[fanfic] Boys Will Be Boys - Chapter 02
GUYS.
Firstly, I must really apologize for how long this took. So much happened over the past weeks, including the permanent deaths of the computers I was using to write and update. Add in the fact that it met that my prior writing had all been lost, and I'd written a lot... It's been a bit tough. But I've finally regrouped and the next chapter his here! I promise you all won't have to wait so long for the next one! I look forward to any feedback you might have. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading! I hope it's enjoyable~
Title: Boys Will Be Boys
Rating: PG ~ PG-13
Genre: (melo)drama, friendship, a smidgen of mystery and a touch of crack!fic
Summary: The boys have survived many threats to their participation at the regionals, but internal discord might be the one to finally bring them down.
Notes: Takes place between episodes 09 and 10. Just imagine they have a lot more time before the regionals. It's better that way.
2. In Which Awkward Moments Ensue
(The Things He Missed)
Yuuta Takenaka missed a lot of things that week.
It was a shame, because he might have noticed Tsuchiya's concerns and answered some very good questions.
He could have noticed that Hino was even more stiff than usual, rushing to leave after every meeting, and that Nippori seemed to be thinking so hard about something that he complained of headaches.
He would have noticed how quiet Kiyama was, even for him, in his little corner of homeroom, and how Ryousuke nervously chewed on his pencil and tapped his fingers against his desk in his seat by the window.
He should have noticed how Kaneko seemed to be busy even in his downtime, quick to hide something every time he came around, and how Mizusawa seemed more interested in doodling on his notes than talking, his sighs long and drawn.
And even though he was the boy Yuuta was most interested in that week, he might have even remembered just why Wataru Azuma didn't show up on Friday, even though everyone else already seemed to know.
Yuuta Takenaka missed a lot of things that week.
It wasn't like he didn't have good reason; his worries ran deep. He thought his team's chances in the all-important Kantou Regional Championships were at stake. He thought his dream was in danger. He thought his team's dream was in danger.
And among all that, he was reevaluating his relationship with his newest and closest friend.
Yuuta Takenaka missed a lot of things that week, and that might have been his biggest mistake.
...
Wataru knew that you weren’t supposed to look directly at the sun, but it was such a nice day. Holding his hand above him, he contemplated the day and life and things like that. Well, not really, but enjoyed the way just enough light would stream though his fingers and how the little lights would dance and fan out before his squinting eyes. It was just the kind of day that he enjoyed spending on the school roof, as he was doing with his two best pals in that little downtime they had between the end of classes and the beginning of club activities.
He lay on the ground, gazing up at the sky. Nippori sat across from him, looking over the school yard, while Ryousuke idly walked the roof’s perimeter.
“Stop pacin’, will ya? You’re making me nervous,” Wataru half-joked, half complained.
Ryousuke pouted but reluctantly complied, plopping down on the desk that had made it to the top of the building. After crossing his legs and trying to see what was so interesting way up there in the stratosphere, he gave up and returned his gaze to the redheaded yankee.
“Hey... Wataru?”
“Huh?”
“You miss it?”
“What?”
There was a short pause. Ryousuke appeared to think for a moment before he continued, his words slow and careful. “Before. The way it was before.”
Wataru drew a particularly loud breath, looking to the side. Both of his friends were staring at him, wide-eyed, eager to hear an answer. Ryousuke was even looking impatient. He had uncrossed his legs and now was rapidly tapping his his foot against the ground.
Not really welcoming the sudden pressure, the redhead turned back skywards. The tapping was making him nervous again. He noticed that a cloud was creeping by… marring his perfect sky. He huffed in disappointment.
“Rhythmic gymnastics is different. It’s fun,” he mused out loud.
Nippori giggled. “Yeah, jumping around in tights is fun.”
Wataru looked at his friend before kicking him in the leg. “You do it too, stupid.”
“But you didn’t answer my question.” Ryousuke's voice was louder than before, and louder than Wataru thought the conversation called for.
The redhead heaved himself off the ground, and turned to his friend in the chair. The latter stared at him with furrowed brows and intense eyes, and that foot was tapping on the ground even faster. Apparently, this wasn’t a question being posed out of simple curiosity.
He rubbed his chin. “We can’t exactly go back without screwing the team over, right?”
“That’s still not an answer.”
The redhead prided himself on his "way with words", but his desire to be completely honest and not sound like he was betraying his new set of friends posed quite a problem. He genuinely liked them, and found the sport of rhythmic gymnastics something he could lose himself in. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly hate being the most badass kid at Karasumori High School, and few things gave him more pleasure than clubbing someone who had it coming to them between the eyes. He didn’t hate doing whatever the hell he wanted to do and not caring about the repercussions.
It wasn’t like he didn’t think about those things anymore.
Wataru closed his eyes and balled up his first, letting out a loud, overexaggerated groan.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, sprawling back on the ground. There were suddenly a lot more clouds in the sky. “You?”
Ryousuke clicked his tongue and looked upwards, too. “I’m not sure, either…"
"Nippori?”
“I, uh…” The younger boy looked to his two companions, a bit nervous, but a smile from Ryousuke egged him on. Fidgeting, he looked into his lap and let the words pour out of his mouth in a rushed jumble.
“Now don't get me wrong! Fighting and stuff with Aniki and Ryousuke-san, it's the best, really! But somehow I really, really came to like gymnastics, too. It’s something I can get good at and people cheer for me and it doesn’t give me a black eye. So I think I like it better…”
He closed his eyes, pausing to catch his breath, and continued.
“…besides the tights.”
Wataru let out a hearty laugh, and Ryousuke cracked a smile.
So rhythmic gymnastics is better than the best, huh? The blonde believed every word of it, but knew that Nippori was completely at Wataru’s beck and call when it came to those old gang activities. Should his aniki say the word, he'd be back to fighting in the streets in a heartbeat. Hell, Ryousuke knew the same applied to him.
It was worrying.
