[Fic] Enough
EDIT: I realize the formatting/font of this entry is really wonky, but I've got to be up at 6 AM, so I'll fix it when I've got a spare chance. : )
The trick is not how much pain you feel - but how much joy you feel. Any idiot can feel pain. Life is full of excuses to feel pain, excuses not to live, excuses, excuses, excuses. - Erica Jong
It's Kirihara's birthday, so I'm posting some really, really old stuff that never quite made it onto here before.
Title: Enough
Characters: Yukimura, Kirihara
Warnings: None
Summary: A recovering Yukimura runs some laps with an annoyed Kirihara.
Kirihara tosses the ball high in the air to serve, waiting for the precise moment to make contact with his racket. It’s a beautiful serve: powerful, spot-on - the ball goes sailing towards the other side of the court, pounds forcefully into the ground, and bounces away from the stupified second year standing near the baseline.
“Love-fifteen!” Kirihara yells gleefully, grinning toothily at the other boy. “Take that, loser!”
“Akaya.” Yukimura-buchou’s voice cuts into Kirihara’s triumphant opponent-bashing. Kirihara clams up and watches his captain walk onto the court. Yukimura takes his time, and when he reaches Kirihara he ever-so-kindly points out what’s wrong with the perfect serve. Kirihara can feel prickles of defensiveness sprouting up all over him as Yukimura blabs on about stance and follow-through. The serve got the job done and it got it done well. Yukimura borrows Loser-kun’s racket and illustrates what’s supposed to be proper form and follow-through. He launches the ball into the air and his skinny arm seems to shudder with the impact as he hits it. The ball bounces weakly over the net and Kirihara swears any stupid fool could rally it back over again.
“See?” Yukimura-buchou asks, waiting for confirmation. “Do fifteen like that.”
Kirihara wants to say, Who’s serve scored a point, Mr. Captain? Fifteen sissy serves like that are only going to get your butt whooped in a game! but instead he grumbles, “Yeah, okay.”
He does the stupid serves (Loser-kun smirks and Kirihara swears he’s going to pound the idiot into the ground next time) and then starts in on end-of-practice laps with every one else. Marui asks what Yukimura talked to him about. Niou jokes about Kirihara’s serves. Kirihara glares at both of them and circles the final curve of the track.
“Sometimes I don’t even know why he’s still captain!” he complains in a fit of frustration. Niou sniffs and raises his eyebrows and Marui clenches his teeth around his gum, looking skeptical. Kirihara irritably continues, “It’s not like he ever does anything! He’s gone all the time and he never even plays any games! At least Sanada-fukubuchou does stuff. I mean, is Yukimura-buchou even going to play this year…?”
Niou and Marui look at Kirihara and then at each other. They seem to decide to ignore Kirihara’s comments and move forward on the track, leaving him behind. Kirihara scowls. It’s a valid question, he thinks. He knows Yukimura played some awesome tennis last year, and it’s really sad about him getting sick, but…every once in a while Kirihara still wonders whether Yukimura should be captain or not. In the distance he can see Yukimura-buchou sitting on a bench, watching everyone else and probably deciding who needs lessons in running properly. Maybe it’s good for Yukimura to be captain, but is it good for everyone else?
“Ten more, Kirihara!” Sanada’s bellowing voice cuts across the courts as Kirihara nears him. Sanada doesn’t specify why he’s got to run more laps than everyone else, but Kirihara starts in on the new set anyway. Stupid vice captain. Even though Yukimura-buchou’s been back for over a month, Sanada still has a lot of control. Kirihara decides he hates Sanada (again), particularly for giving him extra laps, and that he hates Yukimura (temporarily) for letting Sanada give him laps. Kirihara pumps his legs faster and pushes himself around the track, cursing his captain and vice captain in his head. Sanada-fukubuchou probably gave him laps for provoking his opponent and kicking the net and probably some other dumb stuff too, which he can’t remember. It’s not like nobody else has ever done that kind of stuff.
“Akaya!”
Kirihara looks up and sees Yukimura-buchou standing a few paces up, waiting with him arms folded over his chest.
