NEARING THE END NINE: HIBI-CHAN FOR ANNEKO MC
Title: Better than Tennis
Author: Ginnie hibimaosuki
Recipient: anneko_mc
Rating: G. Very much G.
Pairing: Tezuka/Eiji (with Oishi/Fuji if you squint because I couldn't resist).
Disclaimer: Konomi-sensei, you're fucking us all over with the new series, but sadly you still own all of our collective souls because you own the title.
Warnings: ... Miiiiiiiight be slightly OOC?
=======
O-oi, Tezuka! Stop for a bit, would you? he calls out from the other side of the net.
You catch the ball with a smooth swing of your racket and push your glasses against the bridge of your nose, though they have not actually fallen. Force of habit, one that you can't get rid of. You regard his prone figure across the court, lying there and panting heavily. His stamina has certainly improved, but it's still not enough.
You lightly volley the ball back in his direction. His eyes follow its progress toward him and past his head, but other than that he makes no move to chase it.
Don't you ever get tired? You're playing like a man possessed.
Is there any other way to play tennis? you answer. He smirks from his position on the ground, and pulls himself up, taking his racket back into his hand and giving it a couple of twirls before settling to receive your next serve.
As he waits, you see his arms drop down a notch. Like he can't support his racket anymore from fatigue. You decide to cut him some slack and throw only half of your usual power into your serve. You study the expression on his face as he takes one, two steps to return the ball. He is half-relieved, and almost half-insulted, and the ball flies back to you with none of his seriousness on the court, more of his playfulness.
Tezuka! Whoever loses this next point treats tonight!
The two of you have been having these training sessions for a while now. What with both of his best friends having gone to a different high school together, and his not entirely irrational fear of being the target of Inui's juice experiments, it is you that he seeks out for companionship. And tennis. But mostly the companionship. Once the rackets are back in the bags and the sweat of the workout has been washed away, you are no longer just teammates. You're friends, and it is with this last thought in mind that you miss his sharp cross shot, having been caught completely by surprise by his last dive.
He rejoices in his victory and as he skips toward the clubhouse, he calls over his shoulder that he hopes you have enough money on you because he wants to try that new triple mountain special at his favorite ice cream parlor a block away from the school. You wordlessly shake your head in amusement and follow him.
******
You're really going to finish all that?
He leans to the side and peers at you from behind the small hill of chocolate, strawberry, and mint ice cream sitting between the two of you, spoon sticking out from between pursed lips. Yeah. Is there a problem?
You start to say something about how he will ruin his appetite for dinner, but in the end decide that it's not your place to mother him. I'll leave that to Oishi, you think.
As if on cue, the tinkle of the parlor's bells announce the arrival of a new customer. His arms are heavily laden with books, and the strain is showing on his face, but when his eyes meet yours, a smile lights up his features and he makes his way over to the two of you, knowing without words that he is welcome.
Your companion's eyes twinkle at the sight of the newcomer, and he hurriedly moves his sundae to make room for Oishi's burden. Oishi settles into your booth, and you take a moment to wonder where Kikumaru pulled that extra spoon out from, already loaded with a spoonful of ice cream, topped with half a cherry.
After Oishi swallows, he regales you both with tales of how the first month of high school has been for him. He talks of specialized science classes and seemingly endless hours of labwork, and though his expression shows a hint of displeasure, the light tone of his voice says otherwise. In return, Kikumaru talks about the newly renovated courts, the second-year regulars he beat at 1-vs-2 match the other day, and how the cold concoction both of them are now working to consume was thanks to you, as was dinner yesterday and lunch three days ago.
Oishi looks at you, a bit surprised. You can't blame him, you think -- after all, despite having been Kikumaru's teammate for three years, nobody would ever have pegged the two of you as friends. Short of rolling your eyes, you shrug and talk about how much progress Kikumaru has made as a player since you as a team claimed the crown at Nationals months ago. You share stories of new moves he has mastered, how his agility has improved considerably even as it was already remarkable to begin with, how he still plays singles as if Oishi was there to back him up.
