To combat that awful Sue. May Konomi deliver us.
Pairing: Golden Pair
Title: Seein' Red
Rating: PG
Summary: Eiji doesn't have Oishi's patience. This is how I see Eiji - there is no weepy uke here. Future timeline.
a/n ~ this is what happens when sarahofcroydon and I talk GP.
Seein’ Red
The sound the ball made when it smacked the pavement to bounce against the side of the clubhouse was hollow, redolent with the frustration and anger that fairly crackled along Eiji’s nerve endings with every vicious swing of his arm. Uninterested in keeping quiet, in concealing his need to work through his aggressions in the most natural method he knew to employ, Eiji’s low grunts and sounds of exertion reverberated over the empty tennis courts.
The sounds he made might have been nonsensical, but his thoughts were anything but.
Doesn’t love me. Never will. Liar. Fake. Coward. Bastard.
Footsteps behind him, and he heard them immediately, did not cause him to break his stride. If anything, he became even more focused, even more determined in his solitary activity.
He didn’t try to reason that Oishi had not lied at all - indeed, the subject had never even come up - but Eiji was big on intuition and he’d begun to believe that Oishi shared something of the dizzying, inexplicable emotions he felt. To see Oishi smiling shyly, accepting a carefully folded note from a girl with flippy hair and too-eager eyes as though the world around him had simply ceased to be had crushed something vital in Eiji’s trusting heart.
Never be me. Not for him. Not ever for him.
Those footsteps - his footsteps - he’d know them even without benefit of the soft voice at his back. The soft voice that he initially ignored since he’d rather die than reveal just how deep his misery ran.
“Eiji.”
His name in that voice - so soothing, so painful - and it was easy enough to pretend that he hadn’t heard it at all when he smashed the ball viciously toward some imagined opponent.
Oishi knew better, though, than to assume that he hadn’t been heard and instead of repeating himself - he waited. There was no goading Kikumaru Eiji, no bullying, no testing, no pushing. When someone pushed Eiji, Eiji pushed back. Certainly, he might do it through tears and garbled nonsense words and a dozen other ways that were a complete misrepresentation of who he truly was, but at the heart of it was a searing honesty and an unapologetic realness that Oishi could no more ignore than he could have walked away from Eiji forever.
Three, four more times Eiji returned the ball that rebounded toward him with increasing inaccuracy and intensity. And still Oishi waited. It had been four years since the first time Eiji had grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the tumultuous, encompassing, completely indefinable friendship that had consumed his entire life to the point of exclusion of all the things most teenaged boys would consider normal. Oishi didn’t understand normal.
Oishi understood Eiji.
Four years. Four years of shared memories and unwavering loyalty and support. Four years of stupid, childish arguments and sheepish making up and those ridiculous, forbidden, mind-scrambling emotions that Oishi was too afraid to name and yet unable to let go of. Four years and Oishi was still waiting for Eiji, somehow.
“Not today, Oishi.” Eiji ground out, familiar voice low, angry. As he grew older, the changes in him were pronounced - he was not the boy he once was.
“I’m not leaving until you put down your racket and talk to me,” Oishi returned smoothly. Eiji was not, after all, the only one who had managed to benefit from a few years experience and maturity.
“Got nothing to say,” he returned, switching the racket from one hand to the other to deliver a powerful backhand to the unyielding wall before him.
Oishi laughed, humorless and intentionally baiting. “I think the wall might disagree.”
“I’m not in the mood, Oishi. Leave me alone,” he said, the barest edge of his pain visible through his quick temper.
Nodding slowly, as though Eiji could see him, Oishi shoved his hands into his pockets and managed to sound just as casual as he looked. “What are you in the mood for, then?”
Eiji did not answer and continued his play as though victory would soon be his. Back and forth, volley and serve.
“I suppose I could start guessing.” Oishi went on, undeterred by the level of frustration and anger that rolled off of his best friend in waves. “Surely you’ll stop me when I get close?”
At that, Eiji snarled, hurling his racket against the concrete and turning to Oishi with a dangerous edge in his usually expressive eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? What do you want me to say, Oishi?”
He was yelling, shouting, the passion and the emotion in his voice carrying just as easily as the sound of his desperate, solitary game. Now, unlike those times in the past, Oishi did not glance around, did not flinch away. This was their truth, their conflict, their lives.