“What?” Kirirhara spits, annoyed. He just wants to get the laps done, no thanks to his captain. He already had to waste time doing Yukimura’s stupid fifteen serves. The non-regulars are already leaving the gym in their school uniforms, making their way to the bus stops and bicycle racks. Loser-kun and his dork friends are probably going out for ramen. Kirihara’s stomach grumbles at the thought.
Yukimura shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the bench next to him. He walks steadily onto the track. “I want to run a few laps with you,” he announces.
Kirihara stares at his captain. Yukimura-buchou never runs laps. He and Sanada usually walk around the courts talking about things that are apparently important or simply aren’t present at all while everyone else is running their butts off. Even before he got sick, Yukimura rarely ran, at least as far as Kirihara can remember. When he did, it was usually in a tight little pack with Sanada and Yanagi and Kirihara could never be sure if the three of them were ahead of or behind everyone else, since they always seemed to be going at their own pace. They’d certainly passed him enough times.
“Come on, Akaya,” Yukimura breaks into Kirihara’s thoughts, smiling and starting to walk on the track. “Let’s start easy. It’s been awhile since I’ve run this much.”
Yukimura doesn’t run though. He starts off just walking, not even briskly. Kirihara lets out an audible huff. Great, now his laps are going to take even longer because Yukimura-buchou wants to be stupid. Again. He tries to match Yukimura’s leisurely pace, but keeps finding himself edging in front of his captain. Why’s he walking so dang slow? These are supposed to be punishment laps and they’re supposed to be run. Not some leisurely little stroll.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” Yukimura says, picking up the pace a little. He smiles brightly at Kirihara. “Don’t you think so?”
Kirihara scowls. He’s still got nine laps left.
Yukimura finally starts running after they finish the second lap. It’s not the fast, pushing sort of run Kirihara’s used to, but it’s better than a stupid walk. It’s still slow enough that Kirihara can think about things besides just running, besides just counting down the number of laps remaining. He wonders where Sanada is, but his vice captain is nowhere in sight. He wonders if Marui and Jackal are still going to be at the arcade by the time he finally shows up. Next to him he hears Yukimura pull in a shaky breath of air. He glances up at his captain. They’re only halfway through the fourth lap and Yukimura is already starting to sweat, the rhythm of his running getting jumbled every once in awhile. Kirihara frowns, but when Yukimura looks over he just smiles thinly and keeps running.
By the time they start in on the sixth lap, Yukimura is swallowing hard between every few breaths and his jersey is sticking to his back. Kirihara jogs next to him, not sure of what he’s supposed to say. Yukimura doesn’t say anything either, just offers that same grim smile and a little rise of the eyebrows before stumbling a little, righting himself, and pushing forward.
It’s only the sixth stupid lap and they walked the first two.
“You…want to sit down?” Kirihara finally asks.
“Three and a half left,” Yukimura answers, panting, but he slows down into a jog. He pushes his headband up, shoving a sweaty lock of hair behind an ear at the same time. “No slacking.”
“They’re my dumb laps!” Kirihara points out, running backwards so that he can see Yukimura better. He doesn’t feel nearly as wiped as Yukimura looks - at this pace he could finish the stupid laps and another set on top of that. “I’ll finish them myself!”
“I said I wanted to run them with you, didn’t I?” Yukimura answers seriously, not smiling anymore. His eyes are bright and hard before he blinks. He continues to jog until his breathing slows, then works his way into a run again. Kirihara wonders why the hell Sanada isn’t here to do something, maybe to yell at Kirihara and tell him to finish his laps up alone, to quit bothering Yukimura.
The next lap - the ninth one - feels like torture, even if Kirihara’s body feels fine. Yukimura looks like he could trip and fall any second, or keel over puking, or simply collapse into a heap of yellow uniform on the track. If Kirihara was Sanada-fukubuchou or Yanagai-sempai he’d probably know of something to say to Yukimura-buchou to make him stop, but he’s Kirihara and his mind only draws one blank after another. Finally they start in on the tenth and final lap and Yukimura drifts into a jog again and then a very slow walk, breathing heavily. He doesn’t talk, just shoves sweaty hair away from his face and pulls at the sticky front of his jersey a few times.
