FIC: Love is a Many-Tentacled Thing, SanaYuki, NC17 (4/6)
Title: Love is a Many-Tentacled Thing (4/6)
Author: Ociwen
Pairing/characters: Sanada/Yukimura with others
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 47 000
Warning (if any): Bad fic ahoy! This fic contains spoilers for 40.5, crude humour, bodily functions and crabs.
Summary: Sanada experiences a sea change in order to begin a relationship with Yukimura. Can he balance his secrets, the Rikkai Dai tennis club, and still achieve his goal?
Notes (if any): Thank you pixxers for all the help and koneko_meow for the beta. Written for a rude and ungrateful recipient in balls_it_up. Hopefully others can appreciate the humour-and horror-involved in badfic. Have your umbrellas ready!
This fic has been truncated into 6 sections due to length. These are not chapters. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
"I can help," Yukimura says. He grabs the bowl of salad from his mother, flashing a feigned smile and a quick nod. "I'll clean up today."
She looks at him oddly and takes her hands from the salad bowl with a lengthy hesitation. "All right…" she says, "If you want, Seiichi." When she turns to take the fish plate off the table, Yukimura waves her off that as well.
"No, really, I'll do it," he offers.
His mother continues to look at him as though he has two heads. Yukimura feels a bit that way, too: one head is all light and floaty and dizzy, swirling his thoughts around. The other head is heavy, weighed down by the secret under his bed.
He scrapes the fish into a smaller dish and tops it with the leftover salad, already wilting with dressing. His mother putters around the main room, sorting a bin of laundry and clicking her tongue at all the shirts of his father's she'll need to press.
"When is your business trip to Milan again, honey?" she asks.
From the bathroom his father answers, "Tuesday!"
Yukimura tucks the bowl under his arm and tiptoes down the hallway. A fresh breeze lifts the sheer curtains and flutters his hair. His toes are cool on the Pergo flooring; he's left sweaty footprints trailing to his bedroom.
He closes the door and sets the bowl down for a moment. He listens for any sounds of his sister, of his father flushing the toilet, or even his mother shuffling around in her health slippers.
Nothing.
Just a faint slapping noise from under his bed.
He frowns. The other day, he didn't understand why Sanada was so upset-besides the fact he doesn't like sushi. It hurt to watch Sanada puke on the sidewalk and it took Yukimura a moment to even realize what was going on. Not until the acrid smell of vomit reached his nose did he comprehend.
Yukimura reaches under his overhanging sheet, fumbling for it. Then, he pulls the large Tupperware bin from under his bed, sliding it out far enough across his floor to take the lid off. It cost him all the cash he'd been saving up for a new racket too. Maybe he could have bought that silvery new Yonex model, or even the Wilson Factor One, the one with the white handle and the ultralight frame that would make his shots explosive.
Instead, Yukimura looks at the writhing mass of eels and sighs. "Sorry guys," he says, dumping in the leftovers. "I hope you like this."
He has no idea what eels eat. Last night, they had bits of the fried spam from supper that he crumbled up. Yesterday morning, they ate toast.
But they're alive and the food disappears as they splash around, wriggling and twisting and occasionally looking at him with tiny wet eyes, expressions (do eels even have expressions?) that Yukimura hopes say 'Thanks, Seiichi. Thanks so much.'
But he doesn't talk to eels, so he makes the best guesses about them he can, based on his biology textbook.
Yukimura closes the lid and pushes the bin back under his bed. The water sloshes; no one else in his family has noticed yet, but he can hear the eels swimming around.
I need to give them to Sanada soon. He'll be so happy with the gift.
It's Saturday. He could have held practice, but when Sanada missed practice yesterday-both morning and afternoon-Yukimura didn't have the heart. It was lonely, standing there with just Yanagi. When Yukimura called out laps, he didn't have the voice-or the heart-to give more than twenty. Sanada was the one who yelled them out. Sanada was the one who enforced the rules.
"I hope he's feeling better," Yukimura murmurs. It's been two days. Sanada should be. Yukimura sits down on the chair by his desk. His phone sits on top of his textbooks: homework for classes he doesn't have the desire to do right now. The history textbook with the samurai on the cover reminds him of Sanada, all strong and stoic and disciplined. Yukimura sighs and drums his fingers on the book.
