod speaker. Three have beer. All of them have bleached hair and booty shorts.

Baba sidles up to another girl. "Hey there," he says. He winks.

She clings to Hiromi. "That perv over there is hitting on me!" She jumps and rubs herself on Hiromi. Hiromi pats her arm. He looks over the girl's shoulder, and his mouth forms in a single word.

"Loser."

There's a sudden explosion of pain in his body. His dick is limp. His legs start to shake. Baba clutches his chest. He staggers backwards into another girl. She starts to scream that he's groping her, and omg, Hiromi saaaave me!

And Baba realizes it's not his chest that's rumbling and churning and trying to claw its way out.

It's his ass.

He runs for the bathroom.

"Hee hee," Ouji says on the other side of the door. Baba shits his guts out. He doesn’t care. "Isn't my bathroom clean? I'm a sniper!"

Another wave bursts out. Baba groans. One of the girls shrieks that the pervert is wanking in the toilet. Baba looks around.

"…sniper…?"

There are grimy, weird splashy stains all over the wall.

And something wet is seeping up his pants hems from the floor.

***

He crawls home at half-past seven the next morning.

A station attendant swats him off the platform with a broom.

"Homeless people belong on the street!" he shouts.

"I'm not homeless!" Baba says.

The broom swings at his head again. Baba runs down an alley next to the station. He knocks into something large and hard and human.

He looks down at the bum starting to stand up. He smells like piss and beer and he's got three inches of pubes growing out of his round face. The bum's eyes widen. He grabs at Baba's sleeve. Baba tries to escape.

"Don't you recognize me, Ba-chon?" the bum asks. His breath makes Baba want to puke. "It's me, Irei Kanata!"

Baba runs the other direction. Irei's too laden down by his fat, and his shopping cart full of cardboard boxes to keep up.

At the next major intersection, Baba stands on the side of the road. He sticks his thumb out, and wiggles his ass. It works in Harajuku, all the time. Cougars and Gals love this shit. And besides, there's a hot red convertible (roof up, though. It is December, after all) driving his direction.

The light changes to red.

Score!

Baba sidles over the car. He knocks on the window. There's a couple of Gals on the other side, in blonde curls, seven inch stilettos and rhinestone eyeshadow. He hops from foot to foot. It's cold.

The window rolls down a couple inches. Baba sticks his fingers on the edge. "Looking pretty ladies," he says.

The girls sneer at him. "Either wash our window, or don't, you dirty homo," the driver says.

She rolls the window up.

Baba yanks his fingers back. "Bitch!" he yells.

There happens to be an off-duty city policeman walking to work, across the road. Just Baba's luck.

***

His brother pulls up in the Toyota. "No probs, little bro." He sniffs Baba. "You stink."

Ryu paces the foyer at home. He looks up at Baba with big, watery eyes. His leash dangles from his mouth. Baba crouches down to pet him. Ryu drops the leash, and lifts his leg.

***

"You do stink, poor baby" his mom admits. Baba hands her the garbage bag of clothes.

"You can burn these," Baba says. He sinks to the couch. Nothing but baseball on tv. He sighs. Ryu trots over, and licks his hand.

"All forgiven, babe," Baba mutters. Ryu jumps on to his stomach. Baba hisses. Ryu circles his abdomen, right over his intestines. They're still sore. His ass is worse, though.

"Don’t you have a show this evening?" his mom asks.

Baba shrugs.

His phone rings. Masa sounds like a frog. "—performance…croak…hork…tomodachi…"

"Call the other me," Baba says. "Isn't that his job? Support…shit? It's not like I do anything in this show anyway. No one will notice."

Masa horks and croaks and adds a gero gero, too. "…not…croak…coming tonight?"

Ryu licks his toes. Baba sighs again, really loud this time.

"My mojo's gone."

***

He tries to get off the couch once or twice. His mom rolls him over, and there's a funny stink in the room. There's a hairy dude in the mirror staring back at him. Baba strokes his chin pubes.

Then he sighs.

His mom sighs. "What's wrong, Toru-woru-wu?"

"I'm outta juice," he whines.

His brother punches him in the gut. "Gettin' a bit fat, bro," he says. "Wanna come over to the stadium and burn that lard butt off?" He waggles his eyebrows. "We've got groupies and they have sweet bods."

Baba stays on the couch. He flicks through the tv channels. The apartment is black, except for the blue-ish glow of the screen. Some show comes on, about aliens and shit. Baba scratches his balls. They're crawling with sweat. Ryu crawls all over his legs. He licks at Baba's hand. Baba raises his arm, and lets Ryu lick his pit, too. He strokes Ryu's ears, and thinks, That looks familiar.

The ikemen on tv is him, of course. Or a version of him. The hot version who got chicks and sexy times, and lots of magazine shoots and free clothes before the shrimp stole it all. The only thing Baba's gotten recently is a scribbling letter in katakana from some Singaporean freak who wants to marry him to Masa.

Baba can't even bring himself to shudder at the gay.

He rolls onto his side, and lets Ryu lick between his toes.

***

By March, he can't squeeze his ass into his uniform for that tennis musical. He can't remember his lines, either, but Ueshima says, it's fine, he's got the new Baba's voice recorded.

Baba shuffles through his numbers. Ueshima shoves him in the back with Dokki, who cries during FGKS and tries to wipe his snot on Baba's t-shirt backstage. Baba curls his lip. "Gross," he says. He pushes the Dork away. Dorky cries on Kane-chan instead, a big blubbery fest of snot and slime.

Baba wipes his makeup off. Something hovers behind him. Masuda's spraying doughnut over his arm. Baba looks in the mirror. Masa grins. Then Baba spins around in his seat. Masa plies backward.

"Ba-chon!" he shrieks. "Your legs are a mess."

Baba looks at them. Hairy. He shrugs. "Whatevs."

Masa offers to share his wax strips. Baba looks at him. There's no beer in sight. No juice for that matter, either. "Fuck," he says.

"You look terrible," Masa says. "You haven't answered my messages in months!"

"Busy," Baba says.

"You need something to cheer you up, tomodachi." Masa grins. "I know just the thing!"

Halu sticks his head in the doorway. He reeks of smoke. Baba breathes it in and tries to absorb through osmosis. "Hey! Dudes, we're going out to a bar! Anyone else in?"

Everyone pours out, except Dokki—"Tooo young!" Then he starts to cry—and Genki—"Beer is for losers," he mutters under his breath. He looks at Dokki, and says they can hit up Akiba's Maid Oden Parlour tonight instead.

Baba drags his feet to the train station. In the opposite direction, a swarm of chicks follows the other guys, screaming all their names. Including Taito, who everyone knows is gay anyway.

From behind a vending machine a pair of eyes stares at Baba. Baba jumps. Taiske walks out. Beside him, some chick with hoop earrings and a dude's checkered scarf.

Taiske doesn't blink. Like a cat. Baba narrows his eyes.

His girlfriend tugs his arm. She's got yellow teeth, all jumbled up like sukiyaki. Baba feels a pang in his balls. Yuka had teeth just like that, except her rack was bigger.

He's so depressed by the time he gets home, he can't even bring himself to scratch his balls. Ryu whines and paws at his leg. His claws clack on the floor. Baba flings an arm over his eyes.

Masa leaves a voice message. "—STICHEE ON ICE BA-CHON—"

Baba deletes it. orz to be him.

***

They have two hours between performance end and performance start.

Masuda sprays crumbs on Baba's jersey. He looks bored. His stomach growls, even though he's got three empty ramen cups beside his dressing table spot.

"I'm suppose to—"

"SHH!" Masa hisses, from across the room and behind a rack of uniforms.

Masuda rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine. We can go for food," he tells Baba.

Baba stares at him. Masuda has the green face of a newbie to twenty. Baba pats his stomach. He remembers it well. Except he's depressed, and his life is over at twenty-one now.

"Performance," Shingo says. He taps his watch. It's covered in brown foundation, too.

"Lamewad," Masuda whispers.

Baba perks up. But Masuda doesn't say anything else, except, "Get your manbag."

Pizza turns out to be Shakeys, near that studio Baba sorta remembers. The one Ouji loved. Green Ameba. Right. Should update that blog, too, before the Manager gets pissed again. Baba flips his phone out, takes a picture of the sidewalk, and uploads to his blog.

Cold cement is cold
Life draining down the toilet
Dog pissed on my boot

Masuda orders two pitchers of Asahi. "Thanks kouhai," Baba says. He starts to pour himself a mug. Masuda bears his teeth. He hugs both pitchers, and says, "Mine!"

"Asshole," Baba says.

Masuda shrugs behind a pizza slice. "I'm only doing this for the money."

"Money?" Baba blinks. His contact dislodges and floats around his eyeball. He fixes it. Then it's greasy and even blurrier.

Masuda belches from his first pint. His eyes are glassy. His hair is a fro. "Oops."

"Who set you up for this?" Baba asks.

Before Masuda can answer, the kid passes out, face-first, into his shrimp pizza. Then his cellphone buzzes and jumps across the table. Baba prods him with the empty beer glass. "Hey! Get up! Your phone's going off!"

The waitress walks by just as Masuda slides off the banquette and onto the floor. She doesn't look twice. Baba huffs. He answers the phone.

"What?"

"THE SHOW IS IN TEN MINUTES WHERE ARE—"

Baba hangs up on Kentarou. He toes Masuda with his boot. Masuda groans. "Whaaa…"

"Don't make me carry you," Baba says.

***

Masuda weighs a fucking ton.

"I'm legal!!!" he shouts through the empty backstage corridor.

Mocchan runs by to the stage door. His babyface drips with sweat. "So am I!"

Taito prances by, with his glowing racket. He narrows his eyes, and blows on his nails. "You guys are so, like, pathetic."

Baba is impressed at Masuda's ability to still manage a middle-finger salute despite his inability to balance, or even do his own makeup to mask the drunken flush creeping over his face.

Not that he would ever admit that to Masuda.

And then Baba's shorts split on stage. During that black light number, where he's dancing around Masuda (nearly falling over, thankfully supported by Genki's split step and racket). His shorts glow in the dark.

Damn white polyester, Baba thinks.

At intermission, he calls his mom and tells her to buy more juice.

***

Kentarou has a vacant :D smile so big Baba can count the rice grains stuck between his teeth. He may have lost his mojo, but he hasn't lost all his smarts.

Baba lights a smoke in the dressing room. Genki makes loud, gagging noises. He pinches Okki, and then Okki starts too.

Masuda asks to bum one.

Baba flicks ash on him. "You owe me for carrying you on the subway."

Masuda narrows his bloodshot eyes, and slinks off.

Kentarou keeps smiling. He bounces from foot to foot.

"What?" Baba says.

"Wanna come over to my apartment and hang out with me and my sisters? They're visiting from—"

"Don't care," Baba says.

"Oh…okay…" Kentarou walks off with his tail tucked between his legs.

Masa frowns. "Ba-chon, that wasn't very nice."

Baba flicks his butt on the floor. He lets Masa step on it for him. "I'm not hanging out with that hick and his hick sisters."

"What about Stichee on Ice? You free on Tuesday, after we're done?" Masa wibbles a little. Baba brushes him off with a grunt.

He heads home, and opens the fridge. There's a new bottle of juice, but it's the wrong type.

Baba slithers on the floor. "My life is over," he moans.

His mom steps on his back like he's a tatami mat. "If you don't get off the floor, Torukins, I can't make dinner."

Baba says he doesn't care.

"And besides, Coco-chan peed there this morning and I don't think your brother cleaned it up."

Baba picks himself off the floor.

His cellphone beeps.

Masa's left him another email reminder about fucking Stitch on Ice tickets.

***

Baba's manager shows up, yells a bit, and threatens to pull a Johnny's on him if he doesn't get his ass over to JCB Hall.

"What the hell is that?" Baba mutters. He sips his juice box. Masa draws a mole onto his face. He offers to draw a smile on Baba, too.

"Dunno," Masa says. "It sounds scary. Like what happened to Hijiri…" He wipes at the corner of his eye. His eyeliner drips.

New Genki is there. Something about filming backstage. He sticks his tongue out at Baba. Baba narrows his eyes.

"You look Korean when you do that," Masuda says. He pulls at his eyes until he yawns. Like a cat. He smells like cat food, too.

Baba glares. "I am not. Korean!" he hisses.

Masuda just shrugs. He steals one of Masa's energy drink bottles. It's empty, like the rest of the stash on Masa's dressing table.

"Only three shows left!" Shingo says.

Dokki starts to cry. Kentarou pats his back, but he's sniffling too. Baba rolls his eyes. Crybabies, he thinks.

Baba sings his one line, and falls to the back of the dance number. Ueshima shoved him behind Ire and Juri, who smell of Guinness. Baba breathes it in deep. Masa prances over to his corner of the stage, and hangs around for a while. He drapes his arm over Baba.

Baba pushes him away. His glasses fall down. Masa steals them and puts them on. Baba shrugs.

Genki pinches him. "In character!" He's got red contacts in, and fluorescent teeth. He looks like Satan.

Masuda lets a fart rip during his match. The entire auditorium is silent, except for Ryuuki, who turns purple from trying not to laugh. Baba hurhurs under his breath—in character and all, fucking Genki. Masuda's packed on the pounds since December performances. His face has a doughy appearance under the wig.

At intermission, Masuda creeps out of the bathroom. Juri and Ire walk out behind him. Baba wanders in, and whips his dick out. There's only Taito there, and he's pretty much dickless. Still, Baba sighs. He strokes the side of the urinal, and remembers Mika. Three years ago. Here, on her knees, right after the Tokyo run ended. She told Baba to leave the uniform on. Weird, but her thumbs had a way with his balls that he remembers with a fond :3 smile.

Baba shakes, stuffs his dick in, and goes. Taito scoffs behind him. "No wonder you're alone," he mutters. He sounds suspiciously like the shrimp.

Baba whips his head around. Taito hums to himself.

"Did you say something?" Baba asks.

Taito stops humming. "No," he says. His voice is high-pitched and shrieky. Totally not like the shrimp's.

Baba shifts his eyes. He pushes open the first stall door. Empty. He pushes open the next. Empty. Dokki walks in. His flippers slap the floor. Baba scowls. Just the dick he didn’t need to compare with.

Dokki, though, just winds a wad of toilet paper for himself, and stuffs it into his pocket.

Baba pushes open the last stall door. A pair of eyes blink. Baba jumps three feet. His heart jumps out through his mouth.

"The HELL!?" he yells.

Taiske stands up. He looks from side to side. Then he leaves.

"Your creepy friend hides in toilets," Baba tells Masa, backstage. The camera rolls. Masa flashes a v sign. Kentarou's tongue wags behind them.

" Taisuke?" Masa says. He laughs. "He's coming on Tuesday, you know!"

"To what?"

Masa laughs again. "You know."

"Not really," Baba says. He peeks out through the curtains. The lights are dimming. His dick recedes, and his balls shrivel up. Baba clutches his crotch, and groans. There, in the front row, the shrimp is nodding up to the stage. He mouths words, like "that guy" and "loser" and "lame".

And on the shrimp's right, there's Yuka with the shark teeth mess making motions between her thumb and her index finger.

Two inches. Two inches.

No! Baba stumbles back into Mio. Mio looks down, cross-eyed, and jumps away from Baba.

"I can't go on," Baba moans. He tries to rub his balls back to life. He tries to think of tits, of his brother's awesome goal against Osaka FC, of Ryu's silky belly fur. But the pain between his legs neuters his soul.

Someone pops out from a curtain fold. The other him steps out, and brushes off his uniform. He adjusts his glasses. They gleam under the tennis ball-shaped strobe light. "Don't worry, senpai," he says. The other him grabs his balls, and stands up straight.

"I can help."

***

The other him picks him up after the performance finishes. As soon as the wig is off, he pulls on a pair of camo pants that look awfully familiar. Ditto for the t-shirt: DOES MYASS LOOK BIG

Too bad Baba can't read a word of Engrish to tell for sure.

The other him struts. He grabs at his balls, and looks at Baba, all hopeful and wide-eyed—as wide as his squinty eyes get, anyway. "Is this right?" he asks.

Baba doesn't answer. He flops over onto his back.

"Baba-senpai?"

Baba sighs. He mulls over the words. "Say that again."

"Senpai?"

"No," Baba says. "With the Baba."

"Baba-senpai?"

Baba rolls the sound over his ears. Nice. Until the other Baba sticks his head out of his dressing room and ruins the effect by asking, "What what what?" with his rotten brown grin.

"Ne, Baba-senpai?" The other him wipes Baba's makeup off his face with a towel covered in Stitches. Baba gives Masa a look. Masa has a matching towel draped over the back of his mullet. Kentarou keeps singing On My Way on loop, an hour after the show ended.

"Maybe we can hang out," the other him says.

"Fat chance, kid," Baba says. He picks himself up. He chucks the Stitch towel at Kentarou. Kentarou waves it around, and, with a gormless grin, he dunks it into the laundry bin by the door.

"I'm almost nineteen!" the other him says. "Please, Baba-senpai!"

Baba extricates his hand from the other him's deathgrip. "Yeah right."

"But what about tonight? Are you free tonight? I'm—"

"Toodles." Genki says from the door. He makes some sign with his hand. "Live long and prosper, comrades."

Dokki carries a large, dark bag behind Genki. "I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"Uh, yeah," Baba says. He shakes the other him off, but not without grabbing his ballcap first. It's kinda cool, and hides the wig-hair. The other him's eyes light up.

"I'm coming with," Baba tells Genki and Dokki. The other him stands in the doorway. His figure recedes in the distance, behind thrown PET bottles and someone's thong, sailing across the corridor that smells like doughnuts and mildewed sweat, and the perfume of girl's bras thrown onstage.

"Baba-senpai..." the other him says, "I'll wait for you!"

***

At his stop, Baba stands up. He starts to walk off the train. There's a vending machine right ahead on the platform, and there's a bottle of Natchan calling his name.

Genki grabs his arm. He digs his nails in hard.

"Ow!" Baba says.

"Not so fast," Genki says. He looks at Dokki. Then he looks at new Genki—since when did he show up? Baba can't think that fast to remember.

"You're our fourth," Genki says. A smile curls across his lips. He cackles under his breath. All the lights flicker in the train carriage. Baba shivers.

Dokki nods sagely. "You can be the Sherriff."

***

Turns out, the Sherriff wears pleather chaps (sewn by Genki) and a cowboy hat, and he dies in a flurry of gunfire and grenades (painted golfballs, also by Genki) thrown by the Three Dorksketeers—or, two dorks and a third in a kigurimin horse costume that matches Dokki's face to a tee.

New Genki blows on the end of his plastic pistol. He steps off Dokki's back, onto Baba's shoulder blade, and smirks. Genki emerges from a hollow by the tree. It's midnight, and no one except the homeless bums are out. And them.

Okki runs around, yawning, and clapping, and flapping his mouth about how awesome Genki-san's game is, and omg, you guys, they can totally go for karaoke and line dancing now with their cowboy hats on.

Genki strokes his stick-on pornstache. "Only if Gundam songs are involved."

Dokki says, "YEAH!" He tries to high-five Genki, and smacks the hat off Genki's head instead.

New Genki steps across Baba's other shoulder blade. Baba whips a chap off, until Genki glowers at him.

"You can't seriously be into this weird shit," Baba mutters.

New Genki's lips twitch. "Anything to get me outta class."

"You're in school?"

New Genki lifts his chin up high. He reaches Baba's neck, maybe. "What the hell else are you gonna do with yourself when you're a washed up lamewad at twenty-five?"

***

Baba nurses his juice in the karaoke booth. He ordered a beer, and Genki screamed. "NO ALCOHOL!" Too bad the juice doesn't drown out Okki's croaking. Baba sways with the ballad Genki belts out. Something about painting Gundams, and life is tough.

Tough times, Baba thinks.

Life is totally tough.

***

There is only one solution.

Baba calls the number. It's at the top of his address book, right after 'mom'.

Sure, he said, "Call me anytime," but no one ever means that. At least Baba doesn't.

The tone pulses one, two, three times. "Hey hey this is Kouhei!"

Baba practically weeps.

"Is that you—BA-CHON!"

"KOUHEI!"

"The yin to my yang! The tits to my ass! My brotherly SOULMATE!"

"Yeah," Baba says.

"WASSUP?"

Baba sighs. He opens his mouth. Kouhei screams into the background. "SHUT UP I'M ON THE PHONE!" Then he says, "Sorry, chick probs."

"Really?" Baba scratches his balls. An express train whooshes by the platform. Windblown, Baba is.

"Yeah," Kouhei says. "Fuck me, I gotta disappear from the scene for a bit."

"Harsh," Baba says. "She preggers, or just accusing you of knocking her up?"

Kouhei whistles. "Hard to say, my bro, hard to say."

Baba lights a smoke. The first of the zombified salarymen are waking up in their ditches and dragging themselves to the station. Baba steps aside and lets one struggle past, suit ripped and mouth frothing for caffeine.

There's a crash in the background, followed by a round of static. Kouhei yells, "I SAID I'M ON THE PHONE WITH MY FRIEND! NO! NOT HER! I said I broke it off and I love you—sorry, bro."

"'s okay," Baba says. He breathes in the smoggy winter air between drags.

"I might just disappear. Go find myself, bro. This bitch has me by the balls."

"Find yourself?" Baba's balls itch in sympathy.

"Yeah, find myself in Bali," Kouhei whispers. "But call me anytime—NO! I BROKE IT OFF WITH THE OTHER ONE, TOO! OKAY??"

Baba hangs up. He stands up a little straighter. At least he hasn't gotten any chicks preggers—and that scare with Riina or Miina, or whichever chick missed her rag once, that doesn't count.

He almost feels a bit better about himself, enough to waggle his eyebrows at the OL with the Louis Vuitton briefcase on his train. Until she topples forward and pukes all over Baba's lap two stops before he's home.

***

After the last show, they go for booze. Everyone old enough to drink who isn't super lame—except Kentarou, who comes too. Masa stopped the other Baba at the izakaya elevator door. He shook his head.

"We don't want another Hijiri to happen, Ryu-chan," he said.

Ueshima, cheap bastard, only buys one round. Baba sidles up to Masa, who devours the little dried fish snacks between chugs. "Ne, tomodachi…what kind should we order next? They have a Super Sapporo Speci—"

"Yeah!" Masa slaps down a 10 000. Baba leans back with a smirk. He pats his stomach. If he can't get chicks, he can at least get plastered.

Unlike Masuda, who faceplants into fried chicken skin after his first pint.

"Lightweight," Baba mutters. He clinks glasses with Masa. Masa says, "Watch a pro!"
He starts to chug. Kentarou starts to chant, "DRINK DRINK DRINK!" Half the beer runs down Masa's tshirt, and the other half past his 'stache shadow and into his gut.

"Watch me!" Kentarou grabs a bowl of rice, and starts to shovel food into his mouth. Baba looks at Masa. Masa wipes his big chin off with his arm. He looks back at Baba with glazed eyes. Then they look at Kentarou and burst into laughter.

"What?" Kentarou sprays rice across the table, onto Shingo's arm. Frowning, Shingo picks a grain off.

The izakaya entrance door opens. Mio's googly eye follows the guy inside the bar. He's got jeggings on, and a ripped shirt. He looks over the rim of his bug-eyed sunglasses. Masa looks over, and slurs, "Hey I know hiiiiim!" He waves. He shouts, "Rook! Rook, over here!"

Baba looks. He shudders. He hasn't seen that flamer in years. Luke C starts to approach their table. Baba clutches his cellphone charms—his only defence now, besides his straight masculinity, of course.

One of the Shit guys—the one who has a My Little Pony toy galloping across the table—looks up, too. He gasps. He swoons. He clutches his heart, and goes for Masa. "Who is that sexy thang?" He flutters his eyelashes. There's practically glitter in the air.

Baba drains the rest of his glass. He hasn't enough booze for this shit yet.

Masa flaps around. But Luke C doesn't do more than give the group a glance over. He scoffs. He rolls his eyes. He struts over to the bar, and in a loud voice, says, "Give me a man's drink!" He slides onto a bar stool, and crosses his legs at the thigh.

"You know those guys?" Bartender asks.

Luke C claps his hands to his face. "Those heathens?" Kentarou makes a stupid face with chopsticks. Baba sticks another chopstick in his ear. Pony Boy bats his lashes and makes air kisses at Luke C. Baba grabs the beer pitcher and chugs it straight.

"As if!" Luke C's girly voice says.

"Draft beer?"

Luke C wiggles his ass on the stool. "A man's drink, I said. Mai Tai, obvs. With a pink umbrella and a little wedge of lemon."

Baba looks at Masa. He lets a belch rip. Feels good, a nice rumble in his belly. Luke C stirs his cocktail with a swizzle stick. Baba sporfles. "wtf."

Masa sniffles. "I used to like him. He sent me flowers."

"Uh…" Baba says. He inches away from Masa. "Say, what happened to that other flamer friend of yours?" Not that he cares, he's just making convo before the next pitcher of Asahi arrives.

"Taisuke?"

"Who?" Baba looks around. Isn't Taiske off on a date-o, or something? Baba sighs. Sucks that even creepers can get some, and he's as celibate as the Retard Kentarou.

"Fufu," Baba says. "Your…dance…tomodachi…"

"OH!" Masa claps a hand to his forehead. His fag falls out of his fingers and on to the table. Baba picks it up, then he realizes it's just a Pall Mall. Pussy fags. Heh.

"He's busy," Masa says. "Working on a new album—and ZOMG BA-CHON!" He grabs Baba by the shoulders and shakes. Baba's eyes roll around his skull. His contacts stick to his brain. "He asked me to write a new for him! Isn't that great?"

"Sunshine and daisies," Baba says. He blinks. His contacts slide around, and into the beer glass. Baba shrugs. Whatevs.

"No," Masa says, "It's called Sunshine My Happy."

"English?"

Masa nods.

"Know what word I learned?" Baba takes a deep, learned breath. He strokes his chin. There's a new pube growing on his jaw—sweet, another hair closer to a goatee! He grins. "It's English, too."

Masa's eyes are wide.

"'Sub-prime mortgage'."

Masa blinks. Then he starts to giggle nervously. "I know that word!"

"Yeah, it means, like, 'really, really bad and lame'." Baba nods to Luke C, then he nods to Mio and Shingo, who shift their eyes away. Baba whispers to Masa, "'America is in a sub-prime mortgage crisis.'"

Masa oohs.

Baba says, "Or, or!—"

The radio starts to play a new song. Masa stops laughing. He clamps a hand over Baba's mouth—a salty, sweaty hand. Baba has a hankering for tempura all of a sudden. Then he recognizes the fruity voice, and the uninspired melody.

Fufukawa.

Singing something about My Happy Sunshine.

Masa gasps. "My lyrics!"

Then there's another voice, a slightly manlier voice.

Masa gasp-shocks. "TAKUI!"

Baba says wut.

"I wrote that song in the shower!" Masa says. "But Takui—he never did a duet with me!" His eyes start to fill with tears. He grabs the sleeve of Baba's jumpsuit. Baba tries to yank his arm away from the direct of snot. Masa's picked up on bad habits from Dokki.

The announcer wraps up the song, and says, "And that's the new one from Furukawa Yuuta, that he wrote all by himself for a duet with Takuuuuuui!"

Masa staggers backwards into a paper wall. His hand punches through into a group of salarymen. He's too heartbroken to even apologize. Baba almost lolls.

"Ne, we're outta here," Mio announces. He and Shingo stand up. So does Halu, with a smoke in his mouth and another tucked behind his ear for the road. Masa starts to wibble in the corner. Kentarou is polishing off all the food in sight. Masuda has regained consciousness and helps himself to the dregs of Shingo's beer.

Baba narrows his eyes. He strokes his chin.

"I backwashed," Shingo says.

Masuda blinks. "Eh?" His eyes are red, and he smells like cat.

Baba stands up, too. He stretches his arms above his head. Bit rank, he probably should have a shower when he gets home. But his spider sense for fun times is tingling between his legs. Which makes no sense, because these dudes are lamewads, except Halu, who has a tendency to bum smokes. Baba scratches his balls.

"Thought you'd stay a bit longer," Mio says. "There's a hot waitress here."

"If you like grandmas," Baba says. He shifts his eyes. Shingo drops his murse in the elevator. When he picks it up, Baba notices the doobie.

Shingo grabs it, but Baba's quicker. More experience with the booze makes perfect.

His eyes go wide. "That's a—"

"Now you know our secret," Mio says. He looks at Shingo, who nods. "We'll have to kill you."

"Not if you let me come," Baba says.

Halu lights his smoke before the elevator doors open. "Aaah," he says. He blows smoke all over some random dude's face. "Ecstasy!"

"Fine," Mio says.

"But we gotta stop for juice first," Baba says. "Weed always makes me thirsty."

Maybe these lamewads have some redeeming hobbies after all.

***

He doesn't remember anything else from that night, which is probably for the best, since he woke up faceplanted in a Lotteria takeout bag and with his jumpsuit pulled down to his waist in the lobby of Shingo's apartment building. Or what Baba hopes is Shingo's apartment lobby.

His head is on fire. Hammers smash his brain to sludge. Baba staggers to his feet, and falls into a bicycle. He pukes all over his front, and then all over the bicycle. Then the smell of pukes makes his stomach heave all over again.

Death would be a better fate than this.

He spends two days in bed. Mom brings miso soup and meat on a tray into his room. Baba groans. The light burns his eyes. He huddles under his duvet. Ryu squirms around his feet.

"Baby…" he croaks.

His mom clucks her tongue. "You haven’t touched the food," she says in a baby voice. "I even brought you juice, with a sippy straw, Toru-tan."

Baba smacks his lips together. His mom holds the juicebox for him. Then Baba retreats back under the duvet. His bed smells like a dump, but that's better than lying in a Chiba ditch until his headache goes away.

His phone goes off.

Baba huddles deeper.

His phone goes off again.

He shoves his head under a pillow Ryu chewed the edges off. The sudden motion makes his head explode. He moans.

His phone goes off a third time.

Baba emerges and chucks it across the room. Ryu scrabbles across the floor to catch it. He brings it back in his mouth, and deposits it by Baba's arm. Ryu sits back. His tail wags.

"Garrh…" Baba groans.

Fucking five emails from Masa, and three missed calls. All with the same message in hot pink blinking marquee:

Its TOMODACHI TUESDAY!!! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Baba turns his phone off. Then he burrows back under his pillow. His ears rings the rest of the day.

***

Some moron rings the buzzer around dinner time. Baba's made it to the couch, even though there's nothing good on tv—just some shitty Arashi game show. His sips his juicebox. His mom changes the wet washcloth on his forehead. She gets the door, and yells "TORU!"

Baba cringes. "Unless it's hot and got tits, I'm not moving."

His mom lets the thing in anyways. It bounces across the floor, and lands on Baba. Baba grunts. Masa grins.

"I figured I'd come here to meet you," Masa says. He looks at Baba's mom. "Do you think…maybe I can stay for dinner before the show?"

"What show?" Baba asks.

He shouldn't have asked.

***

"Kentarou said he was bringing his sisters," Masa says.

"Super," Baba says.

"But he got tickets on the ground level."

"Darn," Baba says.

Masa checks the time on his cellphone. He looks around. Baba looks around, too. He's not sure what the hell he's looking for, unless it has to do with blue furry plushies for sale. "They're supposed to meet us here," Masa says. The venue is packed. Mostly with under-tens. Baba doesn't go there—that's just gross.

"Who is?"

"Taisuke and his girlfriend! I got four tickets, but no one else seemed to want to come." Masa drags Baba to a merch stand. He paws through the rack of hats. "Got that. Got that. Ooooh—no, got that hat, too."

"You spend all your money on these lame hats?" Baba holds one up. Blue, with ears, and a smiling mouth.

"No," Masa says. "My fans send them."

"That's too bad," Baba says.

Masa shakes his head. He opens his manbag. "Don't worry Ba-chon, I brought one for you to wear. It was a double, doubles partner-kun." He plunks a blue, furry hat with ears onto Baba's head.

Baba makes a frog face. "Thanks so much, tomodachi."

Masa doesn't get it. He grabs Baba's hand, and high-fives him. "No worries! Oh—"
Masa flips his phone out. "That's Taisuke. He's around by the merch stand on level three."

Baba doesn't bother to say hi when they find Taiske. He stares at Baba, and then he says hi to Masa. He's hanging around the toilets. Baba asks where the girlfriend is.

"In the bathroom," Taiske says. His eyes bore through Baba's head. Baba touches his temple. It still aches from Sunday. Taiske scrolls through emails on his phone. Baba leers over him for a peak. No pics of hot chicks, just messages ending in kiss kiss rabu u (:*)

The lights from the rink start to flash. Disney music blares through the arena. Masa flicks his hands around and freaks out. "It's starting! It's starting!" He grabs Baba's hand and drags him down through the stands into their seats. Baba climbs over a group of preschool girls. They all have the same lame hat as him.

He hangs his head. Shame. Shaaame!

One little girl tugs on his sleeve. "Ne, Oji-san?" She blinks at him, and smiles a gap-toothed grin. "Do you speak Japanese?"

"What?" Baba looks over the rim of his glasses at her. Contacts were too much effort today.

The girl giggles. "Korean!" The friends start to clap and cheer and chant, "Korean! Korean! Korean!"

"Fuck you," Baba mutters.

Masa smacks him on the ear. "You can't say that to little girls, Ba-chon!"

Baba sniffs. The girl keeps grinning. Her mouth moves: Korean.

Masa claps to the music—a half beat off everyone else in the arena. Baba rofls under his breath. He ignores the brat on his right, and munches on a handful of Masa's curry popcorn. Oversized plushies skate around the ice rink. If the seat wasn't so hard and plastic, Baba might be inclined to settle in for a nap.

Partway through the first act, all the little girls squish into their seats. Baba looks over. Taiske is squeezing past, with the girlfriend in tow behind him, holding crepes. Masa scoots up cozy to Baba to let them through. Baba pushes him right back. "No weird gay stuff," Baba says.

The girlfriend sits next to Masa. She's got a big hoop earring in the one ear, and hickies all down the other. Masa stops watching Stichee's backwards spiral duet with a pink Stitch. "Taisuke," he says, "I thought you were bringing your girlfriend?" Masa holds up a pink furry hat, with ears sticking up. "I even brought the Angel hat for her!"

The girlfriend looks at Taiske. Baba looks at Taiske. Taiske just stares blankly. "But…but I did."

The girlfriend opens her mouth. "I'm a dude, Taisuke," he says, in a deep voice.

"Yeah, he plays Kin-chan B! KinTakuya!" Masa says. "You know, from the tenipuri musicals?"

Taiske doesn't blink. "Oh," he says. "That makes a lot more sense now."

Baba bursts into rofls. "You mean…" He guffaws, and adds a hur hur, too. "You mean you thought there was some chick besides Mio in the shows? lol."

Taiske is awfully quiet. Masa starts to laugh nervously to fill the silence. The lights dim on the ice, and the floodlights blind everyone in the stands.

KinTakuya the not-girlfriend pats Taiske's silver rings. "Don't worry, I still like you, Taisuke." He holds out one of the crepes. Taiske takes it, without looking away.

Awkward moment.

Awkward, gay moment.

Baba jumps out of his seat. "Gotta piss," he says. He takes the cement stairs two at a time, since his soccer playing legs can't quite reach three. As soon as he's at the gate to the food court, he takes a deep breath. Baba licks his lips. He can almost taste escape, along with all the fried grease in the air.

He saunters over to the toilets. A line of rug-rats and their balding dads snakes long and orderly into the corridor. Baba side-steps his way to the front. A kid starts to cry that he has to pee-pee from his wee-wee. Baba squats down next to him, and looks him straight in the eye.

"Me too, kid, me too."

Then Baba cuts into the toilets and pushes his way to a urinal. He looks around. Definitely feeling pretty big in here! He struts back out. The line is three times as long now. He turns around toward the exit sign. It's hidden behind a pack of errant silvery balloons, all covered in Hawaiian print and Stitch faces.

And he walks into a pair of tits.

For the first time in his life, Baba looks up.

The chick has the face of a hottie—big wide mouth, oval eyes, and the most amazing pair of tits and ass Baba has ever seen. His tongue is tied up. His heart skips three beats. His dick just about dances in his camo pants at thoughts of those long legs wrapped around him.

"Bwuh…" Baba says.

The chick blinks. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says. She doesn't sound very sorry. Not behind that big :D smile. "I was looking for the exit…?"

Baba grabs her hand, all American-style. He says his name backwards, and "Hotel-o go we now?"

The chick's mouth drops open, but her lashes flutter. She winks at Baba. Baba almost creams his pants at the forwardness. He's never met a chick like this! His legs don't even work. But all the power in his body seems to flood to his balls. They swell with manly fortitude, and burn with the power of fifteen Babas at the peak of ikemen awesome!

"THERE you are!"

Kentarou looks down at him with a grin of silver fillings. He gives the chick the same dopey smile.

"We thought we lost you," Kentarou says to the chick. "Hey, Baba!" He high-fives Baba's puddle. "You found my sister!"

"S—sister?"

The chick smiles back with the same braindead expression. She grabs Baba's arm, and yanks him to his feet with one hand. "We were just gonna explore the area, Ken-chan," she says.

"Oh, okay." Kentarou looks at another sister. Also tall, also stacked. Baba feels faint. Too much blood rushes to his dick. The other sister grabs Baba's other side to hoist him up.

"Me, too," other hot sister says.

"Oh…" Kentarou's grin doesn't fade, but his voice does as the sisters drag Baba through the hoards of ankle-biters.

Baba looks to his right into a pair of big, soft tits. Then he looks left into a pair of bigger, soft tits. He gives his best, self-important :3 leer.

He's died, and gone to fucking heaven.

***

Okay, so the sisters are related to the biggest loser Baba knows, but so long as he tunes out the flesh-grating sound of their dopey laughter, they are amazing. Tall, gorgeous, and blessed with the most perfect chest melons Baba has ever, ever encountered. It's been so long since he got laid, he practically came all over himself as soon as they unzipped his fly. Chicks from the sticks know some pretty hot sexy time things.

Sandwiched between two naked racks, Baba burrows his face, and thinks, I love me, too, Karma.

Drabble: Metamorphosis, SanaYuki, 1010 words, PGish

reposte — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 21:23:41 GMT

Title: Metamorphosis
Author: Ociwen
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 1010
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, for the most part.
Summary: Summer heat, hospitals, transformations.
Author's Notes: Indulging myself in some SanaYuki.

The first time Sanada sees Yukimura in the hospital, he's asleep. His face is twisted up. His skin has the same grey colour as the walls. Sanada crawls under the spider web of IVs. Sanada wants to cry.

No one else came tonight, just him. Yukimura's parents are in the hospital lobby.