When they finally reach the bench, Yukimura sinks down onto it, fumbling for his water bottle. Kirihara glances at him briefly, but it seems wrong to watch Yukimura overlong. He turns his gaze to the empty track instead, searching with blind fingers for his own water bottle in the grass. It’s still cold and the wet condensation on the outside feels nice against his hands. Minutes pass and Kirihara lies back in the grass, letting it prickle against his sweaty arms and legs.
He is half asleep when Yukimura’s voice cuts into his thoughts again. “Do you love it that much?” Yukimura asks, his voice no longer interrupted by gasps for air. Kirihara blinks and sees his captain staring down at him from the bench. He is still sweaty, his water bottle clutched between his hands. Kirihara wonders how much of the conversation he’s missed.
“Huh?” he responds, shoving himself up onto his elbows. Dry grass crinkles and pricks at his forearms and the heels of his sneakers scrape the dirt.
“Do you love it enough?” Yukimura repeats, staring at him. “Tennis.”
Kirihara blinks. Yukimura-buchou asks weird questions. Maybe his brain got messed up when he was sick. He sits up a little better, tossing his half-empty drink bottle between his hands. The water instead sloshes. “I like tennis a lot,” Kirihara finally answers.
“Oh, Akaya,” Yukimura says, and almost laughs as he slowly stands up from the bench. He frowns and stretches his legs: even Kirihara knows he’s already stiff and sore. But Yukimura smiles again a moment later, stretching his arms above his head and letting them flop down. “Mmm,” he hums, pausing for a moment before gathering his things. “I love tennis. Those were some good laps.”
Kirihara can’t help gaping at him.
Yukimura laughs, clear and amused, and grins at Kirihara. “I hope I wasn’t that awful.”
“You’ll get better,” Kirihara answers without thinking, then almost smacks himself - it probably isn’t the right thing to say to his recovering, potentially brain-damaged captain. At least it’s better than saying you sucked.
“Of course I will,” Yukimura-buchou says, but he’s quieter now. He starts walking towards the gymnasium and locker rooms. He turns to smile at Kirihara again. “I love tennis enough.”
Kirihara isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, and he knows he’s never going to go around proclaiming that he loves his punishment laps, but he knows at least that he loves tennis enough to sweat and bleed for it. And so he matches Yukimura’s slow pace yet again, trying not to push ahead, and says, “Me too.”
The trick is not how much pain you feel - but how much joy you feel. Any idiot can feel pain. Life is full of excuses to feel pain, excuses not to live, excuses, excuses, excuses. - Erica Jong
It's Kirihara's birthday, so I'm posting some really, really old stuff that never quite made it onto here before.
Title: Enough
Characters: Yukimura, Kirihara
Warnings: None
Summary: A recovering Yukimura runs some laps with an annoyed Kirihara.
Kirihara tosses the ball high in the air to serve, waiting for the precise moment to make contact with his racket. It’s a beautiful serve: powerful, spot-on - the ball goes sailing towards the other side of the court, pounds forcefully into the ground, and bounces away from the stupified second year standing near the baseline.
“Love-fifteen!” Kirihara yells gleefully, grinning toothily at the other boy. “Take that, loser!”
“Akaya.” Yukimura-buchou’s voice cuts into Kirihara’s triumphant opponent-bashing. Kirihara clams up and watches his captain walk onto the court. Yukimura takes his time, and when he reaches Kirihara he ever-so-kindly points out what’s wrong with the perfect serve. Kirihara can feel prickles of defensiveness sprouting up all over him as Yukimura blabs on about stance and follow-through. The serve got the job done and it got it done well. Yukimura borrows Loser-kun’s racket and illustrates what’s supposed to be proper form and follow-through. He launches the ball into the air and his skinny arm seems to shudder with the impact as he hits it. The ball bounces weakly over the net and Kirihara swears any stupid fool could rally it back over again.
“See?” Yukimura-buchou asks, waiting for confirmation. “Do fifteen like that.”
Kirihara wants to say, Who’s serve scored a point, Mr. Captain? Fifteen sissy serves like that are only going to get your butt whooped in a game! but instead he grumbles, “Yeah, okay.”
He does the stupid serves (Loser-kun smirks and Kirihara swears he’s going to pound the idiot into the ground next time) and then starts in on end-of-practice laps with every one else. Marui asks what Yukimura talked to him about. Niou jokes about Kirihara’s serves. Kirihara glares at both of them and circles the final curve of the track.