But his thoughts were interrupted by a creaking noise he heard not too far off. The members of the yankee trio were the only people on the roof, so it came across as strange. “You guys hear that?”
“Nope,” both answered in unison, quickly returning their attention back to their idle pursuits.
Ryousuke watched as Wataru pointed his finger in the air, appearing to point out the different shapes in the cloud, while Nippori was stroking his leg where he'd been kicked earlier. The blonde slipped out of his seat and slipped his hands in his pockets, making his way to the door as he began to speak again. “But it’s been different lately, hasn’t it? The gymnastics club.”
“Everyone’s just nervous about the regionals.” Nippori shrugged.
“You think?!” Ryousuke practically shouted, swinging the door to the fire escape wide open. He was surprised to actually see a figure disappearing down the stairwell. He thought to run after him, or at least shout something at the... eavesdropper or whatever, but he decided against it.
Instead, he slowly closed the fire exit door shut and turned back to Wataru and Nippori, who were both looking off in the distance, and both looking as oblivious as ever.
In fact, the redhead’s grin had completely melted away to a frown. The sky had become completely overcast in the last several minutes and the sun was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m sure of it.”
...
Kiyama wasn't very flexible, but Mizusawa already knew that.
Among the many things he'd secretly admired about the boy was the confident, measured, but kind of rigid way he moved. While it impressed Mizusawa, he knew it wouldn't do. Mixed in with the feelings of fear and dread when his forbidden fruit had joined the rhythmic gymnastics team was the knowledge that he'd have a really hard time.
...much like he was having at the moment. Mizusawa narrowed his eyes, inspecting every movement of the boy in front of him. They'd been working on some of the older routines for extra practice; they were a bit easier than what the team was doing now and he figured that it would be best for their newest member to perfect the simpler techniques. But Kiyama's turns and spins were looking mighty sloppy that afternoon. His long limbs drooped from what Mizusawa supposed was fatigue. It had been a long afternoon.
Still, there was never an excuse for bad form. Cupping a hand over his mouth Mizusawa shouted, "point your toes!"
It was late that Wednesday, after the practice sessions of both gymnastics teams, which left the gym nearly empty and Mizusawa able to focus his attention on coaching his classmate. At least, he was trying to. The dribbling of a basketball against the hardwood floors kept stealing his attention, and again he found himself turning to see a few boys he recognized from the basketball team practicing on their half of the court. But now, they appeared to be leaving. Both had bags slung over their shoulders, and one of them was dribbling a ball toward the exit. There was a large part of Mizusawa that was glad they were leaving. He wasn't as aggressive or assertive as Wataru or Yuuta and preferred dealing with people one-to-one, without any outside noise or interruptions. Then again, he wanted the distraction. It would be there in case he needed it; in case things got awkward.
That tiny flame of hope he'd carried was completely extinguished weeks ago at that weekend camp. In a way, a large burden had been lifted off his shoulders. As hard as it might be, he could now interact with his teammate with zero expectations... and he tried his damnedest at it every day. And Kiyama seemed to be making an effort on his end, asking him to teach him the stag handstand. Even after that, he'd complimented Mizusawa's "teaching ability" and asked if they could still meet for extra practice so he could catch up with the others, and in what might have been one of Taku Mizusawa's finest moments, he eagerly agreed.
But none of that mattered at the moment. That afternoon, Ryuuichirou Kiyama was not his crush or even his friend. They were teammates, and it was the more experienced boy's duty to instruct the other in his technique. And maybe figure out why Kiyama's transitions were looking so weird...
Mizusawa toed off his shoes and stepped on the mat. slowly crept forward, hoping that a closer look would help him figure out what was going on with the taller boy's movements.
That's when he watched the boy completely fail at a round-off, falling flat on his face... for the tenth time in the last ten minutes. Kiyama was really trying, and watching him have a hard time was . Righting himself into a sitting position, he took a few minutes to catch his breath.
"Kiyama?" Mizusawa asked. He took a tentative step forward, when the other boy quickly waved a hand to stop him. He heaved himself off the ground and covered his face with his hands for a minute, appearing to be more shaken then anything. After a few moments, he looked up at Mizusawa, his eyes as piercing and as determined as ever.
"I'll... try that again."
"Yeah."
C'mon, this is pretty basic... It was a literally a cartwheel with a twist, and very low-level compared to the other stuff the team was doing. Then again, Kiyama was even having problems with basic handstands that afternoon...
It suddenly occurred to Mizusawa that the something off had to do with all of Kiyama's inversions. Which didn't make sense, as the boy had upper body strength in spades and his balance had been improving steadily over the past weeks. Mizusawa chewed on his finger and crept forward, watching Kiyama start from the top again and noting that even before the he had done anything demanding, the way he curled his right arm was a bit -- that's it!
He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed how close he'd gotten to the other boy. Not until an arm or leg or something hit him in the face and he fell down on the mat... hard.
When Mizusawa opened his eyes, he didn't see anything but the high ceilings of the gymnasium, and wavy, wild black something covering half his field of view...
He'd often heard about those moments when one's mind flew faster than the physical world should allow, during which seconds seemed like hours. And for those seeming hours, only one thought ran through Mizusawa's head. He's on top of me, he's on top of me, he's on top me... Then something arose in Mizusawa, and as he realized where he was, and who he was with, and what that feeling was... and he felt the blood drain from his face and his mouth grow parched and his heart miss a few beats and...
Oh, God, not this--
He shot up, pushing Kiyama off of him and staggered to his feet. Not quite taking the time to balance himself, he almost tripped, recovered, and stumbled again as he ran out of the gym door. He rounded the corner into the hall and made a beeline for the boy's restroom, promptly locking himself in one of the stalls.
Panting, Mizusawa turned around toward the toilet and leaned against the door, slowly sinking to his feet. He'd barely gotten a minute of peace before he heard the door creak open again, and the sound of heavy footsteps approach him. Mizusawa felt his stomach turn when he looked down to the ground and saw a shadow stop right in front of the stall. Then came a couple of knocks against the door.