“I only wanted to know what was bothering you, Eiji. I’m not used to having you put up walls with me, you know?”
Raking a hand through carefully styled hair, Eiji cursed under his breath. “Yeah, well things change, don’t they, Shuuichirou?”
Eyes solemn, Oishi stood where he was, expression a strange mix of hurt and confusion. “I don’t understand…”
Face drawn in anger and impatience, Eiji closed the distance between them, tugged Oishi’s hand out of his pocket only to fish through it himself in quick, exaggerated motions. Oishi could see the sweat beading on Eiji’s forehead.
When he pulled back, clutching the crumpled note in his hand, the accusation in his eyes was enough to make Oishi want to take a step backward. “Eiji…”
“Tell me, Oishi - no more guessing games - is this,” he motioned with the letter, his disdain for what it represented evident, “what you want? Because if it is, then I’ve been lying to myself for way, way too long.”
Oishi blinked, lips parted as he considered his response. “I…”
“You...? You what? You want to know what’s bothering me, Oishi?” Not pausing to allow Oishi time to ready his answer, Eiji reached out, grabbed his friend’s tie and jerked him close in a surprising show of strength. He didn’t take a breath, didn’t give Oishi time to back away, didn’t give either of them a necessary moment to gather any thoughts or take stock of any sudden realizations. He simply held Oishi immobile just under the knot of his tie and took his mouth in the sort of urgent, possessive kiss he’d always hoped Oishi would give to him. That it was him and not Oishi that had thrown down the gauntlet was of no real surprise to Eiji. Always, Oishi had held him up, watched his back, but it had been Eiji, from the very beginning, who had led the way.
Amazed that Oishi did not seek to pull away and had instead melted against Eiji with a soft sound of assent the moment his tongue swept over Oishi’s, Eiji wrapped his other arm around his best friend’s back and held him indecently close as he tilted his head and took kiss after deep, searching kiss from him.
The note, still crumpled in the hand pressed to Oishi’s back, was all but forgotten in the reaffirmation that where Eiji led, Oishi would follow.
Title: Seein' Red
Rating: PG
Summary: Eiji doesn't have Oishi's patience. This is how I see Eiji - there is no weepy uke here. Future timeline.
a/n ~ this is what happens when sarahofcroydon and I talk GP.
Seein’ Red
The sound the ball made when it smacked the pavement to bounce against the side of the clubhouse was hollow, redolent with the frustration and anger that fairly crackled along Eiji’s nerve endings with every vicious swing of his arm. Uninterested in keeping quiet, in concealing his need to work through his aggressions in the most natural method he knew to employ, Eiji’s low grunts and sounds of exertion reverberated over the empty tennis courts.
The sounds he made might have been nonsensical, but his thoughts were anything but.
Doesn’t love me. Never will. Liar. Fake. Coward. Bastard.
Footsteps behind him, and he heard them immediately, did not cause him to break his stride. If anything, he became even more focused, even more determined in his solitary activity.
He didn’t try to reason that Oishi had not lied at all - indeed, the subject had never even come up - but Eiji was big on intuition and he’d begun to believe that Oishi shared something of the dizzying, inexplicable emotions he felt. To see Oishi smiling shyly, accepting a carefully folded note from a girl with flippy hair and too-eager eyes as though the world around him had simply ceased to be had crushed something vital in Eiji’s trusting heart.
Never be me. Not for him. Not ever for him.
Those footsteps - his footsteps - he’d know them even without benefit of the soft voice at his back. The soft voice that he initially ignored since he’d rather die than reveal just how deep his misery ran.
“Eiji.”
His name in that voice - so soothing, so painful - and it was easy enough to pretend that he hadn’t heard it at all when he smashed the ball viciously toward some imagined opponent.
Oishi knew better, though, than to assume that he hadn’t been heard and instead of repeating himself - he waited. There was no goading Kikumaru Eiji, no bullying, no testing, no pushing. When someone pushed Eiji, Eiji pushed back. Certainly, he might do it through tears and garbled nonsense words and a dozen other ways that were a complete misrepresentation of who he truly was, but at the heart of it was a searing honesty and an unapologetic realness that Oishi could no more ignore than he could have walked away from Eiji forever.
