[rookies] [various] drabble dump
hamanaka, akahoshi; making out is easier than punching out; pg-13
"So here's the part I just can't figure out," said Akahoshi, randomly, when they were sitting in Hamanaka's bedroom sharing a math textbook.
"Huh?" managed Hamanaka, intelligently.
"We have a team full of badass sempai," said Akahoshi, consderingly, "and the one you choose to follow around like a puppy dog is Hiratsuka? Is there even a brain in that head of yours?" He flopped back on Hamanaka's bed, holding the textbook up high above his face and scowling bad-naturedly at the algebra.
Hamanaka, who was even now attempting to decipher some English for Mayumi-sensei's class, turned and scowled at Akahoshi (who was pointedly ignoring him). "Because you're one to talk," he said, after a moment of consideration.
"What do you mean?" asked Akahoshi suspiciously.
"Of all of the sempai you decide you'd follow to hell and back you pick the captain?! He's a crybaby!"
"Don't talk bad about Mikoshiba-sempai," said Akahoshi, sitting up and glaring down at Hamanaka.
Hamanaka scowled back up at him. "Then don't make fun of Hiratsuka-sempai!" he retorted.
"He's insane!"
"He's awesome!"
"I think our definitions of awesome are different, because in my world I'm awesome and Hiratsuka-sempai is not!"
"You're just---jealous!"
"Of what?!"
"Of--of his pride and determination!"
"To fail miserably at everything?!"
"You asshole--" Hamanaka tackled Akahoshi, and things very quickly deteriorated after that, only ending when Akahoshi sat on Hamanaka and threatened to smash his face in with the algebra textbook.
Hamanaka shoved the textbook out of his face and glared, annoyed, up at Akahoshi. "Can you get the hell off of me?" he asked, staring at his window. The air had gotten--weird.
"Yeah," said Akahoshi, laughing nervously and sitting next to him, feet drawn up and knees at his chest. "...sorry."
"So'm I," answered Hamanaka, hauling himself up, "but damn you're heavy!"
"I'm tall!" pointed out Akahoshi.
"I didn't call you fat," said Hamanaka, rolling his eyes.
"Good, that's your deal," said Akahoshi with an evil smirk.
Somehow Hamanaka was getting the sinking feeling Akahoshi liked the fighting parts.
So Hamanaka decided to change things up; instead of punching Akahoshi, he dragged him down by the front of his t-shirt and kissed the shit out of him. Akahoshi froze up for a moment before he set about kissing Hamanaka as savagely as he hit him.
At the end of the day? This solution was so much easier.
aniya, mikoshiba, quiet nights; pg
"Hey," said Aniya, quietly. Mikoshiba looked up from re-lacing his glove, and ducked his head in greeting.
"Hey," he said, after a moment or two of silence.
He looked up at a rush of air; he blinked. "Aniya...?" he said, confused, when he noticed the other boy sitting on the bench next to him.
Aniya shrugged, reaching for the mitt in Mikoshiba's hand and doing the lacing himself.
"I was doing that just fine," said Mikoshiba, scowling, and that scowl deepened when Aniya pulled the mitt out of reach.
"And now I am," said Aniya, snootily.
Mikoshiba stared at his hands for a while. After a time, he got a wad of oiled leather stuck in his face. "What the hell," he grumbled, his voice muffled by the glove in front of him.
"Try it," said Aniya, looking away pointedly.
Mikoshiba did, wiggling his fingers around. "Fits well," he reported, dutifully.
"...don't--worry so much," said Aniya, quietly, eyes fixed firmly on the wall opposite them.
Mikoshiba made a noise like 'what?' and then nodded in understanding. "I'll try," he hazarded.
"And if you really have to, you can cry on my shoulder in the privacy of the locker room," added Aniya, smirking at him. Mikoshiba groaned, and batted him over the head with his newly laced glove.
"As if I'd go to you over a bunch of moron freshmen when there's Yagi's generous shoulder," he teased, just for Aniya's anguished face of hatred.
Somehow, he felt a little better.