"Mizusawa. Are you okay? Mizusawa?"
That was Kiyama... of course. Despite being a yankee and beating people up every now and then, Kiyama had to be such a freaking nice guy. And because he was such a freaking nice guy, it made him that much more ashamed when these kinds of things happened. Mizusawa found himself frustrated and angry that he hadn't fallen for a complete jerk. He needed someone he could be angry with. At that moment, he didn't have anyone to be mad at but himself.
And there was nothing left to do but grab his knees, lean against the door of the stall, and listen to the boy call his name in an ironic kind of way he could never have dreamed of.
Mizusawa didn't dare to move until long after the knocking and the calls finally stopped; long after he heard the footsteps and the door creaking and the echo of its closing. He didn't quite know how long it was, but light had stopped filtering in the slightly dusty upper windows of the bathroom when he finally composed himself, fixed things and ventured exiting the stall.
But he couldn't scrape up the courage to look himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. After pumping his palms full of soap from the dispenser and lathering so much the sink was overflowing with foam, he became lost in his thoughts. He had believed that he'd been doing a good job coming to terms with who he was, and figuring out how his identity fit into his standing with his friends, with his teammates... but wasn't this something different? Reacting like that to someone who had already made his feelings clear? It was stupid and shameful. He washed his hands again before finally shaking them dry and trudging out of the restroom.
A quick check of the both the gymnasium and the clubhouse confirmed that Kiyama had left, and probably a while ago. In an effort to push away the self-deprecation and what-ifs, Mizusawa pondered what would be for dinner that night has he changed back into his uniform. As he slung his bookbag over his shoulder, he set his heart on beef stew -- one of his favorites, and it was bound to cheer him up -- before bounding up the stairs and starting the long walk back home.
...
On Thursday night, Nippori found himself biking through the shopping district, making deliveries for the press. It was the first time he'd made such runs in a while. Lately, his dad had been doing a good job in managing his workload, allowing Nippori more time to practice and hang out with his friends.
He hummed a happy little tune he'd heard on the radio that afternoon, some upbeat pop-rock song.
"Hmmhmmhmm, hmhmhmm..."
One shipment lighter, Nippori walked out of the cleaners, and pulled out a slip of paper from the pocket to check off another location off his list for the night. There was only one left! Soon he'd be home, warm and in his pajamas, chowing down on whatever Hina cooked for supper that night.
Folding his list and slipping it back into the pocket of his hoody, Nippori grabbed the handles of his bicycle, which was parked on the corner. He'd walk it to the next shop; the florist was only a block away.
He'd only walked a few paces when he was cut off by a group of boys pouring out of one of the stores; a hobby shop that carried books and toys and things like that. Tall, dyed hair, ripped clothing adorned with chains and pins... these were definitely the type he'd probably be hanging out if he hadn't opted to join the gymnastics team, even if he always felt a little intimidated around yankees that weren't his two best friends. Not wanting to cause any trouble, stopped his bike and kept his head bowed, continuing his humming quietly.
Yet, even though he was looking to the side, one of the boys caught his eye. He wasn't the in the front, but it seemed that all the other had their eyes trained on him... maybe because he did stand out so much, even though the kids surrounding him were all taller, and almost hid him from view. In fact, Nippori almost missed him, but he'd recognize that smug little face anywhere... on the shorter side, well-groomed... dressed in a sweater vest?
Nippori's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as they followed the boy. "Hmmmmhmmmheehhhhhhhhhhh... hi... hi..."
One of the boys spotted Nippori, and shot him a dangerous look. Squeezing his handlebars to keep from shaking, the second-year gulped and looked to the side, continuing his stammering quietly.
"H-h-h-h-h-hi-Hino?"
No, it couldn't be! Even if that was his classmate, somewhat more surprising was the company the tumbling star seemed to be keeping. Nippori recognized a few of them as students from the neighboring high schools... and a few of them even looked like gang members he'd fought before with the Aniki and the others...
Nippori cocked his head to the side and watched as the gang disappear around the corner. It was late. Work, morning practice, school, afternoon practice, more work... it had been a long day, even as busy as Nippori tended to be, so it was quite possible that his eyes were playing tricks on him. There was absolutely no reason for Hino to be his side of town, not this late at night, and definitely no reason for him to be hanging around a group of guys that might unnerve a former yankee like him. So there would be no reason to call Aniki or Ryousuke about it. Nippori was never all that good at fighting, and he wouldn't want to do anything to inconvenience the gymnastics club.
Humming a different tune, Nippori turned his bicycle around. He would opt to take the long way to the florist... just to be one the safe side.
...
A satisfied grin crept onto Wataru's face as he yanked the rusted padlock off of the shed's door.
It wasn't technically breaking in.
In spite of himself, he looked over his shoulder for what was probably the hundredth time that evening. He was certainly a sight that night... a burly teenager with bright red hair (although it wasn't styled that day), in a two-piece suit, scampering through the school grounds with a bent aluminum bat. Wataru Azuma was a student at Karasumori Senior High School, so he should have access to the facilities whenever he needed him. Hell, he paid tuition. Okay, his mother did, but...
Wataru Azuma was also a member of the baseball club for exactly thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds on the first day of the school term, before that second-year accidentally hit him the face in an attempt to tag him "out" and retribution was had. A scuffle and a busted lip later, the captain of the team had smiled to him as he stormed away, saying that the yankee was still a good athlete and he was welcome to come back any time. Wataru knew he didn't mean it, but people shouldn't say things they don't mean, right? They couldn't blame him if he actually did come back.
So that night, Wataru Azuma was utilizing his access to the baseball team's materials. He made sure to take a few of the older baseballs he'd seen, and he would remember to put them back. He wouldn't have to do this if he lived in the city, near one of those open batting cages, but that wasn't his fault either.
He still had his bat, though. He liked his bat. They'd gone through a lot together. The good times, the bad times...