I shouldn’t hesitate. I want Sanada to have the present. I can't keep them in my room forever.
Besides, before that incident Sanada tried to tell him something. Thinking about it makes Yukimura's face warm. He blushes harder and touches his cheeks, feeling the blood under his skin. Between his legs, he's swollen and aching, hoping that Sanada was going to confess.
I shouldn't hesitate, he thinks. Then, he dials Sanada's number. He heart pounds as the pulse sounds once. He leans over the edge of his chair, his knees shaking when the pulse sounds a second time. His stomach churns when the pulse sounds a third time, vibrating in his ear as the echo subsides and the voice mail kicks in.
Yukimura slumps over; his chair wheels into the side of his desk in the process. Defeat makes him sigh into the message-it's automated, not even Sanada's voice-and he says, "Sanada, it's me. Can you call me soon?" But then, Yukimura hears his voice and the whiny tone grates his ears, making him cringe. Yukimura tries again, searching for an excuse, no matter how lame.
"Um, maybe…" He grasps at the air, desperate for his mind to think faster, but the soft flopping and tiny splashes from under his bed distract him. "Maybe you want to play tennis this afternoon? Just…us…?"
The beep sounds. The line goes dead. Yukimura sighs again.
It's odd, that. Sanada not answering his phone. He's punctual and reliable and Yukimura's never had to wait more than two pulse tones before Sanada answers. Fear constricts his chest: he's worried, not just because of his silly message, but what if something happened to Sanada?
The prefecturals are coming up.
The team needs Sanada.
He needs Sanada, too.
Yukimura dials Yanagi's number. One pulse, then a click and "Hello?"
Yukimura plays with the drawstring of his hooded t-shirt. Speaking with Yanagi has always been easier and harder than speaking with Sanada. Everything is coded, picked apart, then analyzed. It makes Yukimura a little uncomfortable, nervous of what Yanagi might do if he displayed his feelings too openly.
But at the same time, Yanagi is his friend. And Sanada's, too. He would know.
"Ne, Yanagi?" Yukimura says, tossing the drawstring aside. "Have you heard from Sanada today? Because he's not answering his phone and…"
"No," Yanagi says. Yukimura's worst fear is confirmed when Yanagi exhales heavily and adds, "He wasn't at school at all yesterday and Niou said he hasn’t been home in two days-"
Yukimura closes his phone, hanging up before he hears any more. He shoves his phone into his pocket and then he rushes out of his chair, ignoring the jingle as he phone goes off-Yanagi, no doubt, calling back to ask what's going on.
He runs into the hallway, whirring past his mother, whose apron strings flap as she turns, asking him where he's going as he rummages for his shoes, any shoes. They're all lost in a pile as he throws the shoes up, mixing slippers with sneakers with Hello Kitty flats of his sister's. Finally, he sees a pair of blue flip-flops. His blue flip-flops and even through he's not wearing tabi socks, he wedges the strap between his toes and runs out of the apartment.
"Seiichi!" his mother calls. "Seiichi, where are you going? Have you taken your pills this morning? Seiichi!"
Yukimura groans as he flies down the flights of stairs, his footsteps ricocheting off the cement walls of the stairwell. "I'll be back later." He keeps running. She keeps yelling. Yukimura yells again, refusing to stop. "Later. Supper. Whatever!"
He has to find Sanada.
Something tears at him inside, the insatiable knowledge that he has to find Sanada. Sanada doesn’t disappear like that. He wouldn't. Something must be wrong. He could have found another sushi shop and passed out and hit his head in an alley dumpster and-
Yukimura's throat closes off. He bites back a sob. No! he thinks. No!
He fumbles with the lock on his bicycle, then flings it off. He mounts his bike, his balance staggering as he starts to pedal, leaning low as he rounds the corner around the apartment block onto a main street. His heart races. He races, whizzing through the back streets and sidewalks. The streetscapes are a blur of conbini signs and petrol stations. Yukimura looks ahead, plowing through groups of kids with PET bottles in hand and sports bags slung over their shoulders.
He doesn't care.
He has to find Sanada.