“Sometimes I don’t even know why he’s still captain!” he complains in a fit of frustration. Niou sniffs and raises his eyebrows and Marui clenches his teeth around his gum, looking skeptical. Kirihara irritably continues, “It’s not like he ever does anything! He’s gone all the time and he never even plays any games! At least Sanada-fukubuchou does stuff. I mean, is Yukimura-buchou even going to play this year…?”
Niou and Marui look at Kirihara and then at each other. They seem to decide to ignore Kirihara’s comments and move forward on the track, leaving him behind. Kirihara scowls. It’s a valid question, he thinks. He knows Yukimura played some awesome tennis last year, and it’s really sad about him getting sick, but…every once in a while Kirihara still wonders whether Yukimura should be captain or not. In the distance he can see Yukimura-buchou sitting on a bench, watching everyone else and probably deciding who needs lessons in running properly. Maybe it’s good for Yukimura to be captain, but is it good for everyone else?
“Ten more, Kirihara!” Sanada’s bellowing voice cuts across the courts as Kirihara nears him. Sanada doesn’t specify why he’s got to run more laps than everyone else, but Kirihara starts in on the new set anyway. Stupid vice captain. Even though Yukimura-buchou’s been back for over a month, Sanada still has a lot of control. Kirihara decides he hates Sanada (again), particularly for giving him extra laps, and that he hates Yukimura (temporarily) for letting Sanada give him laps. Kirihara pumps his legs faster and pushes himself around the track, cursing his captain and vice captain in his head. Sanada-fukubuchou probably gave him laps for provoking his opponent and kicking the net and probably some other dumb stuff too, which he can’t remember. It’s not like nobody else has ever done that kind of stuff.
“Akaya!”
Kirihara looks up and sees Yukimura-buchou standing a few paces up, waiting with him arms folded over his chest.
“What?” Kirirhara spits, annoyed. He just wants to get the laps done, no thanks to his captain. He already had to waste time doing Yukimura’s stupid fifteen serves. The non-regulars are already leaving the gym in their school uniforms, making their way to the bus stops and bicycle racks. Loser-kun and his dork friends are probably going out for ramen. Kirihara’s stomach grumbles at the thought.
Yukimura shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the bench next to him. He walks steadily onto the track. “I want to run a few laps with you,” he announces.
Kirihara stares at his captain. Yukimura-buchou never runs laps. He and Sanada usually walk around the courts talking about things that are apparently important or simply aren’t present at all while everyone else is running their butts off. Even before he got sick, Yukimura rarely ran, at least as far as Kirihara can remember. When he did, it was usually in a tight little pack with Sanada and Yanagi and Kirihara could never be sure if the three of them were ahead of or behind everyone else, since they always seemed to be going at their own pace. They’d certainly passed him enough times.
“Come on, Akaya,” Yukimura breaks into Kirihara’s thoughts, smiling and starting to walk on the track. “Let’s start easy. It’s been awhile since I’ve run this much.”
Yukimura doesn’t run though. He starts off just walking, not even briskly. Kirihara lets out an audible huff. Great, now his laps are going to take even longer because Yukimura-buchou wants to be stupid. Again. He tries to match Yukimura’s leisurely pace, but keeps finding himself edging in front of his captain. Why’s he walking so dang slow? These are supposed to be punishment laps and they’re supposed to be run. Not some leisurely little stroll.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” Yukimura says, picking up the pace a little. He smiles brightly at Kirihara. “Don’t you think so?”
Kirihara scowls. He’s still got nine laps left.
Yukimura finally starts running after they finish the second lap. It’s not the fast, pushing sort of run Kirihara’s used to, but it’s better than a stupid walk. It’s still slow enough that Kirihara can think about things besides just running, besides just counting down the number of laps remaining. He wonders where Sanada is, but his vice captain is nowhere in sight. He wonders if Marui and Jackal are still going to be at the arcade by the time he finally shows up. Next to him he hears Yukimura pull in a shaky breath of air. He glances up at his captain. They’re only halfway through the fourth lap and Yukimura is already starting to sweat, the rhythm of his running getting jumbled every once in awhile. Kirihara frowns, but when Yukimura looks over he just smiles thinly and keeps running.