Wataru tugged at his collar. He hadn't bothered to change clothes when he and his mother got back into town that evening; he was too pent up. The day had been filled with ceremonies he probably should have cared about more than he actually did, and trying to connect with relatives he only knew existed a little over a month ago. There would be no having it. Hours later, his ears were still overflowing with talk about a woman who looked too young to have a son that looked that old, and how the way he looked and talked all made sense considering.
He had stayed quiet all day, for fear of disappointing his mother, and proving his would-be aunts and cousins right. It had been the most awkward yet important of the series of memorial services for the man he only got to call "old man" for a few days. Fortunately, it had also been the last.
Wataru knew he needed to set aside all these conflicting feelings about what had happened, and he hoped that he'd be able to get some closure now. He needed to focus on the important things. After he did something with this frustration, at least...
"Yosh," he slurred, tossing the first ball into the air, quickly assuming a batting stance. He was satisfied to hear a clang of the bat against the ball.
Despite the fact the sun had set hours ago, Wataru shaded his eyes with his hand and watched the ball disappear somewhere on the far end of the baseball field.
He tossed a second ball in the air, hoping to drive it deep into left field, maybe even hit a homer--
"Azuma-kun?"
Concentration broken, he watched as his bat flew down the right side field, and the baseball fell to his feet. He turned around to see Shouko Ezaki standing somewhere between the covered walkway and the track around the fields, her face looking as irritated as ever.
Wataru couldn't help but let a large grin cover his face. "Hey, hag."
There was a pause. A nervous moment cracked through the teacher's steel facade. It was enough for Wataru to know that she knew why he wasn't at practice that afternoon and why he was dressed up in a suit and tie. While Wataru knew that he had every right to be at his school, others might not see it the same way. The tended not to. Stupid grown-ups.
It wasn't that he wanted sympathy, but it helped.
After clearing her throat, Ezaki straightened herself and looked back to the student.
"You shouldn't be out here so late at night."
"I should say the same for old ladies like yourself."
Ezaki turned away. In the dim light, Wataru still saw that the corner of her mouth was jumping in that weird little twitch she did whenever she was insulted.
After a few moments passed, she recovered and looked to the boy again, her expression the slightest bit softer. "Just... don't get into any trouble."
Wataru smiled broadly, and did his trademark fist-pump. The woman blinked, thinking that was quite a strange gesture to respond with, but she wouldn't address it.
The boy moved his arm to his forehead in a mock-salute. "Good night, hag."
"Good night, Azuma-kun."
Wataru yanked at his collar as he watched the woman walk away.
Then tugging at his tie again -- jeeze, what genius had thought it was a good idea to strangle himself with a piece of cloth and call it "formal"? -- he followed the foul line to where his bat had landed. He ended up picking up at the wrong end, at the tip, right where the dried, caked-on--
Immediately, Wataru crinkled his face. It was disgusting! Why hadn't he cleaned it yet? Hand trembling, he moved to wipe it on his suit, but his mother would kill him if he got it dirty. So he just swung his arms around, a slew of swear words piercing the cold evening air.
He would be too busy flailing to notice that Ezaki had walked by again. She briefly stopped to stare at the dancing boy before she tucked her file under her arm and finally made a move to leave campus. She wouldn't say anything about saying the boy that night. As far as she could tell, Azuma wasn't doing anything wrong. And in addition to the stress brought on by those personal troubles he'd been having and that big meet that was coming up, she always figured the boy wasn't quite right in the head.
...
Somewhere in the middle of town at about that same time, a disappointed Yuuta was muttering swears under his breath.
He looked to the sign in front of him again. Taped above the stylized characters Kamone was written in, was a plain, laminated sheet of paper that read:
Closed. Sorry for the inconvenience!
Yuuta got the feeling that the store had been closed for the entire day, and that that was a very rare occurrence. Was it related to Wataru's absence from school?
He stopped himself before rapping on the door. He got feeling like no one would answer. He also got the feeling that he should already know what was going on. He wasn't quite sure what had been wrong with the members of his team earlier that afternoon, but every single one of them had seemed unmotivated and distracted. Sure Wataru was amazing, and had done so much to bring -- and keep -- the team together, but was one day without the him affecting his team so much? Was there something else going on?
He scrolled down his contact list, and came across "Azuma, Wataru" close to the top. As he selected the name to call him, the picture Wataru insisted he take one afternoon popped up. ("Because that's what bud do, they have pictures of their friends on their phones!") The redhead was smiling as big as humanly possible, shoving Nippori out of the frame, with Ryousuke was giving him a pair of bunny-ears with his fingers. He found it funny, but it made him frown. That was the kid that was giving him so much grief... Yuuta's thumb hovered over the "OK" button, and he pondered what he would say, or if he'd come down and speak with him, or if he was even home--
Yuuta nearly dropped his phone when it started vibrating in his hand, a tiny window reading Recieving... Text Message suddenly hiding the redhead's funny face. Sighing, he clicked that button to see the message...
c u sunday! bcuz u ARE coming on sunday takenaka!
-- ryousuke
...with a smiley face at the end.
He narrowed his eyes on his phone, wondering just why hadn't officially turned Ryousuke down... yet. He'd meant to pull him aside and have a talk, but it had just been a really busy week. Maybe he should try calling the blonde yankee first? Yuuta approached the door and looked into the tiny window of the restaurant. The lights were off, and the chairs were turned over on the tables. Would anyone even answer if he knocked?
Yuuta looked to his phone again, and returned to the contacts list. Suddenly, it started vibrating again and slipped out of his fingers, bouncing on the concrete once. He kneeled down to pick it up, and checked the new message that had appeared on the screen...
im counting on u, captain! this is SERIOUS
-- ryousuke
This time, there were several smileys trailing the message.
"Obnoxious." Yuuta sighed; it was such a weird time for the boy to be so aggressive for something that was so trivial. Okay, maybe not to Ryousuke, but if he was stressed out and wanted to meet girls, Yuuta was sure that he knew other people outside of the club to do those types of things with. Why the hell bug him? Yuuta had important things to worry about... like the fate of the team.