He doesn't know where he's going. His legs keep pedaling. His heart pounds and his blood rushes. He zooms up a hill, then down another road, the gravel bumpy and making his body jump. Yukimura grinds his teeth and growls, his voice as gritty as the dirt road, breaking up the determined noises he makes.
Yukimura ends up by the sand dunes. Past the art gallery, over the grassy hills and right by his place. He doesn't remember deciding to come here, but it feels right. He searches the dunes, scanning the horizon for a tall figure with a black cap.
His eyes sting. He blinks quickly, refusing to cry but with each running stride he takes to the beach, it's getting harder to hold back.
"Sanada, where are you…?" he moans.
His cellphone keeps ringing. Yukimura jumps down another rock level and then reaches into his pocket. He glares at his phone. Shut up shut up! Torn between slamming in on the rocks and throwing it into the water, he fumbles, his hands shake, but he turns it off and shoves it back into his pocket.
The tension rises and he grows more frantic, scanning the open water and balling his fists, refusing to believe the calm, blue waters. They're hiding something-he can feel it, the way the seagulls squawk and mock him and the crabs skitter along the beach as his flip-flops sink into the wet sand and his toes get damp in his socks. It's hard to run, but he has to. He has to find Sanada.
Yukimura looks up towards the rocky cliffs, seeing the scattered driftwood and seaweed blackened by the sun. Sand flies swarm around him as he struggles along the beach, needing some tangible proof of Sanada.
His eyes hit a pile. A small pile that beeps. A smile pile that looks like a white shirt and sneakers sticking out from under it and-
"Oh god!" Yukimura moans. He runs up, knowing that it's Sanada's sneakers when he sees the size and the Yonex logo on the sides. Yukimura sinks to his knees, shaking his head and falling forward with a repressed sob when he finds Sanada's cellphone sitting on top the pile, beeping softly that he has three messages.
"No…" Yukimura whispers. His throat chokes up. He sniffles and something hot and salty and wet slides down his nose. "No…Sanada…"
Yukimura touches Sanada's shirt, picking it up to shake the sand off. It's damp from the dew and from the salty sea water too, but when he holds it to his face, sniffling and shaking, he can smell Sanada's scent: the laundry detergent Niou's mother must use, the crisp deodorant, the woodsy soap he uses in the showers after tennis, even a lingering, heady smell of the sea.
"No…" Yukimura shakes his head. His lip trembles and he can't stop the heaving sobs that rise, bubbling out of his throat as he cries into Sanada's forgotten school shirt. There is a sound of water splashing in the background and seagulls swarming above, laughing at him because Sanada's gone and drowned.
Yukimura collapses into the pile of clothes, but the second splashing noise, too loud for a simple fish, makes him turn to the noise. Through tear-streaked vision, Yukimura sees something.
His jaw drops. The shirt clenched between his fingers drops, too.
There, in the water, is Sanada. He wades through the water with slow, even steps. Sanada tips his head back and runs his hand through his wet hair before he shakes it off, spraying those pearls of water everywhere. Droplets glisten over his chest, sliding down his collar bone, his brownish nipples, down his stomach where a thin trail of dark hair forms. Yukimura's gaze follows downwards as Sanada rises, the water growing shallower. Yukimura's throat goes dry.
Sanada keeps walking. Yukimura's eyes go wide and his breathing becomes shallow. He looks, unable to turn away when Sanada emerges and the water sluices over his thighs. Yukimura can see the dark patch of hair between Sanada's legs. His nipples harden at the sight, his cock twitches, swells between his own legs and he trembles harder than ever when he sees glimpses, peeps of Sanada because seaweed clings to his manhood.
Water continues to roll off Sanada's buttery skin and Yukimura rises, too-in his pants, to his feet. He wants to run up, splash through the lapping waves and grab Sanada's arms, to feel his warm skin, his solid body and make sure that Sanada is okay, that he's fine, that he's not a mirage over the endless blue horizon.
Instead, Sanada looks up and meets Yukimura's gaze with a burning, wide-eyed-
Shriek.
Sanada yelps. His hands fly down to cover himself and he hunches up, throat bobbing before he says, "Yuki-mura!" in a breathless, croaking voice that only sends electric shivers through Yukimura's body. Sanada's face burns bright red and water slides down his arms, his broad shoulders and his thighs as he gapes, unable to hide himself, not even behind his big hands.
