FIC: A Christmas Without Sanada, NC17 (Part 1/6)
Title: A Christmas Without Sanada (1/6)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Sanada/Yukimura
Wordcount: 27 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Some intentional misspelling. The idea for this fic was borrowed from Francine Pascal.
Summary: What would happen if Sanada didn't exist?
Author's notes: Written for 2007 santa_smex for the entire community. Thank you so much to koneko_meow, pixxers and yuki_scorpio for the betaing and help. Everyone, I hope you enjoy this fic! Merry Christmas!
This fic has been truncated into 6 parts due to length. The parts are NOT chapters. This is a one-shot fic. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
It was a cold and wet, miserable sort of winter afternoon. His feet were freezing in his runners and he was too proud to bother with mittens this morning. Now, he regretted it. The rain seeped through his tennis uniform and froze his muscles. His toes probably went black with frostbite ages ago. Sanada scowled even deeper.
Until he saw the sign tacked onto the clubhouse doorway. The courts were empty except for him and a few lonely maple leaves, whipped up by the wind. The baselines were a mucky mess of bleeding clay lines and the nets were twisted. His ears prickled, having gone numb at the tips. His cap was useless during the winter, although he pulled it down further over his head in a vain attempt at conserving what warmth was left.
Sanada shivered and read the notice. The wind ripped up the edges and the damp plastered the rest to the door.
sanada
courts need cleaning b4 tomorrow
No salutation. No signature. The only thing that gave away who wrote the note was, when Sanada peeled the paper off the door and turned it over, he could see the name “Yukimura SEIICHI” scribbled at the top of what had been an English test. Mark: 37/40.
All he really wanted to do was go home, have a long soak in a hot bath with those nice mineral bath salts of his mother’s, and maybe masturbate before bed, thinking about Yukimura in his tight tennis shorts, of course. The ones that he outgrew last year but still wore because he said they were his favourite pair. The ones that gave a nice outline of his bum when Sanada stared a little too long during laps.
Instead, Sanada rummaged around the tool shed in search of a broom. One last, battered broom sat propped up in the back corner. Sanada grabbed it and made for the doorway.
Right on cue, the wind picked up, blasted the door backwards on its hinges and smacked it straight into Sanada’s face with a dull thump.
His nose pounded with pain. He cringed.
It really was a miserable sort of winter afternoon.
***
The bus showed up. Sanada stood at the stop and, because he was too busy sighing heavily and rubbing his sore shoulder (he hated sweeping), his lightning fast reflexes weren’t so quick when the bus plowed through a puddle and sprayed muddy water all over the front of his uniform.
It had been cold before, but at least he’d been dry. Now cold damp seeped through his legs and chest, spreading scratchy shivering over half his body. The sort that made all the hair on his body stand up and brush against his clothes and then make him shiver even more.
And then, no apology from the bus driver. Nothing except a “Sorry, no can help, kid” when Sanada couldn’t find his bus pass. Or any money in his pocket. He growled, ripping his wet pocket out in search of anything money to use. No change, nothing except a five yen coin and what good was that?
He stomped off the bus. And stepped right down into a four inch-deep puddle of icy, muddy, oily water.
The bus drove off, spraying his backside with another burst.
If he was a lesser person, Sanada might have cursed. Instead, he bit down the angry sob and scowled and trudged onto the sidewalk, soaking and cold and angry, but the sort of angry that was wet and not burning, unfortunately. The sort of anger that itched and solidified along with his pant leg.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, bringing a fleeting hope that made Sanada’s heart flutter. If he was lucky, his mother would call and ask where he was and maybe send his brother out to pick him up. If he was luckier, it would be Yukimura, calling about whatever.
Instead, it was Renji. Which was okay, in theory. He cared about Sanada.
Sanada flipped his cell open. “Hello?”
“Genichirou, Seiichi told me to tell you not to forget the papers in your mailbox.”
Sanada grunted. “I picked up the schedule this morning,” he said. He had a habit of checking his mailbox in the clubhouse each morning, when he arrived, at quarter past six. He filled out the schedule spreadsheet at lunch in the washitsu on the third floor. Not that Akaya would appreciate the help anyway, considering he was technically buchou now and should be doing all the organizational work and cleaning up and drills himself instead of whining at his senpais.
“Tell Yukimura not to worry,” Sanada added. He cradled his phone against his cheek, blushing and hopeful.
“Seiichi said it was different papers. He said it’s urgent and they need to be done for tomorrow, especially the second set.” Renji paused.
“Okay,” Sanada said. He waited for Renji to respond, but only after waiting for what felt like ages did he realize that Renji never paused, he’d hung up.