Three, four more times Eiji returned the ball that rebounded toward him with increasing inaccuracy and intensity. And still Oishi waited. It had been four years since the first time Eiji had grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the tumultuous, encompassing, completely indefinable friendship that had consumed his entire life to the point of exclusion of all the things most teenaged boys would consider normal. Oishi didn’t understand normal.
Oishi understood Eiji.
Four years. Four years of shared memories and unwavering loyalty and support. Four years of stupid, childish arguments and sheepish making up and those ridiculous, forbidden, mind-scrambling emotions that Oishi was too afraid to name and yet unable to let go of. Four years and Oishi was still waiting for Eiji, somehow.
“Not today, Oishi.” Eiji ground out, familiar voice low, angry. As he grew older, the changes in him were pronounced - he was not the boy he once was.
“I’m not leaving until you put down your racket and talk to me,” Oishi returned smoothly. Eiji was not, after all, the only one who had managed to benefit from a few years experience and maturity.
“Got nothing to say,” he returned, switching the racket from one hand to the other to deliver a powerful backhand to the unyielding wall before him.
Oishi laughed, humorless and intentionally baiting. “I think the wall might disagree.”
“I’m not in the mood, Oishi. Leave me alone,” he said, the barest edge of his pain visible through his quick temper.
Nodding slowly, as though Eiji could see him, Oishi shoved his hands into his pockets and managed to sound just as casual as he looked. “What are you in the mood for, then?”
Eiji did not answer and continued his play as though victory would soon be his. Back and forth, volley and serve.
“I suppose I could start guessing.” Oishi went on, undeterred by the level of frustration and anger that rolled off of his best friend in waves. “Surely you’ll stop me when I get close?”
At that, Eiji snarled, hurling his racket against the concrete and turning to Oishi with a dangerous edge in his usually expressive eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? What do you want me to say, Oishi?”
He was yelling, shouting, the passion and the emotion in his voice carrying just as easily as the sound of his desperate, solitary game. Now, unlike those times in the past, Oishi did not glance around, did not flinch away. This was their truth, their conflict, their lives.
“I only wanted to know what was bothering you, Eiji. I’m not used to having you put up walls with me, you know?”
Raking a hand through carefully styled hair, Eiji cursed under his breath. “Yeah, well things change, don’t they, Shuuichirou?”
Eyes solemn, Oishi stood where he was, expression a strange mix of hurt and confusion. “I don’t understand…”
Face drawn in anger and impatience, Eiji closed the distance between them, tugged Oishi’s hand out of his pocket only to fish through it himself in quick, exaggerated motions. Oishi could see the sweat beading on Eiji’s forehead.
When he pulled back, clutching the crumpled note in his hand, the accusation in his eyes was enough to make Oishi want to take a step backward. “Eiji…”
“Tell me, Oishi - no more guessing games - is this,” he motioned with the letter, his disdain for what it represented evident, “what you want? Because if it is, then I’ve been lying to myself for way, way too long.”
Oishi blinked, lips parted as he considered his response. “I…”
“You...? You what? You want to know what’s bothering me, Oishi?” Not pausing to allow Oishi time to ready his answer, Eiji reached out, grabbed his friend’s tie and jerked him close in a surprising show of strength. He didn’t take a breath, didn’t give Oishi time to back away, didn’t give either of them a necessary moment to gather any thoughts or take stock of any sudden realizations. He simply held Oishi immobile just under the knot of his tie and took his mouth in the sort of urgent, possessive kiss he’d always hoped Oishi would give to him. That it was him and not Oishi that had thrown down the gauntlet was of no real surprise to Eiji. Always, Oishi had held him up, watched his back, but it had been Eiji, from the very beginning, who had led the way.
Amazed that Oishi did not seek to pull away and had instead melted against Eiji with a soft sound of assent the moment his tongue swept over Oishi’s, Eiji wrapped his other arm around his best friend’s back and held him indecently close as he tilted his head and took kiss after deep, searching kiss from him.
The note, still crumpled in the hand pressed to Oishi’s back, was all but forgotten in the reaffirmation that where Eiji led, Oishi would follow.