Akahoshi/Mikoshiba; hats; pg-ish (fluff, boykissing)
/''>Mikoshiba was inspecting the grounds, after practice. Aniya and Yagi had loitered for a few minutes, talking quietly, before it became evident Mikoshiba was going to be a while. With assurances he would be just fine, thanks, they left, Yagi extracting a promise from Mikoshiba to mail her when he got home.
Akahoshi was half-asleep on the bench that served as their dugout, his hat half over his face and his legs dangling off the end of the bench. With one wary, eagle-like protective eye, he watched Mikoshiba limp around the field with a crutch and make faces at random shit Akahoshi was pretty sure nobody cared about, anyway.
"Hey," called Mikoshiba, sounding annoyed.
Akahoshi sat up, shoving his hat atop his head and blinking largely at Mikoshiba, who was across the field at the visiting dugout.
"Get over here," ordered Mikoshiba, rolling his eyes; Akahoshi sighed labourously, and padded over.
"What, sempai?" he asked, whiny, "your foot hurt?"
"What? No," answered Mikoshiba, before pointing upward, "now, explain to me what exactly is Akahoshi Gate?!"
"Oh, that," said Akahoshi, chuckling to himself, "it keeps lesser freshmen from using my shortcut!"
Mikoshiba glared. Akahoshi made a face. "I like to think of it... as the road to my dream," he admitted, sheepishly, "or, well, your dream, for now."
"Akahoshi..." said Mikoshiba, quietly. He looked so serious Akahoshi had to laugh, and he pulled off his hat to pull it over Mikoshiba's eyes.
He leaned forward, on impulse, and caught Mikoshiba's elbows in his hands as he brushed their lips together. Mikoshiba kissed back, tentatively, before Akahoshi pulled awkwardly away (but he didn't let go of Mikoshiba's elbows, anyway).
"What do you think about--" Mikoshiba cut himself off abruptly.
Akahoshi scowled. "About what?" he demanded, firmly.
"About--I don't know--making Koshien--our dream?" offered Mikoshiba, as he finally pulled Akahoshi's hat off of his face.
Akahoshi laughed again, nervous now without knowing why. Finally, he nodded. "That sounds... good," he answered.
Mikoshiba grinned, sunny for a moment in the dusk, and then the world is dark. "Oiiii," whined Akahoshi, "you pulled it over my nose!"
Mikoshiba was laughing at him as he limped away; Akahoshi groaned.
kawato/shinjo; 'follow your dreams is not an appropriate career path you twit!'; r, for language~ implies Naughty Things happening between a former teacher and student
Shinjo is ducked over the table in their (really really tine) living room, typing the most important essay of his life, slowly, slowly...
"Shinjo, you're not eating," scolds Kawato, shutting the laptop (on Shinjo's fingers) and shoving a bowl of rice in his face. Shinjo blinks. Then he scowls.
"Kawato," he says, careful to enunciate every syllable of the next sentence, "we agreed that you would leave me alone while I worked on my essay, didn't we?"
Kawato doesn't even miss a beat. "Of course," he agrees, "...but then I saw you hadn't touched your dinner! If you collapse of exhaustion your essay won't be any good!"
Shinjo is relatively sure Kawato is speaking from experience on that front. "If I eat the bowl of rice will you let me work?" he asked, calmly (inwardly he applauded himself).
Kawato considers this. "Vegetables, too," he counters.
Shinjo makes a face. Well, if it'll get him off of his back. "Fine," he answers.
Three hours later, distracted by Kawato doing pull-ups on his door-frame, Shinjo realizes he has a mere two hours to get an eight-page paper on his hopeful career path done and uploaded for his college writing course. This is the last essay, the only thing standing between him and straight A's. And he can't finish it because Kawato is shirtless. Wait, when had Kawato gotten shirtless?!
"Kawato," he says, making a face when the man turns to look at him over his shoulder, all rippling muscle and--damn it don't get distracted--"go to bed!"
"Not until you're all finished," answers Kawato stubbornly. Shinjo resists the urge to plant his face on his poor keyboard.
"What am I supposed to put into a career path essay?" complains Shinjo, "I have three pages done and five more to go, I don't know how many more times I can repeat 'I want to teach foreign literature to unappreciative bratty high school delinquents and maybe coach some baseball on the side' without stabbing myself in the face with this laptop."
