YOUR GIFT
For: redmoonmurder / Rika
Media/um: Fic
Request: 1. Sengoku/Kirihara fic - preferably in a canon setting. Prompt is 'courtship'. Would like it if it was more than 2000 words :3; Plus points if there is NO DIALOGUE
Warnings/Rating: A very weak PG for mild suggestive innuendo
Notes:: I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS BEING SO LATE! *bows head in shame* I wanted to get this in on time or at least close to the deadline, but it's here now. I really am sorry to have kept you waiting this long (I started a fic and had to scrap it because it wasn't canon). I hope you like it. I tried to follow your prompt, length request, and bonus challenge.
Things could never go wrong for Kiyosumi Sengoku. He had just received a 90% on a history exam he had forgotten to study for and his class hadn't been assigned any homework for the evening. With the tennis club practice ending early, he had a lot of free time available to him that afternoon. He could go shopping-the new Head shoes should be in stores by now-or, since it was such a beautiful day out, he could go hang out in the park. But before he would do anything else, he had to get something to eat, he was so hungry…
Sengoku's thoughts were cut short as he opened his locker in the team clubhouse. He hadn't taken any of his schoolwork out of his backpack before going to practice, but there was a square scrap of paper lying on top of his clothes. There wasn't anything there when he left his locker… someone must have been going through his things!
He snatched up the paper angrily and looked at the writing on the top side. This wasn't a scrap of paper, it was a folded note! The side that had been facing up read "For Lucky Kiyosumi," in neatly formed calligraphy. On the reverse, the sender had noted the note's origin as being "From the desk of a Secret Admirer."
A secret admirer? Someone was trying to gain the attention of the Yamabuki vice captain?
Lucky!
Sengoku carefully unfolded the note, the sheet had been folded to make an envelope-like covering around itself. It looked like a lot of trouble to go through for just a simple message from a crush. How much did this person actually like Sengoku? Was it someone he knew personally? Someone close?
The sheet unfolded onto a large square, but the message was centered in only a few inches of the center.
I've watched you for a while now, on and off the court. You always make me smile, and I hope this letter will make you smile, too.
Sengoku carefully folded the square and tucked it inside his backpack. He wasn't able to follow the creases to make the envelope again, but he wanted to save that letter. Hopefully his crush would try to contact him again, but if not, at least he could count on the note for its warmth.
But he knew that wouldn't be the last message he'd receive. He was, after all, lucky.
It was going to be another long bus ride home. This wouldn't be the first time that Akaya Kirihara had overslept on the bus ride and gotten off one or two stops late.
Or twenty.
But his day was far from being a loss. Despite those two annoying brats he ran into outside of Yamabuki's front entrance-how could two members of the tennis club not have heard of Rikkaidai's junior ace?-, his unplanned trip had become the opportune chance for what he'd call "improving inter-school relations."
The Junior Invitational camp had actually been a positive experience for him, once the other schools believed that he could change. He wasn't the demon he once had been. He was a different player-a different person, even.
But his tennis hadn't changed. He just didn't need to injure someone to show off his prowess, or to get revenge. That could be accomplished through a fair game alone.
He had observed some incredible tennis skills at the camp, and played in some of the strongest matches of his career. But he also got to play alongside some incredible people. An incredible person.
The other players joked about how Sengoku had been fortunate from the day he was born. He was able to catch serves and smashes that were difficult to see, lucky to make that last save or to squeak by in a game.
But Kirihara saw real skill and strong will in Sengoku's play against his American opponent, that beast of a boy, Bobby. Sengoku had proven himself to be an amazing player, a caring teammate, and a charming friend.
And he was pretty handsome, too.
Maybe luck did have a part in bringing Kirihara to Yamabuki but sometimes luck just isn't enough. He had wanted to see Sengoku again, but what would he say to him? Was this even a good idea? He had needed a plan to test the waters before diving in.
Sneaking into the clubhouse had proven to be fairly easy. An entrance faced away from the courts, so none of the members would see a strange face and uniform where it didn't belong. He had written the note while sitting at a bench in a courtyard toward the rear of the campus-there were lots of places one could sit and relax here-so all he had to do was sneak in, drop off the letter, and get out, without being noticed.