Sanada looks at him with huge round eyes that waver-almost scared in their dark depths-when Yukimura stands up and staggers toward him. Yukimura can't resist the primal pull and he walks through the water, not caring that his socks are wet and the hems of his pants too. Sanada's chest rises and falls quickly, and he starts to shake his head.
Yukimura doesn't care.
Yukimura takes the last step forward to take Sanada's hand away from his crotch. A thrill runs down his spine, all goosepimples and a trembling shiver too, when he realizes his fingers feel that burning heat, so close to Sanada's cock. Yukimura looks up, licking his top lip and trying to find the courage to say something, to say anything as the welled tears in his eyes find new emotion to release.
"Shut up," he murmurs when Sanada gasps in protest. Yukimura takes the hand, wrapping it around his shoulder as he leans close. He presses his chin to Sanada's shoulders and revels in the relief of Sanada. Here, with him.
"Shut up," Yukimura says again. "Just…Sanada," he says, breathing his name across Sanada's wet skin. "Just hold me."
They stagger up to the beach: Sanada awkward shuffles and Yukimura clinging to him, refusing to let go even when Sanada squirms and sputters in protest. Yukimura won't hear it. He won't have it.
He just wants Sanada. Yukimura digs his fingers in, gasping into Sanada's chest when he feels the press of Sanada's erection against his belly. It thrills him. It excites him. It makes him trip backward and land on the sand, with Sanada on top of him, heavy and warm and making his clothes all wet and stick to his body as he lifts his face, his nose brushing Sanada's cheek before…
Before their lips meet. Or rather, Yukimura takes the initiative. Thoughts of I won't hesitate anymore float through his mind before the sensation of their lips touching, mouths meeting pushes anything and everything else away. This is what he has been waiting for all these weeks of feeling fluttery and light-headed and weak-kneed around Sanada: that first electric shock as his dry lips brush over Sanada's salty mouth. It's barely anything more than a touch because he's not sure he's doing this right. He's not sure if Sanada wants this. Sanada is frozen, his eyes huge when Yukimura's eyes flutter open for a moment. Sanada lifts up off Yukimura, but Yukimura hooks a leg around the back of Sanada's thigh and rubs up, pushing his hips off the ground as he parts his mouth, his tongue sliding over Sanada's mouth, tasting the sea…
His belly burns where Sanada's erection is squished between their bodies. Yukimura feels the strain between his own legs, but he can't think about it, not when he's concentrating on the feeling of his tongue curling over Sanada's. He loves the slick wetness in Sanada's mouth and the vibration of his moans. Hearing them, feeling them, having Sanada heavy and hard on top of him makes Yukimura tremble and wrap his other hand around Sanada's waist. Sanada's skin feels divine under his kneading fingers.
Sanada makes little noises, happy mewls in the back of his throat that Yukimura echoes with moans of his own. His t-shirt rides up, pebbly sand pokes his back but when Sanada finally relents and shifts onto his side, Yukimura rolls with him. He sighs into the kisses that grow harder, deeper, more urgent as the tension of his cock aches more and more.
They kiss. Yukimura grows bolder as Sanada gasps, dragging Yukimura's tongue deeper into his mouth, sucking and salty and hot. Yukimura parts his legs, giving Sanada more room as he half-thrusts, his dick between Yukimura's legs, rubbing so so sweetly. Yukimura stiffens, shocked, scared, excited for what it means: that damp, searing heat on his thigh now, so close to his straining balls…
Sanada pulls away, dragging his lips from Yukimura's mouth, over his jaw and neck and Yukimura wonders if he should have shaved those few straggly hairs of him that must be gross and prickly. He cringes when he sees the expression on Sanada's face.
Sanada's mouth is set in a thin line, though it breaks up for a moment as he runs his tongue along his lip, then brings a hand up to touch it. Yukimura shivers, feeling the ghosting kiss on his lips. He sits up, his fingers curling into the damp beach instead of Sanada's skin. The feeling is so different, so cold and hard and he swallows a lump of worry. Sanada looks away, his brow as twisted as Yukimura's insides feel right now.
"Yukimura…" Sanada mumbles. His voice barely sounds over the caw of a lone crow in the distance.
