(no subject)
My laptop is so oooold! And I pissed off my mother recently, so I doubt she'll let me use Thomas's laptop, not that I want to because all of the documents I'm currently working on are on here. But still. It's a pain, and it hates LJ cuts. :P Geeeeh.
I was supposed to post this on Wednesday night, but we decided to come down to New Jersey, so... No-go. But here: my next submission for 30_kisses. It's largely unedited, so... ::cringe::
Title: heatstroke
Pairing: Fuji Syuusuke and Echizen Ryoma
Fandom: Tennis no Oujisama
Theme: # 29: the sound of waves
Disclaimer: Tennis no Oujisama belongs to its creator, Konomi Takeshi. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only.
--
heatstroke
--
The heat is oppressive, heavy, the weight against his skin like a thousand years of solitude and discomfort. The rattling inefficiency of an air conditioner hums loudly and Ryoma finally gives up and turns it off. The windows are hard to open, and screech when he throws all of his weight into pulling the glass frames up, his fingertips white and straining.
And it's still no good. The heat sinks into his skin and pulses through his veins. Unbearable.
Ryoma is fifteen now, living in New York full-time because this is where his parents enrolled him in high school after he left Seigaku junior high. They live in Queens, in a raggedy three-family apartment building that Nanjirou bought because it has a backyard and because it is the last place any and all reporters would think to find them.
Ryoma wipes the sweat from his forehead, pushing the hair out of his eyes, and flops back onto his bed, the sheets of which are twisted and wet with perspiration. His shirt is somewhere off to the side, but he can't see it in the darkness. The cicadas rattle annoyingly outside and he's sure that mosquitoes will come through that hole in the screen of his window. The sounds of drunken men coming back from the Irish pub mingle with the shuddering of the 7 train on its elevated track.
He shifts a little, trying to find a cool spot on the sheets, and fingers the waistband of his boxers, wondering if he should just take them off already.
It is at this point that Ryoma's cell phone, sitting beside his alarm clock, buzzes and lights up before beginning to play his favorite song. Ryoma just looks at it for a while, silently commanding it to shut up because he's too hot and tired to even want to shut it off.
It keeps ringing.
With a groan, Ryoma reaches out to get it, glancing at the clock and wondering who the fuck would call at 1:16 in the morning. The number on the display is unregistered and Ryoma doesn't recognize it, though he realizes that -- ah -- it's a Japan number.
Figures.
"Hello?" he answers sullenly, his voice rough.
"Echizen?" the caller asks in reply.
The heat against Ryoma's body is unbearable.
"Fuji-senpai."
"Aa. I hope I didn't wake you up."
"Your number is different," Echizen mutters, running his fingers through his icky, sweaty hair. Maybe he should put the air conditioning back on.
"I got a new phone," says Fuji, and proceeds to launch into an explanation that Ryoma doesn't particularly listen to because he is more intent on trying to get the heat out, out, out.
Vaguely he notes that there is screaming in the background, and laughing, and Oishi-senpai yelling at someone or other in that worried tone of his.
"Where are you?" Ryoma interrupts, and his voice is still rough.
"We took a trip to the beach," Fuji says, and there is a smile in his voice. "All of us. Even a few of your old classmates."
Echizen listens closely before the incredulous revelation comes: "Horio. You invited Horio to the beach with you."
"Not particularly. They seem to have invited themselves. That's quite an impressive Speedo Horio-kun has on, though."
Ryoma makes a very incoherent noise that might have been classified as a gurgle, and Fuji gives a light, amused laugh. Ryoma can hear someone -- Momo-senpai, actually -- yelling.
"Nn. Momo asks how it is in New York."
Ryoma shifts onto his side and thinks how to answer -- how to say that he still hates it because it isn't Seigaku, how he doesn't fit in because he'd forgotten what being American is, how he doesn' t have any friends because Kevin Smith is back in California, how the kids at school think the's a snob because he doesn't like to talk to them in a language he doesn't like anymore. How he misses them.
"Hot," he answers. "Really hot."
There is a silence as Fuji relays this to Momo.
"He wants to know if you have a girlfriend yet."
Ryoma gives a derisive snort.
"Oh, that's right. Boyfriend?"
The heat, the heat, the heat.