Sanada tromped back to the clubhouse. His toes were numb. His calf burned with that freezing sort of tingle that could be frostbite. His ears were solid and he had stopped feeling those a long time ago. His cap was bent sideways and he didn’t no why, but it was too cold out to bother to fix it. Sanada stuffed his hands in his pocket, but it did little good. His bare hands, sweaty and covered in lint, stuck to the clubhouse doorknob when he opened it.
He bite back the pain and pried his hand off as gently as he could, wincing and hissing and kicking himself inside for not bothering to have been more cautious of the weather today. Tarundoru!
Sure enough, there was a small stack of paper sitting in his mailbox cubby, the cubby that technically was the next fukubuchou’s. Sanada looked over the papers, his eyes going wide and a scowl returning to his lips when he saw exactly what the papers were.
Five Chemistry assignments, all labeled “Yukimura Seiichi Class 3C”. A blue sticky note was attached to each and every stapled set in the top right-hand corner: due tomorrow.
And behind them, the largest bundle of all. A handout set so thick that the staple only made it through the one side and the other papers spilled to the floor when Sanada flipped over the first page.
Another blue sticky note, only this time attached under the label “AKAYA KIRIHARA CIASS 3 D”. Akaya said he got this a week ago.
Thirteen pages of English composition and comprehension.
Due tomorrow.
Sanada leaned against the whiteboard, groaning through his teeth. He banged his head softly against the wall, groaning, “You idiot” to no one in particular and everyone, too.
As he stuffed the assignments in his bag and wound his scarf around his neck- and, this time, around his ears, too, like he was a peasant woman in a ricefield somewhere- Sanada caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Across his forehead, in black marker from the whiteboard, were the backwards characters for Yukimura’s name.
In black, permanent marker.
Sanada closed his eyes and groaned again.
***
It took over an hour to walk home. In the dark. Along the slushy highway, where cars splashed more cold wet puddles onto Sanada’s pants no matter how far he walked into the ditch. Which was also filled with cold wet puddles that lapped at the tops of his sneakers. Along the little back road, flickering, sporadic streetlights made it impossible to see what was road and what was mud and Sanada squelched through more slurry mud than he thought. His shoes were caked with mud. His socks were soaked through and his toes had gone numb a long time ago. His balls had shriveled up before the school buildings were even out of sight.
All Sanada wanted was a hot supper.
All Sanada found was his brother, lounging on the couch in front of the tv. “Parents went out,” he said.
“But…” Sanada looked around. His mother wasn’t puttering around the kitchen. His father wasn’t passed out in his favourite chair with a beer in hand. His grandfather wasn’t calling them lazyasses and hitting his wooden staff on the floor by their feet.
And there was no supper.
Nothing.
Sanada’s stomach growled.
His brother continued to watch the tv, some show about American models in New York.
Sighing, Sanada went to the fridge. Nothing there, nothing except a cold bowl of mystery beef stew. The kind with French herbs. The kind that he hated.
He microwaved it because there was nothing else. His family didn’t care. The stew sat like a lump in his stomach as he ate, chewing the stringy beef, chewing the cakey potatoes, chewing this food that wasn’t doing anything to sate his hunger.
The melon pan his brother kept in his room under his bed by his condoms sounded tempting. But Sanada refused to allow himself to go and eat them. It would be stealing, firstly, and secondly he didn’t want to see his brother’s condoms and be reminded that his brother used size extra-large and thirdly…well…
He had two sets of homework to do.
Sanada shuffled up to his bedroom. The bathroom door was open, inviting him to come and have a soak in the tub, but he didn’t have the time. He sat in his room, huddled under a blanket with Yukimura’s chemistry homework. And then Kirihara’s English homework. His hands cramped from flipping through the dictionary. He yawned and shifted, legs falling asleep, fingers getting sore, brain aching.
Past midnight, his parents must have come home some time earlier and he hadn’t noticed. Sanada did, however, notice that he hadn’t touched his own homework yet. Algebra equations and a Japanese literature essay, both due tomorrow, of course.
His phone buzzed. Sanada rolled onto his side, teeth chattering in his frigid room. The feeling hadn’t returned to his toes yet. He hadn’t changed his socks yet and they stuck between his toes in strange ways.
Jackal left a message two hours ago.
need help w/jap homework. sending file to ur email. plz leev in mailbox ^-^
Opening his email meant having to turn on his computer. Turning on his computer meant having to leave his cocoon of blankets and homework and yawns and cold feet.
Not helping Jackal, though…
Sanada yawned. He scratched the back of his neck, which ached from being hunched over all evening. His bladder felt full and he couldn’t remember the last time he went to piss.