He touches the back of Yukimura's hand. Yukimura doesn't move. Sanada takes his cap off, and tucks it under his arm. Yesterday, Yukimura would have laughed if Sanada started to cry. He would have pushed Sanada away if he leaned this close.

The oxygen machine hisses rhythmically. A perfect tennis rally.

He presses his lips to the top of Yukimura's head. For a moment, Sanada lingers. He brushes his nose through Yukimura's hair—messy, limp, dead. He takes a deep breath. The antiseptic smell is wrong.

"You can’t—" Sanada chokes on the rest of what he thinks. He squeezes Yukimura's hand, just a little.

He pulls his cap from his armpit, and slides the door shut behind himself.

***

Yukimura doesn't remember.

Sanada doesn't mention it.

He presses his lips together. He closes his eyes, and thinks about the sensation of Yukimura's hair, and the heat of his skin, through the discolouration of disease.

"What are you thinking about?" Yukimura asks. He turns from the window. Hunched over in a wheelchair, his pajamas swallow him whole.

"Tennis," Sanada lies.

***

He cries after the Kantou finals, on the train from Tokyo. Niou sits across from Sanada. Even he's silent under his black scowl and brown wig. Kirihara is so upset, he pukes up the bento he had for lunch.

The nurse says that Yukimura is in the recovery room. Sanada goes in first. Yukimura's eyes are closed. He's hooked up to a machine that beeps and flashes numbers. A toe starts to move under the sheets. Sanada clutches his chest.

He runs out of the room.

Renji is the one to tell Yukimura instead.

***

Grandfather calls him a coward.

A rack of Edo swords hangs in the dojo. Ten generations of samurai strapped them to a belt, wore them into battle. Sanada wonders how many ancestors pushed one of these swords into their bellies, too.

He keeps Yukimura's Prince AirO Winner TI OS by his bed. He keeps a tennis ball by the kami-dama. On the second day, he brings it to the hospital. Yukimura screams at him. Sanada's ears rush. Yukimura doubles over. His face contorts. He presses a button on a machine. Sanada's eyes go wide. The tennis ball bounces into the hallway.

A dark patch spreads across Yukimura's sheets.

Sanada sits beside the door. He hugs his knees. He presses his face to his thighs. Kirihara brings him a bag of senbei. A nurse rolls her eyes. "He just split his stitches. Kids these days."

On the third day, the door opens. Yukimura throws a bed pan. "I'm still angry," he says.

Sanada looks up.

***

Foil balloons cling to the ceiling. Cake crumbs grind into the sheets. Kirihara forgot his cellphone.

"Do you feel well enough?" Sanada asks.

"I could feel when they took my catheter out this time," Yukimura says. "Can you open my window?"

There's a park across the street filled with cicadas. Thick, moist air trickles into the room. Yukimura takes a deep breath. With a wince, he touches his side. "The smell of freedom," Yukimura whispers. He lies on his other side, and looks at Sanada, horizontally.

"Are you sure you're well enough?" Sanada asks. He tilts his head.

Yukimura is quiet. The cicadas chirp. Tsuku tsuku. Yukimura's hands curl on the hem of his sheet. His mouth parts with a sigh of sleep.

Sanada sets his hat on the table, between the cards. He leans over to press his lips to the top of Yukimura's head. His lips brush thick hair. Yukimura moves.

"I'm sorry," Sanada says. His voice catches.

Yukimura tries to sit up. A bead of sweat is forming at his temple. Yukimura touches it. He looks down at his fingertip. "Can you help me?" The sun hides behind a thin cloud. Light dims across Yukimura's face.

Sanada exhales.

"Make sure I'm well enough," Yukimura says. He reaches out to Sanada's face. His sticky finger brushes Sanada's chin.

Yukimura's hand is hot. His wrist is thin. Veins pulse under his translucent skin. Sanada asks three times. On the fourth, his chest tightens.

Sanada presses his mouth to Yukimura's temple. He tastes the salt on his skin.

"Can you feel that?" Sanada asks.

"Yes," Yukimura says. He turns his face. The pillow rustles. Hair clings to the rivulets of sweat along his jaw. A hand presses to his back: light at first, then nails dig into his muscle.

He presses his lips to the hot skin by Yukimura's ear. "And that?"

Yukimura has sweet breath, and icing flakes on the side of his mouth. He closes his eyes. His exhale is hotter than the muggy summer air. "Yes," he whispers. He digs his nails in. Sanada hisses. "You'll have to keep going."

Yukimura sheds his pajamas. Sanada peels the layer away from his skin. He presses his mouth to each rib. He rests his ear to Yukimura's chest. His heart pounds just like his own. A perfect pattern, like the cicadas' song.

His hands shake. He touches the bones of Yukimura's hips. Sanada looks up. Sweat gleams on the top of Yukimura's lip. Sanada takes a deep breath. He kisses the skin under Yukimura's belly button.

"Here?"

Yukimura moans. He flexes his toes at the end of the bed. One by one, they crack.

Sanada moves lower. He doesn't say anything, except, "And here?"

***

The last time Sanada sees Yukimura in the hospital, he's asleep. His pajama shirt is buttoned up wrong, but his lips curl with a smile.

Sanada pulls down the brim of his hat. He slides the door shut as he leaves. The elevator is three floors above. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

The salt tastes like something good.

Drabble: Big Brother (Andy Yukimura, PGish, 1870 Words)

reposte — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 00:33:57 GMT

Title: Big Brother
Author: Ociwen
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 1870
Warning: Everything you can possibly think of, and then some. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire series.
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all, except for spawn of Satan.
Summary: Andy's parents are missing.
Author's Notes: This is drabble related to Dénoument, We'll Always Have Kanagawa, Accidentally All Right, and Push/Pull. It won't make sense without having previously read the other fics in this verse. Happy birthday, mayezinha!

He wakes up on Saturday and his parents are missing.

He turns on his computer screen, the same as he does every morning. His dad is not in the bathroom. The tennis bag is still in the hallway, where he dumped it last night.

His mom is not in the kitchen. She's not in the washitsu, either. And the last piece of chocolate cake is still in the fridge. Andy looks around. He takes the box out of the fridge, and carries it into his bedroom. A popup sits on his computer screen. He clicks, "Proceed" with a defragmentation. It makes his games run faster.

The door opens. There's voices in the hallway. Andy's stomach growls. He licks the frosting from his fingertips, and walks out.

Kirihara-san looks down at him. "You're awake."

Hana pops out from behind her mom. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," Andy says.

Kirihara-san says she went out to Familymart for breakfast. "Do you like omelette bentos?" she asks. Andy sits at the table. Hana sits across from him, where his dad usually sits.

Andy pushes his glasses up. "Where are my mom and dad?" Hana swings her feet under the table. She hits Andy's knee and giggles. Andy hits her back.

"They're at the hospital," Kirihara-san says. "They called me to come stay with you."

"I'm fine," Andy says. He swallows a mouthful of egg. Hana slurps on her milk tea. "My dad was supposed to take me to Akiba to get a new computer fan," he says. He frowns. Kirihara-san winks at him, and says Andy's dad was busy with something else today.

Andy scowls. Stupid baby, he thinks.

Kirihara-san says it's really hot in here, does Genichirou always keep it this temperature? She cranks up the a/c. Andy shivers. The sky is grey outside, and it'll probably rain later. Kirihara-san opens the glass slider to get the laundry off the balcony. Humid air blasts inside the house. Andy wipes sweat from under his nosepieces. His glasses slide down his face.

"Ne," Hana says. "Guess what I got?"

"What?" Andy asks.

Hana takes the last slurp of her milk tea. The carton crumples. "Guess?" Hana says.

"Dunno," Andy says.

"My dad found his old gameboys in a box. And his Pokemon Diamond games."

"With Grotle and Starly?"

She nods. "Yeah, but it was before Pokemon Super Ultra Deluxe."

Andy's mouth hangs open. "Before Tiltmotion consoles? That's…so old."

Hana keeps nodding. "Yeah, and before Smellovision too!"

"Hey!" Andy shouts. He kicks her under the table. He looks out to the balcony. Kirihara-san is still unclipping the laundry. The cicadas are loud this morning, and the wind whips around the kitchen. Andy pats down his hair.

Hana says, "Don't worry. I only told my mom. She thought it was a cool idea."

"But I have to invent it first," Andy says.

They go into his bedroom. Hana shuts the door. Andy sits on his bed. Hana takes the consoles out of her backpack. Andy holds one up to the light. He pushes his glasses up to see better. "How do you turn it on?"

Hana points to the on button.

"And there's no instant game pick-up from other consoles," she says. She plugs a cable into the side of Andy's console. She hooks up her own to the other end. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Andy says okay.

Hana wiggles closer. "Say, are you excited?"

Andy looks at her. His avatar blinks on the screen. "About what?"

She grins. She pulls on his glasses. Andy frowns, and pushes them up. "About the new baby!"

"No."

"Why not?"

Andy shrugs.

"My mom said your mom is excited."

Andy looks at her. He scratches his temple. "I guess so."

She flops back onto his pillow. "I'm jealous. I want a baby brother or sister, but my mom said she's had enough."

Andy picks a Pokemon. Chimcharr. The graphics are pixellated and the music is grainy. He squints to see better. "You could take one of the Yagyuus. No one would notice."

Hana rolls her eyes. "Kidnapping's illegal. Duh." She presses a couple buttons on her console. "Did you know that Kuwahara-san once tried to kidnap Jennie to Brazil?"

Andy says no.

Hana nods. "It's true. My mom talked about it once. Marui-san got it wrong and it was just a vacation, and the police got mad at him." She presses the buttons harder. She shakes her console. "This is so…"

"Analog."

"Yeah…ooh! I'm going to get a Cherubi. It's really cute!"

Andy sighs. "That's so girly."

Hana smacks him in the arm. "I am a girl!" she says.

Andy shrugs.

***

At lunch, the door opens again. The other Kirihara-san walks through. He says hi to Andy. Andy says hi back. Hana says hi daddy. Kirihara-san holds up a plastic bag and says he got the food Kirihara-san told him to get.

"Did you get the cat food, too?" Kirihara-san asks.

Kirihara-san's smile falls. "Uh…oops?"

They eat seafood ramen noodles, and shrimp gyoza, too. Kirihara-san said his practice finished early. Kirihara-san pours more tea. Andy's cup is wet and drippy on the outside. He fans at his face.

"I tried to call Yukimura-san, but he didn't answer," Kirihara-san says.

"Hn…" Kirihara-san looks at the clock. "It'll be a while yet."

Kirihara-san looks around. He spots the tv in the main room, and he turns it on. There's some sports game on. Andy slurps more of his noodles.

"That's the real reason you ended practice early, Akaya," Kirihara-san says.

Kirihara-san laughs. He scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, but it's Mexico against Japan! Everyone's gonna be watching."

"Did Genki and Kento get to cram school okay?" Kirihara-san asks.

Andy looks at Hana. She pushes her ramen cup away. They go back into his bedroom, and close the door.

"Is that tennis?" Andy asks.

Hana says it's soccer.

"That's boring, too," Andy says.

Hana picks up her console. "I hope we saved the games right. It's weird not having the automatic pause screen."

Andy says yeah. He jumps off his bed and says he'll be back. He goes to the toilet room to pee. Through the wall, he can hear the sounds of cheering from the tv. Kirihara-san is shouting, "Yeah! Yeah! Fucking point to us!" Andy shakes himself off, and zips his shorts. He runs his hands through the washlet, just so he doesn't get the console wet like he did last summer and he didn't tell anyone but his mom said he'd better be careful with his next gameboy, or else.

In his room, Hana's on the computer. The consoles sit on the bed. Andy pushes her out of his chair. She pushes him back and takes up half the room. Her leg is sticky. Andy grabs the mouse. "Is my download done now?"

She nods. "The Creat-a-Critter expansion pack for Zoo Zombie Wars popped up and said it was done, so I checked for you."

"Cool," Andy says.

Hana looks at him.

"I can make videos with the zombie pandas now," Andy says. "And you can make them go after the Chihuahuas. That's what it's supposed to do."

Hana's eyes glow with the start-up screen. "That's kinda gross."

"Kinda cool."

"Yeah, kinda gross, but kinda cool, too. Do the Chihuahuas make the same funny noises that the people did with Zoo Zombies?"

Andy clicks 'Start' on the program menu. "I hope so," he says.

***

Kirihara-san yells at the fucking Mexicans every time they score a point.

Just before dinner, but after he and Hana have prawn crackers and milk, the door buzzes. Again. Andy's computer shuts down. He presses the restart button. The screen's still black. Hana tries to fan the hard drive. Andy shakes his head. "I need my new fan."

Natsuko and her boyfriend are here. They have a plastic bag from the department store supermarket. It smells like BBQ eel. Andy's stomach growls. So does Hana-chan's. She says she's hungry. Andy asks when supper's gonna be.

"Is the game on?" Yagyuu-san asks. Andy doesn’t know which one it is. All the Yagyuus look the same, even the babies. Kirihara-san glares at him, but he says yeah, it is, and they're fucking down 6-1.

"Like tennis," Natsuko says. She hands her mom the bag and says it was 2900. Kirihara-san says she'll give Natsuko the money later.

Andy frowns.

"How are you?" Natsuko asks him. She bends down to look him in the eyes. "Are you excited for your new brother or sister?"

Andy says no. Hana laughs and says it'll be fun.

"Any word yet?" Natsuko asks her mom. Kirihara-san says no. She tells Hana and Andy to set the table for dinner. Hana passes the wooden chopstick packs around. Andy sets cups out for more tea. Natsuko unwraps the eel.

"Akaya!" Kirihara-san calls. "It's ready."

Kirihara-san gets up from the couch. So does Yagyuu. They sit on either side of Natsuko at the table.

"Are Genki and Kento still—"

Kirihara-san laughs really loud. "They're at cram school," he says. Natsuko nods slowly. Yagyuu blinks at her. Andy takes a piece of eel with his chopsticks.

"Let me just check the news for a moment," Kirihara-san says. Before Kirihara-san can stop her, she grabs the remote and changes the channel. The broadcaster talks about blah blah World Cup, Japan's in trouble, then to Oota-san reporting live from the cosplay fest in Akibahara.

Kirihara-san looks at Kirihara-san. Kirihara-san sips on his beer and looks away. Kirihara-san has her hands on her hips and says, "Cram school, Akaya?"

Kirihara-san looks at his eel.

Andy looks at Hana. She leans over and whispers, "We weren't supposed to tell mom about that." Andy nods. He pushes his glasses up. Across the table, so does Yagyuu.

Then the phone rings. Everyone turns around. Then, everyone looks at Andy. With a sigh, he gets up. He picks the phone up. "Hello?"

"Andy!" his dad says.

"Hi, dad," Andy says.

"We're at the hospital, and your mom just had the baby." His dad sounds excited, and he's breathing hard, kinda the same way when he calls after a match. Andy pushes his glasses up. He wipes the sweat from under his nose with the back of his hand.

"You're a big brother," his dad says. "You've got a baby—"

Andy hands the phone to Kirihara-san. Kirihara-san smiles into the receiver, and says she's happy, and won't Genichirou be happy, and congratulations. Andy eats the rest of his eel. Hana bounces in her seat.

"So?" Kirihara-san asks.

Kirihara-san sits back down. She smiles at him. "You owe me a thousand, Akaya."

"But I didn't say it wasn't going to be!"

Kirihara-san hums. She sips her tea. Natsuko turns up the a/c, and she grins. The rain pours outside.

Kirihara-san pulls a five-hundred yen coin from his pocket. He flips it across the table. Kirihara-san catches it, and tucks it into the pocket by her chest. "That's all I've got," he says.

"I went to the bank yesterday," Kirihara-san says. "I'll give you your allowance later." She has a little smile. Then, she turns to Andy. "Are you excited for your little—"

Andy puts his head in his hands and groans.

FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 6/6

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 23:04:14 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 2 (6/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

[Waiting Patiently] by aoiyuzu
[Silent Urgency] by aoiyuzu

Yanagi walks up to Yagyuu by his locker in the clubhouse. Yagyuu smoothes out the front of his uniform t-shirt. He reaches for the shorts folded on the second shelf in his locker. Yanagi sets his hand down on them first.

"Yagyuu," he says.

Yagyuu pulls his hand away. He blinks behind his lenses. "Yanagi-kun." Yanagi thins his lips more. Yagyuu offers a bland smile. "May I help you with something?" His eyes are black; they reflect nothing.

Yanagi inhales through his nostrils. His fingers dig into the shorts in Yagyuu's locker until the cotton wrinkles. Then he releases them, and goes to his own locker.

Yanagi unlocks his locker. A vein in his temple throbs under the skin. The air inside the clubhouse is too thick with teenage BO. A senior pushes past Yanagi on his way to his own locker. Then a second senpai bumps Yanagi on the other side. Yanagi closes his eyes. His fingers loosen his tie and he pulls it off with a deep breath.

Yagyuu walks up to him. His lips curl at the sides. The smile tightens the twist in Yanagi's stomach. "Yanagi-kun," Yagyuu says.

Yanagi pulls his t-shirt on. He turns away from Yagyuu as he unbuckles his belt. A cool hand touches his forearm. Yanagi looks out the corner of his eye, where Yagyuu blinks slowly.

"I like to do a good deed once a day," he says.

The print of his hand stays on Yanagi's skin through the whole practice.

***

"Ramen?" Yukimura asks. He rubs his stomach. Marui pops up behind him and says hell yes, he's starving, too.

Yanagi glances at his watch: twenty minutes before six o'clock. He shakes his head.

Yagyuu and Niou look up from their corner of the clubhouse. Niou is in his towel. Yagyuu has his pants on, but his shirt is in his hands. Yanagi looks away from them. His jaw is set. His mind races.

"I have a project to start for class," he says.

Jackal says it's Friday!

Sanada, though, nods once. "Early to bed and early to rise—"

"Makes you a lamewad," Niou mutters.

Marui snickers behind Yukimura's back. Sanada scowls at everyone.

"See you tomorrow," Sanada says. Yanagi doesn't look at him when he closes the clubhouse door behind himself. He checks the time on his cellphone. There is a three minute discrepancy with his watch. He adjusts the watch hands, and looks toward the south gate of campus. Late sunlight gilds the treetops, and the sides of the high school buildings too. Yanagi squints into the light. Across the grass and the basketball courts, he can make out the figures of the junior high tennis team. His chest tightens. Yanagi reaches for his tie. Even after he loosens it, his breathing feels choked.

Across the road, he stops at the convenience store. Then he walks four blocks south and two blocks east. He can see the shimmer of water from the top of the hill, between the narrow rows of low buildings strung with laundry lines and clay pots of flowers and tomato shoots. Yanagi takes a deep breath of the salty air. He can smell the fishy sea. The smell intensifies the closer he gets. At the top of the dunes, Yanagi follows a footpath from the street level to the beach, twenty feet below. Bicycles lean against the barrier. Other students walk across the pebbly sand to the south and the north. Yanagi finds a cement pylon, and he sits down on the cold, rough concrete.

He found Kirihara on this beach a few days after the Nationals. He watched Kirihara run for the bus from the school stop. He watched Kirihara scream at Niou until the bus rounded a sharp corner and picked up speed. He followed Kirihara down the narrow alleyway, then over the barrier to the beach. The sky opened. The water pounded the sand. Kirihara sunk to his knees in the surf. Water crashed up to his face. Rain pelted his arms. Yanagi told himself, He's a fool. He held out his umbrella and they walked to his house. Kirihara's skin was damp when it brushed the back of Yanagi's hand. The air was thick enough to swim.

Yanagi could have kissed him that night. He closes his eyes. He remembers the shudder that ripped through his body when he felt Kirihara leaned toward him. Kirihara jumped when Yanagi's cellphone rang.

That was the first night Sadaharu called him back. His voice droned on the other line. There was a lump in Yanagi's throat when he answered. Sadaharu said his name with a child's higher pitch, the way he used to when they were kids, before they stood across the tennis court from each other, before that game.

That was the first night he slept after the Nationals without dreaming of blood on his hands.

He sits on the pylon until the last rays of light die from the horizon. The water is black. The surf sprays his face when the wind picks up. His hair writhes around his face, in his eyes and it tickles his lips. Cold seeps through the cement, through his pants. Yanagi shivers. The last students climb over the dunes to leave the beach. He is alone. Yanagi sighs. He drums his fingertips on the pylon. He swallows.

Then he stands up off the cement pylon, and starts to walk toward the train station.

***

The hallway of the apartment is dim. His footsteps echo on the concrete floor. Yanagi's stomach aches. His head swims. Down the block, a park was in bloom with spring. Here, the corridor smells of damp cement, and the eucalyptus wreath hanging from apartment number 306. Beside the door, the buzzer reads 'Kirihara'.

Yanagi swallows. There are a hundred reasons why he should walk home now. Most of those reasons start with Sadaharu. The plastic bag hanging from his elbow gets heavier. The strap of the tote slung over his shoulder digs deeper into his neck. He waits. An insect hums and swarms around a weak, greenish light in the hallway. Yanagi can hear his pulse throbbing in his ears.

Then, the door swings open.

He could still turn around and go home. It would be easier than stepping over the threshold. Yanagi's muscles tense even more. His t-shirt collar tightens against his throat. He can't remember to breathe. But his dick remembers: swollen and aching and throbbing with blood and anticipation. The insect's buzzing stops. Yanagi steps inside.

He stands in the doorway. Shadows hang behind Kirihara. They glow blue and purple—there's a video game on in the darkness, pressed to pause. Kirihara doesn't move for the longest time. Yanagi wants to say something. He wants to offer the bentos he bought at Familymart by the train station. He wants Kirihara to do something.

Kirihara grabs him hard. The bag falls to Yanagi's feet as Kirihara's mouth covers his. The heat untwists the knot inside. Yanagi reaches up to Kirihara's hip. For once, he doesn't care.

But the moment flies as soon as Kirihara makes a little noise. Yanagi pushes him back inside the apartment. He should leave. Instead, Kirihara grabs the bag at Yanagi's feet. He looks at the bag slung over Yanagi's shoulder. His eyes are wide. You came.

Everything falls to the ground. The walls cave in on them when Kirihara parts his mouth. Yanagi's dick throbs. He aches. He reaches for Kirihara's face. Kirihara licks his lips. He bites the bottom one and his chest rises and falls with panting already. Yanagi runs his thumbs over Kirihara's cheekbones. He feels the warm skin under his fingertips. He feels Kirihara's eyes over his body. Little shivers like electricity tickle his nerves. And he's the one to kiss Kirihara this time. As their lips touch, Yanagi is the one who moans. Kirihara kisses back. His tongue slides over Yanagi's. His hands are tight on Yanagi's hips. He bucks into Yanagi. His solidity feels good. His rubbing and humping over Yanagi's dick feels even better. Yanagi stuffs his hand under Kirihara's waistband, and down deeper until his fingers curl around a hot, hard dick. Kirihara moans into the kiss.

They stumble backwards onto the couch. Cords tangle under Yanagi's back. Kirihara is on top of him heavy and hot. Kirihara sits up. Yanagi helps him pull his t-shirt off. Kirihara bites Yanagi's chest. Yanagi hisses. He can feel the bruises forming under his skin. They are reminders of Kirihara. Kirihara's tongue reminds him, too, as it curls around Yanagi's nipple. Yanagi jerks. He sucks in a breath. His dick aches. He's been aching all day. The press of Kirihara's body makes the throbbing worse. Yanagi digs his fingernails into Kirihara's shoulders. Kirihara's t-shirt bunches up.

Between fast kisses, Yanagi hisses, "Take off your clothes!"

Kirihara pulls them off. In the glow of the tv screen, his skin is blue-white. His socks are bunched around his ankles. Yanagi lies against the couch cushions. For a moment, he just watches Kirihara breathe. His chest rises, and falls. His nostrils flare. He curls his lip. His dick is hard. His muscles shift, and Kirihara is on top again, so fast and hard that their noses smash together. Yanagi snarls into the kiss. Pain bursts in a flash. Kirihara digs his hands into the soft skin under Yanagi's jaw. He yanks Yanagi's head up. Kirihara's tongue is everywhere in Yanagi's mouth. Yanagi digs his hands into Kirihara's hair. He moans in his throat as Kirihara's legs twine with his.

They try to have sex on the couch. Yanagi lasts until Kirihara fumbles with a condom. He comes over Kirihara's hands. He clenches his jaw and hisses through his teeth. Kirihara squeezes his dick tighter. Lights flash in Yanagi's eyes. He throws his head back into the cushions as his body shakes. He falls slack over the arm of the couch. His body burns where Kirihara's skin touches his. Kirihara rubs on his thigh. "I'm so hard…" he says between the pants. Yanagi reaches down. His thumb brushes over the head of Kirihara's dick. The condom falls to the floor.
Kirihara bites Yanagi on the arm, and he's coming too.

For a long time, they lay on the couch as the sweat dries on their skin. Yanagi closes his eyes. He touches the top of Kirihara's head. He runs his fingertips through Kirihara's damp hair. Kirihara paints slimy circles on Yanagi's ribs with his tongue. Once in a while, he shifts his leg a little. He's draped over Yanagi, heavy and warm and—almost—comfortable.

"I brought…food," Yanagi says.

Kirihara grunts. His stomach growls. Yanagi smiles. Kirihara sighs. He peels himself off Yanagi. His warmth disappears. Yanagi shivers. Kirihara pads to the front door in nothing but his socks. Yanagi looks up. The curtains are pushed open at the sliding glass door to the balcony. A frigid shiver creeps down Yanagi's spine. His face flushes. He grabs his underpants off the floor and hobbles into them, crouched and low. He can see the yellow lights of apartments in the building across the road.

Stupid! he thinks.

Kirihara stands in the hallway. He holds up the plastic bag of food. "This?" he asks.

Yanagi yanks the curtains shut.

In a small voice, Kirihara says, "Oh." He starts to laugh. His laughter breaks when Yanagi walks over to him. It dies on his lips when Yanagi touches his fingers to them. Kirihara bites at them. All of the nerves in Yanagi's body hum. His dick hardens again. He closes his eyes to let Kirihara kiss him.

They eat on the floor. Kirihara kicks away the cables from his video game consoles. Yanagi turns on a lamp. He watches Kirihara move around the room. His butt flexes when he walks. Shadows paint his calves and his shoulders. His eyes are big and black. His Adam's Apple bobs. Yanagi leans back onto his elbows as Kirihara jumps over a console and kneels down. He spreads himself over Yanagi. "You came," he says.

Kirihara's stomach growls again. Yanagi laughs. Kirihara curls his lip, but he pulls out the plastic packages of katsudon.

"You hate katsudon, senpai," he says. He sits up to scratch his temples. Yanagi looks away. He shrugs.

"Ne." Kirihara unwraps a set of chopsticks. He hands the second pair to Yanagi. "Katsudon." Kirihara snickers. He waggles his eyebrows. "A winning supper."

Yanagi says, "The supermarket didn't have anything else left except macaroni salad."

Kirihara makes a vague noise of agreement. He sits against the edge of the couch with his legs stretched in front of himself. He sets the container on his lap and he starts to eat. Yanagi chews on a bite of rice. He glances down to grab a piece of meat. There is one in front of his face.

Kirihara holds it out.

Yanagi eats the slice of katsudon off the ends of Kirihara's chopsticks. Then he reaches down to his supper for a slice of meat. He holds it out to Kirihara. Heat floods through his belly when a crooked smile curls the side of Kirihara's mouth.

***

They do have sex again, in Kirihara's bed, on top of the messy, musky sheets that bunch up under their bodies. Kirihara curls up against him. He faces the open window. Yanagi's chest is pressed to his spine. He can feel the regular rhythm of Kirihara's breathing slow down. He strains his neck to see. Kirihara's eyes are closed. Yanagi holds a breath to listen—Kirihara is asleep.

Wearing nothing but his underpants feels strange in Kirihara's kitchen. Yanagi opens the cupboard doors as quiet as he can. On the third try, he finds a canister of tea leaves. He makes a cup in the dark. Steam rises from the surface to drift away in the soft night breeze. There are voices in the apartment above, and music that Yanagi doesn't recognize. He sits down on the couch. His face burns when he closes his eyes. The cushions sink under his weight where before Kirihara crawled over his body, and licked his hip bone.

He picks up the half-eaten containers of food. With his fingers, Yanagi eats the rest of the rice in the one bento. He throws everything else into the garbage. Then he tiptoes back to Kirihara's bedroom. He pauses in the doorway. Kirihara is sitting up on his bed. Half of his body is covered in darkness. The other half is covered in silvery light from the window. His lips part when Yanagi closes the door.

Yanagi sits on the bed beside him. The mattress creaks.

"I wasn't asleep," Kirihara says.

Yanagi doesn't say anything. Kirihara's arms snake around Yanagi's waist. He pulls Yanagi down. They face each other. Kirihara stares into Yanagi's eyes until his eyes start to flutter.

He is the one who falls asleep first.

***

"Renji."

Yanagi tries to smile at Sadaharu. His chest hurts. He thinks about what his parents said. He thinks about the movers' van sitting in the apartment parking lot, and the boxes stacked in the hallway.

"Let's play a game today," Sadaharu says.

Yanagi swallows. "Okay." He says. His mouth is dry. They walk to the usual street courts. The sakura trees are in bloom. Feathery petals drift in the air of the park surrounding the courts. Yanagi holds out his palm to catch one. The petal falls through his fingers.

Sadaharu is at the fence gate to the courts. He cups his hands around his mouth, "Hurry up, Kyoujou!"

Yanagi stops walking. He can't breathe. Sadaharu sets his tennis bag down. He runs up to Yanagi and grabs his hand. He tugs hard, but Yanagi doesn't move. He stares down at Sadaharu. Yanagi blinks.

I'm…not ten.

Sadaharu looks up at him. He pushes his glasses up. The frames have been bent out of shape. They make his eyes look crooked. "Renji?"

"You're…" Yanagi shakes his head. "This isn't right."

"Let’s play a game today," Sadaharu says. The sun is out, but a cold chill brushes across Yanagi's skin. Sadaharu's face is pale. He pushes the gate to the courts open. Yanagi stares at the back of his head. Then, when Sadaharu looks back over his shoulder, Yanagi steps through the gate. He reaches out to touch Sadaharu's shoulder. His hand shakes.

Sadaharu steps out of the way. His face is translucent. The gleam of his lenses hides his eyes for a moment.

"You're a gh—"

"I'm not dead," Sadaharu says.

"Then you're a dream."

Sadaharu laughs a little. He still has the childish high pitch to his voice. His smile is still easy and wide. His glasses have a piece of tape wound around the nose piece. Yanagi remembers the tennis ball that bent them, and the promise not to tell either of their parents. Blood had dripped from Sadaharu's nose for twenty minutes after that stray volley. Blood dripped from his nose from Kirihara's serves, too.

Yanagi closes his eyes.

"You can pinch yourself and wake up," Sadaharu says. "If your data suggests that I'm a dream."

Yanagi traces his fingertips on his forearm. The airs of his arm stand up. Sadaharu walks close to him, but still out of reach. Light silhouettes his body, and all around the messy spikes of his hair. Yanagi can hear himself breathe. For once, Sadaharu says nothing.

Yanagi takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words drop from his tongue. He takes a second breath. His stomach aches. His ribs do, too. "I'm going to run away from you," he says. "Later today, we never finish our game because we’re kicked off these courts."

Sadaharu is quiet.

"I'll tell you 'See you later', but that's a lie." Yanagi's voice is thick. He swallows on a wad of bitter mucus. It sticks to his throat, and hurts. He looks away from Sadaharu. "I won't see you again. For four years, two months and fifteen days."

His eyes sting. Yanagi looks up. The light blinds him. In the brightness, Sadaharu disappears. "And when we play again, we'll be on opposite teams. We finish our game, but I want revenge. You beat me, so my kouhai—"

"Why?"

Sadaharu is in front of Yanagi. He moves without a sound. Blood rushes in Yanagi's ears. His ribs creak with each breath he takes in. His voice is distant, and strange. It hangs between them. "Why?" he echoes.

"Why won't you see me again?" Sadaharu asks. His voice is far away, too. It comes from all directions, and surrounds Yanagi. It presses down on him. Yanagi tenses. He's breathing harder and heavier as Sadaharu steps forward.

"Because…because I couldn't tell you…" Yanagi says. His knees turn to jelly. The ground slips away. He falls to his knees, and he is the same height as Sadaharu. Sadaharu stares into him. Yanagi shakes inside as the black eyes burn into his body. He tries to look away, but he can't. His body is too heavy to move even an inch. Yanagi clenches his teeth. Sadaharu's white face is still.

"You need to tell me," Sadaharu says. "Kyoujou…"

Something shudders in Yanagi's chest. His mouth parts with a noise that echoes between them: a cross between a sob and a cry. No! he thinks. But the words come anyway. "I hated—"

(Myself)

Yanagi wakes up. There is a word on his lips, but the sound dies. He can't remember what he was saying. Sadaharu was there in his dream. His black eyes behind those thick lenses stare into Yanagi even as he rubs the sleep crusties from his eyes. He shakes his head. He closes his eyes, and Sadaharu keeps staring. Yanagi leans back into the pillow. He sighs.

The pillow is strangely flat.

His side is strangely too warm, and a little sticky. Yanagi tries to roll over, but something digs into his ribs. He snaps his eyes open until they water. His vision adjusts slowly in the greyish light. He cranes his neck to look over. There is a dark head on his chest, breathing into his armpit.

"Akaya," Yanagi whispers.

Kirihara's mouth is open. A trail of drool hangs from the corner of his lips. It lands on Yanagi's skin. Kirihara's breathing is soft and slow. Sleep softens the sharp smiles and lines of his face into something much younger. Yanagi's stomach churns. He tries again to pull away. He removes his arm from Kirihara's grip, plying the sweaty fingers away one by one. Kirihara stirs. He groans a little. Yanagi stills. He sucks in a breath.

Don't wake up!

Instead, Kirihara curls into the pillow. He digs his fingers underneath it, and sighs heavily. Yanagi whispers his name. Kirihara's eyelashes flutter. They are long and dark against his pale skin. Yanagi runs the backs of his knuckles along Kirihara's cheek. His chest aches. He swallows hard. Kirihara just exhales.

He doesn't wake up when Yanagi slips from the room.

The door closes with a single click.

***

He clutches his cellphone between his knees. Outside, rain batters the windows of the train. The city is darkened by the roiling clouds, and office blocks glow in the distance, studded with yellow lights of their own windows. It could be eight in the morning, or eight in the evening for all the shadows. The train is half-filled with salarymen and their dripping umbrellas—coming, or going, Yanagi can't tell. His own skin crawls with moisture. When the train jerks along, he can smell the sweat and sex on his body. He should have showered before he left. He closes his eyes, and hopes that no one emerges from their personal bubbles of iPods and cheap mangas to notice a lone teenager sitting in the disabled seat of the train carriage.

Sadaharu answered his phone on the first ring. Yanagi didn't ask if he'd been awake all night, or if he was waking up. His voice was gravelly, and distracted. Yanagi swallowed hard. But Sadaharu agreed to meet, by the usual train station exit.

"Should I bring my tennis bag?"

Yanagi stood under the exit of Kirihara's train station. His eyes darted across the street, and then to the bus stop opposite that. There was an office lady under a black umbrella dashing across the road, and no one else. He said, no. "The chance of rain today is 100%."

The train rattles on the train between platforms. With each passing station, Yanagi sits a little straighter. His shoulders tense a little more. A cramp creeps up his calf. He stretches his toes, but it crawls back up the muscle. He purses his lips. The train stops again. His heart pounds in his chest, as heavy and hard as the rain pounding the train carriages. The doors open, and the sound of music chiming is lost in the rain. A gust of water-laced wind swoops into the carriage. It splatters Yanagi on the face, and on his bare forearms. He shivers.

He checks his cellphone again: no new messages, no missed calls. He closes his eyes, and tries to lean back against the hard seat. Someone coughs opposite him. Yanagi glances up, then he looks away. The lights of the suburbs start to blur into a liquid smear. The train pulls into another station. Yanagi digs his fingers into the seat, to either side of his legs. He exhales, and inhales and counts the seconds between breaths. His insides are twisted up and pushing on his belly. He wants to be sick.

When the train station comes, he stands up and hesitates a moment. He looks up, then down the carriage. No one looks at him. Eyes are cast down at iPod screens, cellphones, novels. The train music chimes again. Yanagi freezes.

And then he steps onto the platform as the doors close behind him. Rain patters his arms. It stains the asphalt platform close to the tracks. He walks through the station. Only a single stand selling PET bottles, energy drinks, candy and newspapers is open. His mouth is dry, but he walks past the stand and sticks his ticket through the automatic gate.

The east gate of the station opens on to empty streets. Yanagi stands under the fluorescent lighting and looks out to the wash of streets hammered by the rain. Windows and shop fronts have their metal shutters pulled down. Nothing is open. The only lights are from the high rise apartment blocks, and the flickering street lamps. Yanagi walks to the far edge of the exit. He peers around the wall. Sadaharu isn't here yet.

His pocket vibrates. Yanagi whips his phone out. "Hello?"

"Aa, Renji."

"Sadaharu."

"My bus was delayed at a traffic light longer than anticipated. I will be at the station in—" There is a pause. "—three minutes. The bus stop is two blocks from the east exit of the station."

Yanagi says, "Hn." There is a lump forming deep in his throat. Down the street, there is a set of traffic lights. The headlights of cars gleam in the dimness. Yanagi squints, but he can’t see well enough through the veil of rain to make out a bus or not.

Sadaharu hangs up. Yanagi closes his eyes. He pushes the umbrella open and walks across the street. Rain slaps his skin and the umbrella—he took it from the stand in Kirihara's foyer. The rain pushes and pulls at the cheap transparent plastic. Water pours down the spokes onto his arms. Yanagi rushes through the puddles. His sneakers squelch and fill up cold wetness. The backs of his pants stick to his legs.

And then his face is sprayed with water. He blinks. He looks up at the umbrella. The spokes are still there, but the transparent parent is gone. He whips his head around to see the umbrella plastic bunching and rolling down the street. The rain pours down on his head, his hair—every part of his body now.

He stands in the middle of the empty street. Yanagi can feel something pushing up into the back of his throat. He opens his mouth, but there is nothing but the rush of water in his ears. He shakes his head. Water washes away all of his reason. He licks at the cool water beading off his top lip. His sweat and scum mixes with the rain to taste salty. Yanagi looks at the umbrella skeleton in his hand. He throws it to the gutter, and runs down the sidewalk pavement.

A bus pulls up to a stop, across the next block. Yanagi runs harder through the rain. It pounds at his face. It pushes him back. It soaks through his clothes and his skin through to his bones. His body is so heavy. The rain is thick enough to swim in. Yanagi pushes back hair from his eyes.