Yukimura shakes his head. He grabs Sanada's shoulder and pulls it roughly, shakes it, drags it until Sanada faces him with a downward gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest and makes that strange, gurgling "Tarundoru" sound Yukimura has heard before. Sanada looks to the ocean and exhales heavily. His chest rises and falls in tune with the ocean's waves on the shore.
No more hesitation…
His mouth opens and Yukimura says it.
Then he sucks in a breath, shocked at himself when the words in his ears in a soft, pleading voice.
"I love you."
A single cloud rolls over the sun. The light casting warmth down over them disappears as Yukimura's words hang in the air. He won't take them back. He can't take them back now, and the longer the silence grows, the more serious Sanada's face becomes. His eyes flicker with a dark, stoic transfixion over the water.
Yukimura feels cold. His arms are cool to the touch, even under his numb fingertips. He can't breathe, he can hardly look at Sanada because his vision is blurring again and a sob surfaces to his lips, parting them and breaking the silence.
His face burns with shame, with an apology for being so frank and Yukimura feels foolish for this. Contrary to what Niou and Yanagi implied, Sanada must not have known and now, he can't return the feelings and it aches, even more because he's hard and sore for Sanada and his lips tingle from their kissing and surely Sanada liked it too because Yukimura felt his erection, he felt Sanada rubbing on his thigh and he wants more, he needs more.
Yukimura reaches a shaking hand out to Sanada when Sanada whips his head around, crawling over Yukimura. He pins Yukimura's shoulders to the sand as he takes Yukimura in his arms, as he captures a kiss that steals Yukimura's breath, drowning him in sensation.
He groans and gives himself to the force, unable to hold back the passion threatening to explode when Sanada groans too.
Time passes in a haze of laughter and kisses and Sanada's hot flushes when his eyes go wide and his legs tense, right before he comes into Yukimura's hand, wrapped around his cock and urging him on, urging him with licks to his ear, and murmurs of "Sanada, please…" The sun dips in and out of the pregnant clouds overhead and the breezes off the water are cool and fresh as they lay there, panting and supine on the beach as their hearts slow, as their bodies cool.
His place, his beach is perfect. Secluded, yet open to the ocean that laps at their toes, that washes up around their ankles as Yukimura takes Sanada's hand in his and they run across the surf. The sheer elation of being together like this makes him smile, makes him laugh, makes him pull Sanada's arm around his shoulders again, leading into a new kiss.
Yukimura should be hungry, because they don't eat, nothing but each other: all eager tongues and tight nipples and swollen cocks. He should be tired, because they spend the morning, the afternoon, even the cool evening in and out of napping and kissing and rolling around on the sand. Yukimura laughs the first time when Sanada pulls his clothes off, peeling away the layers of t-shirt and pants and underpants, uncovering his naked body with blushes and murmurs and lambent kisses over his body. They're naked together, scared and aroused and ardent when palms spread over naked chests and hips for the first time. He pulls tiny strands of seaweed from Sanada's ass, his eyes wide and dancing when Sanada grumbles.
"It's not funny," Sanada mutters.
Yukimura tosses the seaweed bits into the surf and grins. Sanada doesn't grumble anymore when Yukimura's hands search his ass again, slipping between his legs, over that spot behind his balls that makes him come again and again until he sobs and begs for Yukimura to stop, to leave him be.
If his cellphone goes off, Yukimura ignores it. They doze in the late afternoon, then roll around again, this time with Yukimura on top, their cocks straining together as Yukimura rubs and rises, grinding down onto Sanada's waist until they're both mindless and panting with pleasure, gasping and grabbing at each other and covered in sand, too.
There is a comfort in knowing no one is here to disturb them, that nothing will come between them. Yukimura leans on Sanada's chest, sighing his contentment as Sanada's chin rests on his head. A warm arm wraps around his shoulders, sweaty and gritty with sand and smelling of the sea, that distinctive Sanada smell that makes Yukimura's toes curl.
I want to be like this always, he thinks.
Like this, he can do anything. He feels so light and airy, like the sea foam floating over the ocean and hissing in the crevices of rocks at the far end of the beach.
I could paint. I could play tennis. I could do everything and not regret a thing…
Yukimura smiles.