He walked over, shivering when frigid air hit his warm arms. Sanada dashed over to his desk and turned his computer on with laser-like speed. Or he would have, if another loud yawn didn’t escape his mouth.
Not helping Jackal meant dishonour. Dishonour meant shame on his reputation and by extension, the team as well. Sanada balled his fist and his knuckles cracked. “It won’t take long,” he told himself.
Sanada almost believed it, until he saw the size of the file sitting in his email inbox.
***
If Sanada went to bed that night, he couldn’t remember. He could remember, however, waking up at the sound of his alarm blaring at 4am, loud drums and tinkling shamisen in a cacophony of noise that made him bolt up. Except his face stuck to a notebook and his back was on fire from the position he’d keeled over in last night. Or…hours before, more like.
His cellphone beeped. Cracking an eye open, Sanada could see the message was from Jackal. A reminder about the email.
Sanada closed his phone and stuffed it into his bag. He scratched his head. He winced at the crick in his neck which made him have to cock his head to the side in order to stop the flares of pain from rising. He shuffled into the bathroom, smelly and hungry and his stomach was writhing from that stew last night and it obviously wasn’t sitting well because as soon as he turned the shower on in the hopes to clean himself…
He needed to take a dump. Badly.
The potatoes made his stomach roil, sending gas cramps through his intestines and the acrid taste of bile up his throat, too. Sanada made a mad run from the shower to the toilet room, skidding and slipping on the freezing floor with his bare, wet feet.
He thanked the household gods that no one else- not even his grandfather anymore- were up at the hour and could hear the noises from the toilet. And his satisfied sigh when he finally flushed it all down, all that damned beef stew with the gross herbs.
The toilet helped. The shower helped, standing under a spray of boiling water that pelted his exhausted body into a boneless, ineffectual sort of state. Sanada felt nearly human, except for the fact he could barely keep himself awake. Morning meditation in the dojo before the crack of dawn usually helped, but today, he sat cross-legged, and fidgeted. His mind wouldn’t clear. He squirmed and tried to centre his thoughts. His leg would twitch. He’d start to fall over, eyes rolling back into his head. The sound of his grandfather flushing the toilet overhead, it made Sanada wiggle, unfocused and irritated.
In the end, Sanada left the house early. There was no reason to stick around and be lazy when he could get to school early and…sweep the courts again before Yukimura arrived. Or go over his home ec notes. He stopped at the Starbucks near school, almost pleased because he had money in his wallet and he had his buspass and today didn’t feel nearly as cold as yesterday because he had a pair of blue mittens and a matching hat.
Today was okay.
He even managed to force himself to smile when he bowed his head and thanked the barista at the cash. Yes, the Starbucks was warm and the brisk walk from the bus stop woke him up enough until the caffeine would pump through his system. Sanada sighed. Sanada took his order, smacked a lid down on top and beetled out of the Starbucks to walk the last few blocks to school. Today was off to an okay start indeed.
Until the Venti Quad Shot Seven Pump Caramel Macchiato (with whip!) burned his tongue. Sanada shrieked. The coffee slipped from his mitten, hit the sidewalk and splashed all over his pants.
Today was not okay after all.
***
Tennis practice was a chaotic mess.
“Where’s Yukimura?” Sanada shouted through a crowd of freshman, cowering and flailing because Kirihara-buchou was in red-eye mode during a drill demonstration. He knew he still smelled like coffee, but no one said anything. Except Niou, who snickered behind his back like usual.
“He’s busy with beautification club right now,” Renji said. “Or his art project.”
The other seniors didn’t seem to care about the tennis team. Niou watched, clapping his hands and goading Akaya. Yagyuu and Renji stood around, shrugging their shoulders as if nothing could be helped and the first years should sort themselves out. Marui and Jackal were missing, although by the time Sanada stomped into the clubhouse to change, the Japanese homework in Jackal’s mailbox cubby was gone.
He was called on during algebra class.
Sanada stood up, prepared with the answer and his homework all in ordered, numbered pages. But when he looked down to read the answer, there was nothing but a series of squiggles between random numbers, squiggles that almost looked like the kanjis for sleepy, bath time and Yukimura.
Sanada flushed. He stammered. “Ne-gative five?” he offered, his best guess at the answer on the board.
“No, Sanada-kun,” the teacher said. “That’s incorrect.” The word poked Sanada like a barb of Niou’s darts, and then ten times as many stabs poked his stomach when the class started to snicker.
Face on fire, Sanada turned to Yagyuu. Yagyuu, who was stifling a smirk behind his hand. Yagyuu, who promptly stood up after Sanada slithered down into his desk chair. Yagyuu, who had the correct answer.