A single black umbrella gets off the bus. Underneath is a tall person. Yanagi's heart skips a beat in his throat. "Sadaharu!" he shouts.

Sadaharu doesn't look at him. His face is hidden under the umbrella. Yanagi yells even louder into the din of the rain. He stands on the sidewalk, breathing hard. The rain chokes. It stings his eyes, too.

The umbrella tilts back.

Sadaharu looks at him. He blinks. Then he lifts his head a little higher and looks through Yanagi. Yanagi's shoulders sink. He shakes his head. I'm here, he thinks. Sadaharu keeps looking somewhere past Yanagi's left shoulder, even as Yanagi open his mouth.

Behind him, someone else is shouting.

All of the blood in his body drains out through his soggy sneakers. Yanagi can't breathe.

"Renji," Sadaharu says. "Why did K—"

"Yanagi-SENPAI!"

Sadaharu walks toward him. He holds his umbrella out, but Yanagi shakes his head. Sadaharu asks him where his umbrella is. Kirihara keeps screaming. The light hasn't changed at the crosswalk. Two cars, in close succession, drive through the green light. Yanagi's eyes go wide as Kirihara runs across the street.

He opens his mouth.

His heart stops.

Kirihara is sprayed with water as the car drives past. He doesn't seem notice. His eyes are bloody. He curls his lip at Sadaharu. He snarls and spits. His entire body shakes so hard that his umbrella sprays Yanagi with more water. Through his teeth, he seethes. "YOU! Fucking mega—"

"Kirihara Akaya," Sadaharu says. His voice is too calm and too even. "Rikkai Daigaku, third year student, tennis captain." Sadaharu pushes his glasses up. The umbrella bobs in the other. Behind his lenses, his dark eyes flash. He looks at Yanagi.

Sadaharu lies on the ground on the other side of the net. Blood pools under his head. Dirt cakes his face, dark like the bruises bursting over his skin. Kaidoh screams as he sinks to the court next to Sadaharu. Sadaharu just lifts his head. His face contorts as he opens his swollen eyes. He looks at Yanagi.

Yanagi looks away. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that."

The apology was on the tip of his tongue. He never said it.

You need to tell me.

A noise escapes Yanagi's mouth. Rain pours down. He takes a deep breath in, and he coughs on the water. His face is wet, and his eyes sting the longer Sadaharu holds his gaze. Yanagi can feel his body starting to crumple under the weight of his shoulders. He starts to sink.

"Kyoujou." Sadaharu's lips form the word.

Yanagi can't even wince. He chokes again on a sob. His chest heaves. "I'm…" The word is hard. His tongue is twisted. His insides are going to explode from the tension in his gut. The rain batters his body. Sadaharu keeps staring at him. The buildings start to blur around them. The high-rises drip down into the rushing water in the gutters. The sky bleeds onto the street.

"I'm sorry," he says.

The world stops. For a moment, the rain freezes. The traffic grinds to a halt. Yanagi stops breathing. Even Sadaharu is still.

Yanagi looks around. There is a rustle to his right, where a shrubbery drowns in a cement planter filled to the brim with brackish water. Yanagi waits. There is a ghost of Sadaharu at ten years old who should pop out with that wide smile and childish round face. His pale face will start to fade as he whispers "Thank you."

Yanagi stares at the bush. Nothing happens.

He looks back to the real Sadaharu.

And the world slams back into Yanagi's face: the pelt of the rain, the gasp of his inhale, the pound of his heart. And his vision swirls into focus as Sadaharu opens his mouth. He just blinks at Yanagi.

"I know," Sadaharu says. "I forgave you a long time ago, Renji."

Yanagi hits the pavement with his knees. Water splashes up to his face. Air explodes back into his lungs. He falls forward, and manages to spread his palms on the rough cement to break his fall. He shakes. Sadaharu's shins are in front of his vision, but he can't look up.

"That is," Sadaharu says, "what friends do—oh."

His umbrella splashes Yanagi again. He lifts his eyes enough to see Sadaharu checking his cellphone. "I have an appointment with Kaidoh in twenty-three minutes."

Yanagi tries to stand up. He tries to speak, too, but no sound leaves his lips. He swallows hard. A hand reaches down to him. Sadaharu bends his knees a little to offer it. The umbrella shelters Yanagi's head for a moment, and the rain cascades onto his back instead of his face.

His own grip is too slippery, but Sadaharu pulls Yanagi to his feet. He stumbles. Sadaharu offers one of his half-smiles. "Well," he says.

He walks away, past Kirihara. The sides of their umbrellas tap, and they turn to each other. The rain is too loud. The blood is too thick in his ears. Yanagi can't hear what Sadaharu says to Kirihara before his back melds into the dim, rainy street leading up to the train station's east exit.

Rain falls between them. Kirihara faces the thin line of traffic starting from the lights. The white and red of the headlights flicker in his pupils. His eyes are bloodshot still, but his expression is blank. The corners of his lips are flat, and rise to a curve under his nose. Yanagi ran his tongue over the outlines last night. He closes his eyes. His body is ready to slither to the ground.

Just…get it over with…he thinks. Hit me. Yell. Do something!

The umbrella moves first, then Kirihara. He lifts his eyes to Yanagi's and blinks once, then twice before he says anything. Yanagi's face prickles with anticipation of a punch. His stomach sinks with the expectation of a smack.

Instead, Kirihara holds the umbrella over Yanagi's head. Rain starts to dribble down the sides of Kirihara's face. His Adam's Apple bobs. "Senpai," he says. His voice is gravelly. It breaks on the syllables of Yanagi's name.

"You hate me," Yanagi says.

Kirihara purses his lips. His eyes darken. After a pause, he shakes his head. "But this is all bad."

Yanagi shakes his head. He pushes at Kirihara's arm. Kirihara steps closer until they are both under the umbrella. Yanagi can smell Kirihara's stale breath, and his sweat. He's wearing the same tshirt he had on last night.

"All this!" Kirihara's voice rises. "All the shit we've done, senpai. It's all fucking wrong. It's bad and you keep—"

Yanagi swallows. He clenches his jaw.

Kirihara balls his fist. He raises it, but he releases it, right in front of Yanagi's eyes. "I get that you hate all the shit that happened in the past, okay? But your…friend," Kirihara rolls his eyes. "He forgave you so don't fucking take it out on me! I hate the guy, senpai! Because he—"

Kirihara sucks in a breath through his teeth. His words die in the rain. Yanagi lets out a breath of his own.

Their eyes meet.

Kirihara holds Yanagi's eyes with a black stare. His eyes reflect Yanagi's face as he says, "Can we start again? Can we not…have a bad…stuff… you know, romance?"

This time, it's Kirihara who offers the hand to pull Yanagi up from the pavement.

***

The moisture in the air is palpable. The sports park swims with the drone of cicadas. Yanagi fans himself with a cheap uchiwa that a freeter was handing out by the train station. Sweat beads all over his skin. He wrings out his sweat towel, and drapes it back over his neck.

It's barely half past nine. The games haven't even begun.

Next to Yanagi, Sanada pulls on the brim of his cap. Yukimura pants as he fans his own face with a hundred yen shop fan. "I'm melting," he whines. He looks down at his ice cream cone that drips all over his hand. "My ice cream is melting!"

Yanagi sighs heavily. He squints into the sunlight. The teams are lining up at the net. The cheer leading squads swish their pompoms harder. He claps a sticky hand against his leg, and he fans himself with the other.

On his right, Sadaharu looks up from his notebook. Yanagi glances down at it, but Sadaharu slams it closed. He opens a PET bottle. Sulphurous fumes waft out. Yanagi turns away. Sadaharu holds it out to him.

"No," Yanagi says.

Sadaharu shrugs. He takes a long gulp, and his eyes pop out.

Yanagi laughs under his breath. The clapping and wolf-whistling gets louder. The captains step toward each other, but neither extends a hand. Yanagi holds his hand over his eyes to see better, but the glare is too bright.

"Kaidoh will win," Sadaharu says. He fixes his glasses as Yanagi turns to him. The lenses are covered in tiny dust particles, and streaked with greasy fingerprints.

"Your data suggest this?" Yanagi asks. He raises his eyebrows.

"Kaidoh is 6-0-0 for official matches. And 7-2-1 for unofficial matches," Sadaharu says.

"Aa," Yanagi says, "but he lost that set to Momoshiro, didn't he? Akaya is a far stronger offensive player than Momoshiro."

"Kaidoh hasn't played at 100% yet this season," Sadaharu mutters.

Yanagi hums, but he doesn't agree. He folds his arms over his chest and leans forward. Sweat collects in his elbows. He unfolds them just as quickly. Yanagi looks out at the players. He looks past the court where two sets of doubles teams are walking to their baselines. He lifts his head a little higher and settles his gaze on the bench.

The captain sits with his legs spread wide and his feet planted flat on the ground. He leans forward, then he looks up into the stands. His face breaks into a crooked smile. And he flashes a thumbs-up—after he sticks out his tongue.

Yanagi smiles back. He doesn't bother to turn to Sadaharu to tell him.

"Akaya will win."

FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 5/6

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 23:01:06 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 2 (5/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

He wakes to the sound of his cellphone alarm. His pajama pants are damp. Yanagi swings his legs over the edge of his mattress with a sigh. He searches his mind for hints of the dream. Instead, he remembers the storm last night. He remembers the hitch in Kirihara's voice when he sobbed something. He remembers the silence as they ate ramen after. There is a new message from Sadaharu on his phone. Yanagi opens it: more information about Tezuka. He flips his phone closed and rolls his eyes.

He should phone Sadaharu back, but he won't be awake yet. The sun settles over the street level. The crows are awake and cawing from apartment balconies. In the shower, Yanagi lets his hands slide down to his dick. He closes his eyes as he rubs his balls. Last night, Kirihara's hands were there instead of his. He'd forgotten how good it felt. He'd forgotten the milky taste in the back of Kirihara's mouth. He'd forgotten the smoothness of Kirihara's stomach. He'd forgotten how it felt to invade a person in the most intimate way, and to be invaded. The steam rises in the shower room. Yanagi presses his back to the tile wall. He bites his lip when he comes.

The newspaper waits on the table for him. Yanagi shovels his breakfast down quickly. His eyes drift over the headlines: more government budget talks, more global recession statistics, and Roger Federer is tipped to win the Roland Garros next month.

At the bus stop at the end of the road, Kirihara waits. He stifles a yawn. He scuffs his sneakers and sips on a carton of milk. Yanagi takes a deep breath. He turns to the direction of the train station. Kirihara wouldn't know. But he clears his throat, and Kirihara turns around. His eyes widen. Yanagi can see the heavy bags underneath them.

"Morning," Kirihara mumbles. His cheeks are pink. Yanagi nods. His face feels warm, too. Tree branches and leaves litter the curbs along the road as reminders from the storm. The air smells clean. The last puddles are drying up. A bus pulls up to the stop. Kirihara steps toward it, until he looks back to see Yanagi doesn't move. Kirihara laughs a little. He ducks his head down and walks back to Yanagi.

"What bus goes to the technical school?" he asks.

Yanagi stiffens. The light shifts, and a stream of warm sunlight hits his face. He narrows his eyes.

"Niou-senpai told me," Kirihara says. "When I asked him yesterday."

Yanagi nods once. He doesn't blink, not until Kirihara pushes into his side and says hey. "I thought you went to the academic high school with buchou and them."

Yanagi doesn't respond. The corners of his mouth twitch. Kirihara nods. He rocks back on his ankles and stuffs his hand into his pocket. With the other, he crumples up the milk carton and chucks it in the vague direction of a garbage bin. The carton glances off the bin rim and lands on the sidewalk.

"Don't sign up for the basketball team," Yanagi mutters.

Kirihara laughs. The corners of his eyes crinkle up, and the sound sends a pleasant tingle between Yanagi's legs that, for once, he doesn't really mind.

***

The grass is soggy. Wetness seeps in through Yanagi's pants as soon as he sits down. He frowns—he left his blazer in the classroom. The plastic bento box from the cafeteria crinkles when he pulls it from his bag. The container is a little crushed at the one end. Mayonnaise oozes onto the rice. Yanagi breaks the wooden chopsticks apart and starts to push the macaroni salad to the edge.

"You haven't eaten with us in a while," Yukimura says. He looks at Sanada. "Ne, Genichirou?"

Sanada looks up from his homemade bento to nod. He dives back into his congealed vegetables without saying a word.

Yanagi has his back to the high schools. He looks across the campus, past the basketball courts. Students stream out from the junior high building. The sun heats up the top of Yanagi's hair. He squints, but there are too many identical uniforms to tell anyone apart at this distance.

"Not planting anything?" he asks Yukimura. Yukimura finishes a bite with a belch. He says no, they did that this morning to avoid watering.

"Conserving water and all," he adds.

"Of course," Yanagi says. He looks up again. A figure with a distinctive gait—almost, but not quite a swagger, but fast and purposeful until he trips over his feet—crosses the basketball courts. A couple junior high students playing a game shout at him to watch where he's going, they're playing. Kirihara shouts back that they can shut up. He flashes them a finger and turns. His mouth parts when his eyes meet Yanagi's. Kirihara runs up to them and plunks himself between Yukimura and Yanagi. Yanagi can smell Kirihara's sweat and deodorant. It settles in his chest. He closes his eyes and inhales a second time, just for an instant.

Sanada lifts his head. His lip curls a little at Kirihara. He gives Yanagi a look. Yanagi raises his eyebrows right back at Sanada. Kirihara starts to talk about nothing: his useless English class, the stupid math test next week, and hey, look, I got two pieces of salmon in my lunch! He holds his bento up at an angle to show it off. Yanagi opens his mouth, but stops himself. One of the pieces of fish slides out of the bento and onto the grass.

"Aw, shit," Kirihara says. He snaps the fish up with his chopsticks and stuffs it in his mouth. Fish sprays from his mouth. "Ten second rule."

"Tarundoru," Sanada mutters. "You're in a good mood."

Yanagi stops chewing on his mouthful of rice. Kirihara shifts his eyes. His cheeks spot with colour. He laughs shrilly and rubs the back of his neck. "Eheh…no more than usual?" he says.

Yanagi swallows his bite. Sanada gives him a sideways glance.

I don't want to know.

Then Sanada shrugs and goes back to his bento. Yagyuu walks down from the slight crest of the hill and lifts his hand. He sets his blazer down on the grass, then sits on it.

"Where's Niou?" Yanagi asks.

Yagyuu blinks. "Ah, Niou-kun said he had homework to do."

Yanagi purses his lips. He snorts under his breath. "You're not with him?" Next to Yanagi, Kirihara crosses his legs the other way around. He wiggles and reaches for a PET bottle of Calpis. He brushes Yanagi's knee with his elbow. Yukimura talks about flowers and iris bulbs. After a moment, Yagyuu shakes his head. He holds up a novel. "I am looking forward to this," he says.

Yanagi says of course. He prods around his bento for the pieces of cold, fried tofu. His eyes drift to the rooftop of the academic high school, but he says nothing. Just before the class bell, Marui and Jackal approach with plastic bags from Familymart in hand. Marui tosses KitKats at all of them. Yanagi catches a matcha flavoured bar against his chest. Sanada's bounces off his arm.

"Wasabi?" He snorts. "Gross!" Sanada whips it back at Marui. It hits Kirihara on the side of the head.

"Ow!" he shrieks. Kirihara hurls the KitKat back at Sanada, straight to the middle of his chest.

Jackal steps between them to catch the bar on the rebound bounce off Sanada. "Your loss," he says. He unwraps the KitKat and breaks off two bars. "Yum! I feel like a winner already!"

"Except you're not a regular this year, senpai, so you don't get to play," Kirihara says. He laughs. Jackal shakes his head slowly. He cracks his knuckles against his palm.

"Don't tempt me, Akaya," he says.

Kirihara grins.

Jackal's hand falls to his side. Kirihara's smile widens.

The bell for classes rings. They all stand up, even Kirihara, whose lunch isn't over for another twenty minutes. Marui and Jackal walk back to the technical building together. Yagyuu and Yukimura leave for the opposite direction. Sanada stuffs his bento box in his bag and looks at Yanagi. His nostrils flare as he breathes. Kirihara rips at the label on his PET bottle. He chews on his lip. He blows into his PET bottle to make hollow sounds. Yanagi piles up the plastic lid and bottom of his bento box with wrappers and a used wet wipe.

"I'll meet you at the gym," he tells Sanada.

With a twist of his lips, Sanada shakes his lips. As soon as his back is turned, Kirihara sidles closer to Yanagi.

"Ne," he says. He looks around before he steps closer still. Yanagi stiffens. Kirihara's body radiates heat. The air stirs the hair falling over his ears. Hidden behind his collar, Yanagi can see the top of a bruise. He swallows. He remembers the salty taste of Kirihara's neck.

"My parents are gonna be gone next weekend," he says. His chest rises and falls when he pauses. His eyes flicker down to Yanagi's mouth. Yanagi's stomach twists with heat. His dick is stiffening as the words sink in.

Kirihara sucks on his bottom lip for a moment. "Senpai."

The second warming bell for classes rings. Yanagi snaps his eyes open wide. He sucks in a breath through his nose, and nods good bye.

Sanada is waiting for him at the entrance door to the gym. He takes his cap off to bend the brim, then he pulls it back on. They walk into the gym together.

"What did Akaya want?" Sanada asks.

"Do you want to know?" Yanagi asks him right back.

Sanada says not really.

"English help," Yanagi says.

***

Niou gets on to the bus ahead of Yanagi. He slides into the last empty two-seater. Yanagi looks around. Students claim the last free seats, until he is the only one left standing. The seat beside Niou is empty.

The bus pulls into gear. Yanagi grabs the handle of the back of the seat in front of Niou. Reluctantly, he sits down next to Niou, but he looks ahead. Niou looks out the window. A pachinko parlour flashes by, followed by an expanse of grey paved parking lots and a block of offices.

Neither of them speaks. The bus turns a corner, pulling Yanagi toward Niou. Their legs brush. Yanagi shifts back to the edge of his seat. Niou starts to turn, but then he looks back out the window. He drums his fingers along the window latch. The noise is irritating. Yanagi won't rise to say it, though.

At the first stop past the petrol station, next to the Royal Host and a manga café, half the students get off the bus. Niou plays with his rat tail.

Finally, Yanagi says, "Why did you tell him?"

The drumming stops. Niou doesn't turn around. He speaks to the reflection of Yanagi in the window. His eyes are hard, and his lips are thin. "He asked me."

If he were Sanada, Yanagi might punch Niou in the jaw. Anger bubbles up, acrid and hot in his throat. Still, he sits and keeps still. No one on the bus turns to look at them. A couple of girls sleep, folded onto each other.

Yanagi scowls. He turns, and narrows his eyes as thin as they'll go. Niou shrugs and fakes a yawn. He stretches his arms high above his head. The smell of teenage boy hangs off him. "What's the big deal?" Niou asks.

Through his teeth, Yanagi starts to say, "I asked you not to—"

"The kid wanted to know." Niou shakes his head with a snort. He starts to laugh, and roll his eyes. "You think that things are gonna change, because you're trying to be friends with him again?"

Yanagi's mouth won't close.

"You can't fucking change the past!" Niou hisses. "What's done is done!"

"What do you know?" Yanagi asks. His voice is cold and foreign to his ears. His hands shake on his knees. He's breathing hard. Niou keeps prodding.

"You're waiting for him to forgive you for that," Niou says.

Yanagi can't breathe.

"You were the one who wanted to make sure you'd play him again, to prove that you were better. You were the one who wanted to play doubles with Kirihara. You were the one who told Yukimura it was doubles, or nothing."

Niou looks at Yanagi. He lifts his head, looks down his nose, and Yanagi shrinks in his seat. He's two feet tall and Niou is ten feet above him. People move on the bus past him. Everything except Niou's sneer is a rush of bleeding colours, and dulled voices, like the sounds of the stands that day at the stadium as he looked down onto the other side of the net to see Sadaharu, lying in the dust, covered in blood.

"Don't blame him," Niou says. The words hang between them. Niou fumbles around for his school bag. Yanagi closes his eyes. They hurt. His chest hurts. He swallows hard, but the bile still stings.

The next bus stop is announced. Niou shoves against Yanagi, wordless. Yanagi stands up to let Niou out. Then he grabs Niou's arm.

"Why did you really tell him?"

There is a long silence. The bus doors open with a hiss, and the movement of students. People step onto the bus, pushing past Niou to get to the back seats. In a small voice, Niou says, "Because I know how he feels."

Yanagi stands there. Niou hops down the stairs to exit. He looks back toward Yanagi as the door closes on him.

"You may know a lot of data, but you know shit about lo—"

The bus pulls away. Yanagi won't look at Niou, who disappears behind a line of traffic as the bus drives on.

***

"Renji."

"Sadaharu."

"It's Wednesday. Do you want to play a game?"

Yanagi swivels around in his desk chair. He looks out the window. Futons hang from the balcony railings of the apartments across the road. He cups his palm around the green tea. The mug is tepid. Sadaharu asks if he's still there.

"I'm busy," Yanagi says.

"With what?"

Yanagi sighs. "Math homework."

"Tomorrow, after your practice."

"We'll see."

"That is an eighty percent chance, then."

From the other end of the line, Sadaharu can't see him frown. "We'll see," he says a second time. Yanagi hangs up. He takes a sip of his tea, and swivels the chair back to his desk. He dumps the rest of the tea down the bathroom sink. His mom sticks her head through the doorway and smiles. "Dinner."

Yanagi nods. He shoves the mug into her hands, and follows her into the main room. His father already sits at the end of the table with a plate of food. Yanagi slides into his seat. His mom serves him rice. "Izumi phoned this afternoon," she says.

Yanagi nods. He doesn't look up from his rice bowl. His father nods, too.

"She wants to take Sasuke to Disneyworld on Saturday," she says. She smoothes the front of her apron before she sits down next to Yanagi. "It sounds like Genichirou might go, too."

Yanagi sets his rice bowl down. The corners of his mouth curve a little. He doesn't say anything. His mother keeps talking about Izumi, how nice it will be this weekend, they're predicting sun and warm temperatures, it'll be so nice to see Sasuke, he's getting so big! Yanagi eats the grilled fish, and then the pickles. His mom's food sits on her plate, untouched, as she smiles and keeps going.

After dinner, Yanagi grabs his tennis bag. He pulls his sneakers on. His mother pops out of the kitchen. She wrings her hands on a tea towel.

"I'll be back later," he says.

He stops outside the lobby of the building. From one pocket, he turns off his cellphone. From the other, Yanagi pulls a wad of coins and drops them into the vending machine. The Pepsi is out. So are the Aquarius choices. He settles on water, and stuffs the bottle into his bag. The street is empty of people and littered with shadows and the soft rustle of wrappers in the breeze. It rifles through Yanagi's hair. He thinks of Kirihara's fingers over his scalp, instead. Yanagi shivers.

Two blocks down the road, and kitty-corner across an intersection there is a small park. The flood lights are on. Yanagi walks past the sushi shop on the corner. The red lantern sways. Inside, Yanagi can see a couple old men nursing sake cups. Niou might slip in through the sliding door to try to join them. Yanagi frowns. Niou makes something hot rise up in his chest. Yanagi clenches his jaw. The heat spreads down through his arms, and into his balled fists, too.

When he crosses the road, the swoosh and pong of balls echoes. Yanagi walks a little closer to peer through heavy bushes. Junior high-sized students run across the one court: a doubles match. The pair closest to him both run for the shot to the baseline. "You idiot!" the baseliner shouts. The net player throws his racket up and says his partner missed the last three baseline volleys anyway. Yanagi shakes his head.

Five blocks west are another set of street courts. This time, they are empty. Yanagi sets his bag down on the bench. His shadow is stretched out long and lean across the green pavement. Without prying eyes, he stretches his calves in lunges. He runs around the courts five times to loosen his muscles. He swings his arms in circles without, and then with his racket. Yanagi sets his racket down and reaches for his toes. The strain in the back of his knees is satisfying the longer he holds the position. A faint breeze licks at the sides of his neck. There is a crescent moon hanging in the sky. It's the sort of night that Basho would write about frogs croaking for lovers and willows sighing rather than the crunch of pavement under sneakers, or the thwop of a tennis ball against the ground.

Yanagi tightens his grip on the ball. The felt is warm and soft in his hand. He should have brought the newer canister, but he left that in the clubhouse. He throws the ball up and rocks back on his heel. He slams a ball against the cement wall. It ricochets straight and hard back at him. Yanagi takes a half-step to the right. The ball hits his racket too high. He bares his teeth as he twists his wrist to bring the ball under control toward the sweet spot. His muscles strain as the ball pushes back. Yanagi narrows his eyes. He pushes his arm that much more. The ball veers off his racket, five degrees wrong of an angle.

He goes through the canister, then he collects the balls from the far corners of the courts. Sweat slides down the sides of his face as he leans down to pick the balls up. Behind the cement wall and a veil of dark trees, the traffic rushes by. There are movements through the trees: small rustles and the pad of rubber soles. Yanagi reaches for his sweat towel. When he pushes it back from his face, Kirihara is standing in front of him.

Yanagi holds the towel tight. He says nothing. Kirihara follows him to the bench. He's brought his tennis bag with him, which he sets down next to Yanagi's. "I called your house," he says, "since you didn't pick up your cellphone."

Kirihara swings his legs. They're longer this year. His heels scuff the pavement now. "Your mom said you were out playing tennis, but you weren't at the courts by your place, so I figured this one." He laughs a little. He runs his tongue along his bottom teeth. Yanagi's eyes flick to Kirihara's thighs. Then he stops himself and grabs his water bottle.

"It's the only other courts I know near your place," Kirihara says.

Yanagi takes a sip of the water. It drips at the corners of his mouth, which he wipes away with the back of his hand. Kirihara watches him. His legs stop swinging. He leans closer. Blood rushes to Yanagi's head. His vision swims.

Then Kirihara holds out a bottle of Aquarius. "You like this stuff, right?" His words are thick. Yanagi's head is heavy. He manages a nod.

As Kirihara hands him the bottle, their fingers touch. Electricity races up Yanagi's spine. He stiffens. Blood rushes between his legs, too. His dick hardens. It hardens even more as Kirihara leans across Yanagi's lap. The bottle hits the ground with a thump. Kirihara's breath is hot. Yanagi can smell the mineraly sweetness of the sports drink on Kirihara's lips. That seaweed hair brushes the side of Yanagi's jaw. His dick throbs and he tries to shift on the bench.

Kirihara whispers his name. His lips are feather light in the moment they brush Yanagi's chin—missing their mark.

Yanagi turns away. His chin burns. Kirihara stretches over his lap again, but Yanagi pushes him off. "Not here," he says. Kirihara sticks out his bottom lip. Yanagi pushes harder. "Not. Here."

One of the flood lights start to flicker. Kirihara stands up. With a loud hiss, the light shuts off. Half the court darkens, and so does Kirihara's face. Yanagi leans back against the wooden slats of the bench. He looks away from Kirihara, into the dark trees instead. Yanagi can hear the soft sounds of Kirihara breathing above the hum of insects flitting over their heads.

He sucks in a breath. "Akaya…"

There is a flash of Kirihara's teeth. He sneers. Yanagi swallows. A lump thickens in his throat. His palms feel clammy. He's still hard, and the ache intensifies as he stands up. His shorts and underpants shift over the hypersensitive skin. For a second, Yanagi closes his eyes. He says Kirihara's name again. I'm sorry. Not here.

"Niou…" Yanagi purses his lips. He thinks over the words. "He knows."

Kirihara rolls his eyes. He walks around in a little circle around Yanagi. Then he flops down onto the bench, right where Yanagi was. Kirihara stretches his arms along the back. His legs aren't the only parts of his body that have grown recently. "Yeah, well…I know stuff about him, too!"

Yanagi raises his eyebrows.

The side of Kirihara's mouth curls into a smirk. Yanagi's insides are feverish. His erection burns. He wants to grab Kirihara's hands and push him down into the bench slats. He wants to wipe that smirk from Kirihara's lips. He wants to watch that smirk widen into a rounded gasp when he bites the side of Kirihara's shoulder, in the soft spot that makes him mewl. Yanagi flushes all over. His legs seem to shake under his body. He walks around to keep himself steady, and to increase the distance between them.

There is still a ball in the far corner of the courts. The yellow is dimmed by the shadows. It sits wedged under the chain link fence near a rustling empty chip bag. Yanagi walks over to it. Footsteps follow him. He keeps his back turned as he squats down to pick the ball up. As his hands close over the soft felt, another hand digs into his shoulder.

"Senpai!" Kirihara hisses. He grabs at Yanagi's hair. The ball drops from Yanagi's hands. He twists his hands around Kirihara's arm. Kirihara growls and pushes down. Yanagi falls back from his squat onto the ground. Dust plumes around them, and insects too. Kirihara says something in the back of his throat. Then he is on top of Yanagi. He's heavy and hard and kissing Yanagi. Teeth clack. His fingers dig into the back of Yanagi's neck. Pain flares up and Yanagi jerks his head, an automatic response. His body responds to Kirihara, too—Kirihara rubs his own erection on Yanagi's thigh. Their clothing rustles. Kirihara's kissing gets faster and sloppier. Yanagi kisses back to keep up. A hand slides between their bodies. It cups his erection. Rough fingertips slip under his waistband. They crawl down Yanagi's stomach. He's numb and shuddering and his own hand slides under Kirihara's t-shirt, where his skin is hot and dry and his muscles shift.

Those fingers wiggle down to Yanagi's dick. He snaps his eyes open. His body stiffens.

He shoves Kirihara away. Kirihara doesn't budge, but he does pull back from Yanagi's mouth. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair is a mess. Yanagi's heart pounds in his chest. His blood pounds between his legs, too. Kirihara squeezes his hand around Yanagi's dick. Yanagi bites his lip on a moan, and he pushes harder on Kirihara. His arms feel heavy and his legs are leaden. It takes all his strength to not give in to the rush of sensation as Kirihara strokes him.

"Akaya, get off!"

He pushes a third time. Kirihara pulls his hand out from Yanagi's track pants. He stumbles backwards to his feet. He's still hard. So is Yanagi. Through the trees, the traffic lights change and the purr of engines start again.

"You're not the only one who'd get caught!" Kirihara says. He sniffles, and turns away for a moment. He fumbles with his eye. Yanagi just frowns. He walks back toward the bench, and his tennis bag. Halfway there, he realizes the ball is sitting under the fence, right where he left it. His shoulders tense.

He turns to see Kirihara at the net, with the ball in his hand. His mouth is set in a line. His chest rises and falls with a steady pace. His eyes are focused on Yanagi, and he doesn't look away. Kirihara looks older than the screaming brat Yanagi played tennis with last year.

"Play a game with me, at least," Kirihara says. His voice cracks a little. His nervous little laugh doesn't change.

Yanagi's shoulders loosen up as he grabs his tennis racket, and says, "One set match."

***

"The bath is still ready, but it might be a little cold," his mom says.

Yanagi walks past her. "That's fine," he says.

He peels the sweat-sticky clothes, and chucks them into a pile by the doorway. His dick is so swollen he can't look down. He starts the shower and grabs his cock—fast and frantic with his hand until he's bent over and gasping under the spray of water. He leans against the wall. His feet slide along the tiled floor. His legs are boneless. The nerves of his dick throb and his fingers tingle. Yanagi closes his eyes. With a sigh, he remembers the feeling of Kirihara's fingers under his waistband instead of his own. His insides are empty, unsatisfied. He turns off the shower and sinks into the tepid bathwater. Outside the bathroom, there is a click as the hallway light is turned off. Yanagi grabs his knees. He presses his jaw to the top of them. Water laps at his chin. Kirihara did too, earlier, until Yanagi pushed him off.

My parents are going away to Gumma this weekend. We'd be alone…

Yanagi dunks his face into the water. Kirihara's words echo in his ears. He was red-faced and his t-shirt was dark with sweat after their game. Yanagi won. Kirihara cursed and kicked at the net, but on the bench, they sat in silence. The moon glowed against the clouds in the sky. Kirihara offered Yanagi his Aquarius again. He didn't ask, he told Yanagi with a flicker of something in his eyes. Yanagi was so hard, he couldn't answer. No, he could have said. I'm busy. I have homework.

His bones ache, even now. He slips under the cool sheets of his bed. He reaches his toes to the end of the mattress, until they dangle out, then he brings them back under the sheets. His eyes are heavy. But his pulse races. So does his mind. He reaches across to the bed side table for his cellphone. There's a missed call from Sanada—he'd be in bed now. There's a message from Sadaharu. Yanagi's ribs creak as he opens it.

We could play a match this weekend before the prefectural rounds begin in 2 weeks.

…My parents are going away to Gumma…

Yanagi flips his phone closed. He takes a deep breath, but his chest is tight. He listens to his pulse in his ears, and the sounds of his sighs as the apartment creaks in the darkness. He flops onto his side and slides his arm under the pillow. His leg twitches. His knee throbs and his toes crack when he stretches them out. Yanagi sighs. He turns onto the other side, but the sheets are too warm here.

He stays awake until the first crows start to caw, just before dawn. He looks at the time on the glowing LCD screen of his cellphone and thinks I have to wake up in an hour and a half for practice. Then, he closes his eyes, and finally sleeps.

***

"Did your mother tell you?"

Yanagi nods. They round the corner of the net. Their sneakers slap the ground in tandem.

"And?" Sanada asks. His breathing is loud. "He wants you to come?"

Yanagi snorts a laugh. "Not just you, Oji—"

"Shut up!"

Yanagi stumbles. He lands on his shins. Players skirt around him, darting out of the way just in time. Sanada runs ahead until the next corner, then he looks back with a crease in his forehead. Yanagi stands up. He brushes the biggest pieces of gravel from his legs. His eyes are crusted in the corners, and his limbs are sluggish as he starts to catch up. Sanada has slowed down until their paces match again.

"Renji?"

"I'm fine," Yanagi says. His face burns. So do the muscles between his ribs. They finish the set of laps, and meet Yukimura by the ball machines.

Yukimura pokes Yanagi in the side. "You look like shit."

Yanagi says hn.

"Growth spurt again?" Yukimura asks. He stretches his arms above his head. The armpits of his uniform t-shirt are stained dark, and he smells rank with sweat. Yanagi turns to the side a bit to cough.

"I grew two cm last month," Yukimura says. "If you've bothered to notice."

"I have your stats," Yanagi says. He taps his forehead.

"Well, what I'm saying is that we have to adjust our forms constantly at our age," Yukimura says. "Except Genichirou, who is doomed to 181 forever."

Sanada rolls his eyes. Yukimura laughs and prods him in the bicep.

Out of the corner of his eye, something streaks across the campus grounds from the direction of the north gate. All three of them look up as the person runs fast over the grass—he runs past the tennis courts toward the junior high school with a massive tennis bag strapped to his back, slamming against his back. Yukimura smiles. Sanada looks at Yanagi. They share a shake of their heads. Yanagi checks his watch. He tries not to think about the heat deep in his belly, or between his legs.

"Akaya is a half hour late."

"You were a fool to let him be captain, Yukimura," Sanada says.

Yukimura prods Sanada in the other arm. Sanada crosses his arms over his chest.

Yukimura lifts his chin up high. A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "He'll learn."

***

"Renji."

"Hn?"

"You have not responded to the message I sent 2 hours and 43 minutes ago. Are you distracted?"

"Maybe I pay more attention to my tennis practices than you do."

Sadaharu laughs on the other end. Yanagi can hear him pause—he's pushing up his glasses. He does that when he thinks something over. "That is incorrect," he says. "I was practicing with Kaidoh last night until 9:30."

"Kaidoh…" Yanagi laughs under his breath, too. "You're close to him."

"With Tezuka in Germany, Kaidoh needs the assistance of his senpais as captain."

Yanagi thinks about Kirihara racing across the campus this morning. He shot Yanagi a look at lunch: he held Yanagi's gaze with a steady stare until Yanagi looked down at his book. There was a new message on his cellphone after gym class, a reminder about his parents being gone this weekend. Sanada walked up to him and asked why his face was flushed when Yanagi snapped his cellphone shut.

Sadaharu starts to talk about Tezuka. Yanagi picks his pencil up and goes over the number 4 in his Sudoku game. He traces the lines back and forth, up and down. Sadaharu drones on about German regimens, and the temperature in Stuttgart. He says that he bought a Learn to Speak German book, but the sounds are awkward for a Japanese person. How does Tezuka get by? I don't really care, Yanagi thinks. He moves to the next square and traces over a number 2. The numbers don't match up, so he scratches it out, and moves the 2 to a free box in the upper right corner.

"…Tezuka did not return my email on Tuesday. The time difference is 8 hours. He should have time to respond in the evenings. I estimate his free time hours to be between—"

"Sadaharu?"

"—one and a half…ah, Renji. Yes?"

"Maybe Tezuka has a girlfriend."

There is a long pause. Yanagi sets his pencil down. He bites down a chuckle as Sadaharu makes small, puzzled noises in the back of his throat.

"I have not considered that possibility before."

"Maybe he just didn't feel like responding."

"I did not consider that, either." There are voices in the background. And the muffled sound of the phone being pressed to a palm. Then Sadaharu says, "Renji, I am being summoned for dinner."

"We'll resume the call—"

"Tomorrow. At six."

Yanagi agrees. He presses end, and sets it on his desk beside the Sudoku book. He grabs a novel from the shelf above his desk, then he flops onto his bed with it. The window is open a slim crack and air filters through the curtains in waves. It ruffles the pages of his book as he finds his place.

Tomorrow. Friday.

My parents are gone this weekend.

Yanagi flips over onto his back. He sets the book on his chest, pushing the spine down to his ribs. His heart pounds against the pages. The breeze shifts to drift across his face. Kirihara's lips did that the other night, and Yanagi pushed him away. He reaches for his dick and cups it through his pants. He looks to the doorway—closed, but the sounds of the tv and his mother in the kitchen don't drown out his sigh he makes when he rolls back onto his stomach. He picks the novel up. Yanagi stares at the page. He can't remember what he read last night. He thinks about Sadaharu. He thinks about Kirihara, too.

His racket sits propped up in the corner, between his desk and the doorway. The grip tape has changed three times over since the Nationals, but when Yanagi wraps his hand around it, he can still smell the blood from the courts at Odaiba.

***

There isn't enough caffeine in his matcha latte before practice (bought with Sanada, in the Starbucks in the train station). The cake burns in the oven during home ec. Marui looks up from his cellphone that he was watching Pirates of the Caribbean on, and sniffs the air. He lets out a shriek and flies to the oven. Smoke plumes out as soon as he yanks the door open. The smoke detector starts to scream, too. The teacher yells for a baking sheet. Jackal runs with a tray to fan the detector before the smoke alarms in the rest of the school go off, too.