It would have been simple if the club lockers had been labeled. He felt stupid. How did he think he was going to find Sengoku's storage locker among everyone else's? He wasn't about to rifle through them all for some sign that it might be the right one. That would be too time-consuming, if he would have seriously considered doing it.
A pair of voices from outside the clubhouse caught his attention. If the closet in the corner hadn't been empty, he would have been toast. Squeezed inside, he had been able to ease the door shut before a recognizable voice that was now in the clubhouse called to someone outside. It was Sengoku and he said he was going to… he was changing! Kirihara had held his breath for so long he thought he would have passed out, but Sengoku wasted little time getting into his uniform. He could breathe now, carefully.
After a full minute of silence, Kirihara allowed himself to poke his head out of the closet to scan the clubhouse. It was empty. At the very least, sneaking out before anyone else came in would have helped him end his mission without complete failure. But something was different in the room then. The locker nearest the door, it had been shut like all the others before, when he had entered the closet. But after Sengoku had left, the door was cracked open, the arm of a jacket keeping it from falling completely closed. Could it be?
Inside the locker was a Yamabuki tennis regular's jacket with the name "Sengoku" embroidered on the front. Who was the lucky one now?
The last stop? The voice of the bus driver snapped Kirihara back into the present. He had been daydreaming and missed his school, again. He knew pleading with the bus driver was useless, he was going to have to get off and find a way back, but at least the detour had been worth it.
It had been more than a week since discovering the letter after club practice. The admirer might have lost the nerve to contact him or had just not been able to do so secretly since. In any case, the idea of a romantic interest thrilled Sengoku and the mystery made it more exciting. There were so many cute girls on campus, some in his class, that he had seen cheering him on at the prefectural tournaments. Often, he caught himself fantasizing that one of the familiar faces matched the handwriting on the note.
A few of his teammates would also enter his fantasy from time to time. And, why shouldn't they? They provided an obvious scenario for his secret admirer. Surely, the simplest answer would be someone on the team who could access the clubhouse and knew which locker was his. That certainly narrowed down his choices, but which of his teammates would have such feelings toward him?
Sengoku had been popular with all of the members in the tennis club since his freshman year. He had developed a close relationship with the captain after playing side-by-side with him, and he had mentored several of the younger club members in his junior year.
Another letter! It was another origami envelope, marked with the same impeccable calligraphy that had addressed the first. Sengoku looked around the clubhouse for a sign telling him which of his teammates might have been in the clubhouse last.
There wasn't a bag or racquet in sight.
Sengoku opened the new note which had been written on heavyweight stationery. This letter was longer, but still gave few hints disclosing from where it originated.
I still find myself lucky enough to see you smile, but my luck is terrible when it comes to expressing myself through letters, and it is difficult to leave them. I will be back in exactly one week. If you'd like to meet, write a letter for me. I'm sure you'll know where to leave it.
Sengoku scanned the words several times, silently mouthing the message he had received. Difficult to leave? The letters must not have come from within the club, everyone on the team could easily access the clubhouse during school hours. And they wouldn't have any problems leaving something in one of the lockers; that was a common practice. So if not from inside, then from who? That left the other athletic teams, the intramural clubs, academic groups, the general student body… He was now without his strongest lead in solving the mystery; he had to accept the invitation to at least find out who this stranger was.
Not that he would have done otherwise.
Kirihara was never nervous before matches, not even when losing, but he had developed a knot in his stomach after stepping off of the bus at Yamabuki the following week. He could feel his will sinking inside of him with each step he took toward the school's tennis courts. He had missed enough school already-traveling to Yamabuki wasn't a five-minute trip- that coming again so soon might get him in trouble, again. But he had to know his answer, despite the consequences.
He was able to glance in a window as he walked by the southern side of the clubhouse. Thankfully, it was empty. He stood in front of the door to the clubhouse, gathering up his courage to open it. A familiar thought crossed his mind as it had before several matches as he opened the door: now or never.
He opened Sengoku's locker. It was empty this time except for a sheet of notebook paper that lay at the bottom of the locker. He had left a note! That was a good sign. He picked the note up and, at last, the knot in his stomach loosened. The note had been folded in half with a sharp, though uneven, crease and what seemed to be a rushed or nervous address across the top: "A letter for you."