The shame of being unprepared and incorrect lingered in Sanada’s belly long after the snickering subsided. Sanada buried himself in his notebooks and willed the morning to finish. Maybe then his flush would have disappeared, and his coffee stains, too.
Lunchtime came with the promise of relief. And Yagyuu must have felt guilty for his pride, because he offered to monitor the hallways on Sanada’s behalf today.
“Thank you,” Sanada said.
Yagyuu smiled vaguely and waved his hand. “Not at all, Sanada-kun. It’s my pleasure.”
His bento lunch looked all right- Sanada saw the mochi and rice and gyoza in the fridge this morning, waiting for him when he woke up. He bought a milktea from the vending machine. If he went up to the rooftop garden, maybe Yukimura would be there.
Sanada smiled at the thought. Then he pulled his cap down over his forehead further. No one needed to see that.
If it wasn’t for the cold, it might have been a beautiful winter day. The bare trees were still and skeletal next to the bushy, fragrant pines on the campus grounds below. Sanada squinted into the pale winter sun, which almost felt warm on his blazer sleeves. Almost, but not quite. He clutched his bento bag and tried to look as composed as possible, even though his pants had that dark brown splash from the knees down from this morning’s coffee.
Sanada could see a shape moving around the rooftop garden greenhouse. Definitely someone, near the wall, behind what looked like a bushy palm. Knowing that Yukimura was there made every bad thing that happened today worth it because they would be alone and Sanada could sit beside Yukimura on the little bench in the middle of the garden and they could eat their lunches together and it would be enough. His heart fluttered. His cheeks felt warm. Sanada swallowed a lump of nervousness in his throat and picked up his pace.
He flung open the greenhouse door.
The steam that rose out from the garden wasn’t so much as plant-based as cigarette smoke. Sanada coughed. The grey plume seeped from the greenhouse, choking and stinking. “That is against SCHOOL RULES!” he yelled. It took a moment for the smoke to clear and as it did, Sanada could feel the anger rising in himself. He slammed the door shut and stomped over to the wall, knowing it was Niou.
Sanada raised his arm, ready to slap the twit when he noticed it wasn’t just Niou’s bleached head inside, but Yagyuu too. The shine of those glasses was unmistakable. Sanada’s eyes went wide with surprise. Niou’s hand was down Yagyuu’s pants and Yagyuu’s hand was clutched around Niou’s dick which was hanging out of his fly and Sanada could see part of it and-
His jaw dropped.
And then he yelled, too horrified to even slap the two of them, not knowing who to even smack.
Yagyuu cleared his throat. He removed his hand from Niou’s dick, and then, with the same hand, pushed his glasses up, acting as if Niou’s hand wasn’t down his pants and his tie wasn’t undone and there wasn’t the stink of cigarettes hanging off him.
“Ah, sorry about that, Sanada-kun,” Yagyuu said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I got a bit distracted from hall monitoring duties.”
Niou said, “Puri.”
Sanada closed his mouth. He took a deep breath, then started to cough before he could say anything more. His face burned more than either Niou or Yagyuu’s and Niou was the one with his dick hanging out; Yagyuu was the one with someone else’s hand still down his pants and something slimy on his fingers.
“I haven’t seen Yukimura-kun all morning,” Yagyuu called as Sanada stormed off.
Sanada really shouldn’t have been surprised.
***
Jackal and Marui were in the home ec room.
Smoke billowed from one of the ovens inside. At least it wasn’t cigarette smoke, though it reeked just as much.
Marui shrugged. “Was hungry,” he said.
Sanada choked on the acrid plume that greeted him when Jackal opened the oven door.
“Bunta wanted a cake,” he said. “He really can’t cook.”
The home ec teacher was nowhere to be found. But Sanada did find a pair of seniors necking in a stairwell.
“Tarundoru!” he yelled.
And then the senior stood up.
A guy who was on the wrestling team. As tall as Sanada and twice the weight.
Sanada Genichirou, however, was not one to back down from stopping immoral behavior in the act.
He took another step forward, staring down his nose and pursing his lips as tight as possible. And then the wrestler’s girlfriend, a petite girl with long hair stepped between the two of them, slamming her foot down on Sanada’s. Sanada bite his tongue and his eyes nearly popped out. Painful tears welled in his eyes. He shook with the refusal to cry out at the vibrating pain.
The girl narrowed her eyes, fluttering her eyelashes. “You got something to say to me?” she asked. “You got something to say to my boyfriend?”
Sanada stepped back again, and then tripped on the stairs.
By the time he remembered his lunch, the bell for afternoon classes had rung.