Marui does the honour of scraping the black contents of the cake pan into the garbage. Charred pieces clump on the spatula. Marui wipes it off on the side of the rubbish bin with a frown. "Didn't you set the timer, Yanagi?" he asks. He narrows his eyes. The spatula is in Yanagi's face.

Yanagi opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

Marui shakes his head. "Figures the data man would forget the most important variable."

"Besides sugar," Jackal says.

Marui nods. "Besides sugar."

At lunch, Yanagi takes his lunch to the library. He sits between the stacks of world history books. Sunlight peaks through the rows of books and pools on the floor by his feet. He opens his book with a sigh. He picks at a fish ball. He plays with the cap on his PET bottle. He opens the novel again, and crosses his ankles the other way. A librarian pushes a book cart down the aisle. Yanagi stuffs the bento behind his book, and looks down at the page. As soon as the librarian passes, he looks up.

Someone whistles on the other side of the stack. The sunlight moves across his foot. The back of Yanagi's neck prickles. "Niou," he says.

Niou looks around the stack. He slips down and squats next to Yanagi. He's whistling a Disney theme song. His fingers flex. Yanagi moves his bento out of the way. Niou stops whistling. He rubs his mole on the right side of his chin.

"He wants to know where I am," Yanagi says.

Niou shrugs. "Probably."

Yanagi frowns. His hands are cold. The muscles of his face twitch.

"I didn't tell him you were here, by the way," Niou says. He stands up with a lazy stretch of his arms above his head.

"And Yagyuu?" Yanagi asks.

Niou's arms freeze for a half-second. He swings them down to his sides, and stuffs them into his pockets. Over his shoulder, he snorts at Yanagi. "What about Yagyuu?" He starts to whistle again, this time the Mission Impossible overture as he saunters away.

In gym class, Yanagi stops in the middle of warm up laps for soccer.

Niou's mole is on the other side of his chin.

***

FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 4/6

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 22:59:58 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 2 (4/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

Behind Higashikawa station there is a restaurant specializing in tempura. There are maybe six seats, and only one other customer at the far end of the counter. Sadaharu's message said to meet at half-past. The heavy grease in the air outside turns Yanagi's stomach. He checks the time on his cellphone again, and frowns. His tennis bag gets heavier by the minute. Yanagi watches people pass by. A group of young men with bad dye-jobs and too much cologne walk past. They look Yanagi up, then down. Their pointed shoes click on the ground, and their gold necklaces rustle on their chests. Yanagi shifts his weight, and checks the time again. He sighs.

Finally, a tall figure rounds the corner. Yanagi turns around. Sadaharu lifts his hand. "Yo."

Yanagi nods. "You're seventeen minutes late."

Sadaharu pushes his glasses up. He tugs on the strap of his tennis bag. "Aa, something came up."

Yanagi purses his lips. Sadaharu glances away for a moment. Yanagi snorts. "Your kouhai."

"Kaidoh…yes."

Yanagi says nothing. They enter the shop together under the noren curtains. The kitchen staff raise a cheer and menus are slid in front of them as they sit down at stools by the counter. Yanagi piles his tennis bag on top of Sadaharu's against the wall. There's barely inches to walk in here. Yanagi can feel the walls pressing against his chest. He takes a deep breath and immediately coughs from the thick grease. He covers his mouth. He bites his tongue. Sadaharu orders two teas and two seasonal specials.

"You like shrimp," he says.

"You know me well," Yanagi agrees.

Sadaharu dumps a cocktail of powder from a plastic bag into his tea. It blooms dark and brownish in his tea. Yanagi curls his lip as he watches Sadaharu drink. He sips at his own tea. Steaming baskets of tempura is set in front of them, along with trays of heaped noodles. Sadaharu mixes all of his wasabi into the sauce. Yanagi pushes his wasabi to the edge of the tray.

"You never liked wasabi," Sadaharu says.

"No," Yanagi says. The back of his neck prickles. He swats at the air behind his head.

"I love wasabi."

Fuji sits down on the stool next to Yanagi. He smiles and orders the seasonal special. "Extra wasabi," he adds. He takes the dish of Yanagi's wasabi for himself.

"Fuji," Sadaharu says.

"Meeting with old friends," Fuji says.

Sadaharu says, "Aa." Yanagi slurps a mouthful of noodles. He sends Fuji a glare from the corner of his eye. Fuji keeps smiling. He sets his school bag under his seat. There's no tennis bag piled up with the others. Yanagi dabs at the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin.

"You're not playing tennis this year?" he asks.

Fuji laughs. He swirls his tea around in his cup. He sits still otherwise—too still. Kirihara would be squirming in the seat. He'd reach for his tea. He'd spill sauce everywhere and apologize profusely. He'd swing and kick his legs, and sigh and shift and do more than Fuji's upright posture, turned at the slightest angle toward Yanagi. His shoulders, though, tilt away to the exit.

"There's other clubs I wanted to join this year," Fuji says. "Besides, without Tezuka, tennis club isn't the same, ne Inui?"

Sadaharu agrees. He stirs his soba around in the sauce, and splatters his lenses when he slurps the noodles up. Yanagi wipes a spot of sauce from the back of his hand. Fuji digs into his own tray of tempura, beginning with the steaming shrimp that he dunks directly into wasabi. Yanagi's stomach flips over. Greasy bile creeps up his throat. He sits, stiffly, with his shoulders tense. He thinks of answers to questions Fuji might ask. Fuji opens his mouth, over and over, as though to say something. But instead he sips his tea, or eats his tempura. Yanagi sits on the edge of his seat.

The radio in the shop plays old Hirahara Ayaka ballads. One of the cooks sings along in a tone-deaf warble. Yanagi pokes at a kabocha tempura slice. It sticks to the roof of his mouth. Fuji smiles again.

"It must not be the same at Rikkai without Kirihara," Fuji says.

Yanagi tries to swallow. Fuji bites the end off another of his shrimps. His teeth flash in the fluorescent lighting from the kitchen. Yanagi feels feverish. His face is hot and clammy. His lungs strain for air. Fuji's sharp eyes don't move from Yanagi. His hands shake, and he forces himself to keep cool and calm. Slowly, he sets his chopsticks down. He swallows a second time.

"High school on the whole is not the same as junior high," Yanagi says.

Fuji hums. "That's dodging the question, Yanagi."

If he were Sanada, Yanagi would smack the smirk from Fuji's lips. Instead, he breathes through his nose. Sadaharu looks up from his tea. There is a brown moustache on his upper lip from his concoction. He licks at it. He looks at Yanagi. Yanagi can hear the calculations and variables ticking in Sadaharu's brain the longer he sits and refuses to answer Fuji.

So Yanagi says, "Akaya is busy as captain of the junior high team."

With his elbows on the counter, Fuji leans toward Yanagi. "Amongst other things."

Yanagi can hear himself swallow. Pots clang in the kitchen. Hirahara Ayaka's fan continues to warble with her. Something hard and fast pounds in Yanagi's chest. Blood rushes to his face, and his head. He can't breathe in the thick, oily air. Sadaharu blinks. He stares at Yanagi, and says his name. Behind a forced smile Fuji laughs.

The shop walls crash down. Grease strangles Yanagi in curling cords of steam around his neck. Sadaharu says his name again. Yanagi can't think of anything to do, or to say. Fuji says something that he doesn't hear, not over the pounding waves of his pulse inside his ears, and the echo of Fuji's pitchy little laughs.

Then, Fuji stands up. "Oh, look at the time! I have to meet Yuuta for karaoke now. See you guys later!" He waves from the exit.

"Renji?"

Yanagi nearly slides off the stool. He catches himself on his feet, and sits back up on it. He rests an elbow on the counter to rub at his temples. Yanagi closes his eyes. He sighs over his food. Then he pushes the tray aside.

"Judging from your reaction, you strongly dislike Fuji," Sadaharu says.

Yanagi laughs. He can't think of anything else to do. His hands still shake. His heart still throbs. The Hirahara Ayaka ballad has become the new mid-tempo release from Hamasaki Ayumi. The shop is cramped. The walls close in on Yanagi and press at his sides the longer he sits and says nothing to Sadaharu. Finally, he stands up.

"Let's play a game," Renji says.

Sadaharu flips his phone out. He scrolls through a couple sites for a moment, then looks up. "There are public courts 325m due east from the station."

Yanagi nods.

***

The neighbourhood glows with orange-tinted street lights, and the bright white headlights of cars and trucks rumbling past on the highway. The courts are surrounded by apartment buildings on three sides. Smells of supper cooking—fried onions, meat, vegetables—hang around. The nets are frayed and slackened, and the ball echoes as Sadaharu bounces it.

Yanagi checks his shoelaces. The left laces are loose. He starts to tie them up. Sadaharu takes his place to the right of the centre of his baseline. His body is a serpentine long as he throws the ball above his head.

The ball is straight shot, of course. Yanagi doesn't even have to move from the spot. The ball zooms back across the net in a yellow blur.

The second shot will be a low drive to the right. Even before Sadaharu's racket hits the ball, Yanagi pivots to the side. He knows what will come. He's played this game before.

"Thirty percent angle," Sadaharu mumbles to himself. The ball slams against Yanagi's racket. For an instant he freezes. He could volley the ball back at thirty percent, or he could cradle the ball an extra fraction of a second and gain speed, increase the angle and change.

Yanagi volleys the ball back at thirty percent.

***

He sits at the kitchen table. It is breakfast time, and there is a plate of food on the table in front of him. Yanagi peels the clingfilm away from the eggs and toast. He picks up the bowl, and peels the clingfilm from the salad, too. It rustles in his fingers. Yanagi reaches for the salt shaker. The table seems too long. He strains his arm to reach it. His fingers brush the side of the shaker. It tips over. Salt spills across the table top.

He sits back down in his chair. Instead of picking up his chopsticks, he looks down. A novel sits by his elbow. The cover is turned over. Yanagi tries to remember what book he read last night before bed.

There is a faucet running in the kitchen. It starts to drip with a rhythmic beat. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Yanagi sits. Drip drop. Drip drop. He turns around. The half-wall blocks his view. He squints to see better. The faucet drips dissolve into a pour. Yanagi looks at his novel. He looks at his breakfast. With a sigh, he stands up and walks into the kitchen.

The faucet is still. The water continues to pour elsewhere, toward the balcony. Yanagi realizes that it's raining. Water streaks the sliding glass door. The city is a blurry glow behind the fluttering laundry on the porch.

Yanagi shakes his head. His mother left the laundry out again. The white dress shirts writhe and twist like phantoms. Yanagi pushes on the glass door latch. The door is caught. He pushes harder. A small grunt escapes his lips. The door opens with a crack along the threshold. Beyond the flapping shirts, water rains down in a shower. Yanagi licks his lips to taste the moisture. It seems too dry.

Then, there is a bright flash of light. He looks to the direction of the train tracks to the west, but there is nothing except a colourless void. A shirt sleeve slaps him hard across the cheek. Another whips at the back of his knees. Yanagi stumbles into the laundry hanger. As he stands back up, he looks up to the glass door.

A face flickers. At first, Yanagi thinks the sharp smile must be Fuji. He starts to scowl. The face in the glass opens its mouth, which widens to reveal rows of shark's teeth. He throws his head back and starts to laugh.

"No!" Yanagi shouts.

The face reddens. The hair starts to coil and twist and hiss. Yanagi shakes his head. "No!" he says. The face laughs louder, and higher until it's Kirihara's demon mask shaking and cackling.

"I'm coming!" he screams. "I'm coming for you!"

Yanagi keeps saying no.

"I'm coming for him!" Kirihara shrieks. Blood dribbles from his eyes. Drip drop drip drop. Then, the blood starts to pour with a swoosh! It splashes Yanagi on the face. Kirihara laughs harder and harder.

"Senpai, don't you lo—"

Yanagi's eyes snap open. His pulse races, too fast to count. He gulps at the air. His pillow is wet when he reaches for it. His hands shake.

Outside, the rain pours down.

***

Every day, Kirihara traipses the campus grass between the school buildings to eat lunch with them.

Yanagi eats lunch on the rooftop. He cracks open a copy of Soseki (the spine is long broken). He picks at the sushi pieces, and leaves the macaroni salad alone. He sits on the ledge. Seniors smoke joints and cigarettes up here. Yanagi picks up his lunch and moves to the other side of the roof. He opens his novel. His eyes hurt in the bright sunlight. When he glances out across the grassy campus, he can make out seven students sitting near the willow tree. Yanagi turns back to his book. He slides down the parapet until the roofline completely hides everything except the top of his head. Kirihara wouldn't think to look for him here, but Yanagi's stomach still knots up.

On rainy days, he goes to the library. Between the shelf of carpentry books, and the sculpture stack, Yanagi drinks his PET bottle of green tea. He eats cold tofu and tries to read Meiji poetry. Students don't come here at lunch, except once, a second year guy with a shaved head and a girl were making out one aisle over. Yanagi was silent as he chewed his rice. The couple made loud, slimy smacking noises and breathy gasps.

He thought about Kirihara, and what they did. Maybe it felt good at the time. Yanagi hoped they didn't make the same sloppy noises. He frowned when he thought about it.

Kirihara sends texts during art class. He sends texts during home economics. He tries to call when Yanagi is on the bus on days when he doesn't have practice. When Yanagi does have practice, he keeps his eyes peeled. He looks around the stands. Groups of cheerleaders practice routines with pompoms and slogans. Yanagi runs laps. He practices ball control: 500 bounces, front hand to back hand. He does shuttle runs with the other freshmen on the team. When they go to collect balls, Yanagi rallies with Nishiki or Sanada. He works on serves with Yagyuu. They could both be faster, stronger. A coach from the university holds a clinic for back hand shots, and control. Yanagi adjusts his grip. He loosens his hand and drops his elbow. Yukimura wins against everyone.

Kirihara doesn't show up during practices. Yanagi looks into the stands as he walks from the club house. The sun casts a rosy glow over the roof of the school. His face is flushed from the warmth, and the birds titter on the clubhouse eaves. The stands are empty.

Sanada asks if he's looking for something.

Yanag'is face burns even hotter in the sunset when he says, "No."

***

At dinner, there is a new message from Kirihara. They come less frequently now. Yanagi bites his lip as he pulls his phone out under the table. His mom raises her eyebrows.

The name scrolling across the screen isn't Sadaharu.

Yanagi snaps his phone shut. He offers his mom a slight nod and finishes his dinner. He shuts the door of his bedroom after. She washes dishes in the kitchen. His father watches tv in the main room—the news, since he's home early for once. The phone rings. His mom answers. "Ah, Izumi!" she says loudly.

Yanagi lies on his bed. He stares at the screen of his phone. It's a tree before bloom. Gnarled branches twist with skeletal nakedness before the sakura burst open. Outside his window, trees lining the street have the same barest of buds.

One unread message.

He could delete it. Kirihara wants to know where he is, what he's doing, why isn't he talking to him. Yanagi purses his lips. He presses open.

my parints are gone the last week-end this month. you wanna come over and hang out?? we can do stuff for reel this time

plz answer

Yanagi's throat is too thick. He closes his eyes, and deletes the message.

Sadaharu doesn't end up calling that night after all.

***

The front of cherry blossoms has swept across the Kinki region now. The Kantou area reported the first blooms three days ago. Yanagi closes the weather website on his cellphone and walks further down the street. In the middle of the city, surrounded by high rises offices and shopping centres, you couldn't tell the cherry blossom front had reached Yokohama if it weren't for the urban trees planted along the sidewalks. Harbour-front Park will be filled with picnickers tomorrow.

He walks past the trees heavy with blossoms. Yanagi turns the corner into a shopping arcade. Against the black evening sky, the arcade glows with crowds and lights. He walks past displays of laundry detergent and shampoo spilling onto the street. He walks past the shops selling socks, the shops selling cheap t-shirts, and the other shops selling pastries. His stomach growls. The ramen shops are at the far end of the arcade, past the bookshop.

The weekly magazines come out today. Yanagi glances past the glossy display. His stomach churns. Hunger scratches his sides. He breathes in the smells of garlic and gyoza and makes for the first ramen shop he sees. Inside, he sits by himself at a table set for four. The shop is filled with yellow Formica and students, chatter and frantic slurping.

"Standard?" the waitress asks. She sets a cup of tea down. Yanagi nods.

"Extra noodles?" she asks.

Yanagi nods again.

She brings a steaming bowl and refills his tea. Grease floats on top of the noodles. Yanagi picks the pork slice off. He eats the pink fish cakes first, and then he shovels noodles into his mouth. The door of the shop opens. More students pour in. Schoolbags and sports bags weigh down their backs. A group of junior high students sits in the booth behind Yanagi. He looks up into the mirrored panels along the wall. His eyes widen at the sight of the uniforms.

Yanagi hunches over his ramen. He chews slowly. The voices are loud and crack with pubescence. He strains to make them out over the din of the other customers, and the shouts from the kitchen.

"—so fucking pissy lately!"

"Yeah! I had to do like 200 laps! That's unreal!"

"Really?"

More slurping. And a long pause as the students slurp some more. Yanagi holds his chopsticks still.

"Yeah!"

"Wonder what's up his ass."

Someone belches. Another laughs. Yanagi doesn't move.

"I heard last year was bad, but Kirihara-buchou is just mean."

Yanagi looks up to the mirrors again. Four heads bow over ramen bowls. They come up for air with gasps, and dive back into their noodles. One boy has bruises on his cheek. Another has an arm covered in purple welts. The dimensions are roughly the size of tennis balls.

The waitress rushes by. She tops up Yanagi's cup of tea. His fingers curl around the ceramic. The tea is barely lukewarm. Tiny particles float in the bottom. They swirl as Yanagi sets the cup back down. The table of junior high students finish with stomach patting and a chorus of belches. They stand up and shuffle to the cash register to pay. One boy limps. A second boy has a tensor bandage wrapped from knee to ankle. Dark bruises peek out from underneath.

Yanagi pushes his ramen to the other side of the table. On the local train home, Yanagi stares out the windows. The suburban wash of houses and low rise apartments glow with evening lights between patches of rice paddies obscured by darkness. Grease cloys to the roof of his mouth. Yanagi swallows the sick taste in the back of his mouth. The tracks run past a street court. The green ground is illuminated by floodlights. Yanagi squints to make out the tiny figures. His vision blurs. The serves are too sloppy to be anyone other than amateurs.

Is that your waterfall serve? Is that all you've got, Inui? I'll crush you!

Yanagi snaps his eyes open. He turns away from the tennis courts.

At home, he mutters hello to his mom, then he pads into his bedroom. The walls are covered with reminders of tennis. A poster from the ATP exhibition game in Tokyo last year. A calendar with practices highlighted in yellow marker. A canister of tennis balls on his desk, next to a stack of Tennis Weekly back issues.

On his dresser, there's a photograph from the second year of junior high school. The trophy glitters between Yukimura and Sanada. Yanagi stands beside them. Marui and Jackal make victory signs. Yagyuu smiles. Niou rolls his eyes.

Kirihara—a younger, shorter Kirihara—stands at the very front. His face is flushed and his eyes are pink, too. Yanagi can't remember if that was from crying, or from playing. He thinks of Sadaharu, and the blood pooling under his body. He thinks of the students at the ramen shop, and the bruises on their legs. An image of Kirihara on a bed, and his mouth parted in a moan flickers across Yanagi's vision.

Cold washes through his veins.

Yanagi stuffs the photograph into the bottom drawer of his desk. He slams the drawer closed. As he types Sadaharu's number into his phone, his hand shakes.

***

Kaidoh walks up to his bedroom first. The footsteps behind him stop. He turns around. Inui stares at the photographs lining the wall. He presses his nose to the one of Kaidoh. Kaidoh can't see Inui's eyes from here.

Kaidoh sucks in a breath. Inui turns around, pushing his glasses up with his index finger, the way he always does. "Your mother liked to—"

"Don't tell anyone!" Kaidoh snaps. Just as quickly, he apologizes. His face burns. Inui nods. He doesn't seem to notice.

The door closes behind them with a soft click. Kaidoh's heart is lodged somewhere in the bottom of his throat. He tries to think of things to say. He clears his throat, but no sound comes out. Inui walks to Kaidoh's bookshelf. His fingers run along the spines of the manga volumes, and the video game boxes. An evening breeze drifts in from the open window. It brushes up Kaidoh's arms. He shivers.

Then Inui turns around.

Kaidoh's head spins. His bandana cuts into his forehead. His face is so hot that his cheeks tingle and his chin twitches. Inui takes two steps closer. He opens his mouth. Kaidoh can't stop looking at Inui's lips as they move and say his name. He can't move any part of his body as Inui leans toward him.

"I can show you the position that will help improve your game," Inui murmurs.

Kaidoh swallows hard. The lump doesn't go away. His heart pounds loud in his ears, the same way it does after he's run ten kilometres. He takes a deep breath. Inui watches him. He's only inches from Kaidoh's face, and his pupils are huge.

Kaidoh reaches for Inui's glasses. The frames are warm in his fingers as he slides them off Inui's face.

"Now show me, senpai."

***

The phone calls and messages stop.

The practices increase. Four mornings out of five, and every afternoon Yanagi runs laps, works on swings, stretches, trains with the ball machines and plays round robin games against senpais.

After practice on Tuesday, Yanagi meets with Sadaharu for udon. Sadaharu talks about Tezuka in Germany. Yanagi rolls his eyes. The sides of his mouth crinkle. Sadaharu takes it for a smile. Yanagi talks about the Rikkai team. "We will beat Seigaku," he says. Rain slithers down the window of the udon shop. The damp clings to Yanagi's skin. Yudofu sticking to the sides of his bowl.

"What is the tentative line-up?" Sadaharu asks. "I disagree that you'll beat us this year."

Yanagi laughs under his breath. "I'm not telling you the line-up, Sadaharu. That would be extremely stupid."

"Have you been training as a singles player, or doubles?"

"What do you think?"

Sadaharu pushes his glasses up. He takes a notebook from his bag and begins to flip through it. Yanagi grabs the notebook.

"If you can't internalize and adapt, the data is useless," Yanagi says.

Sadaharu takes the notebook back. He mutters something under his breath, and writes it down.

They walk through a park in Aoyama on Thursday. The ground is moist and soft under Yanagi's sneakers. A group of elementary-aged children throw a baseball around. They look maybe ten. Yanagi looks at them; then he looks at Sadaharu. Sadaharu's lenses reflect the light of the office towers. Yanagi can't see his eyes. The children scream to each other as they run after the ball.

"Kyoujou," Sadaharu mumbles.

Yanagi swallows. He walks ahead. Here the sakura trees have dropped their blossoms. The broken petals grind into the walkway under Yanagi's feet.

A cellphone goes off. Yanagi turns around. Sadaharu fumbles in his pocket. He flips it open without even looking up at Yanagi.

"Aa, Kaidoh," he says.

Yanagi's eye twitches a little. In the darkness, Sadaharu won't notice the purse of his lips, either. He listens to Sadaharu speak in hushed tones and low mumbles about fifty percent improvement from last night's exercises. Yanagi can hear the thick pauses in Sadaharu's voice, too, when Kaidoh must be talking. When Sadaharu hangs up, he glances around. He blinks at Yanagi's smirk.

"Sorry, my kouhai phoned," he says.

"I could guess," Yanagi says. "Tennis advice?"

Sadaharu's agrees a second too slow.

On Saturday, Yanagi meets with Sanada at eight in the morning at the derelict station at the end of the local line. Yanagi stifles a yawn. Underneath his cap Sanada has sleep-heavy eyes. The sky is overcast, and the first patters of rain begin as they reach the temple through tall, thin pines. Yanagi breathes in the deep, loamy smell. They run up and down the temple stairs until the steps are too slippery and steep. Then, they take the rattling local train back to Yokohama and sit in a Starbucks. Sanada orders a venti frappucino with chocolate chips. Yanagi sips on a matcha latte. The back of his neck is still damp from the running. He sucks in his top lip to get the cream clinging to it.

"Seiichi was…?"

"Doctor's," Sanada says. He fumbles with his cellphone under the table. Yanagi can hear the charms jingling.

Yanagi says of course. "Is he meeting us later?"

Sanada lifts his chin. "…yes," he mutters. He plays with the straw. "In five minutes."

Yukimura shows up with a wave. Sanada's cheeks redden. Yanagi nods his head. A dripping umbrella hangs from Yukimura's elbow. He stuffs it under the table, and joins the line at the counter. They sip their way through another round of drinks as Yukimura complains about the tennis captain, and the new round of antibiotics he has to take every night.

"But you're fine?" Sanada asks. His throat bobs.

Yukimura nods. "It's precautionary, the doctor said. But they have a nasty aftertaste. It's like…ass." He grimaces and takes a gulp of his shaken lemon passion tea.

"You have experience with that, do you?" Yanagi asks. They all laugh, even Sanada—who rolls his eyes and mutters that Yanagi is being an ass.

The rain has let up a bit by the time Yanagi lies and says he needs to go home. He looks back through the window at his friends. Yukimura has swiped the seat Yanagi vacated, across from Sanada. Yanagi pulls his umbrella out. The light changes at the crosswalk. I don't want to know, he thinks. Misty rain clings to the top of his umbrella. It drips down off the spokes, glittering gems of water that catch the light of the shopping centre he walks past.

Platform thirteen is wet with dripping people. The digital announcement board lists the next local train in three minutes. Yanagi flips his phone open, but there are no new messages. He reaches for his novel, but he leaves it at the bottom of his bag. The schedule changes to two minutes. He shifts his weight onto the other foot. Across the tracks, a train in the opposite directions pulls up to the platform. People stream off to the sound of the door chimes. The train starts to pull away, revealing the passengers all moving toward the exit.

Among them is a teenage boy with a big tennis bag on his back and messy black hair.

Yanagi looks away.

The boy looks over. The stare burns into Yanagi's chest. He takes a step backwards, and swallows hard.

Kirihara shouts his name. "Wait!" he yells. Yanagi glances up for an instant. Kirihara bolts for the exit on his platform. His tennis bag bounces hard on his back. He disappears down a set of stairs. Yanagi's heart starts to pound. He looks up to the electric sign board. Down the tracks, he can see the lights of his train approaching. The next train will arrive three minutes later.

On the court, he might be fast—not nearly as fast as Sanada, but almost. Kirihara must be weighed down by ten pounds of tennis equipment and another thirty of extra crap. The calculations blur in Yanagi's head. The train pulls up to the platform, and his throat is so tight, he opens his mouth with a gasp.

Yanagi waits by the side of the train door to board. Hurry, he wants to tell the passengers filing off. He taps his foot on the platform pavement. His heart flutters as his head feels light and the ground uneven. Yanagi glances back to the stairway exit.

Kirihara is flying down the stairs. His hand slides along the railing as he takes three steps at a time. "Wait!" he shouts. "Senpai!"

Yanagi steps onto the train. A woman with a pushchair bows her head quickly. She apologizes as she pushes the baby off with slow, awkward motions. Yanagi purses his lips. His head swims. He leans forward to get on the train. He looks back over his shoulder. Kirihara rushes down the platform. He pushes between people. He bodychecks others, like a salmon fighting the current. Yanagi sucks in a breath. Finally, he steps onto the train. He takes a seat on the nearer side of the carriage that faces away from the platform.

In the window on the other side, he watches Kirihara get closer. The train doors chime. Yanagi balls his fist. His body is tense and strung up. He can't move.

Another passenger barges onto the train. The automated doors open again to allow him on.

In the reflection, Yanagi watches Kirihara, twenty feet from his carriage, trip over his shoelaces. He lands face-first on the pavement. His tennis bag sprawls over his back. The train doors close.

Kirihara looks up. His pupils are black. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. Blood dribbles down from his nose.

Yanagi doesn't need to hear Kirihara's voice to read what his lips are saying. He looks away from the window as he reaches for his iPod. Hirahara Ayaka starts to sing a ballad about lost love until Yanagi presses the forward shuffle.

***

There is no one to cross off the calendar's days leading up to the prefecturals in high school: that was Urayama's job last year. Yanagi makes mental xs in his head. His senpais leave practice at the regular hour, after they finish cool down laps. Yanagi looks to Yukimura and Sanada. Sanada pulls a ball from his pocket. His face drips with sweat. There are dark stains under his arms, and on his back. Yukimura lifts his head. Yanagi clears his throat, and Sanada notices. He looks at Yukimura. Yukimura nods once.

The senpais disappear into the clubhouse, running and laughing and waggling their eyebrows at the girls' cheerleading club, who are also finishing up for the night on the other side of the chain link fence. Marui looks up from the courts with a heavy sigh. Jackal wanders over with a ball basket. Yanagi says, "We'll take those."

"You sure?" Jackal asks. He cracks his back as he twists around. "It sucks being a freshman again."

From the next court over, Niou says, "Puri." He's on his hands and knees, crawling around to pick up the last of the balls. "At least you guys made the team," he grumbles.

Yanagi can feel his lips twitch. Niou says nothing about Yagyuu, who tucks his racket under his arm. He squats down to grab a ball by his feet, then he tosses it to Yanagi.

Yanagi catches it with his left hand. "We'll use this," he says.

"Staying late?" Yagyuu asks.

Yanagi hums.

Yagyuu offers Niou a hand. Niou pulls on Yagyuu to stand up. He pulls out the elastic from his rat tail, then he fluffs his hair out and re-does the tail. Yagyuu nods to Yanagi, "Good night, then, Yanagi-kun."

Niou walks past Yanagi with a lingering sideways gaze. "See you tomorrow."

Yanagi watches the two of them leave. He doesn't move from the spot until Niou has closed the clubhouse door behind them. He thinks on it for a moment, but Niou has no reason to be suspicious. To be sure, Yanagi unzips his tennis bag. He fishes a hand around. There is nothing except his sweat towels, and notebooks, an extra PET bottle and energy bars. The stopwatch is still in his pocket. His cellphone is locked away inside the clubhouse.

Satisfied, Yanagi walks over to Sanada and Yukimura. Sanada grunts through a hard volley. The ball zooms straight across the net. Yukimura smiles as he dashes—three paces to the left—for the shot. He jumps off his left foot for a smash.

Sanada dives, but the ball slams into the court, fourteen inches behind his shoulder.

Yukimura casts a long shadow across the court. The first insects of the evening are out and zig-zagging through the darkening sky. Yukimura looks at Sanada as he gets up. "You knew I'd smash, so why weren't you closer to the net, Genichirou?"

Sanada glares from under his cap. Then he pulls it off, and wipes his forehead with the crook of his elbow. "Tarundoru," he mutters.

Yanagi throws the ball in his hands to Yukimura. Yukimura reaches with his racket, whipping his body around to catch the ball and cradle it across the gut.

"Shall we?" Yanagi asks.

"Are you serving, then?" Yukimura asks.

Yanagi says he will. "One, or two at a time?"

Yukimura's smile widens. "Whichever you prefer. Maybe one, and Genichirou and I can watch your serve."

Sanada and Yukimura stand at the ready, one on each side of the doubles' court across the net. Sanada looks up at Yanagi, as he picks a ball from the basket. Sanada walks off the court. He zips his racket back up into the case, and walks back to where he had been. Yanagi raises his eyes.

"You're a fool, Genichirou," Yukimura says. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath in a cold, brittle way.

"I'll work on my response time," Sanada replies. He narrows his eyes and bends lower to the ground. "Don't hold back!" he shouts to Yanagi.

Yanagi snorts. He throws the ball high into the blinding phosphorous of the flood light. He snaps his body into the serve. Yanagi makes sure to angle the racket the slightest fraction. The ball careens over the net in a flash of yellow. Yukimura shouts. He smashes it back to Yanagi's court as Yanagi throws the next ball up, this time angling his body to the right, for Sanada.

Sanada runs for the ball. He takes it square to the calf with a curse. The ball rolls off the court into the darkening shadows.

Sanada limps back to his spot. Yukimura rolls his eyes. "You are a fool," Yanagi says.

"Shut up," Sanada grumbles. The light may be fading to purple in the east, but the twitch of his lips is no trick of the light.

"Keep your back straighter," Yukimura shouts. "And keep your hips open. Your form looks sloppy."

Yanagi straightens his spine. He leans onto his right foot, with eighty percent of his weight. Then he slams another serve to Yukimura's court.

"Better!" Yukimura runs with the serve. He slugs the ball with a sharp turn of his body. The ball smacks into Sanada's arm—his hands are still open to catch it. "Too slow, Genichirou!" Yukimura sing-songs.

They play this three-way game until the insects swarm too thickly, and the first filmy drops of a misty rain start to fall and bounce off their arms. Sanada drags his leg and cradles his right arm, but he still bends down to gather balls. Yukimura pushes balls around the court, into a neat pile, with one of the wide brooms. Yanagi squats down, picking up each ball and carrying them in the hem of his uniform shirt. Sweat clings to his forehead, and the sides of his face. His muscles are stretched and tested and will dissolve in the bath tonight. Insects hum in his ears. His stomach growls. It will be supper when he gets home.

As they push the ball basket into the storage shed, the sky opens up. Rain pours from the thick clouds. They run through the water, splashing and covering their heads with their hands to make it to the clubhouse.

"Don't need a shower now," Yukimura says. He peels off his soaked t-shirt. Then he yanks off his shorts and underwear, and pads to the showers. Sanada's eyes follow him. And then Sanada and Yanagi do, too.

The cascade of hot water feels good. Yanagi stretches his legs under the shower. His muscles shift under the skin. Sanada is the first to finish. Yukimura rolls his shoulders around and tilts his head back. Shampoo puddles to the floor. "We should watch my video of Andy Roddick from Wimbledon," Yukimura says. "This weekend."

Yanagi makes a noise. He soaps up under his arm pit. "For Federer's serve style?"

Yukimura laughs. "So we can figure out that elbow of yours and use Andy Roddick as an example."

"Of course," Yanagi says.

Yukimura smiles. So does Yanagi—albeit, a fraction sharper.

"We should invite Akaya, too," Yukimura says. He bends at the waist, and wraps his hair up in a towel, turban-style and tucked-in at the back. Naked, he walks back to the lockers.

The water in Yanagi's shower sputters with frigid shocks. He stiffens. Goosepimples break out over his arms and legs. His stomach tightens.

"Why?" Sanada sticks his head around his locker door. He's in the middle of towelling his hair. Then he chucks the towel aside, and shoves his hat down onto the mess of cowlicks and stuck-up strands.

Yukimura throws his towel at Sanada's head. Sanada catches it. "He sounded lonely the last time we saw him. He misses us. It's not like it matters."

Carefully, Yanagi walks back from the showers. He says nothing. He keeps his face still, and his breathing even. Sanada watches him out of the corner of his hat. Yukimura keeps talking, about Wimbledon and Andy Roddick, and how he would love to watch a real Grand Slam one day, and how he will play in a real Grand Slam one day, too. Sanada's face softens as Yukimura goes on. Yanagi pulls on his clothes with deliberate motions, to keep the tremble in his hands from sight.

"We should get ramen," Sanada says.

"Yes," Yukimura says. His stomach howls. He laughs, and pats it.

At the door, as Yukimura locks the clubhouse behind them, Yanagi says, "You two go. I have to be home for dinner tonight."

"You should come!" Yukimura says. "Sanada can pay if you're short."

"No, it's fine," Yanagi lies. His tennis bag cuts into his shoulder, but he doesn't adjust the strap. He stays underneath the eaves of the clubhouse. His umbrella is tucked into his cubby at school. "I'll see you tomorrow at practice."

Yukimura starts to protest again, but Sanada just nods from under his umbrella. "Good night," he mutters. Side by side, they disappear into the murky darkness leading toward the south bus stop. Then, Yanagi looks up into the sky. Rain bounces and beads off his arms. With a frown, Yanagi adjusts his bag onto the other shoulder and runs for the technical high school building. He drips in the entrance lobby. Water puddles at his feet. His sneakers squelch on the linoleum. The lights shine, but there is no one around. Yanagi walks toward his cubby. His shoes echo. And then there is a snuffle. He pauses, and looks around.

No one is there.

Yanagi turns down the row of cubbies. Sticking out from his is a black umbrella. Yanagi grabs it. He turns around to walk back to the exit. A shadow walks out from the corner, straight at him.

Lightning flashes. Kirihara stares at him: his face is a white mask and his eyes are colourless. Thunder claps and the rain pounds harder against the windows. Yanagi tightens his grip on the umbrella. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle with frisson. He takes in a shallow breath. Kirihara is rooted to the spot. The storm crackles around them. Electricity sparks across Yanagi's arms, and behind the black of Kirihara's pupils.

Yanagi waits for Kirihara to move. He waits for that mouth to break into a shrill laugh, or for Kirihara to strike with his arms and slam him into the row of cubbies. He watches Kirihara, and waits for the first movement, the first twitch or sign. Rain pounds at the windows of the school. Cool, damp air whips up the ends of Yanagi's hair. In contrast to his motionless body, Kirihara's hair writhes.

Lightning flashes again. An eerie light illuminates half of Kirihara's face. Yanagi wants to move. He wants to walk past, and walk to the bus stop to go home. Instead, there is a deep, low growl. It takes Yanagi a moment to understand that it is Kirihara, and his lips are moving the slightest amount. But the words come from his throat, like a demon.

"Why do you hate me?"

Why do you hate me? And then he struck, like a snake, out of nowhere, claws raised and slashing at Yanagi, pushing him back into the wall. His eyes were on fire. His skin burned.

And so did Yanagi's erection.

Yanagi can't open his mouth. The air in the room stirs again. Sparks fly off Kirihara's hair. His eyes are glassy. He takes a slow step forward. The step shatters the silence that sluices between them.

"You don't talk to me anymore," Kirihara says in that strange growl. He takes another step. Yanagi straightens his back. The umbrella in his hand is suddenly leaden. His tennis bag is filled with rocks. It slips from his shoulder, down his bicep.

"You don't look at me anymore," Kirihara says. His lip curls into a snarl. He lifts his head. His pupils are white in the lightning flooding the lobby with an ethereal blue glow. Thunder rumbles—too close to count. The floor shakes.

Kirihara takes another step.

The voice, so deep in his throat, is so low Yanagi strains to understand. His vision blurs with the misty air seeping in the school doors from outside. His shoulders are so tense the muscles twitch.

"You don't touch me anymore."

Yanagi wants to open his mouth to deny it. The umbrella drops from his hand. It hits the floor with a rustled thump. The rain muffles the sound of their breathing, but not the little noise in the back of Yanagi's throat. His face is hot—he can't control himself—but his insides are cold and twisted up from the sheen in Kirihara's eyes. Lightning flickers in those eyes, and the vacant look of before changes into something wild, into something more like desperation.

Kirihara's chin trembles. "Sempai…" he mumbles, "I thought you l—"

Finally, Yanagi says, "Stop." He holds his hands up. Kirihara stops in his tracks. His eyes are somewhere distant, his gaze somewhere through the rain-streaked window. "No."