I am lucky to have received another letter, but I am curious to meet the face that has been writing to me. Just tell me when and where to meet you. That would make my day.
Kirihara smiled as he dropped the note he had prepared the previous night into the locker. He had known he was either going to use that note, or none at all. It seemed that Sengoku's luck applied not only to himself but to people around him.
Friday. 6:30 pm. Blue Dragon Café. Those were the only words on the final note Sengoku had received. At first he thought this would be an exciting experience, but now he questioned the whole situation. He was going on a half-blind date with someone who could be a total stranger. Whoever it was had found out where he kept his clothes during practice and left him notes. Don't they call people like that stalkers? At any rate, he had encouraged their date so there was no backing down at this point.
He stepped into the café and looked for any familiar faces. He thought he recognized the boy in the corner who was talking to a waitress, but he couldn't be sure from the door.
He got closer to the rear corner as he looked around the café for any sign of his mystery date. Sengoku stopped in his tracks when he got a clearer view of the boy at the far booth. What was Kirihara doing here? Wasn't this place a bit far from Rikkaidai for someone like him to have dinner? Sengoku would have questioned him if he hadn't noticed the folded note resting on the second place setting on the table.
It was HIM?
Sengoku approached the booth and stood next to the table while the pair exchanged tense looks. This is what Sengoku wanted to know, but he didn't know how to accept this news. It seemed that Kirihara had sensed his apprehension because he was looking nervously at the letter on the table. Sengoku didn't want to seem rude; he sat at the table opposite of Kirihara.
The boys stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Sengoku wanted to ask Kirihara so many questions. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kirihara raised his hand and looked down at the new note. Sengoku stopped himself and picked up the letter.
I want to get to know my Junior Invitational teammate. May I?
They had only spent time together at the camp and on the team facing the Americans. Could he really be interested so much? He hadn't even considered someone from another school… but, that didn't mean he was disinterested. All of his attention had been focused on people from Yamabuki. Kirihara had gone to all this trouble for him?
Sengoku looked up into Kirihara's waiting eyes as they both smiled.
Media/um: Fic
Request: 1. Sengoku/Kirihara fic - preferably in a canon setting. Prompt is 'courtship'. Would like it if it was more than 2000 words :3; Plus points if there is NO DIALOGUE
Warnings/Rating: A very weak PG for mild suggestive innuendo
Notes:: I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS BEING SO LATE! *bows head in shame* I wanted to get this in on time or at least close to the deadline, but it's here now. I really am sorry to have kept you waiting this long (I started a fic and had to scrap it because it wasn't canon). I hope you like it. I tried to follow your prompt, length request, and bonus challenge.
Things could never go wrong for Kiyosumi Sengoku. He had just received a 90% on a history exam he had forgotten to study for and his class hadn't been assigned any homework for the evening. With the tennis club practice ending early, he had a lot of free time available to him that afternoon. He could go shopping-the new Head shoes should be in stores by now-or, since it was such a beautiful day out, he could go hang out in the park. But before he would do anything else, he had to get something to eat, he was so hungry…
Sengoku's thoughts were cut short as he opened his locker in the team clubhouse. He hadn't taken any of his schoolwork out of his backpack before going to practice, but there was a square scrap of paper lying on top of his clothes. There wasn't anything there when he left his locker… someone must have been going through his things!
He snatched up the paper angrily and looked at the writing on the top side. This wasn't a scrap of paper, it was a folded note! The side that had been facing up read "For Lucky Kiyosumi," in neatly formed calligraphy. On the reverse, the sender had noted the note's origin as being "From the desk of a Secret Admirer."
A secret admirer? Someone was trying to gain the attention of the Yamabuki vice captain?
Lucky!
Sengoku carefully unfolded the note, the sheet had been folded to make an envelope-like covering around itself. It looked like a lot of trouble to go through for just a simple message from a crush. How much did this person actually like Sengoku? Was it someone he knew personally? Someone close?
The sheet unfolded onto a large square, but the message was centered in only a few inches of the center.
I've watched you for a while now, on and off the court. You always make me smile, and I hope this letter will make you smile, too.