He huffed and scowled and packed his bento back into his locker, untouched but smelling more of cigarettes and burnt cake than anything edible anyway.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Sanada/Yukimura
Wordcount: 27 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Some intentional misspelling. The idea for this fic was borrowed from Francine Pascal.
Summary: What would happen if Sanada didn't exist?
Author's notes: Written for 2007 santa_smex for the entire community. Thank you so much to koneko_meow, pixxers and yuki_scorpio for the betaing and help. Everyone, I hope you enjoy this fic! Merry Christmas!
This fic has been truncated into 6 parts due to length. The parts are NOT chapters. This is a one-shot fic. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
It was a cold and wet, miserable sort of winter afternoon. His feet were freezing in his runners and he was too proud to bother with mittens this morning. Now, he regretted it. The rain seeped through his tennis uniform and froze his muscles. His toes probably went black with frostbite ages ago. Sanada scowled even deeper.
Until he saw the sign tacked onto the clubhouse doorway. The courts were empty except for him and a few lonely maple leaves, whipped up by the wind. The baselines were a mucky mess of bleeding clay lines and the nets were twisted. His ears prickled, having gone numb at the tips. His cap was useless during the winter, although he pulled it down further over his head in a vain attempt at conserving what warmth was left.
Sanada shivered and read the notice. The wind ripped up the edges and the damp plastered the rest to the door.
sanada
courts need cleaning b4 tomorrow
No salutation. No signature. The only thing that gave away who wrote the note was, when Sanada peeled the paper off the door and turned it over, he could see the name “Yukimura SEIICHI” scribbled at the top of what had been an English test. Mark: 37/40.
All he really wanted to do was go home, have a long soak in a hot bath with those nice mineral bath salts of his mother’s, and maybe masturbate before bed, thinking about Yukimura in his tight tennis shorts, of course. The ones that he outgrew last year but still wore because he said they were his favourite pair. The ones that gave a nice outline of his bum when Sanada stared a little too long during laps.
Instead, Sanada rummaged around the tool shed in search of a broom. One last, battered broom sat propped up in the back corner. Sanada grabbed it and made for the doorway.
Right on cue, the wind picked up, blasted the door backwards on its hinges and smacked it straight into Sanada’s face with a dull thump.
His nose pounded with pain. He cringed.
It really was a miserable sort of winter afternoon.
***
The bus showed up. Sanada stood at the stop and, because he was too busy sighing heavily and rubbing his sore shoulder (he hated sweeping), his lightning fast reflexes weren’t so quick when the bus plowed through a puddle and sprayed muddy water all over the front of his uniform.
It had been cold before, but at least he’d been dry. Now cold damp seeped through his legs and chest, spreading scratchy shivering over half his body. The sort that made all the hair on his body stand up and brush against his clothes and then make him shiver even more.
And then, no apology from the bus driver. Nothing except a “Sorry, no can help, kid” when Sanada couldn’t find his bus pass. Or any money in his pocket. He growled, ripping his wet pocket out in search of anything money to use. No change, nothing except a five yen coin and what good was that?
He stomped off the bus. And stepped right down into a four inch-deep puddle of icy, muddy, oily water.
The bus drove off, spraying his backside with another burst.
If he was a lesser person, Sanada might have cursed. Instead, he bit down the angry sob and scowled and trudged onto the sidewalk, soaking and cold and angry, but the sort of angry that was wet and not burning, unfortunately. The sort of anger that itched and solidified along with his pant leg.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, bringing a fleeting hope that made Sanada’s heart flutter. If he was lucky, his mother would call and ask where he was and maybe send his brother out to pick him up. If he was luckier, it would be Yukimura, calling about whatever.
Instead, it was Renji. Which was okay, in theory. He cared about Sanada.
Sanada flipped his cell open. “Hello?”
“Genichirou, Seiichi told me to tell you not to forget the papers in your mailbox.”
Sanada grunted. “I picked up the schedule this morning,” he said. He had a habit of checking his mailbox in the clubhouse each morning, when he arrived, at quarter past six. He filled out the schedule spreadsheet at lunch in the washitsu on the third floor. Not that Akaya would appreciate the help anyway, considering he was technically buchou now and should be doing all the organizational work and cleaning up and drills himself instead of whining at his senpais.
“Tell Yukimura not to worry,” Sanada added. He cradled his phone against his cheek, blushing and hopeful.
“Seiichi said it was different papers. He said it’s urgent and they need to be done for tomorrow, especially the second set.” Renji paused.
“Okay,” Sanada said. He waited for Renji to respond, but only after waiting for what felt like ages did he realize that Renji never paused, he’d hung up.