"That would be bad for the laptop," says Kawato immediately, before brightening. "Follow your dreams!" he says, suddenly.
Shinjo now wants to hit Kawato with the laptop. "Following your dreams is not an appropriate career path, you twit!"
"Why not?! It's what I wrote mine on!" squawks Kawato.
"That explains a lot!" answers Shinjo, telling his brain to shut up no you are not writing an essay on helping students find their lost path in life oh shit you totally are DAMN YOU KAWATO. "Whatever, he doesn't like he can suck it," he decides, and five pages flow out like magic.
When he finishes, saves, uploads, he grins, proud of himself. He leans back, messing with his hair. "'M done," he reported.
"..."
"...Kawato?"
He turns. And scowls, deeply. Kawato is asleep, tucked under the blanket they share. Bastard. Shinjo does, however, feel a moment of pity for him before he pounces.
okada, akahoshi, akahoshi/hamanaka; wakana's sign of approval is a punch in the face; pg13 for language
Okada bit back laughter when Wakana dragged Akahoshi off to the locker room, now that they were graduated. Hamanaka looked concerned, but Yufune jumped on him and poked at him until he was too busy being annoyed to remember his totally-not-boyfriend Akahoshi might be meeting his doom in their locker room.
Wakana stalked back onto the field, looking embarrassed, and Okada grinned. Time to go do cleanup~
He padded into the locker room and locked the door with a 'click'; Akahoshi, flopped on the couch, looked at him suspiciously. "Are you going to hit me, too?" he asked.
Okada shook his head, dreadlocks whipping around his face, and settled on the nearest wooden bench. "I take it Wakana found out about Hamanaka?" he asked, lightly.
Akahoshi made a face, which then made him hold his face, wincing. "What gave you that idea?"
"Dude, he gave you his big giant stamp of approval," answered Okada logically, shrugging.
"...he punched me. In the face."
"You should be glad!" answered Okada, brightening at someone else's misery, "he could have punched you in the balls, rendering you useless for Hamanaka, and chose not to," he pointed out. "Wakana's the father of the bride, will you let him have his moment? Yeesh."
Akashoshi looked like his brain had broken.
"Welcome to Nikogaku's crazies?" offered Okada weakly, grinning, "you get used to it."
"Go away," grumbled Akahoshi, rolling over and smashing his face into a pillow, "and send Hamanaka back here, if you see him, willya?"
Okada sent Yufune instead.
okada, shinjo; 'our family tree is fucked up D:'; g
If Okada Yuya had to frame their team like a family, he figured it'd work something like--Kawato, the patriarch. Aniya, the second oldest son who'd gone off to go dick around. Mikoshiba, the eldest, worried about living up to expectations and fumbling along trying to become their father. Yufune and Sekikawa, the youngest, spending most of their time being cheeky and annoying all of their friends. Imaoka and Hiratsuka, their weird cousins. Himself, Hiyama, and Wakana, the middle children, walking in a herd and having the times of their lives. And Yagi, the only daughter, protected by a phalanx of worried friends.
And, of course, their scary-looking, soft-hearted mother, Shinjo. Rather than being 'mothering', though, Shinjo was mostly just observant, and he showed up at the most random moments to set things right or drag someone off to the nurse.
Like right now, for example. "Shinjo, I'm fine," he repeated, even though he was of course not. Reputations to consider, and all that.
"You're limping," answered Shinjo, stubborn as always, "you need to stop running into fences, it's bad for you."
"My job is to catch the ball, no stupid fence is going to beat me," answered Okada, firmly.
"Yes it is, it's a lot bigger than you are," answered Shinjo practically, "especially when you keep throwing yourself into it like a moron."
Okada's ankle chose that moment to roll out from under him; he yelped and found himself being buoyed up by a muttering Shinjo.
"Moron," said Shinjo, with a certain amount of fondness. Okada sighed.
"Deserved," he noted, "help me out, will you?"