The tennis bag falls to the floor. The distance between them is shrinking. The walls are sinking with shadows between the blasts of thunder. Rain pounds harder. Yanagi's heart pounds harder, too. "No," he says again. But his words are lost in the clap of the storm. The lights flicker and sputter and go dead. Blackness falls over them. They are alone here.

There is a sob from Kirihara. His pale face glows in the flash of lightning. His eyes burn through Yanagi, down through the coils of his belly, and deeper down still. He shakes. Kirihara starts to say, "You hate me—"

This time, Yanagi is the one to reach first. His hands say no as he reaches for Kirihara's face, and cups it up towards his own. He kisses Kirihara hard, with all the twisted, pent-up desire pouring from his body, through his tongue, which slides over Kirihara's lips, teeth, tongue fast and insistent. Kirihara pushes his body against Yanagi's, just as hard. His hands are just as insistent as they pull at Yanagi's uniform shirt. It bunches up. Kirihara's leg twists around Yanagi's. Their teeth clack together. Yanagi groans. Kirihara's tongue fills his mouth. Two hands slide up Yanagi's back. He pushes his hips against Kirihara's hard body. His dick throbs as he rubs, frantic, and kisses harder, faster, deeper until his lungs ache for air.

Yanagi pulls back. Saliva trails between their mouths. He gasps. Kirihara pants. He kisses Yanagi along his jaw. His teeth scrape the skin. His hands push all the way up to Yanagi's shoulders. Fingertips dig in deep into Yanagi's muscles. He sucks in a breath. Kirihara's erection presses into his leg. Lightning cracks outside. Thunder roars as Yanagi lifts his arms, and lets Kirihara yank his shirt off. Then his own fingers are fast and fumble on Kirihara's shirt buttons. Kirihara's mouth trails along his collarbones. Yanagi pushes the shirt away from Kirihara's chest. He bites Kirihara back on the soft skin at the base of his neck. Kirihara shouts something. Yanagi looks up. A red mark pulses on the pale skin.

Their eyes meet again. The blackness of Kirihara's pupils pulls Yanagi in. he leans down. They kiss. Yanagi cups Kirihara's butt. Kirihara twists and wriggles closer. His hands are everywhere on Yanagi's back. His nails scratch up Yanagi's spin. Yanagi hisses. "Renji," Kirihara snarls.

He reaches into his pocket. Something small and square is pressed into Yanagi's palm. He looks down. The light flashes. Rain washes away the sound of his heavy breathing, and the sharp inhale.

"Do it," Kirihara says. His hands push through Yanagi's hair. He bucks his hips against Yanagi's thigh, and a smile spreads across his lips when Yanagi whimpers. Every touch of Kirihara pushes him deeper. Every sensation rips through his body like a knife.

His hands tear the wrapper open. There is no surfacing from this. Kirihara's hands reach down and help. Yanagi bites his lip on a moan. Kirihara bites Yanagi's ear. His teeth pull on the soft skin until Yanagi moans again. "Akaya…" He hates the noises he makes: the grunts, the squeaks, the shuddered breathes. He hates the slippery sound of their mouths together. He hates the shaking in his knees when Kirihara's hands move over his balls.

Their eyes meet in the eerie light of the storm. Through his teeth, Kirihara says, "Do it." He pushes his body against Yanagi's erection. Yanagi's knees start to buckle.

The rain slaps the windows. The howling wind catches Kirihara's breath and the sharp gasp from Yanagi as he pushes inside Kirihara. No data can describe the sensation of being consumed, bodily, by Kirihara. He pushes deeper, tentative until his body takes over. Yanagi squeezes his eyes closed. His heart pounds. Kirihara makes noises, like cries. Yanagi thrusts again and again. The pressure builds in his belly. The sensations explode over his nerves. He gasps and thrusts harder as his body shakes. And he comes, surrounded by the tight heat of Kirihara's body, unable to stop the aftershocks of pleasure that course through his veins.

In the hazy, boneless aftermath, Kirihara takes Yanagi's hand. He wraps it around his dick—still hard, Yanagi thinks—and rubs until he climaxes, too. Kirihara sobs into his own fist that he stuffed into his mouth. His body bucks with orgasm, then he is replete against Yanagi's chest. The storm has stopped, but the rain still patters on the windows. Kirihara's fingers skitter over Yanagi's shoulder. Then, up to Yanagi's mouth. Yanagi sucks on them. He tastes the bitterness of Kirihara, and the salty sweat, too.

He looks around the darkened lobby. Their shadows play games on the far wall. Kirihara leans up. His lips part. Yanagi kisses him slow and soft. His hand slides over Kirihara's hip bone. "Akaya," he whispers.

Kirihara's stomach growls. He forces a little laugh into Yanagi's armpit.

They go for ramen. Kirihara is quiet on the bus. He doesn't sleep. He looks everywhere but at Yanagi—at the flashing lights of an arcade, at the blurry white of a train rumbling across the tracks, at the dance of rain droplets on the windows of the bus. They walk from the bus stop to the shopping arcade side-by-side. Greasy food smells trail with them. Yanagi's stomach scratches at his sides. They settle on a ramen joint next to a bra shop. Kirihara snickers under his breath at the display of mannequins. His cheeks are flushed when he glances at Yanagi. Then he looks away just as quickly.

Yanagi stares at the steam rising from his ramen. He pushes the fish cake to the side with his chopsticks. Under the table, Kirihara's legs brush his. Kirihara stops mid-slurp. His face reddens. He clears his throat, and sucks up the mouthful of noodles. Yanagi sticks his leg out, too, until his ankle rubs Kirihara's calf.

On the way to the train station the rain picks up again. Yanagi holds his umbrella over the two of them—one frown from Kirihara and Yanagi knows his umbrella was left somewhere at the junior high. On the platform, they pause. Kirihara looks at Yanagi. Salarymen rush around them. Everything outside this small bubble is a blur of colours and forms. Time seems to slow as Kirihara opens his mouth.

"I'll…see you tomorrow?" he asks.

Yanagi's train pulls up to platform thirteen. He looks from Kirihara, to the train. The doors open with the cheerful melody. Yanagi opens his mouth, but salarymen step between them. Kirihara shoves past a briefcase. Yanagi's answer is lost as he steps onto the train. As the train doors close behind Yanagi, Kirihara is lost in a crowd of faces.

***

There is a message from Sadaharu on his cellphone. And a second from fUjI. There is a message from Kirihara, too, sent seven minutes ago. Yanagi sets his school bag down by his desk. He sits down on the edge of his bed. His muscles have a new soreness in strange places. He falls to the mattress with a sigh.

His lips curve.

He closes his cellphone and turns it off for the night.

***

FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 3/6

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 22:58:42 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 2 (3/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

School begins in the rain. Moisture clings to Yanagi's arms and dulls the ironed crispness of his new uniform. He holds his umbrella high at the bus stop. Down the road, the number 43 bus splashes through traffic. The seats are filled with high school students. Yanagi doesn't remember them looking as big or as mean as he did three years ago on the first day of junior high. The faces are vaguely familiar and not, at the same time. His tie chokes his neck. He stands close to the front door near a group of junior girls. They cluster together and show off painted nails. They look the least ominous.

Two stops on, Yagyuu gets on the bus. He mumbles good morning. Niou is right behind him. He is wide-eyed, although his hair is plastered to his face and black roots are showing.

There isn't room to read the morning paper, so Yanagi pulls out his iPod. Hirahara Ayaka croons in his ears. She almost blocks out the inane chatter of the girls nearby. He watches Rikkai loom above the red brick gates of campus. At the Minami-Rikkai Dai stop, the girls get off the bus, all headed for the technical high school building. Yanagi closes his eyes. He leans forward, to follow them to the walkway. Niou stands in the way of the door. Yanagi doesn't move from the spot until the Kita-Rikkai Dai stop is announced, five minutes later and at the complete opposite end of the campus, where the academic high school is.

"What class do you have first?" Yanagi asks Yagyuu. Yagyuu says mathematics, with Niou. Inside, Yanagi smiles. "Aa, I have literature."

Yagyuu adjusts his glasses. "That's at the other end of the building."

This time, Yanagi does smile. He nods and says he'll see them at lunch. As soon as Yagyuu and Niou round a corner toward their classroom, Yanagi makes for the main doors. He walks across the campus. Spring is thick in his nose; it makes him sniffle a little. Pollen dances on the breeze, stirring through the sakura trees that have begun to bud. He takes the long route—past the high school basketball courts—rather than walk by the junior high tennis courts as the crow flies. He pulls out his timetable. Home ec (cooking), then tea ceremony and creative writing. After lunch is gym. Yanagi frowns. Sanada and Yukimura will be in that class, shared between the two schools. The tea from breakfast bubbles in his stomach. Yanagi tells himself he'll deal with that as it comes.

He walks into the technical high school. The façade is near identical to the academic building: red brick, rectangular and broken up by low rows of windows overlooking the campus. His cubby is marked with his name. Yanagi slips his sneakers into it, and changes into the white school shoes. His shoulders feel heavy. If he'd worked harder, if he'd bothered with homework, if he tried to care, he could have been elsewhere. He purses his lips, and picks up his bag.

As he walks up the stairs toward the home ec wing, his stomach knots. He glances over his shoulders. The students here have the same uniforms. There is no one he recognizes, except for a few faces from junior high—acquaintances, project mates, no one close.

He steps inside home ec room 3. At the table second from the back, Marui sits with Jackal. They hunch over Marui's phone. Time stills. Yanagi's throat is thick. His footsteps slow. Marui looks up, and Yanagi freezes.

"Oi! Yanagi! Over here!" Marui waves frantically. Jackal lifts his head with a big smile as Yanagi nods once. He sits down at the table, perched on the edge of a tall stool.

"Didn't think you'd be going here," Jackal says.

Yanagi says nothing. He pulls out a notebook from his school bag. Marui shakes his finger.

"No no," he says. "No notes in home ec! We are here for the atmosphere!" He sniffs the air and leans back with a happy sigh. "Do you smell that? The sweet smell of the cookies we'll be baking today."

"And eating," Jackal says.

Marui grins.

Chalk instructions for shortbread are on the blackboard. Marui taps his temple. Yanagi raises his eyebrows. Jackal just laughs a little when Marui says, "This genius has it all in here, now."

Yanagi eases into the kitchen. Marui takes over the lead, swiping ingredients from the fridge straight from Jackal's hands. Yanagi levels a measuring cup of flour. Marui clicks his tongue and does it all over again for him. "Too precise," Marui says. "Although baking is like science, sometimes the best things need to be a little more…" He strokes his chin. "Approximate."

Jackal leans close to Yanagi. "Just don't bring up last week's sakura mocha cake flop." Something smacks him upside the head. He winces. Marui looms with a wooden spoon. He narrows his eyes.

"We do not speak of that," Marui says. He returns to the bowl of shortbread. "Jackal—oven!"

Jackal double-checks the temperature: 180°C. He flashes a thumbs-up.

"Yanagi!" Marui claps his hands. Yanagi looks at him. A smirk slides across Marui's face. He motions to the kitchen to the left of theirs. A girl squeals and brushes her chest. Flour covers the front of her apron, and her uniform shirt underneath, too. Her breasts jiggle as she wipes the floor off. Jackal and Marui give each other a look, and then they stare back at the girl.

"And that," Marui whispers, "is the real reason we all came to the technical school."

***

"So that's why you weren't in English class with Genichirou," Yukimura says.

Yanagi says, "Hn." He picks his book up off the grass. He brushes away specks of dirt. The rice from today's cafeteria lunch special sticks to the roof of his mouth. He swallows. "It's of no one's concern," he says.

Niou snickers. "You dunce, data-master."

"Speaking of idiots…" Yagyuu clears his throat. Crows cackle in the willow trees sheltering the gardens of the high school beautification club. Something stirs in the air, to whip Yanagi's hair against the shell of his ear. He shivers a little. His dick stiffens even before he turns around to see Kirihara running toward them.

Yukimura and Jackal are waving at him. But Kirihara is looking straight ahead. Those black eyes burn through Yanagi's chest. He remembers fragments of another dream—from last night? Or was it last week?—when those eyes ate through his skin, through his muscle, all the way to his bones, like acid. Kirihara cackled. He slithered along Yanagi's belly, a snake with human hands. His tongue flickered over Yanagi's face, burning where the forked saliva brushed him. But the whole while, Yanagi groaned through his teeth. The pain was pleasure. He bucked against the slippery scales. He shuddered at the sharp fangs that sank into his neck. Hot blood oozed from his pores as come sputtered from his orgasm.

Yanagi pushes the thoughts away. He nods once to Kirihara, and doesn't meet his eye.

There is a sliver of space between Yukimura and Yanagi, enough for Yanagi's bag and Yukimura's lunch. Yanagi moves his foot into the patch of grass. Kirihara inserts himself anyway, pushing aside the bags. He sits down on top of Yanagi's toes. His eyes flash. Yanagi would dig his toes into the bony hip. It would only encourage Kirihara, who wiggles around as he pulls a squashed Familymart bento from a plastic bag. He jams a straw into a carton of strawberry milk.

"Feeling small again?" he asks, with a laugh and a creamy moustache on his lips.

That afternoon just after Christmas, after the phone call from Sadaharu that lasted forty-five minutes and two seconds. Kirihara, still smarting from the rejection from the Invitational final cut, was on his knees in Yanagi's bedroom. His mouth—finally useful for once—was sliding over Yanagi's dick. Come still splattered his face, after, that Kirihara grimaced at and wiped away with the back of his hand.

"Nasty, senpai," he muttered.

Yanagi had sunk to the floor next to Kirihara. His chest rose and fell as he tried to calm his breath. His legs were boneless underneath his body. Kirihara traced smiley faces over his knees, and circles all over his thighs.

Yanagi closed his eyes, and leaned over to kiss Kirihara's belly.

Kirihara was right. It was nasty, except for the mewls Kirihara made, and the way his hands pulled at Yanagi's scalp as he gasped, "More! Ngh! More! Harder!"

Now, the hint of a smirk plays at Kirihara's lips as he licks the milk moustache away. Only Sanada notices, with a dark look from under his hat before Yukimura turns to say something and his attention shifts. Kirihara talks to no one—and everyone—telling them about the classes he's got (that they all had last year) and the homework he's been assigned (that they all did last year) and the tennis tryouts, on Wednesday.

"So you guys can come watch me pick out the players," he says. He sucks up the last of his milk as loud as he can. Then he blows up the carton, rolls it under his foot, and stomps down hard. Yanagi's eye twitches. Sanada rolls his eyes.

"That's very kind of you to think of us, Kirihara-kun," Yagyuu says. Kirihara nods. The sarcasm: lost.

"I can come cheer you guys on," he says. He prods Yanagi in the side. "At your try-outs."

"We don't need a cheerleader," Sanada grumbles.

Kirihara mouths the word asshole at Yanagi.

It is almost the same as junior high school, except Kirihara runs a different direction at the sound of the bell. He disappears across the tennis courts. Only then does Yanagi join Marui and Jackal, walking back to the technical school. He's in the stairwell when his phone hums again. Yanagi glances out the corners of his eyes. Students rush past him on the stairs, pushing him onto the landing, against the window looking out toward the ocean.

The rain, which let up over lunch, hovers as a dark cloud to the southwest. Yanagi can taste the nitrogen in the air. He flips his phone out. Even before he's read the characters, he frowns.

i'll meet u after skool by the jh tennis courts :)))))

***

From the bus, Yanagi watches the lone figure huddled under a translucent umbrella. Rain washes the tennis courts into a blur as the bus accelerates, and pulls away from the curb.

"Renji?" Sanada asks.

Yanagi shifts his eyes to Sanada. "Do you think Nishiki will be fukubuchou this year?"

***

"Funny story," Fuji says. "I was walking to Seibu on Monday and Kirihara showed up at Ikebukuro station." He chuckles. "He wanted to play a game with me. He seemed really angry. Do you know anything about that?"

"How did you get this number?" Yanagi asks. Fuji starts to laugh again—just a breath. The single noise sends a grating claw to Yanagi's ears.

"He screamed on the courts that he'd beat me, but his game was off." Fuji pauses. "Too bad. It was sorta fun playing in the rain like that. I hadn't played in that weather in a long time, not since Echizen left."

Yanagi hangs up. His hands shake as he scrolls through the setting options. Block number. Yes, okay.

He picks up his cup of tea with a scowl. In the kitchen, his mother moves around. The sound of the rice cooker beeps. It'll be supper soon.

This won't be the last time Fuji phones.

***

Kaidoh stands in the corner of the elevator. He tries not to look at anyone. He's the only boy, crammed in with six giggling junior high schools. His face is on fire. The girls keep turning to him, then glancing away with sly smiles. He hisses under his breath. The elevator moves slowly. The floors ding, but no one gets off. Kaidoh scowls. An old lady shuffles on to the elevator on the fourth floor. The girls squeeze tighter to make room. Someone's bum brushes Kaidoh's thigh. He stiffens, and tries to push his body as far into the elevator wall as it will go. When he exhales, the girl's bum bumps into his leg again. He holds his breath.

Finally, the top floor dings. The girls pile out. Then Kaidoh slinks behind them. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries to look cool and distracted as he pays for the admission. He pushes the door open to the smell of antiseptic, and meaty cat food.

Crawling around the floor, over carpeted planks and perched on shelves are dozens and dozens of cats.

Kaidoh shivers. He nearly melts to the ground into a liquefied mess when the first cat walks past. He reaches out to pet the cat. It bristles up the fur on its back as Kaidoh scratches its warm spine. He crouches down to approach other cats. When he turns, another cat hops off a shelf and wanders past. He pets them. He picks them up and cuddles them to his chest. He snaps his fingers, but the cats ignore that. They lounge and stare at Kaidoh with disinterest, until he gives them a scratch behind the ears, or under the chin. Kaidoh's insides are filled to the brim with warm, fuzzy feelings when a long white Persian meows at him. A lump lodges in his throat. He picks the cat up, and thinks, I want to take you home!

But he puts the cat back down with a sigh. His cellphone buzzes. Inui-senpai probably wants to help him with his training runs tonight. Kaidoh swallows the lump. He reaches for his cellphone. Instead of reading the message, he leans down next to a sleeping calico. Kaidoh glances around. The girls have left. The worker in the apron is busy with a comic book. Kaidoh flashes a smile and takes a shot. He hums to himself as he steps back on the elevator to leave.

On the fifth floor, the doors open.

"Kaidoh?"

Kaidoh blinks. Behind a large bag with a big yellow POISON symbol, Fuji-senpai smiles. Kaidoh nods. Fuji asks how he is.

"What were you doing here?" Fuji asks. "Nekobukuro?" He winks. Kaidoh's face is hot all over again. Sweat beads on his upper lip. Fuji laughs. "I won't tell anyone your secret."

"What are you doing, senpai?" Kaidoh mumbles.

Fuji looks at his bag. "Oh this? I needed some special brand fertilizer for my new cactus. I went to the store in Shibuya yesterday, but they were sold out. So I came to Ikebukuro today to pick it up."

Kaidoh nods. The third floor dings. Kaidoh and Fuji inch into the corner to make room for a middle-aged man in a hat. "How's tennis?" Fuji asks.

Kaidoh says fine.

"Inui's helping you out?"

Kaidoh nods.

"I decided to try something new this year," Fuji says. "The school newspaper should be fun, ne?"

The first floor dings. Fuji shifts the bag of fertilizer in his arms. Kaidoh stands and waits for the ground floor level. The elevator opens to a cluster of people, and through the main doors of the store, Kaidoh can see the flashing lights and flowing crowds of people on the street. He mumbles "See ya" to Fuji, but Fuji blocks his exit.

Fuji lifts his chin. "Ne, Kaidoh? You have cat hairs all over your shirt." He laughs as he walks past Kaidoh and disappears out the front doors.

***

Kirihara sends a message: Practiss is at 4! :DD

At lunch, Kirihara finds them spread out under the willow tree by the high school basketball courts. He sits between Niou and Yanagi and unpacks a school bento box. Kirihara holds out a piece of konnyaku. "Senpai?"

Niou narrows his eyes at Yanagi. Kirihara wiggles the konnyaku at the end of his chopsticks. "Do you want it?"

His own lunch is the school special—omerice—that he has scraped off most of the ketchup sauce from. Yanagi gives a slight nod. The konnyaku is deposited on top of his omerice. Niou ruffles Kirihara's hair, which makes Kirihara shout and drop his chopsticks.

"Where's my piece?" Niou asks.

Kirihara mutters under his breath that Niou has his own lunch. Sly eyes follow Yanagi as he lifts the konnyaku to his mouth. Niou flops back on the grass with a grunt. He covers his eyes with Yagyuu's novel. Yagyuu frowns, and says nothing.

"Try-outs are at four," Kirihara says. He looks at Yukimura. He looks at Sanada. Then he looks at Yanagi the longest. He pulls at a chunk of grass. The shreds scatter over Niou's knee.

"What are you having them do?" Yukimura asks.

"Er…" Kirihara scratches the back of his head. He laughs. Yanagi pushes the konnyaku around his mouth. Laps. Swings. Lunges. Shuttle-runs. Round-robins. Weed out the weak.

"Uh…I guess they can play round robin games?" Kirihara says. "And the top seven make the team." He offers a smile. Sanada scowls at him. Kirihara cringes.

"Be authoritative, Akaya," Yukimura says. "Or they'll never take you seriously."

"Okay?" Kirihara laughs again. Sanada smacks him across the back of the head. Kirihara ducks down with a yelp.

"We'll come watch, but we won't help you out," Yukimura says.

Kirihara nods. Yanagi swallows the konnyaku. When Kirihara looks at him, Yanagi looks down at his food. But he can feel Kirihara's stare crawling across his skin.

***

Art class is the last of the day. Yukimura comes over to the technical building to paint with Jackal and Yanagi. "I was allowed to take art as an elective," he says. He waves the paint brush in the air as he speaks. Paint flecks splatter across the front of his smock. His canvas is primed and covered with streaks of purples and umber. Two dark blobs stand on the horizon in the painting. Yanagi doesn't ask who they are.

His own canvas is a wash of green. Yanagi can taste the grease of the paints on his tongue. The smell is thick in the studio. He reaches for the tube of red, bright like blood.

"What are you working on?" Yukimura asks.

Yanagi says it's a nature scene—from a haiku. "Winter."

"Not spring?"

Yanagi says nothing. Paint dribbles down his hand. He keeps his eyes open. The canvas is the same colour as the courts that day. The paint staining his skin is the same colour as Sadaharu's blood. He picks up the brush. His hands shake. The brush smears across the canvas in one angry, red line. Then it drops to the floor, and rolls across the linoleum.

"Modern fan?" Jackal asks. He laughs and hands Yanagi his brush back.

"No," Yanagi says.

"Oh."

"Excuse me." Yanagi walks out into the hallway. He pulls out his cellphone. Sadaharu whispers.

"Renji."

"What are you doing after school?"

There is a pause. Voices fill the background. There is a screech from Kikumaru, and a frantic response from Oishi. Then Sadaharu says, "Kaidoh is holding try-outs at the junior high school and I am going to watch them."

"I see," Yanagi says.

"The try-outs will be finished no later than six."

"Hn," Yanagi says.

Kikumaru screeches again, and Sadaharu whispers that he has to go. "I'll phone back in twenty-two minutes when class is done."

Yanagi hangs up. He purses his lips.

As Yanagi walks back into the classroom, Yukimura looks up from his easel. He raises his eyebrows and says nothing. Yanagi keeps his face even. He paints waving branches off the red streak on his canvas until the final bell rings.

"Looks Fauvist," Jackal says. Yukimura nods and washes his brushes in the sink. He offers to wash Yanagi's, too. Yanagi screws the lids back onto the paints. Jackal hangs up their smocks on the hooks on the far wall.

They walk to the shoe cubbies. Sanada is already waiting. He looks up. Yukimura smiles. Yanagi changes his shoes slowly. Marui races through, flings his cubby open, toes off his school shoes and shoves his sneakers on to run out the door.

Yanagi adjusts the strap of his bag. Yukimura and Sanada stare at him.

"I won't be going," Yanagi says. "I have an assignment due tomorrow."

Sanada stares at him with black eyes. Yanagi doesn't look away, not even when Sanada lifts his chin and flares his nostrils. Sanada snorts. "See you tomorrow," he says.

Yanagi nods. He waits until all of them have left. Only then does he walk to the tennis courts. Leaves drift across the baselines. Yanagi drops his bags. He pulls out his racket, and a canister of balls. On the other side of the chain link fence, students walk toward the bus stop. Yanagi throws the ball hard above his head. He lifts his elbow, and slams the racket into the serve.

The ball crashes into the fence. The noise vibrates all around. Yanagi pulls out a second ball, and throws it even higher into the blue.

***

Sanada comes over. Yanagi lets him inside. His mom asks if Sanada wants some tea. She carries a tray with two mugs and a plate of bean paste cookies to Yanagi's bedroom, and sets them on his desk.

"Akaya has good players this season," Sanada says.

Yanagi breathes through his nose. He hums, vaguely, and blows on his tea.

"Urayama has a decent volley," Sanada says. "If he works at it."

Yanagi sips his tea. He looks at Sanada over the rim. "He has stamina like Akaya."

Sanada grunts. He sets his mug down. "Akaya asked about you."

Yanagi opens his mouth. "I had an assign—"

"I told him that," Sanada says. "You owe me."

Yanagi swallows. The words don't come to his tongue. The room is hot. He nods a little. The cup shakes in his hands when he sets it down on the table by his bed. Sanada watches him. The numbers on the digital clock change. Outside, a crow caws from an apartment balcony somewhere close. Yanagi listens to it flutter away.

"Genichirou…"

"I don't want to know," Sanada says.

Yanagi nods. His face is on fire. His shoulders are so tight that pain stabs across the muscles. Sanada drinks his tea. The numbers continue to change on the clock.

"Do you want to play a set?" Sanada asks. He grabs his cap and Yanagi grabs his racket.

***

As he lies in the dark Sanada's words replay in his ears. Yanagi rolls onto his side. Three minutes have passed. He closes his eyes.

I don't want to know…

Yanagi shakes his head. He sits up on the edge of his mattress. He goes to the bathroom to piss. He shuffles into the kitchen. The dishwasher hums. He pours himself a cold tea from the fridge, then he shuffles back to bed. Nebulous light from the city seeps in between the curtains. The taste sits in his mouth. His heart flutters in his chest. He sighs again. Yanagi thinks of tennis. He flexes his fingers. Tomorrow afternoon—no, today¬—he'll be playing hard against senpais to make the team. His heart thumps heavier. Doki doki. Doki doki.

He leans over. The clock reads 2:43. Yanagi frowns. A car passes by the street outside. Light streams through the curtains and moves across the walls of his bedroom. Yanagi thinks of haikus, of willows draped in the sweet spring breeze. He thinks about Kirihara sitting under the willow tree at school. Kirihara licks his lips. He asks if Yanagi will be there to watch the junior high try-outs.

Yanagi opens his eyes. His face burns. His insides are tight.

I don't want to know…

He reaches for his cellphone. Sadaharu called twice. Kirihara messaged three times. Yanagi deletes the notifications. He opens a new message and starts to scroll for Sanada's number. But he stops. He rolls back onto his side. His legs are heavy with exhaustion. His eyes are wide open. He watches the shadows move in his bedroom until the first pinkish sunlight licks the curtains, then he gets up and drowns himself in a shower.

The morning newspaper sits on the table, waiting for him. Yanagi opens it over toast and salad. His cellphone buzzes: there's a message from Sadaharu.

Based on last year's statistics from the Rikkai Dai high school team, you have an 89.2% likelihood.

Yanagi closes his cellphone. He laughs under his breath. He picks at his rice, then he types a message in response. And yours?

He turns a page of the paper to the sports section. In his pocket his cellphone vibrates against his leg.

85.4%

At the bottom of the page, there is a two paragraph article about Japan's new rising tennis star, Tezuka Kunimitsu, who is training for a debut at the Wimbledon boys this June.

Yanagi rips the article out. He folds it and stuffs it into his pocket.

At the south gate bus stop, Yanagi gets off. Sunlight bounces off the rooftops of the low rise buildings and shops surrounding the Rikkai campus. Yanagi walks through the brick gate. Ahead of him, by a bed of blooming red and yellow tulips, Sanada and Yukimura walk next to each other. Yanagi jogs ahead, but neither of them turns. They each have a Starbucks in one hand. Yukimura laughs at something Sanada says.

I don't want to know, Yanagi thinks.

Then Sanada glances backward. Yanagi raises an eyebrow. Sanada looks away, toward the tulips. Yukimura waves and calls Yanagi's name. "Aren't they beautiful?" he asks. He nods to the flowers. Yanagi says of course.

Yukimura rolls his eyes. He punches Yanagi in the arm. Then he punches Sanada in the arm, too. "They're Dutch bulbs," he says. "The high school beautification president told me that they were a gift three years ago when there was a school exchange." He squats down onto his heels and cups one of the flowers in his palm. "They're fringed," he says.

"Aa," Sanada says. Under his cap, he has a look. His forehead is scrunched up.

"Not that either of you would notice tulip varieties," Yukimura says.

"Indeed," Yanagi says.

Yukimura rolls his eyes again. "Well," he says. He holds up a key chain with a single brass key hanging. The metal catches the sunlight. Yukimura grins. "Nishiki gave it to me the other day. Wanna check out the ball machines?"

Yanagi looks at Sanada. Yukimura is already three steps ahead of them, unlocking the gate to the courts.

***

He spends lunch time in the library. Tucked at the end of an aisle of books, between stacks, the librarians don't notice Yanagi sitting on the floor with a bento on one side and a novel on the other. He keeps quiet, and sips his Pocari Sweat slowly. He has a second bottle in his bag that he'll drink before the try-outs. Sadaharu phoned last night, after he got back home from a two hour stretch of playing with Sanada and Yukimura.

"You want to keep your ions up," Sadaharu said. "I have a special—"

"No," Yanagi said.

Sadaharu offered to come over and drop it off. Yanagi said no to that, too. He returns to his novel: Natsume Soseki is lamenting moderization, and a long lost woman again. She was the love of his youth, the protagonist is now old and withered and hears her voice, sees her sweet face in his dreams. Yanagi thinks about his dreams, and the demons he sees. Kirihara is anything but a sweet spring blossom. He shreds the image with his sharp grin. He rips it apart with his high-pitched laughter. Yanagi leans against the wall. Knowing that Sanada knows something twists his insides. He wants to say something. He wants to ask what and how. But he doesn't move from the spot. His body is heavy and his shoulders pressed down. Yanagi rubs his temples where his head starts to throb.

"Eh…"

Yanagi looks up at the noise. Niou stands at the end of the aisle. The light eclipses his face, but not the smirk on his lips.

"There you are," Niou says. "Data Master."

Yanagi closes his book.

"Not studying your data?" Niou asks. He crouches down to Yanagi's level.

Yanagi taps his forehead. "If you don't already know it in here, it's useless," he says.

Niou makes a noise. He doesn't make any move to leave when Yanagi reaches for his bag.

"What do you want?" Yanagi asks.

Niou shrugs. "Just checking where you were."

Yanagi says nothing. He knows who asked Niou. He can see the grass stains on Niou's knees. They look—and smell—fresh.

He stands up. Five minutes are left before the bell for classes. "You should get back to your building," Yanagi says. "Unless you want a detention and to miss the try-outs."

Niou snorts. "Puri! Not like I'll make the team anyway."

Yanagi raises his eyebrows. He steps past Niou, who stands up too. Yanagi looks down his nose at Niou. Niou hides behind a fringe of bleached hair. A pout plays on his lips.

"With a defeatist attitude, you'll never make it," Yanagi says.

Yanagi can hear Niou swear under his breath as he leaves the library.

***

A message sits on his cellphone all afternoon.

During art class, his phone vibrates in his pocket with a phone call. Yukimura looks at Yanagi. Yanagi fumbles in his pocket to turn it off.

"Akaya said to tell you good luck," Yukimura says.

Yanagi says, "Hn."

***

The clay crunches under Yanagi's sneakers as he steps onto the green. He takes a deep breath. Yukimura asks if he's nervous. Yanagi looks at him through slitted eyes. His lips twitch. Yukimura laughs and says he feels the same. Let's just get it over with.

He's taller than most of the senior players, though they have two years on him. The seniors strut and swagger and point and laugh at the group of freshmen. Until someone says, "That's Yukimura and Sanada and Yanagi. Those three."

Yanagi straightens his back. He looks around the courts and steps up to the schedule posted on the door of the clubhouse. His name is listed for court D, playing against Saitoh. Sanada is listed to play Kawaharada on the adjacent court. Yukimura will play Nishiki on A.

So Yagyuu will make the team, Yanagi thinks. Yagyuu glances toward him. Yanagi nods once. Yagyuu's blank expression hardens into his game face. His lips curl into an almost-smile when the senpai playing him approaches. Yagyuu's eyes, though, are cold.

"Are you Yanagi?" A player walks up to Yanagi. He's shorter, but stockier. He twirls his racket around his wrists. "I'm playing you. Nakamura."

Yanagi drops his head a little. "Senpai," he says.

"You can serve first," Nakamura says.

Yanagi thanks him with a smile. He bounces the ball and watches Nakamura across the net. Games are playing all around. Balls thwacking against racket, grunts as players run, points called out by refs, and cheers from the stands behind Yanagi. Some of the players have girlfriends. There's probably a team manager, and a part-time cheerleading squad of girls with pom-poms and pigtails in their hair. Nakamura glances over Yanagi's shoulder. He laughs as Yanagi rolls his shoulders. Another senpai walks past Nakamura. "Someone's girlfriend just showed up," Nakamura says.

The other senpai stops to get a look. Yanagi concentrates on the ball in his palm. He slams it against the court. It bounces back, high. He purses his lips. Nakamura and his friend are still talking.

"That's the kid who killed some guy on the junior high circuit last year," the friend says. "Brained him, and the ambulance didn't get there in time!"

Yanagi grabs the ball. The felt is hot on his palm. The grip of his racket is sweaty in his left hand.

"Yukimura and them all thought it was hilarious."

"It is funny."

"Good thing he's not playing here yet."

"Naw, we'll be gone before that guy ever makes it to high school. He'd probably slam balls into our balls. Fucking shorty."

They both laugh. Something clatters next to Yanagi. He looks down to see his racket by his feet. Kirihara calls his name from the stands. Nakamura notices with a smirk.

"That your friend?" he asks.

Yanagi blinks. His heart pounds against his ribs, hot and hard and heavy. He picks his racket up and walks to the baseline. In his other hand, he squeezes the ball hard. The rubber pushes back. He has no data on this, except for Kirihara. He looks back up to Nakamura, who smirks and sways from side to side to return the serve. Yanagi squeezes the ball harder, until it burns his fingernails. He breathes through his nose, slowly. Deliberately.

Keep your elbow a little higher, Yukimura's voice reminds him.

Yanagi throws the ball up into the air. He rocks back on his ankle and focuses completely on his racket. He lifts his elbow just before the ball hits the gut. He clenches his jaw as the ball strains and veers to the edge of his racket. Hard as he can, he slugs the ball to Nakamura's right side. He follows through too wide in order to keep himself balanced. The ball pushed back hard.

He never considered that variable before. With Kirihara, he concentrated on the trajectories and speed. For an instant, Yanagi thinks of Kirihara's muscles as his own forearms tingle from the shot.

And Nakamura runs right. He's still smiling as the ball jerks back to the left. An object in motion remains in motion: Nakamura plows into the player on the court next to him. Yanagi's knuckle serve slams into the court, just inside of the single's line. Nakamura and the other player start to shout at each other. There's blood and dust and the wash of clouds overhead changes. The light shifts. Yanagi grabs another ball from his pocket and waits.

He glances over his shoulder. In the corner of his eye, Kirihara is watching. He's perched on the edge of the top row of benches. His eyes are black and big and they burn into Yanagi's chest. Kirihara presses his knuckles together, and his chin to them. Then, he grazes his teeth over the top of one knuckle. All the while, staring at Yanagi.

Yanagi's dick swells in his shorts. He shifts and waits for Nakamura to brush the dust from his knees and nod for the next serve. This time, Yanagi throws the ball up straight. He lets himself fall back into familiarity with a volley-style serve: fast and hard, but easier to control. Nakamura falls for the play and rallies back a few times. He's running from side to side. Yanagi pulls the shots toward himself. He pivots on the spot. It's no Tezuka Zone, but he can calculate Nakamura's style from here. Nakamura favours shots from the right: more than two out of every three. He's right-handed. Yanagi moves to his left, one step further with each shot he makes. Nakamura volleys a ball with the angle even deeper. Yanagi slams another shot back. The ball zooms across the court. Nakamura's hands tighten on his racket.

Smash, Yanagi thinks. He dashes to the net as Nakamura jumps into the shot with his racket raised. The ball is fast and hard and Yanagi twists his wrist. The racket face tilts at just the angle to fling the ball back over Nakamura. It flashes in a tight ellipse, and bounces behind his left shoulder.

"Jeez," Nakamura grumbles. He narrows his eyes.

Yanagi raises his eyebrows. "Have you had enough yet?" he asks.

"Just serve the damn ball!" Nakamura says.

Yanagi throws the ball above his head.

***

He wins the set 6-4.

And a spot on the regulars.

But he's dripping sweat by the fourth game. Nakamura's offensive game is stronger, and lower than Yanagi prefers. His knees ache and the bones grind against each other the longer and lower he has to bend down to make shots: drop shots, lobs, even a smash or three. The burn of his lungs feels good. Yanagi prefers not to think about the last time he played this hard. It reminds him that Kirihara is crouched in the stands, watching and pumping his fist whenever Yanagi takes another point.

When the referee calls the match, Yanagi can hear the loud shout of his name behind himself. "Yanagi-senpai! Yanagi-SENPAI!"

Yanagi grabs his sweat towel. He closes his eyes for an instant under the terrycloth. He chucks the towel back into his bag. Nakamura's hand shakes when they meet at the net.

"Tell your friend it's high schoolers only," he says.

Yanagi's throat is tight. His mouth is dry. "He's not my friend."

Nakamura snorts. "Whatever." He walks away. The clouds are thicker and darker now. Heavy ozone hangs over them, and a portentous breeze slides cool over Yanagi's arms. Some of the courts are empty—including Yukimura's. Yanagi smiles to himself, until he sees Kirihara hop the stands. He moves toward Yanagi with a lopsided smile. His tie is too loose and his pants hang a little lower on his hips than they should. A studded white belt holds them up. Yanagi can see the band of Kirihara's underpants. Something hot and mercurial pools between his legs.

"Ne, senpai, nice game crushing your senpai like that," Kirihara says. He starts to laugh. It's forced. The sound grates Yanagi's ears. His eye twitches. Kirihara's eyes are bright and big. His pink tongue slides to the corner of his mouth.