Sanada tromped back to the clubhouse. His toes were numb. His calf burned with that freezing sort of tingle that could be frostbite. His ears were solid and he had stopped feeling those a long time ago. His cap was bent sideways and he didn’t no why, but it was too cold out to bother to fix it. Sanada stuffed his hands in his pocket, but it did little good. His bare hands, sweaty and covered in lint, stuck to the clubhouse doorknob when he opened it.
He bite back the pain and pried his hand off as gently as he could, wincing and hissing and kicking himself inside for not bothering to have been more cautious of the weather today. Tarundoru!
Sure enough, there was a small stack of paper sitting in his mailbox cubby, the cubby that technically was the next fukubuchou’s. Sanada looked over the papers, his eyes going wide and a scowl returning to his lips when he saw exactly what the papers were.
Five Chemistry assignments, all labeled “Yukimura Seiichi Class 3C”. A blue sticky note was attached to each and every stapled set in the top right-hand corner: due tomorrow.
And behind them, the largest bundle of all. A handout set so thick that the staple only made it through the one side and the other papers spilled to the floor when Sanada flipped over the first page.
Another blue sticky note, only this time attached under the label “AKAYA KIRIHARA CIASS 3 D”. Akaya said he got this a week ago.
Thirteen pages of English composition and comprehension.
Due tomorrow.
Sanada leaned against the whiteboard, groaning through his teeth. He banged his head softly against the wall, groaning, “You idiot” to no one in particular and everyone, too.
As he stuffed the assignments in his bag and wound his scarf around his neck- and, this time, around his ears, too, like he was a peasant woman in a ricefield somewhere- Sanada caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Across his forehead, in black marker from the whiteboard, were the backwards characters for Yukimura’s name.
In black, permanent marker.
Sanada closed his eyes and groaned again.
***
It took over an hour to walk home. In the dark. Along the slushy highway, where cars splashed more cold wet puddles onto Sanada’s pants no matter how far he walked into the ditch. Which was also filled with cold wet puddles that lapped at the tops of his sneakers. Along the little back road, flickering, sporadic streetlights made it impossible to see what was road and what was mud and Sanada squelched through more slurry mud than he thought. His shoes were caked with mud. His socks were soaked through and his toes had gone numb a long time ago. His balls had shriveled up before the school buildings were even out of sight.
All Sanada wanted was a hot supper.
All Sanada found was his brother, lounging on the couch in front of the tv. “Parents went out,” he said.
“But…” Sanada looked around. His mother wasn’t puttering around the kitchen. His father wasn’t passed out in his favourite chair with a beer in hand. His grandfather wasn’t calling them lazyasses and hitting his wooden staff on the floor by their feet.
And there was no supper.
Nothing.
Sanada’s stomach growled.
His brother continued to watch the tv, some show about American models in New York.
Sighing, Sanada went to the fridge. Nothing there, nothing except a cold bowl of mystery beef stew. The kind with French herbs. The kind that he hated.
He microwaved it because there was nothing else. His family didn’t care. The stew sat like a lump in his stomach as he ate, chewing the stringy beef, chewing the cakey potatoes, chewing this food that wasn’t doing anything to sate his hunger.
The melon pan his brother kept in his room under his bed by his condoms sounded tempting. But Sanada refused to allow himself to go and eat them. It would be stealing, firstly, and secondly he didn’t want to see his brother’s condoms and be reminded that his brother used size extra-large and thirdly…well…
He had two sets of homework to do.
Sanada shuffled up to his bedroom. The bathroom door was open, inviting him to come and have a soak in the tub, but he didn’t have the time. He sat in his room, huddled under a blanket with Yukimura’s chemistry homework. And then Kirihara’s English homework. His hands cramped from flipping through the dictionary. He yawned and shifted, legs falling asleep, fingers getting sore, brain aching.
Past midnight, his parents must have come home some time earlier and he hadn’t noticed. Sanada did, however, notice that he hadn’t touched his own homework yet. Algebra equations and a Japanese literature essay, both due tomorrow, of course.
His phone buzzed. Sanada rolled onto his side, teeth chattering in his frigid room. The feeling hadn’t returned to his toes yet. He hadn’t changed his socks yet and they stuck between his toes in strange ways.
Jackal left a message two hours ago.
need help w/jap homework. sending file to ur email. plz leev in mailbox ^-^
Opening his email meant having to turn on his computer. Turning on his computer meant having to leave his cocoon of blankets and homework and yawns and cold feet.
Not helping Jackal, though…
Sanada yawned. He scratched the back of his neck, which ached from being hunched over all evening. His bladder felt full and he couldn’t remember the last time he went to piss.