Sengoku carefully folded the square and tucked it inside his backpack. He wasn't able to follow the creases to make the envelope again, but he wanted to save that letter. Hopefully his crush would try to contact him again, but if not, at least he could count on the note for its warmth.
But he knew that wouldn't be the last message he'd receive. He was, after all, lucky.
It was going to be another long bus ride home. This wouldn't be the first time that Akaya Kirihara had overslept on the bus ride and gotten off one or two stops late.
Or twenty.
But his day was far from being a loss. Despite those two annoying brats he ran into outside of Yamabuki's front entrance-how could two members of the tennis club not have heard of Rikkaidai's junior ace?-, his unplanned trip had become the opportune chance for what he'd call "improving inter-school relations."
The Junior Invitational camp had actually been a positive experience for him, once the other schools believed that he could change. He wasn't the demon he once had been. He was a different player-a different person, even.
But his tennis hadn't changed. He just didn't need to injure someone to show off his prowess, or to get revenge. That could be accomplished through a fair game alone.
He had observed some incredible tennis skills at the camp, and played in some of the strongest matches of his career. But he also got to play alongside some incredible people. An incredible person.
The other players joked about how Sengoku had been fortunate from the day he was born. He was able to catch serves and smashes that were difficult to see, lucky to make that last save or to squeak by in a game.
But Kirihara saw real skill and strong will in Sengoku's play against his American opponent, that beast of a boy, Bobby. Sengoku had proven himself to be an amazing player, a caring teammate, and a charming friend.
And he was pretty handsome, too.
Maybe luck did have a part in bringing Kirihara to Yamabuki but sometimes luck just isn't enough. He had wanted to see Sengoku again, but what would he say to him? Was this even a good idea? He had needed a plan to test the waters before diving in.
Sneaking into the clubhouse had proven to be fairly easy. An entrance faced away from the courts, so none of the members would see a strange face and uniform where it didn't belong. He had written the note while sitting at a bench in a courtyard toward the rear of the campus-there were lots of places one could sit and relax here-so all he had to do was sneak in, drop off the letter, and get out, without being noticed.
It would have been simple if the club lockers had been labeled. He felt stupid. How did he think he was going to find Sengoku's storage locker among everyone else's? He wasn't about to rifle through them all for some sign that it might be the right one. That would be too time-consuming, if he would have seriously considered doing it.
A pair of voices from outside the clubhouse caught his attention. If the closet in the corner hadn't been empty, he would have been toast. Squeezed inside, he had been able to ease the door shut before a recognizable voice that was now in the clubhouse called to someone outside. It was Sengoku and he said he was going to… he was changing! Kirihara had held his breath for so long he thought he would have passed out, but Sengoku wasted little time getting into his uniform. He could breathe now, carefully.
After a full minute of silence, Kirihara allowed himself to poke his head out of the closet to scan the clubhouse. It was empty. At the very least, sneaking out before anyone else came in would have helped him end his mission without complete failure. But something was different in the room then. The locker nearest the door, it had been shut like all the others before, when he had entered the closet. But after Sengoku had left, the door was cracked open, the arm of a jacket keeping it from falling completely closed. Could it be?
Inside the locker was a Yamabuki tennis regular's jacket with the name "Sengoku" embroidered on the front. Who was the lucky one now?
The last stop? The voice of the bus driver snapped Kirihara back into the present. He had been daydreaming and missed his school, again. He knew pleading with the bus driver was useless, he was going to have to get off and find a way back, but at least the detour had been worth it.
It had been more than a week since discovering the letter after club practice. The admirer might have lost the nerve to contact him or had just not been able to do so secretly since. In any case, the idea of a romantic interest thrilled Sengoku and the mystery made it more exciting. There were so many cute girls on campus, some in his class, that he had seen cheering him on at the prefectural tournaments. Often, he caught himself fantasizing that one of the familiar faces matched the handwriting on the note.
A few of his teammates would also enter his fantasy from time to time. And, why shouldn't they? They provided an obvious scenario for his secret admirer. Surely, the simplest answer would be someone on the team who could access the clubhouse and knew which locker was his. That certainly narrowed down his choices, but which of his teammates would have such feelings toward him?