Yeah, he knew who the mommy was around here.
mikoani; 'mikoshiba!'; pg, weak slash
Aniya came by to visit in the middle of the day, once, ditching a Kawato lecture in favor of making Mikoshiba's day. He ducked his head into the other boy's room; no one. His face twisted unattractively, and he considered things. If he were Mikoshiba, where would--oh, duh. The workout room. He slid the door closed again and stuck his hands in his pocket as he whistled his way down to the workout room. He slid the door open quietly, peeking his head in--"Mikoshiba!" he squawked, rushing over and kneeling. "What the hell happened, you dumbass?!"
Mikoshiba was curled up under the rails; he took a deep breath. "Hit it on the rail column," he answered quietly, "can you help me up?"
"...no," answered Aniya, rolling his eyes, "I'm just going to leave you here...dumbass. He wound an arm around Mikoshiba's ribs and hauled him up. Mikoshiba leaned back heavily on the railing, sweating from exertion, and let his head loll back so he could stare at the ceiling.
"This sucks," he said, flatly.
"That only now occuring to you?" asked Aniya, smirking. Mikoshiba's head snapped up and he scowled at him.
Aniya grinned, full-on, and pulled Mikoshiba's head to his shoulder. "Stupid fucker," he said, after a moment, "carry your phone, call somebody! what wouldn you've done if nobody found you?!"
"Be screwed," muttered Mikoshiba dutifully into his neck, shoulders shaking a little before he finally stilled.
"...take me back to my room," he said, quietly, after a moment. Aniya nodded, offering him his crutches and pushing the doors open.
Mikoshiba settled on his crisp hospital bed, leaning his crutches against the wall. "When will it be July?" he asked, eyes focused on his hands.
"Not soon enough," drawled Aniya, flopping on his back next to Mikoshiba so he could make faces at him.
Mikoshiba laughed, messing up his hair, and Aniya responded by flicking him off and pushing his hand under Mikoshiba's so he could wind their fingers together.
"We're waiting," he said, after a few moments, "I... hung your jersey up on the fence. So we remember."
Mikoshiba's eyes are wide, wondering; he smiles, widely. "Thank you," he breathes, tightening his fingers around Aniya's.
Aniya blinks back some imaginary wetness from the backs of his eyes, when he smiles back.
"So here's the part I just can't figure out," said Akahoshi, randomly, when they were sitting in Hamanaka's bedroom sharing a math textbook.
"Huh?" managed Hamanaka, intelligently.
"We have a team full of badass sempai," said Akahoshi, consderingly, "and the one you choose to follow around like a puppy dog is Hiratsuka? Is there even a brain in that head of yours?" He flopped back on Hamanaka's bed, holding the textbook up high above his face and scowling bad-naturedly at the algebra.
Hamanaka, who was even now attempting to decipher some English for Mayumi-sensei's class, turned and scowled at Akahoshi (who was pointedly ignoring him). "Because you're one to talk," he said, after a moment of consideration.
"What do you mean?" asked Akahoshi suspiciously.
"Of all of the sempai you decide you'd follow to hell and back you pick the captain?! He's a crybaby!"
"Don't talk bad about Mikoshiba-sempai," said Akahoshi, sitting up and glaring down at Hamanaka.
Hamanaka scowled back up at him. "Then don't make fun of Hiratsuka-sempai!" he retorted.
"He's insane!"
"He's awesome!"
"I think our definitions of awesome are different, because in my world I'm awesome and Hiratsuka-sempai is not!"
"You're just---jealous!"
"Of what?!"
"Of--of his pride and determination!"
"To fail miserably at everything?!"
"You asshole--" Hamanaka tackled Akahoshi, and things very quickly deteriorated after that, only ending when Akahoshi sat on Hamanaka and threatened to smash his face in with the algebra textbook.
Hamanaka shoved the textbook out of his face and glared, annoyed, up at Akahoshi. "Can you get the hell off of me?" he asked, staring at his window. The air had gotten--weird.
"Yeah," said Akahoshi, laughing nervously and sitting next to him, feet drawn up and knees at his chest. "...sorry."
"So'm I," answered Hamanaka, hauling himself up, "but damn you're heavy!"
"I'm tall!" pointed out Akahoshi.
"I didn't call you fat," said Hamanaka, rolling his eyes.