He walked over, shivering when frigid air hit his warm arms. Sanada dashed over to his desk and turned his computer on with laser-like speed. Or he would have, if another loud yawn didn’t escape his mouth.
Not helping Jackal meant dishonour. Dishonour meant shame on his reputation and by extension, the team as well. Sanada balled his fist and his knuckles cracked. “It won’t take long,” he told himself.
Sanada almost believed it, until he saw the size of the file sitting in his email inbox.
***
If Sanada went to bed that night, he couldn’t remember. He could remember, however, waking up at the sound of his alarm blaring at 4am, loud drums and tinkling shamisen in a cacophony of noise that made him bolt up. Except his face stuck to a notebook and his back was on fire from the position he’d keeled over in last night. Or…hours before, more like.
His cellphone beeped. Cracking an eye open, Sanada could see the message was from Jackal. A reminder about the email.
Sanada closed his phone and stuffed it into his bag. He scratched his head. He winced at the crick in his neck which made him have to cock his head to the side in order to stop the flares of pain from rising. He shuffled into the bathroom, smelly and hungry and his stomach was writhing from that stew last night and it obviously wasn’t sitting well because as soon as he turned the shower on in the hopes to clean himself…
He needed to take a dump. Badly.
The potatoes made his stomach roil, sending gas cramps through his intestines and the acrid taste of bile up his throat, too. Sanada made a mad run from the shower to the toilet room, skidding and slipping on the freezing floor with his bare, wet feet.
He thanked the household gods that no one else- not even his grandfather anymore- were up at the hour and could hear the noises from the toilet. And his satisfied sigh when he finally flushed it all down, all that damned beef stew with the gross herbs.
The toilet helped. The shower helped, standing under a spray of boiling water that pelted his exhausted body into a boneless, ineffectual sort of state. Sanada felt nearly human, except for the fact he could barely keep himself awake. Morning meditation in the dojo before the crack of dawn usually helped, but today, he sat cross-legged, and fidgeted. His mind wouldn’t clear. He squirmed and tried to centre his thoughts. His leg would twitch. He’d start to fall over, eyes rolling back into his head. The sound of his grandfather flushing the toilet overhead, it made Sanada wiggle, unfocused and irritated.
In the end, Sanada left the house early. There was no reason to stick around and be lazy when he could get to school early and…sweep the courts again before Yukimura arrived. Or go over his home ec notes. He stopped at the Starbucks near school, almost pleased because he had money in his wallet and he had his buspass and today didn’t feel nearly as cold as yesterday because he had a pair of blue mittens and a matching hat.
Today was okay.
He even managed to force himself to smile when he bowed his head and thanked the barista at the cash. Yes, the Starbucks was warm and the brisk walk from the bus stop woke him up enough until the caffeine would pump through his system. Sanada sighed. Sanada took his order, smacked a lid down on top and beetled out of the Starbucks to walk the last few blocks to school. Today was off to an okay start indeed.
Until the Venti Quad Shot Seven Pump Caramel Macchiato (with whip!) burned his tongue. Sanada shrieked. The coffee slipped from his mitten, hit the sidewalk and splashed all over his pants.
Today was not okay after all.
***
Tennis practice was a chaotic mess.
“Where’s Yukimura?” Sanada shouted through a crowd of freshman, cowering and flailing because Kirihara-buchou was in red-eye mode during a drill demonstration. He knew he still smelled like coffee, but no one said anything. Except Niou, who snickered behind his back like usual.
“He’s busy with beautification club right now,” Renji said. “Or his art project.”
The other seniors didn’t seem to care about the tennis team. Niou watched, clapping his hands and goading Akaya. Yagyuu and Renji stood around, shrugging their shoulders as if nothing could be helped and the first years should sort themselves out. Marui and Jackal were missing, although by the time Sanada stomped into the clubhouse to change, the Japanese homework in Jackal’s mailbox cubby was gone.
He was called on during algebra class.
Sanada stood up, prepared with the answer and his homework all in ordered, numbered pages. But when he looked down to read the answer, there was nothing but a series of squiggles between random numbers, squiggles that almost looked like the kanjis for sleepy, bath time and Yukimura.
Sanada flushed. He stammered. “Ne-gative five?” he offered, his best guess at the answer on the board.
“No, Sanada-kun,” the teacher said. “That’s incorrect.” The word poked Sanada like a barb of Niou’s darts, and then ten times as many stabs poked his stomach when the class started to snicker.
Face on fire, Sanada turned to Yagyuu. Yagyuu, who was stifling a smirk behind his hand. Yagyuu, who promptly stood up after Sanada slithered down into his desk chair. Yagyuu, who had the correct answer.