Yanagi picks up his tennis bag. Behind the adjacent court, Yukimura is walking over. There's a sweat towel slung around his neck and an easy smile on his face. Kirihara turns around to look. Then he leans toward Yanagi and opens his mouth.

Before Kirihara can say anything, Yanagi narrows his eyes. In a thin, cold voice, he says, "Go home, Akaya. You don’t belong here." The tone is so low that Yanagi doesn't realize he is speaking until Kirihara's throat bobs. The laughter falters. He tries to say something, but Yanagi walks past him. The air stirs as he moves by Kirihara. It smells of grass and milk and Kirihara's sweat, Kirihara's soap, Kirihara.

He's gone, swift and silent for once, like one of Sanada's Fu shots.

"Akaya didn't even say hi," Yukimura says. He tightens one of the weights on his wrists. "Guess he doesn't want to come for ramen with us."

Yanagi doesn't answer. They walk along the edge of a court where two senpais rally back and forth. The ball sings. Their sneakers pound the pavement. Yukimura pauses at the bench. He sits down on the ground and starts a rep of crunches.

Yanagi stands over him. "So?"

Red-faced, with his head between his elbows, Yukimura says, "6-1."

Yanagi raises an eyebrow.

"I dropped the first game," Yukimura says. He exhales and twists his body, to work the side abdominals. Yanagi can't be bothered to keep count.

"How unlike you."

"Hn…well Nishiki's developed his game since we last saw him. I had to feel it out first."

"And so you dropped one whole game." Yanagi clicks his tongue. "Terrible."

Yukimura sits up. His face breaks into a grin. He laughs. "I know." Yanagi helps him with toe stretches. He pushes on Yukimura's back as Yukimura talks about his game, his shots, and the roster for this coming season. He sounds like a captain all over again. Yukimura pants. Through his teeth, he says, "I miss being buchou. I'm jealous of Akaya—ow! Renji!"

Yanagi blinks. His hands slipped. He pushed too hard. Yukimura swats him away. He twists his back to the right, and then to the left. When he stands up, his shirt rides up. There is a silvery scar running parallel with his spine. Yanagi swallows.

He doesn't need to apologize. He looks up to see Sanada limping toward them. Yukimura's face slackens from the grimace as he jogs to Sanada. "Are you all right?" he asks. He grabs Sanada's racket. "What—"

"I won," Sanada says.

"Obviously," Yanagi says. He looks at Sanada's left foot. Sanada leans on his right. With a frown, he accepts the arm Yukimura slings around his shoulder. "What move were you trying to do? Rai?"

Sanada nods. "Nishiki's ball was stronger than I thought."

"Rolled it?" Yukimura asks.

Sanada nods again. "It's fine," he grumbles.

Yukimura yanks his arm away. Sanada stumbles a little. Yanagi says nothing. Yukimura says that's good, because practices for regulars start Monday. The wind shifts and soughs through the trees hedging the courts. A couple matches are still on, including Yagyuu's two courts down. Yanagi lifts his head to watch. Wetness splashes his arm. Then a second pinprick of rain falls. He looks up into the grey sky. All around, the courts are dotted with dark spots. Yukimura holds his palm out to catch them. Yagyuu's grunts echo around them.

There's a shuffle behind. Niou slinks into the corner of Yanagi's vision. Yanagi doesn't need to turn around. He says, "There's a good chance Yagyuu will win."

Niou is quiet. No one asks if he won. His shoulders are hunched more than usual. His eyes glare behind the fringe of bleached hair. Yanagi crosses his arms. Sanada hobbles further onto his right foot. Yukimura's stomach growls, but he makes no attempt to move. Other senpais gather around the courts. They whisper and nod. The referee calls a point. "Game 4-4, Yagyuu."

Yukimura makes a noise in the back of his throat. "This could take a while."

The floodlights burn a fluorescent glow across the court before Yagyuu, red-faced, glasses smeared with sweat and legs shaking, dives for the last ball to break the tie. The ball rolls across the net. Back, and forth. Marui sucks in a breath. "My tightrope ball!" he says. He balls his fists and bites his lip. Yanagi holds his breath, too. The ball rolls to a stop. Yagyuu is breathing hard, crouched down. His lips are white.

Then, the ball drops over the net. With a single bounce, it lands on the opposite court. Marui and Jackal high-five. Some of the seniors start to walk away to the clubhouse. They shake their heads. The soft patter of the rain picks up and splashes Yanagi's face.

Niou walks out to Yagyuu's court. He offers a hand to Yagyuu, and pulls Yagyuu to his chest for a tight hug. Yagyuu's shoulders ease. He pulls away from Niou, and wipes his glasses with the hem of his t-shirt. Yanagi gets a prod to the side.

He turns.

Yukimura says, "Told you so."

***

FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 2/6

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 22:56:16 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 2 (2/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

Kirihara suggests it. Sasuke claps his hands together with a squeal. The tea Yanagi made for himself sits on the counter, growing cold, as he counts—loud enough to hear throughout the house. Feet scatter across the floors. A drawer opens. A door bangs shut. There is muffled whispering.

Yanagi opens his eyes. "…Ninety-seven…Ninety-eight..." He steps around the main room on the tip-toes of his slippers. No one behind the couch cushions. He peeks under the couch—no one there, either. No one crouching behind the television screen, or underneath the table.

"Ready or not!" he shouts.

There is a thump from the bathroom. Yanagi pads down the hallway. The door to his bedroom is open, too. He frowns and picks the bathroom first. The shower curtain is drawn around the tub. A dark head sticks out, then disappears under the blur of the filmy curtain.

He pulls the shower curtain back. Kirihara lifts his head. Yanagi's heart beat is the only sound between them. Kirihara's chest moves as he breathes. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. His eyes are pink at the edges, and glazed over his pupils. Yanagi's hand grips the edge of the curtain. His palms are sweaty on the plastic.

Kirihara tilts his head back. His lips move, creating words Yanagi doesn't want to think about. But his body does. Blood throbs in his cock. His balls are strained and aching. And his hands shake.

"No," he whispers.

Kirihara growls.

Laughter trickles in from Yanagi's bedroom. It breaks the tension enough for Kirihara to climb out of the tub. He pushes his body past Yanagi. His hand drags across Yanagi's erection. Yanagi hisses. Kirihara smirks.

The laughter comes from behind the closet door. Yanagi stops his hand on the latch. The breathing on the other side of the thin door stops. Kirihara sneaks around the room. His hands hover over everything. Yanagi wants to tell him to put down the novel. Don't touch my day planner, Akaya. Leave the photo album alone.

Kirihara sets a palm down on Yanagi's bed. The cockiness dissolves from Kirihara's expression the longer Yanagi stays by the closet. The soft twist of Kirihara's lips hardens. So does Yanagi's dick, as he stands and listens to the regularity of Sasuke's breathing.

He flings the door open. Sasuke tumbles out on a wave of dirty clothes.

"Found me!" he says. "But I betcha can't catch me!"

Sasuke squeezes between Yanagi's legs. He makes for the main room in a flurry. Yanagi runs after him. Kirihara slides past. All three of them tumble onto the couch. Yanagi goes for Sasuke's stomach and he dissolves into giggles as Yanagi tickles him.

"Okay okay!" Sasuke gasps. Yanagi tickles his sides. Sasuke gasps and twitches. Tears stream down his flushed face. "You win!"

"It's your turn to be it," Yanagi says.

Sasuke covers his eyes with his hands. He starts to count.

"Ne, Sasuke-chan," Kirihara says. "Betcha can't count to 500."

Yanagi looks at Kirihara. So does Sasuke.

"Betcha I can."

"Betcha you can't find us if you even make it," Kirihara says.

A hot coil starts to worm through Yanagi's middle. Sasuke plants his hands over his eyes again. The heat spreads to Yanagi's dick. He swallows. The house seems tiny. The walls seem to close in on him.

Kirihara disappears into the kitchen. Yanagi tip toes to the back room where his parents sleep. As slowly as he can, he slides open the futon closet. He climbs onto the empty shelf in the middle. The wooden slats creek under his body as he folds his knees to his chest. He closes the door and listens to Sasuke counting.

Spiders crabwalk across his back. Dust clings to the corners, stirred up by his breathing. His nose tickles. Yanagi bites back a sneeze. His eyes adjust to the darkness of the closet. He shifts a little to ease the press of the shelf on his hip.

The door opens with a blast of faded light from the hallway. Kirihara stands, silhouetted in front of Yanagi.

"Move over," Kirihara whispers. He climbs in, feet first into Yanagi's arm.

"Akaya!"

Kirihara pushes Yanagi into the wall. He holds a finger to his lips. "Shhh! He might hear." For a beat, Kirihara stills. Sasuke is closing in on 100. Then Kirihara runs his tongue over his top lip. "Move over, senpai."

Yanagi sighs. He presses his body against the wall. Kirihara squeezes onto the shelf and pulls the door shut. The air is stale and musty. Yanagi's head swims from the closeness. Kirihara's hair brushes his arm. Goosepimples break out all over Yanagi's body. All he can make out is the gleam of Kirihara's pupils. Kirihara smells of garlic from dinner, and sweat.

He breathes. "Senpai." On the other side of the door, down the hallway, Sasuke keeps counting. One hundred ten. One hundred eleven. In the closet, Kirihara's hot, clammy hands feel their way up Yanagi's arms, to his neck, and all over his chin. Yanagi swallows. His breathing is laboured. The thick dust makes it hard to concentrate. Kirihara shifting and moving, pressing those fingers into Yanagi's mouth makes it hard to move. Yanagi bites down on a thumb. Kirihara moans.

"Shhh!" Yanagi hisses. "He'll hear."

It was Kirihara who attacked him first.

"One hundred and fifty…One hundred and fifty-one…"

There are hands on his shoulders. Yanagi moves in the tight space. He turns to Kirihara, mouth open. His nose bumps Kirihara's jaw. Yanagi pushes his hands through Kirihara's hair. Kirihara kisses him sharp and hard and fast. His tongue consumes Yanagi's mouth, all garlic supper and wet heat. Yanagi crooks his elbow up and hits the back wall. Kirihara lifts his knee up. Yanagi slides his tongue along Kirihara's. Kirihara pulls back. Their saliva makes a squelching sound. The shelf creaks. Someone says "Fuck!"

"Two hundred and forty-seven…two hundred and forty…eight…"

Yanagi digs his hands into Kirihara's neck. Kirihara snaps his head up. Teeth clatter. Yanagi's brain rattles around in his skull. His body throbs. Dust clouds around them, and Kirihara's hands are wriggling between Yanagi's legs. He fumbles with the fly. The zipper is too loud.

Yanagi's eyes snap open. His fingertips falter on Kirihara's neck, right where beads of sweat gather. No, he thinks. His body arches forward into Kirihara as Kirihara's fingers move through the y-front. Kirihara rubs his thumb under the head of Yanagi's dick. Yanagi gasps. He leans forward, shaking. His calf cramps up, wedged against the side of the closet. Kirihara moves faster, up and down the length of Yanagi's cock. Clothes rustle.

"Three hundred and sixty two…three hundred and sixty three…"

Lips scorch his neck. Kirihara's hands burn through Yanagi's dick. The fire races through his body, inflaming and overwhelming. Yanagi can't breathe. Kirihara's teeth bite his ear. Yanagi tries to stop. He places his hands on Kirihara's stomach to push him away. Instead, Kirihara squeezes his dick harder. Stars burst in his vision—red and yellow flames licking his eyes. With one hand, Kirihara takes Yanagi's and stuffs it into his own pants. Yanagi curls his fingers around a hot, swollen dick not his own. Kirihara mewls. He jerks forward and the shelf creaks.

"Four hundred and five…"

Yanagi freezes. Blood throbs through his body. Kirihara rubs against him. He's panting in Yanagi's ear. The shelf rocks under their bodies. Kirihara groans through his teeth. "Harder…nnngh…harder…"

Then Kirihara digs his nails in. Yanagi falls forward. His body tenses, somewhere between pain and liquefying pleasure. His legs shake. Kirihara presses his fingers a little lower. Sensations explode on Yanagi's nerves. He moans and bucks against Kirihara, who thrusts back. His hand moves once more and Yanagi comes, hard and gasping. He loses himself in Kirihara's hands that are everywhere, all at once.

And Kirihara's hand is on his, rubbing his dick too. Yanagi gasps into Kirihara's collarbone. Kirihara's moans are louder. Yanagi wants to tell him to be quiet. The words won't come. He's boneless. Folded up in the closet like a kimono. Kirihara's pants are coming faster. His body twitches. He swallows hard, and bares his teeth.

"Four hundred and fifty-seven…"

Yanagi claps his hand over Kirihara's mouth. Under Yanagi his body tenses. His back arches into the wall with a loud thump. Yanagi's eyes go wide. Kirihara makes a noise in the back of his throat. He comes on Yanagi's other hand.

The counting stops.

Yanagi squeezes his leg from Kirihara's back. "Akaya!" he whispers.

Kirihara exhales. He shifts around. Yanagi stuffs his dick back into his underpants. The zipper catches. He smacks his head into a shelf slat trying to sit up. Kirihara moves the wrong way. He slams his head into Yanagi's forehead.

"Ow!"

"Shhhh!"

"Four hundred…eighty…five…Four hundred eighty-six. Four hundred eighty-seven."

Sasuke speeds up. Kirihara squirms. He hisses. His arm whacks Yanagi in the nose. Yanagi sucks in a breath. He tries to wipe his hand on his pants. The closet smells now—of sweat and other things, like the sticky patch he sets his hand down into on the shelf.

He curls his lip.

Kirihara shuffles back to the wall. He's too slow. Footsteps are coming down the hall, although Sasuke is still counting. "Four hundred ninety-three. Four hundred ninety-four…"

Yanagi stops breathing. He moves against the side wall, as flat as he can press his body. Kirihara's foot is in his lap. Yanagi looks at him. He can make out the shape of Kirihara's face, and the sound of his broken attempts to stifle his panting. Yanagi reaches across to clamp his hand over Kirihara's mouth a second time. His arm brushes something. Kirihara sobs.

If he were Sanada, he would slap Kirihara across the ear. Kirihara's eyes go wide. He inhales sharply. Their hands meet between Kirihara's legs in a frantic rush. The door to the room opens with a drawn-out squeak.

Kirihara pulls the zip of his pants up. Yanagi's heart pounds against his ribs. Neither of them moves.

Someone is breathing on the other side of the door. The shadows move in the crack of dim lighting into the closet.

Sasuke pushes the door open. Kirihara falls out. He drags Yanagi with him. They end up heaped on the tatami. Sasuke dances, victorious, around them.

"I did it!" he shrieks. "I made it to 500!"

Kirihara laughs a little. Yanagi tries to smile. His heart won't stop racing into his throat. Kirihara gives Sasuke a high-five. He elbows Yanagi in the side. "We should play another round," he says. The tip of his tongue slides out to the side of his mouth. The corners of his eyes are pink.

"No," Yanagi says.

He runs a bath for Sasuke. Kirihara waits with Sasuke, on the couch. A game show is on—all slapstick pies in the face and noodles dumped on heads. Kirihara and Sasuke laugh so hard tears stream from the corners of their eyes. Yanagi cups his hands around the mug of tea left in the kitchen. It's cold, and bitter.

Sasuke streaks through the hallway, buck naked. He jumps into the tub. Water splashes all over the tile floor. Yanagi asks if he needs any help. Sasuke asks if Yanagi is going to come in.

Yanagi glances to the mirror. He can see the top of a red bruise along his collar. He thinks of the other marks on his stomach, his chest, and probably his bum, too. In the corner of the mirror, Kirihara looms. His eyes are distant and unfocused. His hair swirls up at the sides.

Like horns, Yanagi thinks. He shivers.

Kirihara laughs under his breath. Yanagi's blood runs cold. "Senpai, aren't you going in, too?" he asks. His voice is a sing-song, childish like Sasuke's.

A phone rings. Kirihara blinks. Yanagi thanks the gods when Kirihara holds it to his ear and grimaces. "Why are you calling me now, Mom?" he whines.

There is a long beat. Kirihara rolls his eyes. He sighs. He shakes his head and protests. Then he shuts his cellphone. "My mom says I need to go home now."

The tension in Yanagi's shoulders dissolves. Sasuke's shoulders sink. The swirl of his shampooed hair flops over his eyes. "Awww, how come?" he asks.

"My mom sucks," Kirihara says. He offers a sloppy grin. "See ya, kid." He looks at Yanagi.

Yanagi doesn't walk Kirihara to the door.

He pulls out a spare futon for Sasuke, spread out on the floor of the back room. As soon as Yanagi hears the soft sighs of Sasuke sleeping, he closes the bathroom door. The steam is thick and warm and comfortable. He strips down and refuses to look in the mirror. He sinks into the water until his chin rests on the surface. Then he dunks his head under. He stays until his lungs scream for air, pressing into his ribs and aching.

Yanagi surfaces with a gasp. He wonders when he'll surface from Kirihara, too.

***

Kaidoh hangs around the back of the gymnasium. The third years are grouped by class. After the head teacher gives a speech, the students accept their diplomas. Each has a two second moment to shine, and smile for the camera of their parents. This is the last time they'll be at Seigaku.

Kaidoh leans against the cinderblock wall. He hisses under his breath. Class 11 is announced. His throat feels thick. He reaches for the little pack of Kleenex in his pocket.

Inui is the second person in his class to walk across the stage. His glasses shine under the harsh lights. Kaidoh can't see his eyes. Inui probably can't see him, either. Kaidoh thinks this is good because he's got the Kleenex out. His eyes are wet. His hiss comes out as a hiccup.

Dammit!

"Mamushi!"

Kaidoh whips his head around. Momoshiro attacks him with a punch to the arm. Kaidoh glares. His eyes ache.

"There you are—oi! Were you cr—"

"Shut up!" Kaidoh hisses. "And be quiet!"

Momoshiro starts to snicker. Kaidoh shakes. His hands ball into fists. Momoshiro closes the gym door behind himself and Kaidoh follows. Then he launches himself at Momoshiro. "Are you making fun of me?" he yells.

"You were crying!" Momoshiro grins. Kaidoh aims a punch to Momoshiro's mug, but Momoshiro ducks out of the way, clutching his sides as he laughs.

"Hey! There you guys are!" Arai's regulars' uniform is so new, the creases don't move.

Momoshiro looks up. Kaidoh glowers at both of them. Momoshiro, though, doesn't say anything. So Kaidoh can't punch him again, as much as he wants to. His stomach hurts. His breathing shudders as he hisses.

"Aren't we gonna have practice now?" Arai asks.

"That's why I went to get crybaby—I mean, Kaidoh"

Kaidoh tries to kill Momoshiro with a laser glare. Arai doesn't get it. Horio and Katsuo wave them down, too, and ask if they can start a rally, Kaidoh-buchou.

The sound is kinda nice. Kaidoh lets it simmer in his brain. He hiccups again. But the buchou part is still warm in the right places. He hisses and mutters yeah, it's practice. "Get your asses on the court for laps!"

Momoshiro rolls his eyes. Kaidoh grabs him by the collar. "You too, idiot!" he says through his teeth.

"You're not the boss of me!" Momoshiro yells right back.

Kaidoh growls. Momoshiro raises a fist.

"Ah, Kaidoh."

Kaidoh turns. His body slackens. Momoshiro wriggles away and yells about something stupid, and hey, ichinens, why aren't you doing laps already. Inui approaches. In his hands is the rolled-up diploma.

Kaidoh swallows hard. He looks at his feet. "Senpai," he mutters. You've graduated now.

Inui makes a thoughtful noise. He touches his glasses. His hair is a mess. Kaidoh wonders when he'll see Inui again—in a year, if he goes to Seishun High School, too? It's another punch to the gut. Kaidoh can't breathe.

"Kaidoh."

Kaidoh hisses. The tension twists tighter inside. He can't look up.

"Are you still free at 19:00 tonight? We can continue to work on your serve before the season begins…" Inui starts to give statistics and numbers and percentages that Kaidoh doesn't really care about. All he can focus on is the slight smile on Inui's lips when he mutters yes, he's still free, and maybe Inui can come over for dinner before if he's not busy, too.

When Kaidoh walks back to the courts, hands in his pockets and head ducked down, Momoshiro runs by.

"Are you blushing, Mamushi? Oi! Was there a girl around? Hey! Arai! There's some hot chicks around somewhere…"

Momoshiro runs off with Arai. Kaidoh shakes his head and almost smiles.

"Idiots," he mumbles.

***

The street courts open the first day of the holidays. The sakura front has spread from Okinawa, into Kagoshima and southern Kyushu. In Kanagawa, though, the trees barely have a hint of green buds. But the air is sweet and the nets are tight. Fresh white lines have been painted onto the hard courts. Yanagi's sneakers (new Diadoras, bought with Sanada the other day in MM21) have a bounce to the heel not entirely from the air-lock technology.

In theory, the shoes could boost his speed on the court. Yanagi estimates a ten percent. Sadaharu needs to confirm that.

North of the Bunkamura, but still within sight of the red-brick buildings, Yanagi waits. The courts teem with university students, who have nothing better to do with themselves. He's the youngest player here. A couple university students point at him—some gangly high school kid, hey, bet he can hardly hold his racket. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Yanagi narrows his eyes. He watches the lazy serves and the sloppy footwork. He could crush them all, if he wanted to.

At the back of his mind, a voice starts to cackle. Yanagi stiffens. Kirihara whispers Crush them. Yanagi looks up to the courts. His vision flashes red. He squeezes his eyes shut. No! The laughter lingers in his ears. Yanagi hates the way it makes his heart race in his chest. He checks his pulse. Three beats per second. 180 per minute.

He takes a swig of tea from his PET bottle. Yanagi sighs. No one he knows is around. Sanada asked if he wanted to play today. Yanagi said no, he was busy, maybe you should play with Seiichi instead. Sanada didn't say no to that.

Behind him, Sadaharu says his name.

Yanagi says, "You're fourteen minutes late."

"Sorry, that's my fault."

Fuji smiles at Yanagi. "It's all right if I play with you guys?" he asks.

Yanagi says its fine. The smile sharpens on Fuji's face. Fuji has played two Rikkai players, and won—in tournaments. Yanagi thinks, His data won't be accurate today.

"Is Tezuka busy?" Yanagi asks.

"He is fishing with his grandfather," Sadaharu says. "He will return no later than seven o'clock tonight."

Yanagi raises his eyebrows.

"Tezuka eats dinner at seven," Sadaharu says.

"You know this for a fact?"

Sadaharu touches his glasses. It doesn't hide the smile on his lips. Yanagi doesn’t ask. Fuji says they can play first, if they'd like. He sits down on the bench Yanagi took over. It's piled with tennis bags, and draped with sweat towels. Fuji leans forward onto his knees. His eyes follow Yanagi. Yanagi ignores the sensation at the back of his neck. He loosens his arms with a few circles, and jumps on the spot five times. Then he leans down low. His eyes flick to Fuji. Yanagi twirls his racket around in his hand. Fuji's gaze doesn't waver.

"For points, Renji?" Sadaharu calls.

"If you want," Yanagi says. "Give me an eighty percent waterfall, Sadaharu."

Sadaharu throws the ball. He whips his long body into the shot. The ball whizzes across the net. Yanagi runs for it. His hands struggle on his racket handle—sweaty palms, and he needs new grip tape. He clenches his jaw and slugs the ball back to Sadaharu.

"That was 110 percent," he says. "Sadaharu."

"You weren't ready for that," Sadaharu says. He lobs a return. Yanagi pushes back the urge to smile. Perfect. He runs to the net. Sadaharu runs for the net, too. He's expecting a drop shot.

Yanagi swings wide and hard. The shot is angled hard for the left baseline.

"You weren't ready for that," Yanagi says. He smiles.

"Aa," Sadaharu says. "We'll play for points."

They volley back and forth. Sadaharu takes the second point—Yanagi returns another waterfall, just barely. The ball is dangerously wide, maybe one hundred and fifty degrees. He purses his lips on a curse. Sadaharu lets the ball bounce out of bounds for a fault. Fuji calls the point.

But Yanagi takes the game. They cross paths at court change. More than Fuji's eyes follow them now. The university students point and whisper, but their eyes are wide. "Did you see…?" "Man, what a serve!" "But that straight shot…wow."

Pride warms Yanagi's insides. He keeps his eyes on the court. The ball is light in his hand. He squeezes it, just a little. Sadaharu adjusts his glasses as Yanagi throws the ball. He snaps his body into the shot. The ball veers straight to the net. Then, suddenly, as Sadaharu reaches for it, the ball shoots to the left.

Sadaharu hisses. The ball bounces to the back of the court. Sadaharu looks up. There is a red flush across his cheek. His glasses are cock-eyed.

"You saw that coming," Yanagi says. His voice sounds hard in his ears.

Sadaharu makes a noise. He mutters something under his breath. The numbers are too low for Yanagi to catch. Frisson prickles up his spine. Sadaharu looks at him, straight in the eye so hard that Yanagi feels himself stripped down to the muscle.

His hands shake on his racket, just a fraction more than they should. He glares back at Sadaharu. Do not take my data, Yanagi thinks. Sadaharu throws the ball up for a serve. His back arches into the waterfall. The ball cracks against his racket.

Yanagi jumps forward in a split-step.

His racket contacts the ball early. His muscles strain to return the shot. The tendons in his wrists tighten as he digs his hands into the grip tape. Yanagi bares his teeth. With a loud grunt, he slugs the ball back to Sadaharu's court.

The ball arcs up above their heads. Yanagi sucks in a breath as he watches the trajectory change with the breeze. The ball lands two inches outside the line.

"Out!" Fuji says. "Point, Inui."

Tied after five games, they look at each at the same time. Sadaharu breathes hard. His face is flushed. His glasses slip down his nose. Yanagi reaches around the back of his neck—his hand is wet with sweat. Yanagi lifts his chin. Sadaharu finishes the nod. He wanders off the courts with his hand in his pocket where he keeps his wallet.

On the bench, Fuji smiles at Yanagi. "That was some interesting tennis," he says. Yanagi wipes the sweat towel across his forehead. He narrows his eyes at Fuji.

"Learning tricks from Kirihara?" Fuji asks.

Yanagi stares at him. He says nothing.

Fuji continues, "After all, you two know each other well enough now." The smile doesn't reach the cold glint in his eyes.

"Akaya is in junior high school," Yanagi says. "I don't play on the same team as him anymore. His technique is erratic and unpredictable."

Fuji is quiet for a moment. Then he says, smoothly, "Who said I was talking about tennis?" He laughs to himself. Yanagi freezes to the spot. His mind flashes with images, all fragmented: Kirihara on the court, scraped and bleeding and laughing. Kirihara against a wall, shirtless and panting and shaking. Kirihara at the school festival, devil red and screaming. Yanagi's knees tremble.

Sadaharu returns from the vending machine with a Pocari Sweat. He unzips the side pocket of his tennis bag and adds the contents of a small bag to the bottle before he drinks it. "Renji?"

Yanagi breathes through his nose. Slowly, he turns to Fuji and says, "Why don't you two play a game now?" he asks.

Fuji grabs his racket and strokes the rim. "That sounds like fun, Inui," he says. He looks back at Yanagi as he sits down on the bench. "After all, we don't want Yanagi working himself to a red zone by playing too hard."

Sadaharu agrees with a distant hum. He doesn't get it. Yanagi sits stiffly on the bench as Fuji starts to play. His game is lazy. He's not trying. Something buzzes under Yanagi's feet. His cellphone has come out of the side pocket of his tennis bag. He picks it up and scrolls through the messages. Four from Kirihara, all read, all sent within the past hour.

He looks up to Fuji and the phone falls from his hands.

***

do u want to play some tennis today??? i can show u my new serve

maybe u can cum over to my house l8er my parents rnt home >:)

ok r u busy 2morrow maybe we can go 2 ur house instead hee hee

senpai?? dont u like me nymore??? :((

***

He sits in a tatami room. The paper windows filter the light to a soft haze that catches dust. Yanagi breathes in the sweet smell of the matting. He is alone. There is nothing but the sound of his breathing. He sets his palms on his thighs, his legs tucked under himself. Yanagi closes his eyes as he exhales.

In the corner, a scroll hangs in the tokonoma alcove. Underneath is a pot of bamboo. Yanagi counts the stalks. The scroll taps against the wall, the air having stirred movement into the thin paper. On the bottom of the scroll is a wavering painting of thin lines and dark pigments. Yanagi leans closer as the colours swirl to form a face.

The mask is painted red, with glowing eyes and wild black hair. Sharp teeth throw back into a laughing grimace and Kirihara jumps out from the scroll. Yanagi backs up against the wall. Kirihara screams and laughs and his claws are sharp arcs in the air. Yanagi can’t move. Something slices into his chest. He looks down to see streams of blood pouring from his body. Kirihara keeps laughing—the demon possesses him. He breathes hard through his nose, steaming and wet like a bull. His lips pull back. He leans back, and his claws strike again.

Yanagi stumbles to the floor. Wake up! Wake up! He tries to yell at himself, but his body is glued to the spot. Kirihara's pupil-less eyes nail Yanagi down. His laughter paralyses, high-pitched shrieks of delight as he crouches down. The fangs sink into Yanagi's chest. He arches back. Kirihara's tongue licks the blood streaming through Yanagi's torn shirt. His teeth pierce the raw flesh. Yanagi opens his mouth in a silent scream. The agony stabs every nerve of his body. He can feel everything, including Kirihara's naked, burning skin pushing him down, leaving welts where he pins Yanagi through the razors of his claws.

Kirihara lifts his head. Blood oozes from the sides of his mouth. He licks it away with a grin. His tongue is forked—it slips over his lips, tasting the air. His hair hisses and slithers across his red skin.

"You like this?" Kirihara snarls. His voice is thick with blood. He spits it onto Yanagi's face. Yanagi flinches. He digs his claws into Yanagi's thigh. His eyes roll around his head as he starts to laugh. "You do! You do!" The snakes in his hair twist. Kirihara cackles and cackles. Yanagi can't move. He can't breathe.

Kirihara leans close. His breath is rancid and bloody. He licks Yanagi's ear, from the lobe all the way up into the shell. Yanagi's spine goes rigid.

The shrieks fill the room. Kirihara lifts his hand. The claws are raised. The light bounces off the needle-sharp tips. His eyes are on fire at the edges, and dead pools in the middle. His face twists and his mouth widens from ear to ear, filled with rows of shark's teeth.

"I'll drag you to HELL WITH ME!" he screams.

The claws flash, blinding bright.

And everything goes black.

***

He sips tea in the kitchen. He sits in the dark. His heart won't slow down.

The LCD screen of his cellphone glows in the pre-dawn darkness. Yanagi pads to the sliding glass door onto the balcony. His mother has a line of white shirts out. Above the laundry, the lights of the city glow yellow-white until they disappear into the blue-black of the harbour.

The messages are gone. Yanagi can't remember deleting them. He thinks about responding to Kirihara. Every time, he shakes his head. No. He won't. And it's four in the morning. The world is asleep, except for him.

He takes another sip of tea. His body aches for sleep. His mind—and his heart—race. He checks the messages again, but there is no trace of anything from today. Except the thin little smile Fuji gave him, and the words echoing in his mind.

You two know each other well enough now…

Yanagi scrolls through the messages. Then he presses delete all.

Okay?

He sucks in a breath. Then he presses yes.

***

Yukimura phones. He asks if Yanagi wants to go to the new exhibition at the greenhouses east of MM21. "Genichirou's busy," he says.

"I see," Yanagi says.

"But you'd like it more anyway. We can go shopping after. I need a new pair of sneakers."

They meet by the Uniqlo at Queens Square. Sun streams through the skylights above the escalator. Yukimura has a bottle cola in one hand. With the other, he waves to Yanagi.

Yanagi gives him a little nod.

"Wanna get something to eat, first?" Yukimura asks. "Sanada and I go to the Taco Derio a lot."

The cashier recognizes Yukimura. She smiles and asks if he wants the double combo 6. Yukimura smiles back. He hands over two thousand yen notes. The food joint—Yanagi can't think of it as a restaurant with the plastic tables—smells of cheese. His stomach cramps up.

"Would you like cheese on your potato wedges?" the cashier asks. Behind her, a worker pumps gluey orange glop onto Yukimura's order.

Yanagi swallows a lump of acrid bile. "No," he says. The tray slides across the counter to him. Yukimura weaves through the tables to a spot at the bar along the window. They sit beside each other. Yukimura tosses hot sauce all over his tacos and his potatoes. He pushes it to Yanagi, who holds up his hands.

"So we're all trying out for the tennis team next week. Try-outs are Thursday." Yukimura stuffs the cheesiest potato into his mouth. Orange goo drips onto his tray. Yanagi swallows another wave of bile. He looks at the little dish of deep-fried potatoes on his tray, and pushes them to the back. He sips on the soft drink instead.

"Nishiki will be on the team again," Yanagi says.

"Yeah," Yukimura says. "And Watanabe and Kato, since they'll be third years now."

"We'll push out…" Yanagi pushes his straw deeper into the cup. "Yamaguchi, he's the weakest player."

"It's because he relies only on his volleys."

"Mn. And Saitoh. His serve is strong, but the statistics in Tennis Weekly didn't improve over last season by more than ten points."

Yukimura nods behind a mouthful of taco. Lettuce and guacamole stream through his fingers. He moans a little, and leans back on his stool. "Do you think Yagyuu will get in, too?"

"If they don't try him out against Nishiki first," Yanagi says. "He's as strong as Genichirou."

"He'll wipe the court with Yagyuu," Yukimura says. His eyes gleam in the grey light across the harbour. The Cosmoworld Ferris wheel spins slowly across the street. "But Yagyuu will improve and Nishiki won't. His heart's not there. He was always chasing girls."

"Like Marui."

Yukimura laughs. "And Jackal. And Niou."

Yanagi blinks. "Niou pays more attention to Yagyuu than to girls."

Yukimura looks at him. "Really?" He takes another bite of taco—half the tortilla in one go. "I never noticed."

Yanagi purses his lips. He thinks of a tactful approach, and ends up with, "You were gone a lot this year."

Silence hangs. Yukimura's chewing stops. The Taco Derio kitchen bangs and hisses with the sounds of cooking, and orange cheese pumping. Yanagi sets his taco down. His shoulders sink a little, but Yukimura is the one who slouches and stares out the window. Pedestrians move across his pupils. His skin drains of colour, taking on the grey of the pavement.

"Yeah," Yukimura murmurs. He turns his head. His thin lips are set in a line. His eyes are hard as he lifts his chin to Yanagi's level. "But I'm fine now."

Yanagi doesn't disagree. "Do you want this?" He nudges his tray toward Yukimura. Yukimura licks his lips and doesn't disagree with that, either.

The food sits in Yanagi's stomach as they walk north. He nods at Yukimura when he talks about tennis and Andy Roddick, the doctor's appointment that pissed him off, and how the Familymart by his house was out of his favourite gummies. The greenhouses teem with people. Water drips from the ceiling, rolling off the ends of Yanagi's hair. Yukimura sucks in his breath as they meander through the lush displays of rainforest vegetation. He stops at one of the shrubs to crouch down. His fingers trail along the petals of an orchid growing out of the trunk of a cypress tree. Yanagi glances around. The signs are big and white and say Please do not touch the plants. He says nothing. Yukimura flushes. "This is a ghost orchid. It only blooms for two weeks a year. It's endangered."

Yanagi tries to appreciate the orchid. It looks like most other white orchids he has seen—and never paid much attention to—at supermarkets and floral displays at department stores. He smiles and says, "Aa, yes."

Yukimura beams.

Genichirou should be here, Yanagi thinks. Sanada wouldn't say much. He wouldn't be able to do more than read the botanical names on the placards. He would hate the crowds of people breathing on his back. But he would be the one to listen to Yukimura gush over orchids, voodoo lilies and colvillea racemosa, too. He would be the one to see Yukimura's eyes fill with moisture, and the one to offer Yukimura his handkerchief to wipe the condensation falling from above from his cheek.

"Where is Genichirou?" Yanagi asks.

Yukimura turns around from the Fan Palm. He blinks. "Oh, he had to take Sasuke to kendo class today because his mom's in Kobe visiting her sister." He walks ahead. Yanagi matches him step for step. Past the palm is a small pond in the middle of the greenhouse. The surface of the water is glass-calm. Underneath, koi fish swirl and thrash. Gold scales on their backs flash in the weak sunlight as they fight for the flotsam of food along the bed.

"And my sister is working?" Yanagi asks.

Yukimura shrugs. "Dunno. Genichirou said she was busy. Doctor's appointment or university exams or something." He pokes Yanagi in the side. "Don't you keep tabs on her?"

"Not really."

They share a little smile.

"I saw Akaya yesterday," Yukimura says.

The words on the sign Yanagi was reading start to blur. He turns around. Yukimura is on to the next plant. A butterfly skitters across the feathery frond. It flutters through the air above Yukimura, who reaches out to touch it.

"He's making training schedules," Yanagi says.

"No, not really," Yukimura says. "He needs to find a team first."

"That won't be a problem," Yanagi says.

"He was asking about you."

Yanagi's head swims in the air. It closes in on his neck. He touches his collar and pulls out a fan. He takes a long breath. "Oh?"

"He was talking about some new tennis move. And he wants your help with some paperwork, he said."

"Genichirou was fukubuchou," Yanagi says. "Akaya can ask him."

"You're better at paperwork and training schedules," Yukimura says. He looks around the bend in the pathway, past the papery bark of a tree. "Ooooh!" Yukimura claps his hands together. "Look at this, Yanagi!" He goes on about a plant Yanagi has never heard of and never will remember. Yanagi thinks about Kirihara. Kirihara claws at his mind, and his chest. His heart thumps hard against his ribs. Yanagi stops. Yukimura asks if he's all right.

"I'm fine," Yanagi says.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

***

hey maybe we can play tennis 2morrow?? i played some losers today and creamed them lol

Yanagi frowns.

He dials the number from memory. He may not answer. He may be busy. He could even be playing tennis now. It rings twice.

On the third, a voice picks up. "Aa, Renji."

"Sadaharu."

"You are calling me to discuss tennis."

Yanagi laughs. It comes out as a snort. "I would prefer to discuss it in person. Your graphs are difficult to interpret aurally."

"Aa…" Inui concedes. "We can meet tomorrow at four."

"Two."

"I have training with Kaidoh until three."

Yanagi doesn't move for a moment. He keeps his voice level. "Four is fine."

He messages Kirihara back: I have homework to do tomorrow. Something dull presses against his insides when he receives the response: a row of sad-faced emoticons. Yanagi can hear the whine in Kirihara's voice. He pulls on his pajamas and slides into bed.