His following comment catches you off-guard: Oishi remarks that you've become more talkative, and if he isn't mistaken that's definitely a fond smile playing on your lips. You look him in he eye, and find no trace of teasing.
Kikumaru takes this moment to say that it's all thanks to him, and you readily agree, pointing your own spoon at him for emphasis and injecting a hint of sarcasm into your answer. He makes a face at you, and Oishi laughs.
You ask him about Fuji next. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and in a quiet voice admits that they haven't seen much of each other since the new school year started, but that they've been talking on the phone every night. Fuji is taking an extracurricular class on photojournalism, and it is with a certain degree of pride in his voice that he says Fuji is to leave in September for a year-long exchange student program and early internship for a prestigious magazine in New York.
Kikumaru's eyes widen, clearly impressed, and he reaches out and pokes your cheek when you ask if Fuji will be able to practice tennis while he is abroad. Tennis, tennis, tennis, he mildly chides you, is that all you ever think about? Oishi mimics his former partner, a twinkle in his eye as he assures you that Fuji has definitely not been slacking off in his training.
The ice cream is gone in the next fifteen minutes, a period of time filled with more light banter. Craving now satisfied, Kikumaru lazily stretches his arms over his head and announces that it's about time you all went home. Oishi nods and is the first to stand, allowing Kikumaru a brief hug before picking up his books and bidding the two of you a good night. You wish him a safe commute, and the three of you exit the shop, you and Kikumaru heading in one direction and Oishi in another.
As you walk, Kikumaru looks up and points out the starless, cloudy sky. And before you say it, he immediately follows up, it's going to rain tomorrow and the courts will be wet and we won't be able to play.
We'll have to find something else to do, then.
The words escape your mouth before they have fully formed in your mind, but once they do you realize there is no need to take them back. Kikumaru blinks at you once, twice, and with a teasing lilt asks if you have any suggestions. After all, is there anything that Tezuka Kunimitsu does in his free time besides play tennis?
You meet him eye to eye and, in all seriousness, give him a short answer.
Something better than tennis.
Kikumaru threads his arm through yours, and you look up as the first drizzle of rain starts to fall.
Author: Ginnie hibimaosuki
Recipient: anneko_mc
Rating: G. Very much G.
Pairing: Tezuka/Eiji (with Oishi/Fuji if you squint because I couldn't resist).
Disclaimer: Konomi-sensei, you're fucking us all over with the new series, but sadly you still own all of our collective souls because you own the title.
Warnings: ... Miiiiiiiight be slightly OOC?
=======
O-oi, Tezuka! Stop for a bit, would you? he calls out from the other side of the net.
You catch the ball with a smooth swing of your racket and push your glasses against the bridge of your nose, though they have not actually fallen. Force of habit, one that you can't get rid of. You regard his prone figure across the court, lying there and panting heavily. His stamina has certainly improved, but it's still not enough.
You lightly volley the ball back in his direction. His eyes follow its progress toward him and past his head, but other than that he makes no move to chase it.
Don't you ever get tired? You're playing like a man possessed.
Is there any other way to play tennis? you answer. He smirks from his position on the ground, and pulls himself up, taking his racket back into his hand and giving it a couple of twirls before settling to receive your next serve.
As he waits, you see his arms drop down a notch. Like he can't support his racket anymore from fatigue. You decide to cut him some slack and throw only half of your usual power into your serve. You study the expression on his face as he takes one, two steps to return the ball. He is half-relieved, and almost half-insulted, and the ball flies back to you with none of his seriousness on the court, more of his playfulness.
Tezuka! Whoever loses this next point treats tonight!
The two of you have been having these training sessions for a while now. What with both of his best friends having gone to a different high school together, and his not entirely irrational fear of being the target of Inui's juice experiments, it is you that he seeks out for companionship. And tennis. But mostly the companionship. Once the rackets are back in the bags and the sweat of the workout has been washed away, you are no longer just teammates. You're friends, and it is with this last thought in mind that you miss his sharp cross shot, having been caught completely by surprise by his last dive.