They watch the sun set together. Vaguely, Yukimura is aware he should be home, but he can't bring himself to move from Sanada's embrace. Not yet. Not yet! He's too warm, he's too comfortable, even naked and sticky and sandy. But they're naked and sticky and sandy together. If he had to, Yukimura could walk back home, proud and naked if his clothes were carried out to sea. Because he has Sanada with him again.
The light streaks fingers of blood over the water, and gold and amber too, colours dissolving into a violet, then indigo, then a wash of black that twinkles with the lights of the city, a blurred smear of yellow across the sea. The rock shelf they sit on is cold and clammy under Yukimura's bare bum. He shifts closer to Sanada, feeling the drops of water spray from the waves crashing softly around them.
The rush grows louder, not just water spray off the sea, but from above, too; Yukimura can feel the drips sluicing down his arms, over his face, over his legs. He looks at Sanada, who mutters, "It's raining."
Yukimura nods. He holds out his hand, catching the droplets in his hand for a moment, until he stands up, stretching out his aching, stretched limbs and his over-sensitized body. He swallows. His eyes drift up the cliffs to the dunes where he left his bike.
It can't be over yet, he thinks. Yukimura swallows again. His heart feels heavy and his shoulders sink with the realization the day is done.
But as the rain picks up, pattering down onto their bodies with a cool wash that makes Yukimura shiver, something takes his hand. He looks down, seeing Sanada's fingers twining with his. Sanada's grip is strong and firm, just like his gaze is now.
"I know a place," he says. And then they run. Yukimura lags behind, his feet catching in the swollen waves. The hours of lethargy, of rubbing and kissing and touching make his body sluggish and slow. It's a dream he hasn't been able to wake from, and the ethereal feeling of the light rain dancing over his body only heightens the effect. Sanada says something. Yukimura laughs. Sanada's hand tightens, encouraging Yukimura on as they jog towards the caves, splashing through the water toward the deep rocky crevices kissed by the tides.
He doesn't ask how Sanada knows this place. He doesn't ask where they're going, or why, he just follows Sanada's lead. Maybe he's filled with foolish, fuzzy puppy love, but Yukimura lets Sanada guide him through thigh-deep water around a cliff, then into a tight crevice in the rock.
"Careful," Sanada says.
"I won't get careless!" Yukimura says, teasing Sanada with a laugh. Sanada says nothing, he just guides Yukimura on into a hidden grotto.
They climb onto a large rock shelf, half in the water and half out. The water is cooler here and Yukimura gasps at the rush of air that hits his body when he curls up around Sanada on the dry part of the rock. They are surrounded by cliff on three sides, but the rain is weaker here. An oculus streams wavering, pearly moonlight down onto the water around them, reflecting their faces too.
"I…" Sanada exhales as Yukimura rests his face on his chest, listening to Sanada's thumping heart. He presses a kiss to Sanada's nipple, licking at the hardness that forms. "I have something to say," Sanada says. He sucks in his chest. Yukimura drags his teeth over Sanada's nipple, flicking it with his tongue before pulling back for a moment.
"Just…" Yukimura sighs, and it turns into a long yawn. He burrows his face into the crook of Sanada's neck, seeking the comfortable heat of his body. "In a bit…" he whispers as his eyes drift. The sound of the rain falling all around them and Sanada's breathing lulls him into an easy doze and Yukimura sinks down, into Sanada's arms and then into sleep.
Splash. Plink. Plonk.
And then a groan.
A rumbling noise, a deep-set vibration under Yukimura's body that isn’t the sound of the crowds cheering him on the tennis court at all. He blinks, remembering the day as the fragments of his dream fade. He remembers the frolicking on the beach and Sanada, naked and glorious as he rose from the water. Yukimura nuzzles his cheek against the warm chest underneath his face. He slings his leg further over Sanada, feeling the hard, dry scales-
Scales?
He opens his eyes and rubs them with balled fists. Yukimura shakes his head, confused for a moment when he looks up to see Sanada's face, when he hears Sanada's laboured, wheezing breathing and hears the sound of another splash in the water.
His eyes adjust to the moonlight as he looks around, moving his legs away from the odd hard object moving under his thigh. The smell of fish is thick.