"Good, that's your deal," said Akahoshi with an evil smirk.
Somehow Hamanaka was getting the sinking feeling Akahoshi liked the fighting parts.
So Hamanaka decided to change things up; instead of punching Akahoshi, he dragged him down by the front of his t-shirt and kissed the shit out of him. Akahoshi froze up for a moment before he set about kissing Hamanaka as savagely as he hit him.
At the end of the day? This solution was so much easier.
aniya, mikoshiba, quiet nights; pg
"Hey," said Aniya, quietly. Mikoshiba looked up from re-lacing his glove, and ducked his head in greeting.
"Hey," he said, after a moment or two of silence.
He looked up at a rush of air; he blinked. "Aniya...?" he said, confused, when he noticed the other boy sitting on the bench next to him.
Aniya shrugged, reaching for the mitt in Mikoshiba's hand and doing the lacing himself.
"I was doing that just fine," said Mikoshiba, scowling, and that scowl deepened when Aniya pulled the mitt out of reach.
"And now I am," said Aniya, snootily.
Mikoshiba stared at his hands for a while. After a time, he got a wad of oiled leather stuck in his face. "What the hell," he grumbled, his voice muffled by the glove in front of him.
"Try it," said Aniya, looking away pointedly.
Mikoshiba did, wiggling his fingers around. "Fits well," he reported, dutifully.
"...don't--worry so much," said Aniya, quietly, eyes fixed firmly on the wall opposite them.
Mikoshiba made a noise like 'what?' and then nodded in understanding. "I'll try," he hazarded.
"And if you really have to, you can cry on my shoulder in the privacy of the locker room," added Aniya, smirking at him. Mikoshiba groaned, and batted him over the head with his newly laced glove.
"As if I'd go to you over a bunch of moron freshmen when there's Yagi's generous shoulder," he teased, just for Aniya's anguished face of hatred.
Somehow, he felt a little better.
Akahoshi/Mikoshiba; hats; pg-ish (fluff, boykissing)
/''>Mikoshiba was inspecting the grounds, after practice. Aniya and Yagi had loitered for a few minutes, talking quietly, before it became evident Mikoshiba was going to be a while. With assurances he would be just fine, thanks, they left, Yagi extracting a promise from Mikoshiba to mail her when he got home.
Akahoshi was half-asleep on the bench that served as their dugout, his hat half over his face and his legs dangling off the end of the bench. With one wary, eagle-like protective eye, he watched Mikoshiba limp around the field with a crutch and make faces at random shit Akahoshi was pretty sure nobody cared about, anyway.
"Hey," called Mikoshiba, sounding annoyed.
Akahoshi sat up, shoving his hat atop his head and blinking largely at Mikoshiba, who was across the field at the visiting dugout.
"Get over here," ordered Mikoshiba, rolling his eyes; Akahoshi sighed labourously, and padded over.
"What, sempai?" he asked, whiny, "your foot hurt?"
"What? No," answered Mikoshiba, before pointing upward, "now, explain to me what exactly is Akahoshi Gate?!"
"Oh, that," said Akahoshi, chuckling to himself, "it keeps lesser freshmen from using my shortcut!"
Mikoshiba glared. Akahoshi made a face. "I like to think of it... as the road to my dream," he admitted, sheepishly, "or, well, your dream, for now."
"Akahoshi..." said Mikoshiba, quietly. He looked so serious Akahoshi had to laugh, and he pulled off his hat to pull it over Mikoshiba's eyes.
He leaned forward, on impulse, and caught Mikoshiba's elbows in his hands as he brushed their lips together. Mikoshiba kissed back, tentatively, before Akahoshi pulled awkwardly away (but he didn't let go of Mikoshiba's elbows, anyway).
"What do you think about--" Mikoshiba cut himself off abruptly.
Akahoshi scowled. "About what?" he demanded, firmly.
"About--I don't know--making Koshien--our dream?" offered Mikoshiba, as he finally pulled Akahoshi's hat off of his face.
Akahoshi laughed again, nervous now without knowing why. Finally, he nodded. "That sounds... good," he answered.