He took a last look at the Kamone sign before turning around. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he started home.
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Firstly, I must really apologize for how long this took. So much happened over the past weeks, including the permanent deaths of the computers I was using to write and update. Add in the fact that it met that my prior writing had all been lost, and I'd written a lot... It's been a bit tough. But I've finally regrouped and the next chapter his here! I promise you all won't have to wait so long for the next one! I look forward to any feedback you might have. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading! I hope it's enjoyable~
Title: Boys Will Be Boys
Rating: PG ~ PG-13
Genre: (melo)drama, friendship, a smidgen of mystery and a touch of crack!fic
Summary: The boys have survived many threats to their participation at the regionals, but internal discord might be the one to finally bring them down.
Notes: Takes place between episodes 09 and 10. Just imagine they have a lot more time before the regionals. It's better that way.
2. In Which Awkward Moments Ensue
(The Things He Missed)
Yuuta Takenaka missed a lot of things that week.
It was a shame, because he might have noticed Tsuchiya's concerns and answered some very good questions.
He could have noticed that Hino was even more stiff than usual, rushing to leave after every meeting, and that Nippori seemed to be thinking so hard about something that he complained of headaches.
He would have noticed how quiet Kiyama was, even for him, in his little corner of homeroom, and how Ryousuke nervously chewed on his pencil and tapped his fingers against his desk in his seat by the window.
He should have noticed how Kaneko seemed to be busy even in his downtime, quick to hide something every time he came around, and how Mizusawa seemed more interested in doodling on his notes than talking, his sighs long and drawn.
And even though he was the boy Yuuta was most interested in that week, he might have even remembered just why Wataru Azuma didn't show up on Friday, even though everyone else already seemed to know.
Yuuta Takenaka missed a lot of things that week.
It wasn't like he didn't have good reason; his worries ran deep. He thought his team's chances in the all-important Kantou Regional Championships were at stake. He thought his dream was in danger. He thought his team's dream was in danger.
And among all that, he was reevaluating his relationship with his newest and closest friend.
Yuuta Takenaka missed a lot of things that week, and that might have been his biggest mistake.
...
Wataru knew that you weren’t supposed to look directly at the sun, but it was such a nice day. Holding his hand above him, he contemplated the day and life and things like that. Well, not really, but enjoyed the way just enough light would stream though his fingers and how the little lights would dance and fan out before his squinting eyes. It was just the kind of day that he enjoyed spending on the school roof, as he was doing with his two best pals in that little downtime they had between the end of classes and the beginning of club activities.
He lay on the ground, gazing up at the sky. Nippori sat across from him, looking over the school yard, while Ryousuke idly walked the roof’s perimeter.
“Stop pacin’, will ya? You’re making me nervous,” Wataru half-joked, half complained.
Ryousuke pouted but reluctantly complied, plopping down on the desk that had made it to the top of the building. After crossing his legs and trying to see what was so interesting way up there in the stratosphere, he gave up and returned his gaze to the redheaded yankee.
“Hey... Wataru?”
“Huh?”
“You miss it?”
“What?”
There was a short pause. Ryousuke appeared to think for a moment before he continued, his words slow and careful. “Before. The way it was before.”
Wataru drew a particularly loud breath, looking to the side. Both of his friends were staring at him, wide-eyed, eager to hear an answer. Ryousuke was even looking impatient. He had uncrossed his legs and now was rapidly tapping his his foot against the ground.
Not really welcoming the sudden pressure, the redhead turned back skywards. The tapping was making him nervous again. He noticed that a cloud was creeping by… marring his perfect sky. He huffed in disappointment.
“Rhythmic gymnastics is different. It’s fun,” he mused out loud.
Nippori giggled. “Yeah, jumping around in tights is fun.”
Wataru looked at his friend before kicking him in the leg. “You do it too, stupid.”
“But you didn’t answer my question.” Ryousuke's voice was louder than before, and louder than Wataru thought the conversation called for.
The redhead heaved himself off the ground, and turned to his friend in the chair. The latter stared at him with furrowed brows and intense eyes, and that foot was tapping on the ground even faster. Apparently, this wasn’t a question being posed out of simple curiosity.
He rubbed his chin. “We can’t exactly go back without screwing the team over, right?”
“That’s still not an answer.”
The redhead prided himself on his "way with words", but his desire to be completely honest and not sound like he was betraying his new set of friends posed quite a problem. He genuinely liked them, and found the sport of rhythmic gymnastics something he could lose himself in. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly hate being the most badass kid at Karasumori High School, and few things gave him more pleasure than clubbing someone who had it coming to them between the eyes. He didn’t hate doing whatever the hell he wanted to do and not caring about the repercussions.
It wasn’t like he didn’t think about those things anymore.
Wataru closed his eyes and balled up his first, letting out a loud, overexaggerated groan.
“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, sprawling back on the ground. There were suddenly a lot more clouds in the sky. “You?”
Ryousuke clicked his tongue and looked upwards, too. “I’m not sure, either…"
"Nippori?”
“I, uh…” The younger boy looked to his two companions, a bit nervous, but a smile from Ryousuke egged him on. Fidgeting, he looked into his lap and let the words pour out of his mouth in a rushed jumble.
“Now don't get me wrong! Fighting and stuff with Aniki and Ryousuke-san, it's the best, really! But somehow I really, really came to like gymnastics, too. It’s something I can get good at and people cheer for me and it doesn’t give me a black eye. So I think I like it better…”
He closed his eyes, pausing to catch his breath, and continued.
“…besides the tights.”
Wataru let out a hearty laugh, and Ryousuke cracked a smile.
So rhythmic gymnastics is better than the best, huh? The blonde believed every word of it, but knew that Nippori was completely at Wataru’s beck and call when it came to those old gang activities. Should his aniki say the word, he'd be back to fighting in the streets in a heartbeat. Hell, Ryousuke knew the same applied to him.
It was worrying.
But his thoughts were interrupted by a creaking noise he heard not too far off. The members of the yankee trio were the only people on the roof, so it came across as strange. “You guys hear that?”