The shame of being unprepared and incorrect lingered in Sanada’s belly long after the snickering subsided. Sanada buried himself in his notebooks and willed the morning to finish. Maybe then his flush would have disappeared, and his coffee stains, too.
Lunchtime came with the promise of relief. And Yagyuu must have felt guilty for his pride, because he offered to monitor the hallways on Sanada’s behalf today.
“Thank you,” Sanada said.
Yagyuu smiled vaguely and waved his hand. “Not at all, Sanada-kun. It’s my pleasure.”
His bento lunch looked all right- Sanada saw the mochi and rice and gyoza in the fridge this morning, waiting for him when he woke up. He bought a milktea from the vending machine. If he went up to the rooftop garden, maybe Yukimura would be there.
Sanada smiled at the thought. Then he pulled his cap down over his forehead further. No one needed to see that.
If it wasn’t for the cold, it might have been a beautiful winter day. The bare trees were still and skeletal next to the bushy, fragrant pines on the campus grounds below. Sanada squinted into the pale winter sun, which almost felt warm on his blazer sleeves. Almost, but not quite. He clutched his bento bag and tried to look as composed as possible, even though his pants had that dark brown splash from the knees down from this morning’s coffee.
Sanada could see a shape moving around the rooftop garden greenhouse. Definitely someone, near the wall, behind what looked like a bushy palm. Knowing that Yukimura was there made every bad thing that happened today worth it because they would be alone and Sanada could sit beside Yukimura on the little bench in the middle of the garden and they could eat their lunches together and it would be enough. His heart fluttered. His cheeks felt warm. Sanada swallowed a lump of nervousness in his throat and picked up his pace.
He flung open the greenhouse door.
The steam that rose out from the garden wasn’t so much as plant-based as cigarette smoke. Sanada coughed. The grey plume seeped from the greenhouse, choking and stinking. “That is against SCHOOL RULES!” he yelled. It took a moment for the smoke to clear and as it did, Sanada could feel the anger rising in himself. He slammed the door shut and stomped over to the wall, knowing it was Niou.
Sanada raised his arm, ready to slap the twit when he noticed it wasn’t just Niou’s bleached head inside, but Yagyuu too. The shine of those glasses was unmistakable. Sanada’s eyes went wide with surprise. Niou’s hand was down Yagyuu’s pants and Yagyuu’s hand was clutched around Niou’s dick which was hanging out of his fly and Sanada could see part of it and-
His jaw dropped.
And then he yelled, too horrified to even slap the two of them, not knowing who to even smack.
Yagyuu cleared his throat. He removed his hand from Niou’s dick, and then, with the same hand, pushed his glasses up, acting as if Niou’s hand wasn’t down his pants and his tie wasn’t undone and there wasn’t the stink of cigarettes hanging off him.
“Ah, sorry about that, Sanada-kun,” Yagyuu said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I got a bit distracted from hall monitoring duties.”
Niou said, “Puri.”
Sanada closed his mouth. He took a deep breath, then started to cough before he could say anything more. His face burned more than either Niou or Yagyuu’s and Niou was the one with his dick hanging out; Yagyuu was the one with someone else’s hand still down his pants and something slimy on his fingers.
“I haven’t seen Yukimura-kun all morning,” Yagyuu called as Sanada stormed off.
Sanada really shouldn’t have been surprised.
***
Jackal and Marui were in the home ec room.
Smoke billowed from one of the ovens inside. At least it wasn’t cigarette smoke, though it reeked just as much.
Marui shrugged. “Was hungry,” he said.
Sanada choked on the acrid plume that greeted him when Jackal opened the oven door.
“Bunta wanted a cake,” he said. “He really can’t cook.”
The home ec teacher was nowhere to be found. But Sanada did find a pair of seniors necking in a stairwell.
“Tarundoru!” he yelled.
And then the senior stood up.
A guy who was on the wrestling team. As tall as Sanada and twice the weight.
Sanada Genichirou, however, was not one to back down from stopping immoral behavior in the act.
He took another step forward, staring down his nose and pursing his lips as tight as possible. And then the wrestler’s girlfriend, a petite girl with long hair stepped between the two of them, slamming her foot down on Sanada’s. Sanada bite his tongue and his eyes nearly popped out. Painful tears welled in his eyes. He shook with the refusal to cry out at the vibrating pain.
The girl narrowed her eyes, fluttering her eyelashes. “You got something to say to me?” she asked. “You got something to say to my boyfriend?”
Sanada stepped back again, and then tripped on the stairs.
By the time he remembered his lunch, the bell for afternoon classes had rung.
He huffed and scowled and packed his bento back into his locker, untouched but smelling more of cigarettes and burnt cake than anything edible anyway.