He rejoices in his victory and as he skips toward the clubhouse, he calls over his shoulder that he hopes you have enough money on you because he wants to try that new triple mountain special at his favorite ice cream parlor a block away from the school. You wordlessly shake your head in amusement and follow him.
******
You're really going to finish all that?
He leans to the side and peers at you from behind the small hill of chocolate, strawberry, and mint ice cream sitting between the two of you, spoon sticking out from between pursed lips. Yeah. Is there a problem?
You start to say something about how he will ruin his appetite for dinner, but in the end decide that it's not your place to mother him. I'll leave that to Oishi, you think.
As if on cue, the tinkle of the parlor's bells announce the arrival of a new customer. His arms are heavily laden with books, and the strain is showing on his face, but when his eyes meet yours, a smile lights up his features and he makes his way over to the two of you, knowing without words that he is welcome.
Your companion's eyes twinkle at the sight of the newcomer, and he hurriedly moves his sundae to make room for Oishi's burden. Oishi settles into your booth, and you take a moment to wonder where Kikumaru pulled that extra spoon out from, already loaded with a spoonful of ice cream, topped with half a cherry.
After Oishi swallows, he regales you both with tales of how the first month of high school has been for him. He talks of specialized science classes and seemingly endless hours of labwork, and though his expression shows a hint of displeasure, the light tone of his voice says otherwise. In return, Kikumaru talks about the newly renovated courts, the second-year regulars he beat at 1-vs-2 match the other day, and how the cold concoction both of them are now working to consume was thanks to you, as was dinner yesterday and lunch three days ago.
Oishi looks at you, a bit surprised. You can't blame him, you think -- after all, despite having been Kikumaru's teammate for three years, nobody would ever have pegged the two of you as friends. Short of rolling your eyes, you shrug and talk about how much progress Kikumaru has made as a player since you as a team claimed the crown at Nationals months ago. You share stories of new moves he has mastered, how his agility has improved considerably even as it was already remarkable to begin with, how he still plays singles as if Oishi was there to back him up.
His following comment catches you off-guard: Oishi remarks that you've become more talkative, and if he isn't mistaken that's definitely a fond smile playing on your lips. You look him in he eye, and find no trace of teasing.
Kikumaru takes this moment to say that it's all thanks to him, and you readily agree, pointing your own spoon at him for emphasis and injecting a hint of sarcasm into your answer. He makes a face at you, and Oishi laughs.
You ask him about Fuji next. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and in a quiet voice admits that they haven't seen much of each other since the new school year started, but that they've been talking on the phone every night. Fuji is taking an extracurricular class on photojournalism, and it is with a certain degree of pride in his voice that he says Fuji is to leave in September for a year-long exchange student program and early internship for a prestigious magazine in New York.
Kikumaru's eyes widen, clearly impressed, and he reaches out and pokes your cheek when you ask if Fuji will be able to practice tennis while he is abroad. Tennis, tennis, tennis, he mildly chides you, is that all you ever think about? Oishi mimics his former partner, a twinkle in his eye as he assures you that Fuji has definitely not been slacking off in his training.
The ice cream is gone in the next fifteen minutes, a period of time filled with more light banter. Craving now satisfied, Kikumaru lazily stretches his arms over his head and announces that it's about time you all went home. Oishi nods and is the first to stand, allowing Kikumaru a brief hug before picking up his books and bidding the two of you a good night. You wish him a safe commute, and the three of you exit the shop, you and Kikumaru heading in one direction and Oishi in another.
As you walk, Kikumaru looks up and points out the starless, cloudy sky. And before you say it, he immediately follows up, it's going to rain tomorrow and the courts will be wet and we won't be able to play.
We'll have to find something else to do, then.
The words escape your mouth before they have fully formed in your mind, but once they do you realize there is no need to take them back. Kikumaru blinks at you once, twice, and with a teasing lilt asks if you have any suggestions. After all, is there anything that Tezuka Kunimitsu does in his free time besides play tennis?
You meet him eye to eye and, in all seriousness, give him a short answer.
Something better than tennis.
Kikumaru threads his arm through yours, and you look up as the first drizzle of rain starts to fall.