Another snort.
"Ah, I see."
Ryoma swallows.
"You?"
"Nn. He has a girlfriend. You didn't know?"
It takes Echizen a few seconds to realize that Fuji-senpai is answering for Momo-senpai, and tries to smother the burning butterflies in his gut.
"No. You, Fuji-senpai."
A few beats of silence, and Echizen can almost hear him blinking. Then:
"Saa..."
Ryoma wants to groan, but refrains from the action.
"Ne, Echizen. Can you hear the waves?" asks Fuji suddenly. Ryoma, caught off-guard, strains to listen, but can hear nothing save for children screaming and Horio bragging loudly.
"No," he replies, and he hears Fuji-senpai sigh. Then -- movement, and the sound of Fuji-senpai's breathing changes as he moves. Ryoma looks out the window and tries not to think about the dizziness that comes with the heat and how it makes him say things he shouldn't say.
"Now?" Fuji asks a few long moments later, and Echizen strains again. And this time, he can hear it. The soft push and tug of the saltwater against the grainy sand, the gentle swish and rumble, the sound that can only be classified as ocean.
"Yeah," Ryoma murmurs softly, and closes his eyes. He can almost taste the salty breeze sweeping the heat away. Can almost smell the ocean surrounding him. Can almost feel Fuji-senpai beside him.
"Ne, Echizen. When are you coming back to Japan?"
"Dunno." He curls up a little.
"We miss you." Fuji pauses a moment. "Or I do, at least. I suppose I shouldn't speak for the others."
Ryoma snorts a little and feels himself actually beginning to drift into sleep, despite the terrible heat against his skin, against his gut, against his cheekbones, against his heart.
"Hm. It's late in New York, isn't it? I suppose I'll just let you sleep, then, Echizen. I'll call you again," says Fuji, a smile and laughter in his voice as he hangs up.
Ryoma sleepily shuts the phone and lets it slip to the floor even as he begins to dream of waves and heat and kissing Fuji-senpai on the beach.
The heat, the heat, the heat.
--
[ written because it's ohgodsohot in my room. my aircon sucks and there is absolutely no air coming through the window. the heat makes me incoherent and slightly incoherent, so geh. i get the feeling this is terribly corny. ]
I was supposed to post this on Wednesday night, but we decided to come down to New Jersey, so... No-go. But here: my next submission for 30_kisses. It's largely unedited, so... ::cringe::
Title: heatstroke
Pairing: Fuji Syuusuke and Echizen Ryoma
Fandom: Tennis no Oujisama
Theme: # 29: the sound of waves
Disclaimer: Tennis no Oujisama belongs to its creator, Konomi Takeshi. This fanfiction was written for entertainment purposes only.
--
heatstroke
--
The heat is oppressive, heavy, the weight against his skin like a thousand years of solitude and discomfort. The rattling inefficiency of an air conditioner hums loudly and Ryoma finally gives up and turns it off. The windows are hard to open, and screech when he throws all of his weight into pulling the glass frames up, his fingertips white and straining.
And it's still no good. The heat sinks into his skin and pulses through his veins. Unbearable.
Ryoma is fifteen now, living in New York full-time because this is where his parents enrolled him in high school after he left Seigaku junior high. They live in Queens, in a raggedy three-family apartment building that Nanjirou bought because it has a backyard and because it is the last place any and all reporters would think to find them.
Ryoma wipes the sweat from his forehead, pushing the hair out of his eyes, and flops back onto his bed, the sheets of which are twisted and wet with perspiration. His shirt is somewhere off to the side, but he can't see it in the darkness. The cicadas rattle annoyingly outside and he's sure that mosquitoes will come through that hole in the screen of his window. The sounds of drunken men coming back from the Irish pub mingle with the shuddering of the 7 train on its elevated track.
He shifts a little, trying to find a cool spot on the sheets, and fingers the waistband of his boxers, wondering if he should just take them off already.
It is at this point that Ryoma's cell phone, sitting beside his alarm clock, buzzes and lights up before beginning to play his favorite song. Ryoma just looks at it for a while, silently commanding it to shut up because he's too hot and tired to even want to shut it off.
It keeps ringing.