When he closes his eyes, he can hear the moans from Kirihara, too. Yanagi's eyes snap open. He stares at the pendant light hanging from the ceiling. A spider weaves a web along the inside.

Yanagi closes his eyes. His hand touches the hot skin under his waistband. The moans aren't from memory—they escape his own mouth now.

***

FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 1/6

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 22:54:34 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 2 (1/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

It was Kirihara who attacked him first. Spit flying. Fists raised. It was dark, and the moon was fat and full through the clouds. Ghosts prowled the forests, dripping with mist and moss. The dorms hallways oozed with silence and disembodied footsteps. Yanagi watched Tezuka emerge from the toilets, and then he was alone.

The bus for the losers would leave at half past six in the morning.

Kirihara was in his face. He screamed and swore. Moonlight contorted his face into a demon's grimace. Yanagi thought of Sadaharu, on his knees and whispering his name, and how he had stood there at the net as Kirihara slammed another ball into Sadaharu's face. Blood had splattered the toes of Yanagi's sneakers.

He grabbed Kirihara's hair. Kirihara snarled. He was close enough that his words and his breath slid over Yanagi's mouth. Then his tongue. Yanagi's hands were on his chest to push him away. But it was Kirihara's body he pushed closer, shaking as his erection rubbed Kirihara's hip. Sharp teeth were on his jaw, and his neck. When Kirihara pulled off his shirt, Yanagi hissed. He pulled at Kirihara's hair until their mouths met again. It was slimy and hard to keep up. Yanagi forgot to breathe. Only when they met, chest to naked chest, did he open his eyes. Kirihara was panting. He leaned on the edge of one of the beds. His eyes dissolved into the darkness.

Yanagi stared at him. His brain was swimming. His skin was alive with the hot sensation of Kirihara's hands. He exhaled through his nose. Kirihara growled.

And Yanagi crawled all over him. He let Kirihara bite his neck, and his nipples, hard enough that pain cut through his skin. He dug his hands into Kirihara's shoulders until Kirihara curled his lip and cursed. He dragged his teeth over Kirihara's stomach. The bed creaked under their struggling—Kirihara on top, then Yanagi. Then Kirihara's leg hooked over his knee, and they rolled the other way. It was Kirihara who stroked Yanagi's dick, hard and fast and tight. It was Kirihara's name on Yanagi's lips as he shivered and came.

For a long time they lay there, half-awake in the same bed. Kirihara kept his breathing even, but his fingers moved. His toes wiggled. His body was in a constant state of motion, and his heart was a furious flutter against Yanagi's chest. He was sprawled over Yanagi's side and hip, sticky and sweaty. Yanagi swallowed. The salty, human taste of Kirihara permeated his mouth even when his eyes sagged with exhaustion.

Before the first licks of dawn at the window, his cellphone chirped. Yanagi opened his eyes. His chest was heavy, his throat suffocating. He shifted and then he remembered as his fingers ran over the body draped across his. His limbs flushed with bruises and bite marks and strange, stretched, new sensations. There was a name on his lips, entirely new, too, that he whispered in the faint hope Kirihara would move off him.

Instead, Kirihara dug his nails into Yanagi's arms. His lip curled on Yanagi's neck. Hot breath tickled the downy hairs along his jaw. Yanagi curled his own lip at the sleepy drool. "Move," he said. Kirihara grunted. Then he rubbed his face into the crook of Yanagi's armpit. Last night was a haze. It wasn't real until Yanagi peeled Kirihara off his body (still sleeping) and drowned himself under a scalding shower. For a few minutes, he stood alone and scrubbed away Kirihara. More footsteps padded into the showers. Yanagi sucked in a breath.

But it wasn't Sadaharu, it was Oshitari Kenya. Kenya slid across the wet tiles, his eyes barely open. He didn't even nod at Yanagi. The lump in Yanagi's throat slackened.

In the cafeteria, across from the youth lounge, Sanada sat by himself. Yanagi said his name. A bus was pulling into the parking lot to take them to the train station. More people milled around, sluggish and stony-faced. Sanada blinked when Yanagi sat down in the chair across from him. Yanagi swallowed. Don't look at my neck. His fingers itched to pop his collar up over the bruises. But the prickle at the back of his neck made him turn around—to see Niou lurking behind the bar.

Yanagi tried to sit as still as he could. His skin hummed from last night. He tried not to think about Kirihara's teeth pressing into his thigh, or Kirihara's mouth and tongue sliding over his neck, or even Kirihara's hands wrapped around his aching dick. Yanagi squeezed his legs together. His dick was hard again, and his face felt warm.

They needed Yagyuu here. He would say something polite and make conversation. Or they needed Marui here to made an asinine comment. Instead, Marui was slumped on the end of a couch. The onigiri on his lap was still in its wrapper.

Eventually, Sanada looked up when the coach came into the room, and said the bus was ready, get out, go home. Sanada's hair was a mess of cowlicks. His hat was tucked into a mesh pocket of his bag. "Genichirou?" Yanagi asked again. "Did you say goodbye to Yukimura?'

Sanada stared at him. Yanagi met his gaze as long as he could, but he faltered and looked away toward the bar. Sadaharu walked into the room then, and hot shame crawled over Yanagi's body to all the places Kirihara had touched.

Sadaharu said good morning. Yanagi opened his mouth, and he couldn't remember what to say in return.

He thinks about these things as he digs. Sadaharu is next to him, covered in dirt and sweat dripping trails from his glasses. The new coach, Mifune, yells and spits tobacco and mucus onto their feet when their shovels falter. Alcohol drips from his breath. Yanagi's arms burn in the late sun. His spine is on fire from all the bending. He leans down on his knees for a moment to catch a breath. Sadaharu says, "Two seconds." And Yanagi pushes the shovel deeper into the hard clay earth just as Mifune shouts, "You! You piece of shit, no wonder you lost if you can't even dig your own grave!"

Yanagi thinks about hair as dark and twisted as the pile of earth mounded at the top of the hole. He doesn't need to dig this hole to make a grave.

***

Sadaharu phones. Yanagi sets his pen down. He picks up after two rings.

"Do you want to meet for ramen?" Sadaharu asks.

"Where?"

"Half-way," Sadaharu says. "Thirty-two point four kilometres—"

"Shinagawa."

"By the east gate."

Yanagi looks at the clock by his bed. "It will take me 38 minutes."

"Plus or minus six minutes for traffic at this hour."

Yanagi says, "Hn." Then, after a pause, he adds, "Just you, not your kouhai as well."

"Kaidoh has other activities at the moment."

Yanagi nods to himself. "I'll see you in forty minutes," he says.

The train is delayed three minutes. There's a passenger under the train at Shin-Yokohama. Yanagi stands in the carriage, hanging onto the hand holds at eye-level. Every thirty-five seconds the announcement loops. "Honoured guests, we apologize for the inconvenience…"

He flips his cellphone open. Within three seconds, the screen flashes. Sadaharu's name scrolls across the screen. Yanagi's eyes skim the signs on the carriage walls—no calls, please use manner mode. He answers it.

"I'll be another seven minutes," he says.

Sadaharu says, "Aa." Then he hangs up.

The platform is frigid. Shinagawa swarms with people and the greasy smells of cheap tonkatsu and croquette joints. From the top of the exit escalator, Yanagi watches Sadaharu at the bottom, lifting his head and adjusting his glasses. His cellphone, still on manner mode, buzzes in his pocket. Yanagi doesn't want to think about who is calling. There is a heaviness in his stomach when Sadaharu nods.

Old friends should speak of the weather, and reminisce about the past laughs they once shared. Sadaharu orders his ramen (extra chilli flakes) and says that Tezuka has been scouted by a German coach based in Stuttgart. As he orders with his back turned to Sadaharu, Yanagi rolls his eyes. Sadaharu's glasses steam up. Yanagi says, "That always used to happen, too."

"It is 2.4 degrees centigrade outside," Sadaharu says.

"Cold," Yanagi says. He sits and tries to think of things to say. It wasn't meant to happen like that. When he closes his eyes, Sadaharu is nine and laughing next to him, on a bench in the park. They have a notebook spread over their laps. The pages are filled with wavy lines of hand-drawn graphs.

When he opens his eyes, Sadaharu is sprawled on the tennis court. Blood seeps from his nose, and bubbles at his mouth. Kaidoh is yelling in the background. A high pitched laugh cuts an electric shiver down his spine. It strangles his chest, cords of that laughter choking his lungs. Yanagi shakes his head and blinks.

Sadaharu sits next to him at the ramen counter. He holds out a small bottle, the same size as Yukimura's energy drinks. "Renji?"

"Sorry," Yanagi says. He holds his chopsticks above the ramen bowl, and exhales through his nose.

"Kyoujo?"

Chopsticks clatter on the side of the bowl. "Don't call me that!" Yanagi snaps.

Sadaharu says nothing. A salaryman sits down on Yanagi's other side and starts to slurp his noodles. Pots clang in the kitchen. The servers yell orders, and the door chimes open with another customer, and another round of "Welcome!"s from the kitchen staff.

The lump sinks deeper into Yanagi's stomach. It twists into his intestines. "Sorry," he mutters.

Sadaharu touches the top of his glasses. "If Tezuka accepts, he'll leave for Frankfurt on the direct flight March 29…"

***

Light from the living room seeps under his doorway, along with the muffled sounds of television. Yanagi sits on his bed. Beside him is a school notebook, and on top of that, a dog-eared novel with a split spine. His cellphone beeps again.

He purses his lips. The message was sent five hours ago. wut r u doing Followed by a smiley-faced emoticon.

Yanagi closes his phone. He picks up his novel and stares at the page until the words blur. He stuffs his hand down his pants, across his hot belly, and a shuddered sigh escapes his mouth.

***

Another dream with Kirihara, white hair and skin so bloodied it's purple. His muscles contract as he circles. There are horns on his head, crooked like his hair. His lips roll back over sharpened teeth. He laughs, and pins Yanagi to the ground that sinks under their weight. Kirihara says, "You're mine!" Then he cackles, louder and louder until Yanagi sits up in bed, heart pounding and head rushing. The sheets are damp and hot. He shifts, shakes his head and he knows that he's hard still. And that he will be again, even after he rubs his dick hard in his hand and whimpers Kirihara's name.

Sanada isn't the only one with darkness inside.

***

His phone beeps when he wakes up. Another message from Kirihara, sent at half-past one. Yanagi deletes it. He roots around the room for his school uniform, but the laundry pile is gone. Outside his door is a pile of folded clothes, with a pair of pressed pants hanging from a hanger on the latch.

At the end of the street, he grabs a hot coffee milk from the vending machine. Yanagi downs it on the bus, along with the bento box his mother tucked into his school bag. He picks up the slices of pork cutlet and wipes the sauce on the edge of the bento container. Then he pulls out the morning newspaper leftover from his father. Swine flu is going around Kanazawa. Nara prefecture had a small earthquake yesterday. The sakura front is expected to start three days ahead of average this year.

Yanagi looks out the bus window. Grey slush splatters the sidewalks. Pedestrians hold up umbrellas with thick mittens. Yanagi sighs into his scarf—his breath fogged up the glass.

Past the big arcade with the batting range, the bus pulls up to the curb. Yanagi sits up straight. For an instant he lifts his eyes above the top of the newspaper. Kirihara looks to the back of the bus. His eyes widen a little and he shuffles faster down the aisle. Greasy pork chop coats the inside of Yanagi's mouth. He looks back down at his paper, and arranges his bag on the adjacent seat.

"Senpai," Kirihara says. He runs his tongue along his top lip. Yanagi forces his eyes to go over the headlines: Yakuza gang forks out cash gifts for mentally challenged children. Former pop idol arrested for second time in Osaka drug bust. Record-size mountain of mochi built in Fukuoka.

Kirihara clears his throat. The bus sways from side to side. Yanagi's pants feel too tight.

Finally, Kirihara grabs Yanagi's bag and sits down in the seat. Finally, Yanagi folds up the newspaper and looks at him. Kirihara is red in the face. And there is blood at the corner of his mouth. He curls his lip at Yanagi, his tongue pressed to sharp teeth as his eyes roll back…

"Senpai?" Kirihara asks.

Yanagi shakes his head. Kirihara looks at him. His cheeks are pink and his eyes dark, shiny. It was nothing. In a low voice, Yanagi says good morning. He thinks about this morning, and last night, and masturbating. He thinks about Kirihara, naked and heavy on top of him, with his hands on Yanagi's balls and all over his ass. A shudder runs through his dick. He swallows hard. The scarf feels too tight, too.

"Is your phone dead?" Kirihara asks.

Yanagi grunts.

Under the seat, Kirihara's sneaker pokes him in the calf. Yanagi shifts closer to the window. Kirihara's foot follows. "Uh," Kirihara scratches the back of his head. His hair is long enough now to brush his scarf, and cover his ears. And cover the marks on his neck from last week.

"Do you maybe wanna hang out after school?" Kirihara asks. He taps Yanagi's foot. He shifts his eyes and clears his throat. "You know."

Yanagi's dick stiffens, pressing against his pants until he chokes. He coughs into his scarf. "I have student clubs."

"Tennis is over," Kirihara says, in a rush.

Just as fast, Yanagi returns. "Student council."

"I can wait," Kirihara says. He slumps back into the seat. Through slitted eyes, he looks at Yanagi. His eyes drop to Yanagi's crotch—which makes Yanagi sit up as tall and as straight as he can—and then to his pocket, where his cellphone peaks out.

The bus turns a corner, and a glint of sun almost pushes through the dismal sludge of the sky. For a moment, Yanagi can see a hint of red in Kirihara's eyes.

When he blinks, it's gone.

***

Tennis practices finished after the invitationals, although the season was long over before that. The clubhouse sits empty. The courts are vacant, except for winter leaves and the occasional track club member running laps around the net posts. The student council meets in a classroom on the third floor. Yanagi brings a stack of papers, and fills a notebook with words. He keeps his eyes on the printed agenda instead of on the face peeking in through the hallway windows every few minutes.

"New business?" the president asks.

There is a knock on the door. Yanagi closes his eyes for a moment. His throat tightens. Then he allows himself a smile as the members of the moral committee enter: Sanada, Yagyuu, and a first year girl wearing the longest skirt in the school (two inches above her knees).

"We have an issue," Sanada says. He stares at Yanagi and says, "Indecency is rising at Rikkai."

"It is?" the president asks.

Yanagi writes: Moral committee enters with new complaint.

Sanada coughs. His face turns red when he mutters something about two juniors being caught kissing in the hallways. "And behind the tennis shed last week," Yagyuu adds. He shoots Yanagi a sideways glance from the corner of his glasses.

The pen stops on Yanagi's notebook. He can feel his heart skip against his ribs, and cold dizziness pushes the inside of his skull.

"This behaviour isn't appropriate for junior high school students," Sanada says.

Yanagi swallows hard.

Kirihara messaged him at lunch. It was mystery curry and rice, with salad. The red pickles were the same shade as Kirihara's face when he looked up from his empty plate, lips parted and shiny with saliva. Yanagi read the message. He pursed his lips and excused himself.

"I have English homework to do," he said. Only Sanada nodded. Kirihara stood up and said he needed help with his grammar, and hey senpai, maybe you knew the answer to the verbs worksheet.

Was it behind the tennis shed? Was it inside the clubhouse that day, filmed by dust and unlocked by Kirihara? There were hands in his pants and hot breath on his neck. Kirihara whispered, "Fuck I'm so hard…" Yanagi dug his hands into Kirihara's hips to lift them higher, closer. Kirihara's skin was on fire. Yanagi slid his tongue over Kirihara's teeth, then he took Kirihara's lip between his teeth and bit hard. Kirihara snarled into Yanagi's mouth. Electric waves pushed through Yanagi's veins faster, deeper, harder until he was gasping and bucking and panting.

"—what do you suggest we do?" The student council president turns his head to Yanagi. Yanagi looks down at his notebook. A long scribbled line trails off from his last word.

All together, the morals committee turns. Yellow bands flash on their arms.

"School monitors," Sanada says.

"We need to recruit more people," Yagyuu says. With a sharp smile on his face, he hands a yellow band to Yanagi first. Yanagi forces a smile back at Yagyuu with raised eyebrows.

As soon as the morals committee leaves, the president chucks his arm band in the garbage bin by the teacher's desk. The treasurer laughs and adds his to the bin. Yanagi balls his band up and stuffs it into the desk. He looks to the windows overlooking the hallway. There is no one, and the lights in the school are beginning to dim as the sun sinks.

"Any further business?" The president starts to pack up his bag. The treasurer yawns and suggests they go for udon. Yanagi glances back to the hallway.

"What about the upcoming…graduation ceremony?" Yanagi ruffles the notebook. "We should go over the decoration."

"That's the beautification committee," the president says.

"And the student council's speech?" Yanagi offers. There is a noise from the hallway—not quite a voice. And then footsteps. He stiffens in his chair, and taps his toes on the floor (quiet enough that no one can hear, of course).

"I'll write that later," the president says. He stands up and nods to everyone. "Meeting adjourned then. Let's get some food!"

A round of cheers follows the president out the door. Yanagi hangs back. He arranges his papers by lining up the corners. He rifles through his bag and throws out old onigiri wrappers and a broken pair of wooden chopsticks. The sun sinks over the horizon and he is alone in the darkened classroom. The LED screen of his cellphone glows. The charms jingle as he stands with a heavy sigh.

Carefully, he pushes the door open. Slumped against the wall is Kirihara. His head lolls on his chest and his eyes are closed. There is a manga resting on his thigh, face-down. A carton of milk sits beside his bag. The straw is chewed up. Kirihara doesn't look when Yanagi closes the door behind himself.

He could walk past Kirihara to go home alone, and Kirihara would never know. Those lips parted in sleep would never touch his mouth, or his stomach, or his dick. Yanagi's hands shake at the thought. He takes a deep breath, and then a step forward.

No.

Yanagi hesitates. He wants his feet to keep going, but his body relents. He pivots back around. His fingertips run across Kirihara's cheek, over to a curl of his hair. Kirihara's nose wiggles, but his eyes stay closed. Yanagi looks over his shoulder. The classroom light has been shut off. The hallway is empty, except for Kirihara's easy sighs.

Yanagi leans close. As soft as he can manage, he breathes into Kirihara's ear. The word is so quiet that he only feels it sough across his lips. "Akaya…"

Black eyes snap open. Kirihara tilts his head up, and to the side. His eyes start to close, and his eyelashes flutter against his cheek. A shuddered sigh seeps from Yanagi as Kirihara's nose bumps his cheek. He bites back a moan.

"Not here!" Yanagi hisses. Kirihara furrows his forehead, and frowns. That was sharper than he intended, but he doesn't apologize for it.

"Can we go to your place?" Kirihara asks. "My sister's home tonight."

Yanagi says nothing, but his body turns to Kirihara in answer.

***

The front door closes with a click. Kirihara dumps his jacket on the floor. Yanagi should pick it up, but instead he is walking to his bedroom. Kirihara pushes the door open. Yanagi closes it, with a second soft click. And they are on the bed, lips hot and wet and panting.

He runs his hands through Kirihara's hair. His fingertips trace numbers and characters Kirihara never picks up on. And Yanagi never finds the devil's horns, either.

In the darkness of his bedroom, the only light comes from the bloody tint of Kirihara's eyes. Yanagi drowns in the red hell that sucks him in deep. He bites at the buttery muscle of Kirihara's shoulder and he doesn't think he'll ever surface.

***

His sister calls. "Can you babysit tomorrow?"

Yanagi sets down his book with a frown. "Can't anyone else?"

She whines at him. She promises to double the amount she paid last time. She says he can bring a friend, too, if he wants, or that the kid can come over to Mom and Dad's, whatever is easier. She'll even pay for dinner.

Yanagi sighs.

"Please?" she moans. "Renji, if you don't help me out I'll—"

He says fine.

"I'll drop him off at five."

The call breaks his concentration. Soseki isn't as poetic when his eyes drift from the page every second paragraph. As he wedges the novel onto his bookcase he thinks about the money he'll make more than the obligation to his sister. Yanagi pulls his wallet out.

Kirihara phones when he's on the bus. Yanagi ignores the soft buzz in his pocket. He hops off the bus just outside a shopping arcade. Kirihara messages him: Wanna hang out 2morrow? :3

He walks into the arcade, past the cheap t-shirt shops and the bakeries with displays of cream puffs and curry buns. He turns left down another hallway at the sock shop that multiplies into a luggage stand packed with girls from a neighbouring junior high. Yanagi lingers at the door to the Caffé Excelsior. He can taste a green tea latte already. He fingers his wallet again—too thin for a latte today.

"Renji."

Sanada walks out of the café, holding a size large sakura hot milk tea. Yanagi raises his eyebrows.

"Seasonal flavour started today," Sanada mumbles. He takes a sip from his straw and his features soften a little.

They walk to the bookshop together, lost in the anonymous crowds moving in every direction. Sanada stuffs his milk tea into his bag outside the shop. Yanagi loses him in the manga rows, en route to the novels on the second floor. He squeezes past a stooped old man to reach the shelves of early Showa poets. Yanagi drags his finger along the spines. His brain checks off the titles—own that, own that, read that, own that. Finally, at the end of the shelf a book cover faces him that is new. Yanagi reads the flap, and flips through the pages lazily. His eyes soak in the words with instant recognition. His brain follows with the meaning a beat later.

Looks good, he thinks.

Sanada is still in the comics when Yanagi takes the escalator down. Sanada flips through a monthly Shonen Jump volume and laughs to himself.

"Enjoying yourself?" Yanagi asks.

Sanada whips his head up. He slams the manga shut. A blush rips across his face. He mutters something under his breath about childish comics. Yanagi leaves it at that.

In the arcade again, with the book tucked into his bag, Yanagi says, "Why can't you babysit tomorrow?"

Sanada looks at him. Yanagi stares back. "It's your turn," Sanada says.

"And?"

Sanada's lips scowl deeper. Under the artificial lighting, his face looks even pinker. Yanagi keeps walking ahead as Sanada looks down to pull his milk tea back out from his bag (and avoid the small smirk toying at Yanagi's mouth).

"Yukimura needs help setting up the year-end art show."

The smirk curls over Yanagi's entire mouth. "How magnanimous of you."

"Shut up."

Yanagi laughs, until Sanada rolls his eyes and adds, "Have fun with Sasuke, Oji-san."

***

The classroom is a sea of down-turned heads. All of them fill out the class request forms for high school. Yanagi's pen is heavy. The check-boxes on the page are empty. Instead of passing the form forward to the teacher, he slides it into his desk.

At lunch, Yagyuu and Yukimura compare classes for next year.

"What have you signed up for?" Sanada asks. "Literature?"

"Yes," Yanagi lies.

Between his katsudon and macaroni salad, Marui rolls his eyes. A pair of pretty seniors walk past with their elbows linked. Jackal jabs Marui in the side. They both wave at the girls. One of the girls trips over her shoes.

"Marui?" Sanada asks.

"Pssh!" Marui flips his crumpled form out from his pocket. "I'm going to idiot stream with Jackal!"

"Thanks," Jackal says. "It's called Technical Stream, by the way."

Niou snickers. His eyes sparkle under the fluorescent light. Yanagi purses his lips. Cold anger slithers up his throat.

"That's because you are an idiot," Niou says.

"At least I'll be getting some action next year," Marui says. He waggles his finger. "Unlike you."

"Why?" Yukimura asks. He blinks, blankly. Sanada shifts his eyes to Yukimura. Then himself closer by an inch or two.

Yanagi picks at the segments of yellow daikon pickle. He chews on them slowly. The saltiness makes his cheeks pucker a little.

Marui sighs. He shakes his head and sighs again. "See, the stupidest girls are the hottest girls, and they'll all be in the technical stream of high school."

"So, to pick up hot chicks…" Jackal says.

"We need to be technical stream too," Marui finishes. He and Jackal grin at each other and high-five.

"You're both really fucking stupid," Niou mutters. Yanagi stares at the cafeteria lunch on his tray. Rubbery konnyaku clings to his chopsticks. He tries to think about his lunch, instead of kissing, touching, sex.

The grin remains plastered on Marui's face. "Tell that to us in June, when you're still a virgi—"

"Senpais!" Kirihara—with bags dangling from his elbows and his one hand taken up by his food tray—waves. And loses his balance. The plates on the tray slide to the side. Yagyuu starts to say "Watch out!" and Sanada cringes at the inevitable. Jackal rushes to help, but it is Yanagi who gets there first.

His hand brushes Kirihara's arm. His eyes widen at himself. Why? he thinks. When Kirihara stares at him with his mouth hanging, Yanagi's pulse quickens.

He steps back. The tray balances on his hands. "Don't be careless," Yanagi says.

"You sound like Tezuka," Kirihara grumbles. Sanada twitches. Kirihara slides into the free seat at the cafeteria table, next to Yukimura. He lifts his eyes to Yanagi and offers a lopsided smile. Yanagi returns a half-nod.

"We're just talking about how we're leaving you, kid," Niou says.

"Tactful," Yagyuu whispers.

Niou snorts. "Piyo!"

The smile flickers. Kirihara forces a laugh. He scratches the back of his head. There is something acrid in the air: maybe burnt sugar from the cafeteria kitchen.

"I'd never be buchou if you guys stayed forever," Kirihara says. He doesn't sound convinced. The cold pit in Yanagi's stomach sinks lower.

Marui sniffs the air. He moves down the table, close to Kirihara.

"What?" Jackal asks.

Marui closes his eyes. He inhales deeply. His nose wiggles. Then, he opens his eyes. "Something delicious."

Kirihara stiffens. His hands reach for the plastic bag beside his lunch tray. Marui licks his lips. "I…uh…I just had home ec," Kirihara says. He pulls the bag toward his chest. Marui raises an eyebrow. He reaches a finger to poke the bag, but Kirihara hisses and tells him to fuck off.

"Well well," Marui says. "Baking a sweet something for a sweetie?"

The last time Kirihara was that shade of red, Sadaharu was sprawled on the court, bruised as black as his hair. Yanagi freezes. He stares at the space just above Kirihara's shoulder, where Marui hovers and whines for Kirihara to share.

Yanagi hears himself say, "Leave him alone Marui." The hairs on his neck prickle as the eyes at the table turn to him. Yanagi closes his eyes and wishes the feeling away.

Then Yukimura makes a joke. Yanagi isn't listening. The tension slides away into laughter, forgotten by the next sarcastic comment Niou mutters. But the sharp, cold hum across his skin lingers long past lunch time.

Along with Kirihara's eyes.

***

The words sting. His eyes sting. Yanagi takes a deep breath. His mind replays everything on loop until his throat is so thick he can hardly breathe.

…need to put more effort into your work. You're an intelligent student, Yanagi-kun, but you frequently fail to turn in assignments…You need to either regularly attend cram school to increase your marks, or the technical stream will be your only option. I cannot recommend you for the academic stream at this time…

He opens his novel on the bus. There are too many people for anyone to notice the pained lump in his throat, or that he blinks too hard, too often at the blurring words. After a page, he gives up reading the same lines over and over. Yanagi stares out the window at the rush of trees—soon they'll be studded with green buds. The roads are a wet sludge of oily puddles that splatter the window. Glowing signs of convenience stores, Starbucks and red lantern joints bounce and multiply in his vision. His stomach growls, and he can't remember if he finished the mayonnaise mess of lunch or not.

Twilight hangs above the cement apartment blocks as Yanagi climbs the slope of the street toward home. He watches a pair of crows watch him, with their heads cocked. They sit on the top of the retaining wall, behind which a train rattles past: tatan tatan tatan. Liquid lights flash on the backs of the crows, then they fly off into the tangle of train tracks in the distance. A post office scooter whizzes by, and dips into a narrow side street packed with garbage bins and parked bicycles.

Home is quiet, and empty for now. Yanagi makes a cup of tea in the dimness. He sips it, while still too hot. The burn on his tongue feels almost good. The form sits heavy on the table, folded into three for his parents to sign with the red ink of their hanko.

He sits on the couch until his tea is cold, and the buzzer sounds. Sasuke bounds into the apartment, even before his sister says hello.

She looks at Yanagi. "Mom and Dad…?"

"Mom's visiting her cousin in Sendai. Dad will be at work until late."

She smiles. "Like always."

Yanagi says nothing. Sasuke screams and launches himself—hard—at Yanagi's legs. Yanagi is thrown into the wall. "OJI-SAN!"

"We'll be out until late," she tells Yanagi. "So if we miss the last train, it's okay if Sasuke stays the night, right?" Before Yanagi can say anything, she says, "Mom always keeps the extra futons in the closet in her room, by the way. And here." She holds up a plastic bag. The smell of gyoza and packaged fish stew waft up to Yanagi's nose. "Dinner."

Sasuke wiggles against Yanagi's knees. "We're gonna have so much fun tonight, Oji-san!" He flashes a child's wide smile. "Mommy says that we can watch my movies and play hide and go seek and play with your video games because Gen-chan doesn't have any and—"

Yanagi looks at his sister. She shuts the door behind herself with a wink.

He leans against the cool wall for a moment. Inhale. Exhale. He swirls the stale taste of tea over his teeth. Sasuke rips into the bag he brought with him. Yanagi can hear the sound of toys, DVDs, and clunky children's books tossed out onto the floor. The plastic bag of supper, sitting on the table, crinkles in the winter draft.

The kotatsu sits in the middle of the living room. Yanagi plugs it in. He unties the bag of dinner and pulls out the warm packages, covered in condensation. Something watches him. He turns his head, and Sasuke's big eyes are in his face.

"Oji-san," he says.

Yanagi frowns. "Yes?"

"Why are you angry?"

"I'm not," Yanagi says.

Even Sasuke doesn't believe him. "You look really angry."

"Angrier than Gen-chan?"

Sasuke blows a raspberry. "He's not angry like you are right now."

A vein in Yanagi's temple starts to throb. His jaw aches, too, as he clenches it and stops himself from telling Sasuke to shut up and leave him alone.

"It doesn't matter," Yanagi says.

"Maybe if we play you'll feel better?"

Yanagi almost laughs. Sasuke watches him too carefully. So he nods once, and tells Sasuke to get some chopsticks from the container on the counter.

The microwave dings. The buzzer sounds again. Sasuke races for the door, faster and smaller than Yanagi can move in the cramped hallway. Sasuke flings the door open with a smile. Yanagi's shoulders sink.

Kirihara stands on the threshold, shifting from foot to foot. The same plastic bag from lunch hangs from his arm. He's still in his uniform, and his tennis bag is slung over his shoulder, along with his school bag.

"Uh…" He looks from Sasuke to Yanagi. His brow furrows. His fingers toy with the hem of his coat—with all his bags, he can't reach to itch his hair.

"Uh…hi," Kirihara says.

Too loud, Sasuke says, "Hi!" right back.

Kirihara looks at Yanagi. The bag on his elbow crinkles when he leans forward onto his toes. He looks awkward standing there, rocking back and forth. It feels awkward standing inside, letting the cold air of the open hallway into the apartment. Yanagi gives him a slight nod.

"Um…who is…?" Kirihara looks down at Sasuke. Concentration furrows his forehead.

Yanagi hesitates. The microwave reminds him that the food is hot. Kirihara closes the door with a soft click. Yanagi's heart speeds up. His pulse flutters in his throat. Kirihara bites his lip. He drops his bags, but Sasuke is here. Kirihara isn't pressed against Yanagi. His wet mouth isn't kissing a hot slimy trail across Yanagi's neck. His body isn't under Yanagi's hands, all eager moans and sighs.

"Is that your dinner?" Kirihara asks.

"Akaya?"

The sound of his voice sends a shudder through Yanagi's belly. Kirihara closes his eyes for an instant. His shoulders tense. Yanagi's eyes flick down to Kirihara's belt, and between his legs.

The same throbbing stiffness tightens his pants, too.

"Ojiiiiii-san!" Sasuke shouts from the kitchen. "Dinner's done!"

Yanagi tries to keep face as Kirihara mouths 'Oji-san?' Sasuke climbs the counter to reach for the microwave door.

"Senpai, he's your—"

"Shut up."

"Heh."

He doesn't laugh so much when Yanagi smacks the side of his head. Kirihara sniffles. Yanagi hands him a pair of chopsticks. All three of them squeeze under the kotatsu—which seemed a lot bigger earlier. The food, too, doesn't go as far with Kirihara grabbing at the pieces of fish cake in the oden.

And under the warm table, Kirihara's even warmer leg presses against Yanagi's. He keeps his eyes on Sasuke and the sentai rangers on tv. When Kirihara's hand creeps across the top of Yanagi's thigh, his vision flashes red. He's on the bed, with Kirihara pressed chest to chest. His body hums with the memory and his dick aches. Yanagi swallows. "Stop!" he hisses.

The hand retreats. The kotatsu doesn't seem quite as warm. Kirihara wiggles closer to Sasuke and asks how he likes Yanagi. With narrow eyes on Yanagi, he says, "Your oji-san, I mean."

Sasuke grins. Half a gyoza falls from his chopsticks onto the table. "He's nice. Do you like him?"

The gyoza in Yanagi's mouth tastes oily. He watches Kirihara chew on an answer. The longer Kirihara thinks, and twists a strand of hair between his fingers, the thicker and damper the air seems to be in the apartment.

"He's not bad," Kirihara says. Yanagi's hand moves to smack the sideways smile from Kirihara's face. He sits on his palm instead.

Every drop of oden is scraped clean from the warped Styrofoam container. Yanagi dares Sasuke to pick up the grains of rice from the bowls. Kirihara polishes the last gyoza off with a belch that makes Sasuke laugh. Yanagi can almost forget today and the teacher's words scraping the back of his mind.

Until Kirihara opens the plastic bag. A waft of burnt sugar floods Yanagi's nose. He's back at school, where the draft cuts through his blazer. He stands in front of the teacher, the same height but four feet shorter: …I cannot recommend you for the academic stream at this time…

"Senpai?"

There is a beaten box on the table. Inside sit a pile of broken cookies, burnt at the edges where chocolate chips have scorched. The residue of grease colours the sides of the box. Sasuke hovers over the back of the couch, asking if he can have one.

Kirihara keeps looking at Yanagi. In a small voice he says, "I made these. In home ec today. They look gross, but…" He forces a little laugh.

Yanagi opens his mouth. Kirihara's eyes widen as Yanagi pulls a cookie from the top of the pile. Crumbs dance over his fingers. He brings the cookie to his mouth. After the initial charred piece of chocolate, sweetness rolls over his tongue, buttery and crumbly and rich.

Yanagi says nothing. He sets the cookie down on the table.

Kirihara turns away. In a tight voice, he tells Sasuke he can have some of the crappy cookies.

Yanagi bites his lip on the apology. When Kirihara flops onto the couch next to Sasuke with the box of cookies, Yanagi picks up the take away containers and takes them into the kitchen. He opens the garbage can to toss everything inside. He holds the cookie in his hand, over the bin. The reflection of the tv bounces off the cabinets.

His eyes roll back a little as he eats the rest of the cookie. His tongue licks the last crumbs from his fingertips. Then he allows the lid of the garbage can to slam down.

***

FIC: Bad Romance 1, YanaKiri, NC17, 5/5

reposte — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 13:56:07 GMT

Title: Bad Romance 1 (5/5)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 34 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!

This fic has been truncated into 5 parts due to length. These parts are NOT CHAPTERS. This is a one-shot fic.

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5]

[The Demon Within] by aoiyuzu

In the showers, Jackal says, "Did you see the one guy? He's got a moustache!"

Someone from Higa throws a sponge, with deadly accuracy against Marui's thigh. It grazes Kirihara's arm. Soap sprays into his eye. He hisses. The steam hides the perpetrator. With a muttered curse, he wipes his eye with his hand. More soap, another hiss. He looks down, squinting, and remembers the soap in his other hand, and the bubbles cascading down both arms. Along his stomach, he can almost count a few wispy strands under his bellybutton. Kirihara sighs. Nearby, Niou frowns into a water-splattered mirror. His upper lip is as bare as Kirihara's. Yagyuu pats him on the shoulder, and whispers something about bears. And Sanada. Kirihara laughs, too, and louder when Yagyuu and Niou stare at him. The laugh slides away into the spray of water.

There is an announcement: meet back on the courts at the cafeteria end. Marui talks about the boxes he saw being loaded by the cafeteria doors—food they'll be eating soon. Kirihara rubs his stomach. It growls. And stirs. So does his dick. Not now! he thinks, hard. It stiffens harder, and one by one, the players leave the showers and turn off another steamy spray to hide behind. He cranks his shower higher. Burning water pelts his skin, already sore from laps, and hundreds of swings, and enough push-ups to make the soap slip from his hand more than once. It slides along the tiles. Kirihara shifts his eyes.

A soft smuck to the inside of his foot makes him look down, further than his stiffy. The soap slimes the tiles by his shower, a trailing smear quickly washing away as he lifts his eyes to follow, as the crow flies, to Yanagi.

He swallows.

Yanagi's back is turned. The muscles of his flat butt shift as he steps away, toward his shower, to turn it off. As the steam dissipates, Kirihara watches him grab his towel—small, wipes his face first, then tucks it around his hips—and walk to the change rooms. There is no tall, scrawny megane from Seigaku left in the showers right now, either.

"Fuck," Kirihara mutters.

"Eh?" Marui asks. He chortles. Kirihara looks around, and he cringes at Marui's leer. "No worries," Marui says, "it happens all the time." He pats Kirihara on the shoulder and walks off, still chuckling under his breath.

He's half-hard even back on the courts, where the deceptive warmth of the sun has melted into the mountains, but the floodlights have yet to illuminate the dim courts. Yagyuu squints and walks with a strained slowness, Niou closer to him, "Blind-o," he says. Yukimura chews on a power bar. It smells of peanuts, and azuki beans. Kirihara bounces from foot to foot. Yanagi's head, usually above the height of the team and easy to find, could be anywhere in the sea of big, tall players. Even Sanada's hat, so visible back home, is impossible to find. Jackal stands next to Kirihara. Kirihara closes his eyes. Blood throbs less and less between his legs. Another shadow falls in front of him. He reaches down slow and steady to cup his dick. He tugs one last time at the hem of his t-shirt. Good.

A single phosphorous floodlight flashes on, blinding and hissing. The PA crackles. "Supper?" Marui asks.

"—to start another round of training in preparation for tomorrow's games."

Groans, all around, except from the high school students, brown and burned from the sun and training and probably whatever battlefield they were pulled from last week, with their dreadlocks and bandaged knees and cut up faces. Kirihara touches his cheek, no longer tender under his fingertips. He runs his tongue along the inside. No scars. Kirihara narrows his eyes at Sanada.