Mikoshiba grinned, sunny for a moment in the dusk, and then the world is dark. "Oiiii," whined Akahoshi, "you pulled it over my nose!"
Mikoshiba was laughing at him as he limped away; Akahoshi groaned.
kawato/shinjo; 'follow your dreams is not an appropriate career path you twit!'; r, for language~ implies Naughty Things happening between a former teacher and student
Shinjo is ducked over the table in their (really really tine) living room, typing the most important essay of his life, slowly, slowly...
"Shinjo, you're not eating," scolds Kawato, shutting the laptop (on Shinjo's fingers) and shoving a bowl of rice in his face. Shinjo blinks. Then he scowls.
"Kawato," he says, careful to enunciate every syllable of the next sentence, "we agreed that you would leave me alone while I worked on my essay, didn't we?"
Kawato doesn't even miss a beat. "Of course," he agrees, "...but then I saw you hadn't touched your dinner! If you collapse of exhaustion your essay won't be any good!"
Shinjo is relatively sure Kawato is speaking from experience on that front. "If I eat the bowl of rice will you let me work?" he asked, calmly (inwardly he applauded himself).
Kawato considers this. "Vegetables, too," he counters.
Shinjo makes a face. Well, if it'll get him off of his back. "Fine," he answers.
Three hours later, distracted by Kawato doing pull-ups on his door-frame, Shinjo realizes he has a mere two hours to get an eight-page paper on his hopeful career path done and uploaded for his college writing course. This is the last essay, the only thing standing between him and straight A's. And he can't finish it because Kawato is shirtless. Wait, when had Kawato gotten shirtless?!
"Kawato," he says, making a face when the man turns to look at him over his shoulder, all rippling muscle and--damn it don't get distracted--"go to bed!"
"Not until you're all finished," answers Kawato stubbornly. Shinjo resists the urge to plant his face on his poor keyboard.
"What am I supposed to put into a career path essay?" complains Shinjo, "I have three pages done and five more to go, I don't know how many more times I can repeat 'I want to teach foreign literature to unappreciative bratty high school delinquents and maybe coach some baseball on the side' without stabbing myself in the face with this laptop."
"That would be bad for the laptop," says Kawato immediately, before brightening. "Follow your dreams!" he says, suddenly.
Shinjo now wants to hit Kawato with the laptop. "Following your dreams is not an appropriate career path, you twit!"
"Why not?! It's what I wrote mine on!" squawks Kawato.
"That explains a lot!" answers Shinjo, telling his brain to shut up no you are not writing an essay on helping students find their lost path in life oh shit you totally are DAMN YOU KAWATO. "Whatever, he doesn't like he can suck it," he decides, and five pages flow out like magic.
When he finishes, saves, uploads, he grins, proud of himself. He leans back, messing with his hair. "'M done," he reported.
"..."
"...Kawato?"
He turns. And scowls, deeply. Kawato is asleep, tucked under the blanket they share. Bastard. Shinjo does, however, feel a moment of pity for him before he pounces.
okada, akahoshi, akahoshi/hamanaka; wakana's sign of approval is a punch in the face; pg13 for language
Okada bit back laughter when Wakana dragged Akahoshi off to the locker room, now that they were graduated. Hamanaka looked concerned, but Yufune jumped on him and poked at him until he was too busy being annoyed to remember his totally-not-boyfriend Akahoshi might be meeting his doom in their locker room.
Wakana stalked back onto the field, looking embarrassed, and Okada grinned. Time to go do cleanup~
He padded into the locker room and locked the door with a 'click'; Akahoshi, flopped on the couch, looked at him suspiciously. "Are you going to hit me, too?" he asked.
Okada shook his head, dreadlocks whipping around his face, and settled on the nearest wooden bench. "I take it Wakana found out about Hamanaka?" he asked, lightly.
Akahoshi made a face, which then made him hold his face, wincing. "What gave you that idea?"
"Dude, he gave you his big giant stamp of approval," answered Okada logically, shrugging.
"...he punched me. In the face."
"You should be glad!" answered Okada, brightening at someone else's misery, "he could have punched you in the balls, rendering you useless for Hamanaka, and chose not to," he pointed out. "Wakana's the father of the bride, will you let him have his moment? Yeesh."