And then his blood freezes solid.
Between his legs isn't Sanada's naked thigh, it's a large, gleaming tail. A fish's tale. Yukimura scrambles off, gasping and shrieking when his eyes trail up the tail, over the silvery scales, up to a patch of stomach and navel and chest and neck with weird things rasping on the sides, flapping open and closed and then up higher, still, to the face.
To Sanada's face.
Yukimura screams. Sanada shakes his open, mouth open and gaping as Yukimura runs off the rock, runs to the edge of the rock shouting, "OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!?!" Sanada drags himself by his arms closer and Yukimura kicks, hitting Sanada in the shoulder hard enough to make him hiss.
"Yukimura-"
But Yukimura has seen it and he screams again. "Get away FROM ME! WHAT ARE YOU!?" he kicks again and Sanada's face crumples, he shakes on his elbows, his eyes big and black and shiny like a fish's before he makes a strangled noise and heaves himself off the rock, dragging his body and that- that tail into the water with a loud, flopping splash.
Yukimura scrambles into the water, screaming and slapping his arms on the surface. "WHAT ARE YOU!? GET AWAY! GO AWAY! YOU FREAK! YOU FREAK! YOU MONSTER!!"
*--+--~--I--~--+--*
The cave is dark, gloomy even. Dusk settles for a second night-or maybe a third or forth, Sanada has lost count. He curls up in a deep crevice, his tail tucked around himself. He cringes when he feels his gills moving, breathing. Yukimura hated them. Yukimura hated him.
He should have known better.
A fresh sob rises, a hiccup out of his gills and a bubble of air floats out, up to the top of the cave where it hovers, a reminder of the air above, some fifty metres to the surface, maybe more. The evening hums with life, even on the seafloor, as the crabs and stingrays come out, and the eels, too, peeking out of their holes. The water moves around him, even at the back of his cave where he's retreated.
He can't leave this place.
No one wants him.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. Sanada sinks to the floor, his face pressed to the sand and the corals and anemones shift and flow outside.
A shadow passes across the front of the cave. Sanada buries his head deeper. Go away, he thinks. A moan vibrates softly in his throat, the never-ending ache a dull, stabbing sword in his chest.
"Yo!" a voice calls out.
Sanada hides his face, staring into the rocky wall, littered with tiny creatures, all swaying in the ocean current, all hopeful for an evening meal. He knows who it is, swimming into the cave with seamless glides. He knows the crested tuft on the top of that head, a toothy smile flashing a little too dangerously at him.
Sanada turns away from it. "Leave me alone," he mutters. His voice cracks and even though he's fifty metres under, his mouth feels as dry as on land. His throat is tight, choked off and his body trembles again, ready to release another pathetic sob.
"You all right?" he asks. A single squinty eye looks at Sanada, then a tail pokes his side. "Haven't seen you in a while," Chitoseel says. "Whadda you been up to?"
Sanada says nothing. He jerks his shoulder, unable to even glare at Chitoseel and make him leave. He stares at the wall, his eyes welling up with that odd, teary sensation of crying he never felt before he became a human. And now, he feels it still. Now, those human emotions weigh him down, dragging him deeper and deeper. He feels so heavy he could sink below the ocean floor and disappear forever.
Chitoseel makes a noise, and then a bright glow illuminates the cave. Sanada raises a hand to his eyes; the light blinds him as Chitoseel swims off, sparkling into the darkened waters when he waves his tail in goodbye.
"If you ever need help," he shouts, "you know where my patch of reef is!"
That night, Sanada rolls the family rock in front of the entrance of his cave. He doesn't want to be bothered by anyone. He wants to swim under the rock and die. Yukimura was his reason to live. Yukimura was his reason to try.
I should have known better, he thinks, blinking away the sting in his eyes. I shouldn't have tried. His stomach knots up, pain spiking through his chest as though a sting ray has cut him straight through to the heart. His stomach throbs. His head is pounds. The cave smells of stale water and fish poo and strands of slime litter the edges of the cave.
But he doesn't care anymore.