By the time they start in on the sixth lap, Yukimura is swallowing hard between every few breaths and his jersey is sticking to his back. Kirihara jogs next to him, not sure of what he’s supposed to say. Yukimura doesn’t say anything either, just offers that same grim smile and a little rise of the eyebrows before stumbling a little, righting himself, and pushing forward.
It’s only the sixth stupid lap and they walked the first two.
“You…want to sit down?” Kirihara finally asks.
“Three and a half left,” Yukimura answers, panting, but he slows down into a jog. He pushes his headband up, shoving a sweaty lock of hair behind an ear at the same time. “No slacking.”
“They’re my dumb laps!” Kirihara points out, running backwards so that he can see Yukimura better. He doesn’t feel nearly as wiped as Yukimura looks - at this pace he could finish the stupid laps and another set on top of that. “I’ll finish them myself!”
“I said I wanted to run them with you, didn’t I?” Yukimura answers seriously, not smiling anymore. His eyes are bright and hard before he blinks. He continues to jog until his breathing slows, then works his way into a run again. Kirihara wonders why the hell Sanada isn’t here to do something, maybe to yell at Kirihara and tell him to finish his laps up alone, to quit bothering Yukimura.
The next lap - the ninth one - feels like torture, even if Kirihara’s body feels fine. Yukimura looks like he could trip and fall any second, or keel over puking, or simply collapse into a heap of yellow uniform on the track. If Kirihara was Sanada-fukubuchou or Yanagai-sempai he’d probably know of something to say to Yukimura-buchou to make him stop, but he’s Kirihara and his mind only draws one blank after another. Finally they start in on the tenth and final lap and Yukimura drifts into a jog again and then a very slow walk, breathing heavily. He doesn’t talk, just shoves sweaty hair away from his face and pulls at the sticky front of his jersey a few times.
When they finally reach the bench, Yukimura sinks down onto it, fumbling for his water bottle. Kirihara glances at him briefly, but it seems wrong to watch Yukimura overlong. He turns his gaze to the empty track instead, searching with blind fingers for his own water bottle in the grass. It’s still cold and the wet condensation on the outside feels nice against his hands. Minutes pass and Kirihara lies back in the grass, letting it prickle against his sweaty arms and legs.
He is half asleep when Yukimura’s voice cuts into his thoughts again. “Do you love it that much?” Yukimura asks, his voice no longer interrupted by gasps for air. Kirihara blinks and sees his captain staring down at him from the bench. He is still sweaty, his water bottle clutched between his hands. Kirihara wonders how much of the conversation he’s missed.
“Huh?” he responds, shoving himself up onto his elbows. Dry grass crinkles and pricks at his forearms and the heels of his sneakers scrape the dirt.
“Do you love it enough?” Yukimura repeats, staring at him. “Tennis.”
Kirihara blinks. Yukimura-buchou asks weird questions. Maybe his brain got messed up when he was sick. He sits up a little better, tossing his half-empty drink bottle between his hands. The water instead sloshes. “I like tennis a lot,” Kirihara finally answers.
“Oh, Akaya,” Yukimura says, and almost laughs as he slowly stands up from the bench. He frowns and stretches his legs: even Kirihara knows he’s already stiff and sore. But Yukimura smiles again a moment later, stretching his arms above his head and letting them flop down. “Mmm,” he hums, pausing for a moment before gathering his things. “I love tennis. Those were some good laps.”
Kirihara can’t help gaping at him.
Yukimura laughs, clear and amused, and grins at Kirihara. “I hope I wasn’t that awful.”
“You’ll get better,” Kirihara answers without thinking, then almost smacks himself - it probably isn’t the right thing to say to his recovering, potentially brain-damaged captain. At least it’s better than saying you sucked.
“Of course I will,” Yukimura-buchou says, but he’s quieter now. He starts walking towards the gymnasium and locker rooms. He turns to smile at Kirihara again. “I love tennis enough.”
Kirihara isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, and he knows he’s never going to go around proclaiming that he loves his punishment laps, but he knows at least that he loves tennis enough to sweat and bleed for it. And so he matches Yukimura’s slow pace yet again, trying not to push ahead, and says, “Me too.”