Akashoshi looked like his brain had broken.
"Welcome to Nikogaku's crazies?" offered Okada weakly, grinning, "you get used to it."
"Go away," grumbled Akahoshi, rolling over and smashing his face into a pillow, "and send Hamanaka back here, if you see him, willya?"
Okada sent Yufune instead.
okada, shinjo; 'our family tree is fucked up D:'; g
If Okada Yuya had to frame their team like a family, he figured it'd work something like--Kawato, the patriarch. Aniya, the second oldest son who'd gone off to go dick around. Mikoshiba, the eldest, worried about living up to expectations and fumbling along trying to become their father. Yufune and Sekikawa, the youngest, spending most of their time being cheeky and annoying all of their friends. Imaoka and Hiratsuka, their weird cousins. Himself, Hiyama, and Wakana, the middle children, walking in a herd and having the times of their lives. And Yagi, the only daughter, protected by a phalanx of worried friends.
And, of course, their scary-looking, soft-hearted mother, Shinjo. Rather than being 'mothering', though, Shinjo was mostly just observant, and he showed up at the most random moments to set things right or drag someone off to the nurse.
Like right now, for example. "Shinjo, I'm fine," he repeated, even though he was of course not. Reputations to consider, and all that.
"You're limping," answered Shinjo, stubborn as always, "you need to stop running into fences, it's bad for you."
"My job is to catch the ball, no stupid fence is going to beat me," answered Okada, firmly.
"Yes it is, it's a lot bigger than you are," answered Shinjo practically, "especially when you keep throwing yourself into it like a moron."
Okada's ankle chose that moment to roll out from under him; he yelped and found himself being buoyed up by a muttering Shinjo.
"Moron," said Shinjo, with a certain amount of fondness. Okada sighed.
"Deserved," he noted, "help me out, will you?"
Yeah, he knew who the mommy was around here.
mikoani; 'mikoshiba!'; pg, weak slash
Aniya came by to visit in the middle of the day, once, ditching a Kawato lecture in favor of making Mikoshiba's day. He ducked his head into the other boy's room; no one. His face twisted unattractively, and he considered things. If he were Mikoshiba, where would--oh, duh. The workout room. He slid the door closed again and stuck his hands in his pocket as he whistled his way down to the workout room. He slid the door open quietly, peeking his head in--"Mikoshiba!" he squawked, rushing over and kneeling. "What the hell happened, you dumbass?!"
Mikoshiba was curled up under the rails; he took a deep breath. "Hit it on the rail column," he answered quietly, "can you help me up?"
"...no," answered Aniya, rolling his eyes, "I'm just going to leave you here...dumbass. He wound an arm around Mikoshiba's ribs and hauled him up. Mikoshiba leaned back heavily on the railing, sweating from exertion, and let his head loll back so he could stare at the ceiling.
"This sucks," he said, flatly.
"That only now occuring to you?" asked Aniya, smirking. Mikoshiba's head snapped up and he scowled at him.
Aniya grinned, full-on, and pulled Mikoshiba's head to his shoulder. "Stupid fucker," he said, after a moment, "carry your phone, call somebody! what wouldn you've done if nobody found you?!"
"Be screwed," muttered Mikoshiba dutifully into his neck, shoulders shaking a little before he finally stilled.
"...take me back to my room," he said, quietly, after a moment. Aniya nodded, offering him his crutches and pushing the doors open.
Mikoshiba settled on his crisp hospital bed, leaning his crutches against the wall. "When will it be July?" he asked, eyes focused on his hands.
"Not soon enough," drawled Aniya, flopping on his back next to Mikoshiba so he could make faces at him.
Mikoshiba laughed, messing up his hair, and Aniya responded by flicking him off and pushing his hand under Mikoshiba's so he could wind their fingers together.
"We're waiting," he said, after a few moments, "I... hung your jersey up on the fence. So we remember."
Mikoshiba's eyes are wide, wondering; he smiles, widely. "Thank you," he breathes, tightening his fingers around Aniya's.
Aniya blinks back some imaginary wetness from the backs of his eyes, when he smiles back.