“Nope,” both answered in unison, quickly returning their attention back to their idle pursuits.
Ryousuke watched as Wataru pointed his finger in the air, appearing to point out the different shapes in the cloud, while Nippori was stroking his leg where he'd been kicked earlier. The blonde slipped out of his seat and slipped his hands in his pockets, making his way to the door as he began to speak again. “But it’s been different lately, hasn’t it? The gymnastics club.”
“Everyone’s just nervous about the regionals.” Nippori shrugged.
“You think?!” Ryousuke practically shouted, swinging the door to the fire escape wide open. He was surprised to actually see a figure disappearing down the stairwell. He thought to run after him, or at least shout something at the... eavesdropper or whatever, but he decided against it.
Instead, he slowly closed the fire exit door shut and turned back to Wataru and Nippori, who were both looking off in the distance, and both looking as oblivious as ever.
In fact, the redhead’s grin had completely melted away to a frown. The sky had become completely overcast in the last several minutes and the sun was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m sure of it.”
...
Kiyama wasn't very flexible, but Mizusawa already knew that.
Among the many things he'd secretly admired about the boy was the confident, measured, but kind of rigid way he moved. While it impressed Mizusawa, he knew it wouldn't do. Mixed in with the feelings of fear and dread when his forbidden fruit had joined the rhythmic gymnastics team was the knowledge that he'd have a really hard time.
...much like he was having at the moment. Mizusawa narrowed his eyes, inspecting every movement of the boy in front of him. They'd been working on some of the older routines for extra practice; they were a bit easier than what the team was doing now and he figured that it would be best for their newest member to perfect the simpler techniques. But Kiyama's turns and spins were looking mighty sloppy that afternoon. His long limbs drooped from what Mizusawa supposed was fatigue. It had been a long afternoon.
Still, there was never an excuse for bad form. Cupping a hand over his mouth Mizusawa shouted, "point your toes!"
It was late that Wednesday, after the practice sessions of both gymnastics teams, which left the gym nearly empty and Mizusawa able to focus his attention on coaching his classmate. At least, he was trying to. The dribbling of a basketball against the hardwood floors kept stealing his attention, and again he found himself turning to see a few boys he recognized from the basketball team practicing on their half of the court. But now, they appeared to be leaving. Both had bags slung over their shoulders, and one of them was dribbling a ball toward the exit. There was a large part of Mizusawa that was glad they were leaving. He wasn't as aggressive or assertive as Wataru or Yuuta and preferred dealing with people one-to-one, without any outside noise or interruptions. Then again, he wanted the distraction. It would be there in case he needed it; in case things got awkward.
That tiny flame of hope he'd carried was completely extinguished weeks ago at that weekend camp. In a way, a large burden had been lifted off his shoulders. As hard as it might be, he could now interact with his teammate with zero expectations... and he tried his damnedest at it every day. And Kiyama seemed to be making an effort on his end, asking him to teach him the stag handstand. Even after that, he'd complimented Mizusawa's "teaching ability" and asked if they could still meet for extra practice so he could catch up with the others, and in what might have been one of Taku Mizusawa's finest moments, he eagerly agreed.
But none of that mattered at the moment. That afternoon, Ryuuichirou Kiyama was not his crush or even his friend. They were teammates, and it was the more experienced boy's duty to instruct the other in his technique. And maybe figure out why Kiyama's transitions were looking so weird...
Mizusawa toed off his shoes and stepped on the mat. slowly crept forward, hoping that a closer look would help him figure out what was going on with the taller boy's movements.
That's when he watched the boy completely fail at a round-off, falling flat on his face... for the tenth time in the last ten minutes. Kiyama was really trying, and watching him have a hard time was . Righting himself into a sitting position, he took a few minutes to catch his breath.
"Kiyama?" Mizusawa asked. He took a tentative step forward, when the other boy quickly waved a hand to stop him. He heaved himself off the ground and covered his face with his hands for a minute, appearing to be more shaken then anything. After a few moments, he looked up at Mizusawa, his eyes as piercing and as determined as ever.
"I'll... try that again."
"Yeah."
C'mon, this is pretty basic... It was a literally a cartwheel with a twist, and very low-level compared to the other stuff the team was doing. Then again, Kiyama was even having problems with basic handstands that afternoon...
It suddenly occurred to Mizusawa that the something off had to do with all of Kiyama's inversions. Which didn't make sense, as the boy had upper body strength in spades and his balance had been improving steadily over the past weeks. Mizusawa chewed on his finger and crept forward, watching Kiyama start from the top again and noting that even before the he had done anything demanding, the way he curled his right arm was a bit -- that's it!
He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed how close he'd gotten to the other boy. Not until an arm or leg or something hit him in the face and he fell down on the mat... hard.
When Mizusawa opened his eyes, he didn't see anything but the high ceilings of the gymnasium, and wavy, wild black something covering half his field of view...
He'd often heard about those moments when one's mind flew faster than the physical world should allow, during which seconds seemed like hours. And for those seeming hours, only one thought ran through Mizusawa's head. He's on top of me, he's on top of me, he's on top me... Then something arose in Mizusawa, and as he realized where he was, and who he was with, and what that feeling was... and he felt the blood drain from his face and his mouth grow parched and his heart miss a few beats and...
Oh, God, not this--
He shot up, pushing Kiyama off of him and staggered to his feet. Not quite taking the time to balance himself, he almost tripped, recovered, and stumbled again as he ran out of the gym door. He rounded the corner into the hall and made a beeline for the boy's restroom, promptly locking himself in one of the stalls.
Panting, Mizusawa turned around toward the toilet and leaned against the door, slowly sinking to his feet. He'd barely gotten a minute of peace before he heard the door creak open again, and the sound of heavy footsteps approach him. Mizusawa felt his stomach turn when he looked down to the ground and saw a shadow stop right in front of the stall. Then came a couple of knocks against the door.
"Mizusawa. Are you okay? Mizusawa?"