Sengoku had been popular with all of the members in the tennis club since his freshman year. He had developed a close relationship with the captain after playing side-by-side with him, and he had mentored several of the younger club members in his junior year.
Another letter! It was another origami envelope, marked with the same impeccable calligraphy that had addressed the first. Sengoku looked around the clubhouse for a sign telling him which of his teammates might have been in the clubhouse last.
There wasn't a bag or racquet in sight.
Sengoku opened the new note which had been written on heavyweight stationery. This letter was longer, but still gave few hints disclosing from where it originated.
I still find myself lucky enough to see you smile, but my luck is terrible when it comes to expressing myself through letters, and it is difficult to leave them. I will be back in exactly one week. If you'd like to meet, write a letter for me. I'm sure you'll know where to leave it.
Sengoku scanned the words several times, silently mouthing the message he had received. Difficult to leave? The letters must not have come from within the club, everyone on the team could easily access the clubhouse during school hours. And they wouldn't have any problems leaving something in one of the lockers; that was a common practice. So if not from inside, then from who? That left the other athletic teams, the intramural clubs, academic groups, the general student body… He was now without his strongest lead in solving the mystery; he had to accept the invitation to at least find out who this stranger was.
Not that he would have done otherwise.
Kirihara was never nervous before matches, not even when losing, but he had developed a knot in his stomach after stepping off of the bus at Yamabuki the following week. He could feel his will sinking inside of him with each step he took toward the school's tennis courts. He had missed enough school already-traveling to Yamabuki wasn't a five-minute trip- that coming again so soon might get him in trouble, again. But he had to know his answer, despite the consequences.
He was able to glance in a window as he walked by the southern side of the clubhouse. Thankfully, it was empty. He stood in front of the door to the clubhouse, gathering up his courage to open it. A familiar thought crossed his mind as it had before several matches as he opened the door: now or never.
He opened Sengoku's locker. It was empty this time except for a sheet of notebook paper that lay at the bottom of the locker. He had left a note! That was a good sign. He picked the note up and, at last, the knot in his stomach loosened. The note had been folded in half with a sharp, though uneven, crease and what seemed to be a rushed or nervous address across the top: "A letter for you."
I am lucky to have received another letter, but I am curious to meet the face that has been writing to me. Just tell me when and where to meet you. That would make my day.
Kirihara smiled as he dropped the note he had prepared the previous night into the locker. He had known he was either going to use that note, or none at all. It seemed that Sengoku's luck applied not only to himself but to people around him.
Friday. 6:30 pm. Blue Dragon Café. Those were the only words on the final note Sengoku had received. At first he thought this would be an exciting experience, but now he questioned the whole situation. He was going on a half-blind date with someone who could be a total stranger. Whoever it was had found out where he kept his clothes during practice and left him notes. Don't they call people like that stalkers? At any rate, he had encouraged their date so there was no backing down at this point.
He stepped into the café and looked for any familiar faces. He thought he recognized the boy in the corner who was talking to a waitress, but he couldn't be sure from the door.
He got closer to the rear corner as he looked around the café for any sign of his mystery date. Sengoku stopped in his tracks when he got a clearer view of the boy at the far booth. What was Kirihara doing here? Wasn't this place a bit far from Rikkaidai for someone like him to have dinner? Sengoku would have questioned him if he hadn't noticed the folded note resting on the second place setting on the table.
It was HIM?
Sengoku approached the booth and stood next to the table while the pair exchanged tense looks. This is what Sengoku wanted to know, but he didn't know how to accept this news. It seemed that Kirihara had sensed his apprehension because he was looking nervously at the letter on the table. Sengoku didn't want to seem rude; he sat at the table opposite of Kirihara.
The boys stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Sengoku wanted to ask Kirihara so many questions. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kirihara raised his hand and looked down at the new note. Sengoku stopped himself and picked up the letter.
I want to get to know my Junior Invitational teammate. May I?
They had only spent time together at the camp and on the team facing the Americans. Could he really be interested so much? He hadn't even considered someone from another school… but, that didn't mean he was disinterested. All of his attention had been focused on people from Yamabuki. Kirihara had gone to all this trouble for him?
Sengoku looked up into Kirihara's waiting eyes as they both smiled.