With a groan, Ryoma reaches out to get it, glancing at the clock and wondering who the fuck would call at 1:16 in the morning. The number on the display is unregistered and Ryoma doesn't recognize it, though he realizes that -- ah -- it's a Japan number.
Figures.
"Hello?" he answers sullenly, his voice rough.
"Echizen?" the caller asks in reply.
The heat against Ryoma's body is unbearable.
"Fuji-senpai."
"Aa. I hope I didn't wake you up."
"Your number is different," Echizen mutters, running his fingers through his icky, sweaty hair. Maybe he should put the air conditioning back on.
"I got a new phone," says Fuji, and proceeds to launch into an explanation that Ryoma doesn't particularly listen to because he is more intent on trying to get the heat out, out, out.
Vaguely he notes that there is screaming in the background, and laughing, and Oishi-senpai yelling at someone or other in that worried tone of his.
"Where are you?" Ryoma interrupts, and his voice is still rough.
"We took a trip to the beach," Fuji says, and there is a smile in his voice. "All of us. Even a few of your old classmates."
Echizen listens closely before the incredulous revelation comes: "Horio. You invited Horio to the beach with you."
"Not particularly. They seem to have invited themselves. That's quite an impressive Speedo Horio-kun has on, though."
Ryoma makes a very incoherent noise that might have been classified as a gurgle, and Fuji gives a light, amused laugh. Ryoma can hear someone -- Momo-senpai, actually -- yelling.
"Nn. Momo asks how it is in New York."
Ryoma shifts onto his side and thinks how to answer -- how to say that he still hates it because it isn't Seigaku, how he doesn't fit in because he'd forgotten what being American is, how he doesn' t have any friends because Kevin Smith is back in California, how the kids at school think the's a snob because he doesn't like to talk to them in a language he doesn't like anymore. How he misses them.
"Hot," he answers. "Really hot."
There is a silence as Fuji relays this to Momo.
"He wants to know if you have a girlfriend yet."
Ryoma gives a derisive snort.
"Oh, that's right. Boyfriend?"
The heat, the heat, the heat.
Another snort.
"Ah, I see."
Ryoma swallows.
"You?"
"Nn. He has a girlfriend. You didn't know?"
It takes Echizen a few seconds to realize that Fuji-senpai is answering for Momo-senpai, and tries to smother the burning butterflies in his gut.
"No. You, Fuji-senpai."
A few beats of silence, and Echizen can almost hear him blinking. Then:
"Saa..."
Ryoma wants to groan, but refrains from the action.
"Ne, Echizen. Can you hear the waves?" asks Fuji suddenly. Ryoma, caught off-guard, strains to listen, but can hear nothing save for children screaming and Horio bragging loudly.
"No," he replies, and he hears Fuji-senpai sigh. Then -- movement, and the sound of Fuji-senpai's breathing changes as he moves. Ryoma looks out the window and tries not to think about the dizziness that comes with the heat and how it makes him say things he shouldn't say.
"Now?" Fuji asks a few long moments later, and Echizen strains again. And this time, he can hear it. The soft push and tug of the saltwater against the grainy sand, the gentle swish and rumble, the sound that can only be classified as ocean.
"Yeah," Ryoma murmurs softly, and closes his eyes. He can almost taste the salty breeze sweeping the heat away. Can almost smell the ocean surrounding him. Can almost feel Fuji-senpai beside him.
"Ne, Echizen. When are you coming back to Japan?"
"Dunno." He curls up a little.
"We miss you." Fuji pauses a moment. "Or I do, at least. I suppose I shouldn't speak for the others."
Ryoma snorts a little and feels himself actually beginning to drift into sleep, despite the terrible heat against his skin, against his gut, against his cheekbones, against his heart.
"Hm. It's late in New York, isn't it? I suppose I'll just let you sleep, then, Echizen. I'll call you again," says Fuji, a smile and laughter in his voice as he hangs up.
Ryoma sleepily shuts the phone and lets it slip to the floor even as he begins to dream of waves and heat and kissing Fuji-senpai on the beach.
The heat, the heat, the heat.
--
[ written because it's ohgodsohot in my room. my aircon sucks and there is absolutely no air coming through the window. the heat makes me incoherent and slightly incoherent, so geh. i get the feeling this is terribly corny. ]