That was Kiyama... of course. Despite being a yankee and beating people up every now and then, Kiyama had to be such a freaking nice guy. And because he was such a freaking nice guy, it made him that much more ashamed when these kinds of things happened. Mizusawa found himself frustrated and angry that he hadn't fallen for a complete jerk. He needed someone he could be angry with. At that moment, he didn't have anyone to be mad at but himself.
And there was nothing left to do but grab his knees, lean against the door of the stall, and listen to the boy call his name in an ironic kind of way he could never have dreamed of.
Mizusawa didn't dare to move until long after the knocking and the calls finally stopped; long after he heard the footsteps and the door creaking and the echo of its closing. He didn't quite know how long it was, but light had stopped filtering in the slightly dusty upper windows of the bathroom when he finally composed himself, fixed things and ventured exiting the stall.
But he couldn't scrape up the courage to look himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. After pumping his palms full of soap from the dispenser and lathering so much the sink was overflowing with foam, he became lost in his thoughts. He had believed that he'd been doing a good job coming to terms with who he was, and figuring out how his identity fit into his standing with his friends, with his teammates... but wasn't this something different? Reacting like that to someone who had already made his feelings clear? It was stupid and shameful. He washed his hands again before finally shaking them dry and trudging out of the restroom.
A quick check of the both the gymnasium and the clubhouse confirmed that Kiyama had left, and probably a while ago. In an effort to push away the self-deprecation and what-ifs, Mizusawa pondered what would be for dinner that night has he changed back into his uniform. As he slung his bookbag over his shoulder, he set his heart on beef stew -- one of his favorites, and it was bound to cheer him up -- before bounding up the stairs and starting the long walk back home.
...
On Thursday night, Nippori found himself biking through the shopping district, making deliveries for the press. It was the first time he'd made such runs in a while. Lately, his dad had been doing a good job in managing his workload, allowing Nippori more time to practice and hang out with his friends.
He hummed a happy little tune he'd heard on the radio that afternoon, some upbeat pop-rock song.
"Hmmhmmhmm, hmhmhmm..."
One shipment lighter, Nippori walked out of the cleaners, and pulled out a slip of paper from the pocket to check off another location off his list for the night. There was only one left! Soon he'd be home, warm and in his pajamas, chowing down on whatever Hina cooked for supper that night.
Folding his list and slipping it back into the pocket of his hoody, Nippori grabbed the handles of his bicycle, which was parked on the corner. He'd walk it to the next shop; the florist was only a block away.
He'd only walked a few paces when he was cut off by a group of boys pouring out of one of the stores; a hobby shop that carried books and toys and things like that. Tall, dyed hair, ripped clothing adorned with chains and pins... these were definitely the type he'd probably be hanging out if he hadn't opted to join the gymnastics team, even if he always felt a little intimidated around yankees that weren't his two best friends. Not wanting to cause any trouble, stopped his bike and kept his head bowed, continuing his humming quietly.
Yet, even though he was looking to the side, one of the boys caught his eye. He wasn't the in the front, but it seemed that all the other had their eyes trained on him... maybe because he did stand out so much, even though the kids surrounding him were all taller, and almost hid him from view. In fact, Nippori almost missed him, but he'd recognize that smug little face anywhere... on the shorter side, well-groomed... dressed in a sweater vest?
Nippori's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as they followed the boy. "Hmmmmhmmmheehhhhhhhhhhh... hi... hi..."
One of the boys spotted Nippori, and shot him a dangerous look. Squeezing his handlebars to keep from shaking, the second-year gulped and looked to the side, continuing his stammering quietly.
"H-h-h-h-h-hi-Hino?"
No, it couldn't be! Even if that was his classmate, somewhat more surprising was the company the tumbling star seemed to be keeping. Nippori recognized a few of them as students from the neighboring high schools... and a few of them even looked like gang members he'd fought before with the Aniki and the others...
Nippori cocked his head to the side and watched as the gang disappear around the corner. It was late. Work, morning practice, school, afternoon practice, more work... it had been a long day, even as busy as Nippori tended to be, so it was quite possible that his eyes were playing tricks on him. There was absolutely no reason for Hino to be his side of town, not this late at night, and definitely no reason for him to be hanging around a group of guys that might unnerve a former yankee like him. So there would be no reason to call Aniki or Ryousuke about it. Nippori was never all that good at fighting, and he wouldn't want to do anything to inconvenience the gymnastics club.
Humming a different tune, Nippori turned his bicycle around. He would opt to take the long way to the florist... just to be one the safe side.
...
A satisfied grin crept onto Wataru's face as he yanked the rusted padlock off of the shed's door.
It wasn't technically breaking in.
In spite of himself, he looked over his shoulder for what was probably the hundredth time that evening. He was certainly a sight that night... a burly teenager with bright red hair (although it wasn't styled that day), in a two-piece suit, scampering through the school grounds with a bent aluminum bat. Wataru Azuma was a student at Karasumori Senior High School, so he should have access to the facilities whenever he needed him. Hell, he paid tuition. Okay, his mother did, but...
Wataru Azuma was also a member of the baseball club for exactly thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds on the first day of the school term, before that second-year accidentally hit him the face in an attempt to tag him "out" and retribution was had. A scuffle and a busted lip later, the captain of the team had smiled to him as he stormed away, saying that the yankee was still a good athlete and he was welcome to come back any time. Wataru knew he didn't mean it, but people shouldn't say things they don't mean, right? They couldn't blame him if he actually did come back.
So that night, Wataru Azuma was utilizing his access to the baseball team's materials. He made sure to take a few of the older baseballs he'd seen, and he would remember to put them back. He wouldn't have to do this if he lived in the city, near one of those open batting cages, but that wasn't his fault either.
He still had his bat, though. He liked his bat. They'd gone through a lot together. The good times, the bad times...