By the dimness of twilight, more laps. Insects swarm above their heads, a mass of buzzing grey that gravitates to Kirihara's mouth and up into his nose. He chokes on wings and spits out bitter little legs, along with the furious ache of his muscles, which pull away from his bones. His tendons are jelly during stretches. Jackal flops onto his back for a split second, until a dirty look from a high school player makes him jump back into the repetitious formations of lunges and shuttle runs. Kirihara pushes himself until he tastes blood from his lungs. His balls are chafing in his underpants. Sweat sluices down his body, mixing with the dust and the bugs and the flying wads that the high school players spit—always in their direction. He almost forgets about the blur of people jumping jacks. Until, lit up by white phosphoric floodlights, Yanagi jogs beside someone tall and skinny, in blue Seigaku trackpants.

Spit flies from Kirihara's mouth. High school players run in front of Yanagi and Inui. They flicker, like an old film, in monochrome, their movements jerky and robotic. One instant there, three frames later, gone.

Kirihara seethes through his teeth. Beside him, Fuji smiles and holds out a racket. "Here," he says. The corners of his eyes crinkle. The pupils are swollen and intent. Kirihara looks down. The racket in his hands is gone.

"You threw this," Fuji says. He laughs. The brittle sound scrapes the inside of Kirihara's ears. He twitches. "I mean," Fuji says, "you dropped this."

Kirihara grabs it from Fuji by the rim. He wipes the handle on his shorts with a snort.

"I don't have germs," Fuji says. "I'm not a girl."

"You’re right," Kirihara says. "You just have loser all over." He laughs to fill the awkward pause. The look Fuji gives him makes the sound wither into the darkness. Kirihara stands there, with a twisted smile on his face, on his toes to run away, or maybe push through Fuji. Another boy gets there first. Taller than Fuji, bigger, and wearing a uniform from a school with romanji letters Kirihara can't be bothered to read.

"Aniki," he says.

The pack of high schoolers runs by with perfect timing. Kirihara pushes his way into the middle, two steps for every one of theirs. He digs his sneakers hard into the grass. Dirt clouds the air, along with the smell of green stains, tiny pebbles and sweat spraying up, around. Take that, Fuji and Fuji's brother!

Through the chainlink fence, a large purple bus pulls into the parking lot. Kirihara lags. Someone pushes into his side. Another jumps over his knee. He dodges out of the way, pac-man: back and forth, ahead, behind and ahead again until he can see, unimpeded. Four feet away is Inui, adjusting his glasses and muttering something about Hyoutei.

Atobe is the first off the bus. His eyes are already flickering across the courts looking for Sanada. Or maybe Tezuka. Kirihara looks back over his shoulder. Sanada stands by the ball machines, with his racket to the side. Tezuka is with Echizen and Momoshiro. The serves between them stop. All the balls roll around their feet. No ball boys in sight, except Urayama, who is camped beside Yukimura's tennis bag, folding sweat towels and arranging energy drink bottles by size.

Behind, the high schoolers complete another lap. One says with a snigger: "They're fucking dreaming if they think they'll make the team, let alone the cuts tomorrow!" The words slap Kirihara across the cheek. His eye twitches. Pressure builds behind his face, cutting into the muscle as the veins swell with blood. He can hear himself breathing hard, and his teeth crack. When he turns, he sees nothing more than a cloud of dust and the sweaty backs of the older players.

"Fuckers," he snarls. His fingertips dig into the chainlink. He pulls on the metal links with a growl. Inui mutters something. The sound breaks inside Kirihara. He split-steps to the side with the taste of blood in his mouth. The parking lot, the courts are painted with red wash, and the floodlights are an eerie pink, the same as the glint in Inui's lenses. Inui scribbles something in a notebook. The pen scratches the page.

Kirihara licks his lips. His foot is out as Inui turns, and steps into the blind spot of his vision. He stumbles. And Kirihara is back at the stadium, cackling as Inui is on his knees, spitting blood onto the hard green court. He starts to laugh again, the sound rising higher and higher as his body snaps from the coil of tension. His eyes are everywhere, and he's on his toes, grinding his sneakers down onto nothing.

Inui looks up, and says his name. Then he says Renji. Kirihara keeps laughing. "What the hell do you want with my senpai?" The red haze is thick around them, people swirling and dissolving, tennis plays and laps becoming a soup of activity outside the bubble that Yanagi steps into with the sudden sound of a pop.

Kirihara looks at him. His eyes swim into a slow focus on Yanagi, whose hand is still stretched out. There is a distant throb on Kirihara's face, from his cheek across to his nose. Something drips onto the ground, drip-drop of blood at his feet. He touches his upper lip. It is hot and sticky.

To Inui, Yanagi offers a hand, says his name—his first name—low on his lips. Inui stands up, but he doesn't brush the grass stains from his knees. Kirihara doesn't move from the spot, until the shadows have taken over with the same silent, dark hardness that Yanagi had in his eyes.

***

Soft yellow light from the buildings spills onto the courts. Everyone else is inside, moving around the cafeteria room with trays of food and bowls of rice.

The ball makes a thwacking sound against the wall, punctuating the slap of his sneakers.

"Stupid—"

Thwock. Forehand.

"Fucking—"

Shwook. Backhand.

"High schoolers!"

Thwop. Split-step.

"Stupid—"

Thwuck. Wide angle. Run left.

"Fucking—"

Shwoop. Catch the ball on the rim.

"Megane!"

Smash! Two hand return.

The ball arcs up, and disappears onto the black roofline. Kirihara reaches into his pocket. It's empty. He pulls out the fabric liner. Pieces of lint drift down, their shadows like insects.

***

Kaidoh lurks outside. Two to a room, with the toilets and showers at the end of the hallway. Turn the corner to another hallway, with more rooms. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and hisses. Behind him, the night rattles soft against an open window. The smell of ozone is in the air, along with the soughing leaves of the forests, dense growth up to the edge of the courts. He looks out the window. The wind moans in the mountains. Like a ghost.

Kaidoh shudders. Checks the time on his cellphone. Laughter drifts from the direction of the common room.

The lights flicker once, twice, and then a third time. The fluorescent humming dies. Then, darkness.

Kaidoh stiffens.

Around the corner, someone approaches. Shuffling feet, dragging bags, corpses. Kaidoh crawls back against the wall. His heart slams in his chest, and the blood is frozen in his veins. There is heavy, muffled breathing, and the smell of the forest, damp and rotting. Death.

A gust of wind soughs across his skin. Kaidoh can't breathe for the tightness in his chest. And then, the face of Kirihara looks at him with wild, demon eyes that waver. His face is caked with dirt and blood. Kaidoh pushes down the lump of passing fear. No ghosts here. Don't think about ghosts. He hisses as he exhales, and says Kirihara's name.

"What do you want?" Kirihara snaps. He touches his upper lip, stained dark. Kaidoh steps deeper into a shadowed doorway. His face is hot when he says,

"Have you seen Inui?" Senpai.

Kirihara curls his lip. Then makes a noise, and touches his lip again. "Why the hell would I know where he is?"

"I saw him with your senpai last," Kaidoh says. He takes a step closer to Kirihara. At his sides, his fists are balled. Anger rises hot inside his throat as he remembers Inui, the blood, the bandages in the hospital and for weeks afterward. Kaidoh swallows. It hurts.

Kirihara laughs a shrill little noise. But his eyes are everywhere and gleaming white. The wind gusts through the window and slaps at an open doorway somewhere near. Kaidoh flinches. Kirihara tells him that he doesn't care about Inui, or Yanagi-senpai, or even the fucking high school players. He'll crush them all. His voice breaks on his senpai's name, before he pushes Kaidoh out of the way and opens the door to the room.

He slams the door in Kaidoh's face.

Kaidoh walks down the hallway, toward the bright common room, hands in his pockets and head low to the ground. Momoshiro calls out, "Oi, Kaidoh! Come hear the ghost story Fuji-senpai is gonna tell us!"

Kaidoh doesn't move. His shoulders tense. Until, beside him, Inui says, "The chances of this building being haunted are 0.5%, given the structure was constructed four years ago and no deaths have been reported on premises to this date."

Inui pushes his glasses up on his nose. Kaidoh looks at him. Inui blinks, fish-like, and the knots in Kaidoh's shoulders unravel.

***

He listens for the sounds of Yanagi for hours. Sleep is heavy on his eyes, but Kirihara forces them open. And his leg keeps twitching, the muscles aching for release, but unable to settle. A message on his cellphone beeps, a tiny LCD glow from the table between the narrow beds.

There is a click of the door, followed by a brief beam of light. Kirihara closes his eyes. He keeps his hands at his sides, on top of the sheets and as limp as he can manage. Clothes rustle, a bag unzipped. Another sigh—not his own—and finally, the sound of a mattress creaking. In the darkness, two people breathing long, deliberate exhales.

"You're awake," Yanagi says.

Kirihara is silent. He holds his breath. Yanagi says nothing, until Kirihara's lungs are too tight, and he exhales with a gasp.

"Why do you hate me?" he mutters.

He waits for an answer. A waxing moon shines through the slats in the window blinds, nearly full. Clouds gather around in washy strands, like a veil that never fully covers the pearly light.

This time, Yanagi is the one who never answers.

***

There is a temple, wedged into a dilapidated neighbourhood of fish shops and run-down two-story apartments, swarming with laundry and clinging with the sharp smell of garlic, close to home. At five sharp, if Kirihara is awake and listens through the caws of crows and the rumble of street sweepers, he can hear the low dong of the bronze bells calling the gods to life.

He wakes to the sound of another bell: high-pitched pulses over the PA system, pumped through the hallways and the rooms, too loud to ignore. No sliver of rosy morning peaks through the blinds. Kirihara rolls over to pull a pillow over his ears. Yanagi is awake, in his underpants. He squeezes his eyes shut at the sight of Yanagi pulling a t-shirt on and stretching his stomach muscles taut. There is a hot, sweaty stir inside somewhere that Kirihara doesn't want to think about, except: Worst timing ever.

"Get up," Yanagi says.

He grunts. Stuffs his head under the sheets that Yanagi yanks down to his ankles. He shivers at the sudden loss of his own warmth. With another grunt, he rolls out of bed to shuffle into his uniform.

The court is populated with yawns and low heads, the occasional crack of a bleary eye, and Yukimura crunching on a bag of nori-flavoured senbei. Kirihara stumbles over. His knees crack and groan from yesterday. His neck has fused into his spine and it hurts to turn left. The sun swims along the horizon, casting amber-glazed silhouettes of the high school players across the nets. One of the coaches announces stretches. Lines form, lazy and lopsided, far enough apart to not have an elbow smack your face during an arm circle, close enough to start to mutter, whisper. Kirihara stretches his arms beside Jackal, following the en masse movements as his muscles tighten, tired and overused. He yawns loud. Marui catches it, and yawns so wide a wad of gum lands on the ground. He breaks formation, bends down, and pops it back into his mouth.

"Gross," Jackal says.

Marui shrugs. He lunges. "Last piece I had on me."

On the very far court, a crowd gathers. Kirihara jumps up twice as high during a jumping jack. The heads around him block the view until Sanada lands on his feet. Kirihara is in the air, and there, mid-court, is Momoshiro drenched in sweat, holding onto a racket popping strings.

And on the other court, an ogre. Kirihara thumps to the ground. The high schooler was the biggest he's seen yet—and the nastiest. The crowds rise up with a gale of clapping and cheers. His smashes are like gunshot, slamming into Momoshiro's court loud enough to leave dents. Kirihara thinks about Sanada's thunder—the balls heavier than lead—and he shudders, wonders how bad Momoshiro will be cut up and bruised from that beast who is three times as scary as Sanada could ever be.

More players break away from the stretches to watch. Kirihara scans the heads for Yanagi, who was next to Sanada, nice and close and safe. But Inui is lurking around the edge of the court, and Kirihara's stomach twists when he watches Yanagi approach Inui, far from him. He spits onto the ground, and swears under his breath.

Another gun shot explodes in the air. All of the high school students drift away, leaving in a bottleneck through the fence gate until not a single one remains, even the monster playing Momoshiro. The ogre kicks up dirt and Momoshiro's bloody remains in his exit. Fee fie fo fum.

"Hey middle school students!"

Everyone looks over. On the roof of the cafeteria, a tall man speaks into a megaphone. Long hair snakes around his face. Kirihara scratches the back of his head, thinking the guy looks vaguely familiar. The man says, "I am your mental coach, Saitou…" The sun hides his eyes, growing brighter and hotter as the coach talks, tells them they must be so strong to be here, blah blah blah. The knots inside Kirihara twist. He shoves through Niou and Yagyuu to the edge of the group, close to where Yanagi and Inui are. The two of them mumble to each other about the coach's height.

Kirihara inches closer. He strains his ears and stands on his toes. Sanada gives him a narrow look from under his cap. Kirihara flashes a smile right back. He's too far away for a smack. His eyes settle back on Yanagi and Inui. The coach lifts his hands, gesticulating that they can become stronger with training, blah blah—the usual pep talk that makes Kirihara's hands itch to hold a racket, his tendons tense and ready to spring onto the court, to do something instead of standing around.

"To begin, form groups of two, with whomever you want!"

He snaps up Yanagi's arm. As he's tripping, lunging close, his foot happens to catch Inui's. He kicks his knee out, but keeps his eyes on Yanagi, who leans back for a moment. Away from him. Kirihara digs his fingers into Yanagi's jacket deeper. "Senpai," he says.

Inui looks at Yanagi. Kirihara lowers his head, lets hair drip into his face. Yanagi pulls back his arm. Kirihara thinks about last night. He holds tighter, and tighter, until his knuckles splotch with white. Yanagi sighs at Inui, and says nothing. Another player, with greasy hair and an oily smile, calls out Inui's name with a flirty laugh.

Around them, everyone is pairing up, mostly with teammates, friends. Lone stragglers hang around the edges—Kite the hitman staring at the back of Tezuka's head, along with Sanada (beside Yukimura) and Atobe. Two Hyoutei players behind him are already walking toward Niou and Yagyuu, who hang around at the baseline of the first court. The coach looks down from the roof, and covers a little laugh with his hand.

The back of Kirihara's neck prickles. Cold flushes through his bones. "It's a round to get rid of the losers," he says.

Yanagi says nothing to him. He looks at Inui, then to a pair of Fudomine players. We can play them again, Kirihara thinks. Memories of laughter, and spring flowers drifting onto the courts, as Tachibana stumbled and sank to the ground, teeth bared and ankle dragging. There was blood scattered along with hydrangea petals. Kirihara smiles to himself.

Tezuka and Kaidoh walk by. Kirihara blinks. He tugs on Yanagi's arm. Tezuka would be more fun…

Tezuka, on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, his racket blown away and strings splintered. Kirihara shivers at the thought of bloody victory rushing through his body. He shifts his toes. Tezuka's glasses, crunching underfoot.

Kirihara licks his lips. Delicious.

"Fifty percent chance we're being misled," Inui says.

"No," Yanagi says, "higher. Sixty-six, at least."

The coach touches his forehead. "The partner you teamed up with is the person you'll play. Those who lose, leave."

The thwock of balls from the high school players on the west courts echo in the air. A racket drops to the ground with a hollow sound. Someone says, "Fuck."

At centre court, Yukimura and Sanada stand at the net. Yukimura's back is turned. Sanada mutters something quickly, and then there is nothing except the soft sound of their footsteps on the grass. Kirihara thinks back—it's been ages since Yukimura and Sanada have played for real. Friendly matches last year, before Yukimura got sick. They laughed at each other, called each other "lazy ass", and Kirihara was too busy slugging serves at Niou to pay much attention to the score. He pinches his arm until it hurts, but he still can't remember.

Next to him in the stands, Yanagi is silent. Marui spits his gum out into a paper, and frowns.

Yukimura has first serve. The shot is straight, and strong. Sanada runs for it. Ka. The ball tears through the air, burned rubber on Yukimura's racket. Kirihara has both hands on the railing—for Sanada's shot, even a two handed return was never good enough.

Yukimura's lips twitch. He backhands the ball to Sanada's baseline. Sanada is there: one moment, at the net, the next, at the baseline. He shoots the ball back, just as hard, to Yukimura. Yukimura smiles, and lobs the ball across the net. Too easy, Kirihara thinks. They fall into a rally, bouncing back and forth with cracks of rubber, and razor-sharp streaks of neon in the air. Sanada hits a backhand shot to change the angle. Yukimura dashes to the net. It's going to be a drop-shot. Sanada runs. And then Yukimura hits a hard, curling shot to the corner of the baseline.

The point is called, and the digital counter flashes with the first liquid numbers: Yukimura, 15-0.

Yukimura throws the ball up again. Kirihara leans on the railing, until the metal cuts into his weight. Sanada and Yukimura start a volley: the ball, words, their footwork like dancing across the courts as they move to return the shots. Then Yukimura rocks back on his heel, far enough to buy that extra fraction he needs to roll the ball across his racket and shoot it hard to Sanada's left. Sanada's eyes flicker under his cap. He runs for it, and stamps his feet hard. Sanada's shot is too fast to watch. Nothing is left, except the stands shaking under Kirihara's feet, and the shadow of Sanada's racket above his head.

Rai.

"That shot can break racket gut," Yagyuu says. He steps up beside Kirihara, from nowhere. Sweat drips down his flushed face. Niou is gone.

"This is a pain," Yukimura says. He swings back hard—too fast, too far. Kirihara shakes his head. Instead of his racket, though, Yukimura catches the ball with the end of his handle.

Kirihara's jaw drops.

Another point to Yukimura. And then two more, in quick succession. He takes the service, as an ace.

"Just like last time," Yagyuu mutters. Yanagi looks back over his shoulder. The stands shake and shudder as Inui runs off then, tripping his way toward the toilets with purple lips, and a blue tone to his face. The oily haired kid laughs under his breath.

An empty PET bottle, stained and sticky with brownish remnants, rolls under Kirihara's feet. He kicks it back to the kid, who tucks it into his tennis bag with another slippery laugh.

The points flip by fast on the digital scoreboard. The shots crack like thunder from Sanada, and flash white-hot like lightning from Yukimura. Another game for Yukimura, and they change courts. Sanada whips his head around. Sweat sprays into the stands. Kirihara makes a face, and wipes the hot drips from his arm onto the side of his t-shirt.

Yukimura looks up. His eyes are filled with sunlight, so bright that the colour disappears. Kirihara looks from him, to Sanada—throwing a sweat towel aside and calling for the next ball—and then to Yanagi, in the stands beside him. Yanagi is close enough to touch, but his eyes are focused on something far. Kirihara narrows his eyes. Sanada returns Yukimura's serve with a swift, straight shot. The ball cuts across the court, silent, until it hits the net and drops with a single, soft bounce.

Sanada's shoulders are tight. He plants his feet, solid like a mountain. Yukimura looks at him, and then the ball is in the air, and his racket slams it hard. Sanada shouts through his shot, two-handed and heavy on his racket strings. All of the heads in the stands move in the same direction, to see the ball strike the net for a double fault.

Match point is called.

A sharp wind whispers through the trees. It crawls against the back of Kirihara's neck. He jumps the stand barrier. Sanada stomps off the courts. At the net, Yukimura sighs. He's not smiling. He doesn't even look in Kirihara's direction.

Kirihara unzips his racket. He slings it over his shoulder, and looks back from the net, to Yanagi, still standing close to the stands where Inui had run off. Kirihara digs his nails into the spongey grip tape. "SENPAI!" he shouts. His face is hot now, and his muscles twitch, especially his cheek, slapped with memories. Anger. Defeat.

"If I can win against one of those three…" he mutters.

"Akaya!"

Yanagi walks over to him with slow, long strides. His knees are knobby, his face unreadable. His lips are drawn into a thin, small line. His racket stretches, too close to Kirihara's knees. Grinning, Kirihara split-steps to the side with a wiggle. "Coin toss?" Yanagi asks.

Kirihara snorts. "Not if it's Niou-senpai's." He tilts his head up, to the side, and leans onto his right leg. "You can serve, senpai," he says. "I'll beat you anyway." Kirihara cackles.

The sound dies when Yanagi says, too smooth, "You just might."

He serves first. The pace can be his to set, or to lose. Yanagi's words linger in the back of his mind, crawling at his scalp as he bounces the ball, seven times. The sun sinks into the mist, glowing faintly in the colourless sky. Games are starting across the other courts, no cheers, just the pong of balls, and muffled grunts, scuffing sneakers, and the coach clapping from the roof. "Do your best!"

Kirihara snorts. Yanagi stands at the baseline, a little taller than his usual stance: bent knees, racket tilted and ready in between them, with narrow eyes following the ball, the player, one beat ahead and calculating three plays down the line. He's now low enough to the ground. His racket isn't open enough to return a fast shot.

Kirihara tosses the ball up. One last glance to Yanagi, then he slugs his racket into a fast, hard serve. SLAM! Right to the centre-left at mid-court. Yanagi dashes, but his racket only catches the edge of the ball, which veers over, and out of bounds.

15-0.

Kirihara narrows his eyes. Yanagi raises his eyebrows. Back at the baseline, Yanagi bends a little lower; he opens his racket a little wider. Kirihara relaxes his shoulders, reaches for another ball from his pocket, and slugs another serve hard across the court. Low to the net, it skims the top. Yanagi runs forward, then changes direction with the ball, and punts it over. Kirihara laughs as he runs. Blood rushes through his veins. The game pumps through his body, hard and fast and hot. He swings back for a lob. The morning whips through his hair, crisp and cool at the back of his neck. The ball is a yellow blur across the courts. His shoes burn as he makes a cross-court dash to catch Yanagi's volley. The volleys are easy to play with and turn on his racket; it’s easy to flick his wrist and shoot wide. Yanagi catches them, always, with easy strides across the court. His expression is set, his eyes unreadable. His feet turn and pivot, along with his racket—a backhand, a front shot, another backhand that veers to Kirihara's left.

He slams the ball for a point. Too easy. Yanagi settles at the baseline. Kirihara squeezes the ball hard. Play with me senpai. He digs in harder into the ball, until the rubber yields and burns with tension. He licks his lips, and throws the ball up. Victory will be delicious if he can finally win against one of those three.

(And be number one!)

The ball careens across the court, veering to the left, and then switching direction. A rush of energy throbs behind his eyes, forcing the blood to the surface. Yanagi runs left, right and back to the baseline to buy time to calculate the trajectory. Kirihara laughs. He has no idea where the ball will go, and it fills his chest with a heavy satisfaction to see Yanagi sweat and fumble to make the play.

Then Yanagi steps forward, to the middle of the court. Wide swing to the side. Kirihara runs right. It'll be wide. The ball hits Yanagi's racket. His ears are ready for the smash of the hit, but instead, there is a soft plock and the ball drops over the edge of the net. He runs. He skids on the grass. Lands on his knees, yellow felt in front of his eyes when he looks up. It rolls toward Kirihara another inch before it stops completely. He shakes, laughs under his breath as he pushes himself up on scraped knees, and wipes the dirt from his shins. Blood dribbles down his chin, and mixes with sweat. Kirihara licks at it. Voices behind him, watching, mutter about he'll never beat one of those three, he'll never be number one no matter how bloodshot his eyes are.

"Utsusemi," Yanagi says. He tucks his racket to his side, and stands tall. He looks down his nose at Kirihara as he stumbles back to the baseline. The point is announced for Yanagi. Yanagi who frowns, and won’t even open his eyes to look at Kirihara when they switch courts and Kirihara slams into Yanagi's side.

His head hangs. His eyes are swimming and filled with so much blood it hurts to see. He shakes his head. His brain rattles inside. The grip tape leaves black marks on his palms. The voices swarm around him, humming and buzzing and crawling into his skull through his ears.

Never be number one.

Never defeat those three.

Never

Never

Never

A scream rips through his throat. There is a disembodied laugh breaking and clawing through his mouth that scrapes at the court, more than his sneakers on the grass. He laughs and laughs until his voice breaks. His body throbs, hot and flushed to the tips of his hair. Every bone in his body is bursting, every muscle is thundering with blood. He turns around. And someone shouts, "Demon!"

Kirihara just laughs. He runs his tongue along his teeth. The sharpness cuts, and feels good when he does it again. "I'll defeat you all," he says. His eyes roll back, just in time to catch the serve Yanagi shoots at him. His entire body shudders through a backhand, two hands, slugged so hard that he stumbles. Kirihara keeps laughing as the blood keeps pounding. "There's not much time before you graduate," he says. Yanagi's shoulders stiffen. His racket jerks as he pivots. Kirihara jumps on the spot, howling and cackling as his throat screams. Yanagi runs fast enough to slip and lose his footing. The master's face flickers, his eyes clouding dark, as his façade crumbles away. He curls his lip in disgust. The ball slams onto the baseline, and his knees are welded to the spot.

"I'll stop at NOTHING!" Kirihara yells, between the gales of laugher that wrack his body into convulsions. His racket is gone, thrown across the court with a clatter as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

15-0, Kirihara.

The serve is his. He squeezes the ball again, another knuckle serve that veers past Yanagi's eyes to graze his ear. Yanagi rocks back, and swings. "You can't catch it!" Kirihara shouts. He runs on the spot, squirming and shaking with flushing, feverish glee. His racket is poised, and he leans forward, ready for the return that can't come. But Yanagi swings hard, cradling the ball too long on his racket, and he flings it back over the net, right into the middle of Kirihara's laughter.

Another game, Yanagi.

Kirihara chokes. He shakes his head. Sweat flies across his face. Yanagi lifts his chin, and says, "You want to know how." He strokes the rim of his racket, long fingers trailing along the ridges of the string. Another flush of heat and red-faced bloody shame fills Kirihara, hard and heavy and damp. He breathes hard through his nose. His body tenses up. He blinks, and for a moment, the sky is almost blue again.

The clouds roll past. Intermittent chirps of birds sound from the direction of the forest, and from the other direction are the endless thwocks of balls from the high schoolers and the other matches on now. Kirihara seethes. He digs his feet into the ground, ripping the grass from its roots. His arms are so tense, the muscles twitch and his racket shakes. Yanagi's eyes are hard, the sunlight lost inside the darkness. His lips move, just enough for Kirihara to read a name that isn't his.

He growls.

Yanagi takes the next game, 5-0.

Kirihara shrugs his shoulders. He runs hard to the balls, and slams them harder, screaming as they hit the net, one after the other. Yanagi hits soft returns, barely skimming the net with drop shots that Kirihara dives for, and tastes mouthfuls of bitter, green earth. He spits hard. He screams louder. Yanagi's face loses all colour. His eyes are black, and his shots faster, one to the net, the next to the sideline, barely inside, so Kirihara slugs it with two hands. The ball arcs up and around, to skim the creaking metal legs of the referee's chair, another foul, point to Yanagi.

Never…

Kirihara looks around, fast and frantic as his knees shake. The blood throbs in his chest, and pools in the back of his mouth, choking off his words, his laughter. He swallows. The last serve is his, match-point. His heart sinks into his stomach. Sweat glues his uniform to his back, and his hands to his racket. He peels them off for a moment, to readjust. In the stands, Inui crawls along the stairs to sit on the fourth level up.

Kirihara squeezes the ball, all the way to his knuckles.

Yanagi raises his racket. "Referee," he says.

Inside his chest, Kirihara's heart stops thumping. Blackness plays at the sides of his eyes. His lungs are so tight, he cannot breath when Yanagi says, "I resign."

The ball flies out of Kirihara's hand. Yanagi grabs his bag, and zips up his racket.

Kirihara starts to shake, all over. Chills crawl up his arms, and his legs. He runs to the net, his vision stained and wet. "WAIT!" he shouts. "Tell me this is a fucking joke, senpai!? We're not DONE!" He throws his racket onto the ground. Two of the strings snap like cartilage.

Yanagi slings his bag over his shoulder. He looks up into the stands, then looks back over his shoulder, to Kirihara, as he starts to walk away. "You'll be left in the camp," he says.

Inui climbs down from the stands with careful steps, until Yanagi meets him at the gate. "Let's go home, Sadaharu," Yanagi says.

Inui's words are lost in the howl that rips through the courts. Victory tastes sharp, shards in his chest. Twisting with each step as Yanagi walks away, side by side with Inui.

***

The afternoon is a dripping blur of matches, played three at a time before the losers walk away through the same gate that Yanagi left.

Kirihara sits. Jackal slumps next to him. Yagyuu blinks, and sighs, and his glasses fall down his face. Even Yukimura just looks at his knees with a blank-faced stare.

Anger sits hard in his belly, swelling with each passing point on the scoreboards. Kirihara digs his nails into the wooden bench. Under his fingers, the wood starts to split and flake and fall. When he looks up, half the players have left, and the coach says the real training can begin.

***

He storms into the room. Slams the door. The novel next to Yanagi's bed slips and falls to the floor with a flutter of pages. Kirihara picks it up, and throws it against the wall with a scream. "Asshole!" He kicks Yanagi's bag over from its perch against the wall. "Fucker!" He kicks it again, and again, his foot crunching the nylon and the soft contents. It sits, and suffers. Kirihara claws at the damp air above his head as another scream rips through his throat.

The rain scratches soft against the window. Lights wink from the courts through the horizontal slats of the blinds. Broken, when Kirihara throws a towel—previously folded over a chair back to dry.

"Damn you!!"

He stops short of tearing Yanagi's pillow in two. Instead, he pummels his fists into it until the pillow sinks and sags in defeat. His head throbs, a vice tightening around his temples. Blood pushes against the surface of every pore. "That's not how it's supposed to go," he says. "You fucking ruined it." His voice cracks. It hurts to breathe. He punches the pillow again.

The door opens. Kirihara knows who it is, even in the darkness. The soft footsteps. The height of the shadows. Even the faint sound of breathing, not his own.

Every ounce of blood rushes to his head. It knocks him off the bed with the force of it. His body throbs, and pulses with his heart beat. He bares his teeth and lunges, slamming Yanagi into the wall with a hard thud. Kirihara snarls. Yanagi hisses.

"Akaya!"

Kirihara balls his fist. He aims for Yanagi's chest. Yanagi dodges to the side. Pain, hard and furious cracks through Kirihara's knuckles when he smashes a punch into the wall. He shouts, "You ruined it! That's not how it was supposed to go!"

"Did you even listen to me?" Yanagi's words are faster and sharper than ever. They slice Kirihara across the face, followed by a hand. He screams. Yanagi tells him to be quiet, to control himself. Blood fills his vision, and bitterness fills his mouth. Yanagi says, "I told you to aim for the top."

"You just wanted to go off with that loser!" Kirihara yells. Another punch, aimed for Yanagi's stomach. Yanagi grabs him by the back of the head, and yanks hard on his hair. Spit flies. Kirihara's neck snaps back. His eyes snap up, wild and filled with red anger. Yanagi is breathing hard, and his lips are parted.

Kirihara licks his own lips. He grabs at Yanagi's collar, the first thing he can reach.

"Don't you dare call him that again!" Yanagi snarls. He yanks harder. Kirihara yelps as his neck is jerked back further, faster. Yanagi's hands are hot against his scalp.

A draft seeps through under the door, and under the blinds. It traces patterns on Kirihara's skin, until he shivers with a low moan. He tries to wiggle free. Yanagi digs his fingers in harder.

"You never wanted to play doubles with me," Kirihara says. "You just want to leave us. You want to…" He swallows a woolly lump. It slithers down his chest, past his pounding heart, and past his belly, down between his legs. He squirms. Yanagi's mouth twitches. His breath catches.

"Akaya…"

You want to leave me. He can't say the words. He can’t finish his sentence. The last word dies on his lips. His eyes flicker from Yanagi's black pupils, down to Yanagi's mouth. So close that he can taste the damp heat of Yanagi's breath.

Someone snarls. Someone moves. In the darkness, it is hard to tell. Yanagi's hand grabs the back of Kirihara's neck, and Kirihara digs his nails into Yanagi's arms. They struggle to move away, and to move closer.

And then there are mouths on each other, hot and slimy and hard. Kirihara is too angry to think about it, just that he shoves his tongue in Yanagi's mouth, and Yanagi does the same. He kisses harder, and tries to bite at Yanagi's lips. He can taste blood. A moan vibrates through his throat, all the way down to his dick, swollen and aching as he rubs closer. Yanagi shoves a knee between Kirihara's legs. His mouth is wet and hot and tastes a bit like the green tea he always drinks. His tongue slides over Kirihara's, then over his teeth, too. Kirihara gasps into the kiss. Electric shivers course through his veins. All the hairs on his body stand up, and brush against Yanagi's body, super-sensitized.

Yanagi's hands are on his face, holding tight. Kirihara slides his hands up to Yanagi's neck, to hold him in place. They kiss harder, faster until Kirihara's lungs hurt and he pulls away, dragging saliva strands to get a breath. Yanagi's tongue trails along his jaw, down his neck. His teeth are sharp. Kirihara hisses. He turns his head, and Yanagi kisses him hard again.

They stumble backwards. Kirihara hits the edge of a mattress with the backs of his knees. Yanagi is heavy and hard when he lands on Kirihara. Kirihara bites back, until Yanagi sucks in a breath, and says his name in a long, low moan. Kirihara closes his eyes. He digs in deeper into Yanagi's shoulders. Heart pounds in his chest, but he can feel the deep doki doki thumping of Yanagi, too: behind his ribs, in his shorts. For a fraction of a second, Kirihara stiffens. His eyes snap open. There is a hand wedged between their stomachs, fumbling and sweaty on Kirihara's stomach. A shuddered moan cuts into the kiss. He leans back, head to the side, and shivers.

A shirt is thrown across the room. Kirihara sits up, breathing hard. His nipples are stiff and cold in the draft, from the slime trails Yanagi leaves. He bites back when Yanagi pulls his own t-shirt off. Yanagi curses, and grunts more than he ever did on the tennis court. He pants and his hands dig into Kirihara's hair. Kirihara leaves marks across Yanagi's stomach. He sinks his teeth into the soft skin until Yanagi hisses and pulls at Kirihara's hair, pulls him up for a hard kiss. Their teeth clack. Kirihara's brain rattles. He sits on Yanagi's stomach, and it feels good.

Shadows play over Yanagi's skin. In the semi-darkness, there is nothing except the heavy sounds of panting, then a rustle. Another gasp, a name, and more kissing, wet and sloppy and punctuated with gasping groans. Kirihara drags his nails down Yanagi's back, over the muscles that served point after point onto his court. He bares his teeth. Yanagi's lip curls back, to show his own. Their eyes meet with a flash of black pupils in the dark, and then Kirihara's shorts are gone. Something rips. His heart pounds, his blood throbs under the skin, painful in his dick. He cries when Yanagi wraps a tight hand around his dick. His entire body shakes. The bed creaks under them. Yanagi hisses to be quiet. Kirihara rocks back, and thrusts into the hand so different from his own. He whimpers and gasps and pushes down on Yanagi's arms, one with each hand. They move together, in sync, like doubles until Yanagi sucks in a breath. Kirihara wriggles down to Yanagi's knees. He squeezes his hand around Yanagi's dick. Yanagi moves, too: bucking his hips with a grunt. A drawn-out noise escapes through Yanagi's teeth, dissolving into a moan as he shudders and comes. Yanagi is still breathing hard, and clumsy when he rubs Kirihara's balls, and bites his shoulder, hard and blunt.

Blood pushes behind Kirihara's eyes. It pushes through his body, lightning-fast and just as hot as he jerks forward. His lips move, and then his body strains and shakes in waves flooding through his senses, through his dick. He grabs onto Yanagi as hard as he can. Yanagi, whose body chokes off Kirihara's groans, whose kisses smother Kirihara's neck, whose belly is covered with Kirihara's come.

They lie on the bed, on top of the sheets, feverish and silent. Kirihara wipes the sweat from his forehead onto the pillow. Next to him, leg between Kirihara's thighs, Yanagi breathes. His eyes are focused on the window. Once in a while, he blinks. His hands are sticky on Kirihara's ribs. Kirihara thinks of something to say, but nothing seems right.

***

He wakes up, naked and alone. Kirihara shakes his head. Another dream, he thinks. But when he stands, there is enough faint morning light from the window that he can see red marks on his legs. His neck is crooked the wrong way. He turns in the small mirror on the wall. There are purple marks on his neck and shoulder. When he brushes his finger tips over them, they hurt. His face is red, too—hot with the memory of Yanagi on top of him, Yanagi biting him, kissing him, touching his cock.

The showers are packed with other bodies, all complaining of their own bruises. Burning all over, Kirihara sneaks in under the cloak of steam. He thinks, Don't look at me! before someone taps his shoulder. Jackal says in a whisper, "I don't want to room with Yukimura!" He shifts his eyes from side to side. Yagyuu shuffles in with sleep-bleary eyes, deprived of his glasses. He fumbles around and mumbles, "Good morning."

In the cafeteria, Yukimura sits alone at a table. Two trays are in front of him, both packed with bowls of rice and pickles, omelettes and dry toast. Yukimura works his way through a salad, and chugs it back with an extra-large sized energy drink. Then he pops a row of pills from a packet.

"Er…I think Sanada left on the bus already," Jackal says. "Um…you know, with the others."

Yukimura blinks. "What?"

Jackal nods to the trays. Kirihara shifts his weight. He tries not to touch his neck, which tingles where Yanagi bit him. He smoothes out his t-shirt collar.

"This is all my breakfast," Yukimura says.

Jackal flushes.

"They're all gone?" Kirihara asks. He looks around. Junior high players sit at tables on the near side of the cafeteria. On the other side, high schoolers eat, sardines squashed around their tables: belching loud, food flying, words even louder. The tall, lanky players with dark hair catch his eyes as he lingers, palm pressed sweaty to the table.

Yagyuu nods, and says Niou left an hour ago. "Did Yanagi-kun forget something?" he asks.

Kirihara's face is even hotter at the mention of Yanagi's name. "Er…" His voice squeaks, but no one makes fun of it. What he thinks is entirely different than the mumbled answer he manages.

The tea at breakfast is weak and bitter and green. Kirihara rolls the taste over his tongue, and looks out through the windows onto the courts.

***

Kaidoh says, "You played a good doubles game, senpai." He holds back a hiss, and stares at his sneakers. In his hands, he wrings his bandana until the sweat falls to the ground in fat drops.

"There was an 85% chance we would lose," Inui says. "The high school players have up to three years more experience, and 56% more muscle mass than us."

Kaidoh grunts. He shifts his eyes. He tries to think of something to say, but he can't. Instead, he thinks about Inui and Yanagi standing together on the same side of the court. One says a figure about data that the other finishes. A flush of heat crawls up his throat. His heart skips when Inui looks back over his shoulder, toward the court.

"It must be nice to play with him again," Kaidoh mutters.

Inui pushes his glasses up. He stares at Kaidoh for the longest time, until Kaidoh looks away and his face burns hotter than before.

There is a warm hand on his shoulder. Kaidoh stiffens. He narrows his eyes, but it's only Inui.

"I like playing doubles with you best, Kaidoh."

Kaidoh's face is warm the rest of the night, but he doesn't really mind.