Wataru tugged at his collar. He hadn't bothered to change clothes when he and his mother got back into town that evening; he was too pent up. The day had been filled with ceremonies he probably should have cared about more than he actually did, and trying to connect with relatives he only knew existed a little over a month ago. There would be no having it. Hours later, his ears were still overflowing with talk about a woman who looked too young to have a son that looked that old, and how the way he looked and talked all made sense considering.
He had stayed quiet all day, for fear of disappointing his mother, and proving his would-be aunts and cousins right. It had been the most awkward yet important of the series of memorial services for the man he only got to call "old man" for a few days. Fortunately, it had also been the last.
Wataru knew he needed to set aside all these conflicting feelings about what had happened, and he hoped that he'd be able to get some closure now. He needed to focus on the important things. After he did something with this frustration, at least...
"Yosh," he slurred, tossing the first ball into the air, quickly assuming a batting stance. He was satisfied to hear a clang of the bat against the ball.
Despite the fact the sun had set hours ago, Wataru shaded his eyes with his hand and watched the ball disappear somewhere on the far end of the baseball field.
He tossed a second ball in the air, hoping to drive it deep into left field, maybe even hit a homer--
"Azuma-kun?"
Concentration broken, he watched as his bat flew down the right side field, and the baseball fell to his feet. He turned around to see Shouko Ezaki standing somewhere between the covered walkway and the track around the fields, her face looking as irritated as ever.
Wataru couldn't help but let a large grin cover his face. "Hey, hag."
There was a pause. A nervous moment cracked through the teacher's steel facade. It was enough for Wataru to know that she knew why he wasn't at practice that afternoon and why he was dressed up in a suit and tie. While Wataru knew that he had every right to be at his school, others might not see it the same way. The tended not to. Stupid grown-ups.
It wasn't that he wanted sympathy, but it helped.
After clearing her throat, Ezaki straightened herself and looked back to the student.
"You shouldn't be out here so late at night."
"I should say the same for old ladies like yourself."
Ezaki turned away. In the dim light, Wataru still saw that the corner of her mouth was jumping in that weird little twitch she did whenever she was insulted.
After a few moments passed, she recovered and looked to the boy again, her expression the slightest bit softer. "Just... don't get into any trouble."
Wataru smiled broadly, and did his trademark fist-pump. The woman blinked, thinking that was quite a strange gesture to respond with, but she wouldn't address it.
The boy moved his arm to his forehead in a mock-salute. "Good night, hag."
"Good night, Azuma-kun."
Wataru yanked at his collar as he watched the woman walk away.
Then tugging at his tie again -- jeeze, what genius had thought it was a good idea to strangle himself with a piece of cloth and call it "formal"? -- he followed the foul line to where his bat had landed. He ended up picking up at the wrong end, at the tip, right where the dried, caked-on--
Immediately, Wataru crinkled his face. It was disgusting! Why hadn't he cleaned it yet? Hand trembling, he moved to wipe it on his suit, but his mother would kill him if he got it dirty. So he just swung his arms around, a slew of swear words piercing the cold evening air.
He would be too busy flailing to notice that Ezaki had walked by again. She briefly stopped to stare at the dancing boy before she tucked her file under her arm and finally made a move to leave campus. She wouldn't say anything about saying the boy that night. As far as she could tell, Azuma wasn't doing anything wrong. And in addition to the stress brought on by those personal troubles he'd been having and that big meet that was coming up, she always figured the boy wasn't quite right in the head.
...
Somewhere in the middle of town at about that same time, a disappointed Yuuta was muttering swears under his breath.
He looked to the sign in front of him again. Taped above the stylized characters Kamone was written in, was a plain, laminated sheet of paper that read:
Closed. Sorry for the inconvenience!
Yuuta got the feeling that the store had been closed for the entire day, and that that was a very rare occurrence. Was it related to Wataru's absence from school?
He stopped himself before rapping on the door. He got feeling like no one would answer. He also got the feeling that he should already know what was going on. He wasn't quite sure what had been wrong with the members of his team earlier that afternoon, but every single one of them had seemed unmotivated and distracted. Sure Wataru was amazing, and had done so much to bring -- and keep -- the team together, but was one day without the him affecting his team so much? Was there something else going on?
He scrolled down his contact list, and came across "Azuma, Wataru" close to the top. As he selected the name to call him, the picture Wataru insisted he take one afternoon popped up. ("Because that's what bud do, they have pictures of their friends on their phones!") The redhead was smiling as big as humanly possible, shoving Nippori out of the frame, with Ryousuke was giving him a pair of bunny-ears with his fingers. He found it funny, but it made him frown. That was the kid that was giving him so much grief... Yuuta's thumb hovered over the "OK" button, and he pondered what he would say, or if he'd come down and speak with him, or if he was even home--
Yuuta nearly dropped his phone when it started vibrating in his hand, a tiny window reading Recieving... Text Message suddenly hiding the redhead's funny face. Sighing, he clicked that button to see the message...
c u sunday! bcuz u ARE coming on sunday takenaka!
-- ryousuke
...with a smiley face at the end.
He narrowed his eyes on his phone, wondering just why hadn't officially turned Ryousuke down... yet. He'd meant to pull him aside and have a talk, but it had just been a really busy week. Maybe he should try calling the blonde yankee first? Yuuta approached the door and looked into the tiny window of the restaurant. The lights were off, and the chairs were turned over on the tables. Would anyone even answer if he knocked?
Yuuta looked to his phone again, and returned to the contacts list. Suddenly, it started vibrating again and slipped out of his fingers, bouncing on the concrete once. He kneeled down to pick it up, and checked the new message that had appeared on the screen...
im counting on u, captain! this is SERIOUS
-- ryousuke
This time, there were several smileys trailing the message.
"Obnoxious." Yuuta sighed; it was such a weird time for the boy to be so aggressive for something that was so trivial. Okay, maybe not to Ryousuke, but if he was stressed out and wanted to meet girls, Yuuta was sure that he knew other people outside of the club to do those types of things with. Why the hell bug him? Yuuta had important things to worry about... like the fate of the team.
He took a last look at the Kamone sign before turning around. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he started home.
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