Sanada curls his tail up again and huddles into himself, hating his tail. Hating the scales that cover half his body. His fingers rise to touch the flapping gills at the side of his neck. They probe the edges of the slits, then stick, shoving deep down in. He clenches his teeth, wanting to rip the gills off but he just chokes on air. Sanada digs his fingers into the hard, scaly mass of his tale and he wants to take a coral sword and slice it off like sushi, then prove to Yukimura he could…
Sanada's stomach heaves again. The knowledge that he can't change sinks in, covering him in a cold chill of reality. He's already bleeding inside.
What's a bit more…? he thinks.
It was so perfect, that day, when he and Yukimura kissed at last. When he and Yukimura touched at last. He felt things he never had before-true desire, when Yukimura's hands wrapped around his swollen cock and squeezed, pumping once or twice before he spilled himself, gasping Yukimura's name, feeling the flush of love warm him, although his skin was cool.
It was so perfect, and it could have lasted, maybe just a little longer, if only he'd remembered to have transformed before midnight. The water was so close and he forgot, relishing instead the heavy warmth of Yukimura's sleeping body cradled against his chest.
As beautiful as it was, the memory aches. Because everything is replaced by the horrified sneer on Yukimura's face, the stain of shock across his features and then the echoes of his screaming as he yelled and kicked and then ran from Sanada.
Ran from Sanada.
Ran
from
Sanada.
Outside, the tiny marine eels are singing as they emerge from their pits, their chorus a cheerful song of innocence that pains Sanada. They don't know what waits for them when the fishing trawlers come. They don't know how humans don't know, don't want them, the same way Yukimura doesn't want him.
Sanada starts to shake again and his throat fills with mucus as the tears stain the sea water with a new saltiness. He hears the sound of the eels' chorus break for a moment as something rumbles past his cave, but he just squeezes his eyes shut against the newest looming shadow.
Though the slit between his cave and the large stone, a single massive eye peeks inside. An eye rimmed with a dark circle. A paper is pushed inside, the colours washed off from weeks, months of being underwater, though the faintest shading of blue remains.
A lone tentacle manages to wedge its way into the cave, and the creature frowns. The tentacle pats Sanada on the back once, before it slips back out of the cave, and Tezuka swims away.
*--+--~--M--~--+--*
He's furious.
He's beyond furious.
Yukimura pedals faster and faster, swooping up hills and coasting down the valleys. He veers behind back alleys, seething into the wind and screaming his frustrations into the ferocious speed he picks up as he cycles. Behind the malls, along the sides of expressways, around the basketball courts at the university, he pedals and rides and pedals some more. His hands dig into his handlebars so tight that his knuckles go white. He avoids the sea because the sight of the water and the fishy smell remind him too much of that day. It makes bile rise in his throat-angry and scorching because Sanada was a merman.
Gross! he thinks. Yukimura rises in his seat, stretching his legs down as he coasts around a corner. The flashing lights of traffic and the horns honking at him are reminders that he could get smucked at any minute if he crosses the eight-lane road before the light turns.
He purses his lips and grinds his teeth. Fine! Yukimura dings his bell over and over until the cars stop honking at him and his bell is the loudest.
The light goes green. Yukimura pushes down hard on the pedal and goes. He pumps his legs until his muscles strain. His hair flips back-he didn't bother with a helmet tonight either. The lights of the arcade that he rides through shine, blurring into one mass of red, yellow, continuous stream of colour and blaring Lucky Star and pachinko balls.
He has no destination in mind, he just needs to do this. He can't sleep without flashes of that cold, scaly tail between his legs. He can't rest without the sounds of the flopping and splashing under his bed, the damned eels in the damned container that he saved for that damned fishboy-
Yukimura exhales, groaning his way through a turn into a dark side street. His bike crunches PET bottles and shards of broken glass underneath his tires, jerking the ride and making his bike skid to the side. He sideswipes a tin wall, a little garden shack that shakes and bangs as his body slams into it, then he keeps going.
In school, Akaya bothers him, asking if he's okay. "Buchou, you have bags under your eyes," he says. It's lunch time. Yukimura eats sushi from the cafeteria, stuffing his face with salmon rolls and roe faster than Marui can shovel down his three ramen cups.
"Is Sanada-kun returning soon?" Yagyuu asks. "I've collected his homework for the past three days, but-"
"He mighta gone back home," Niou says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back on his heels, whistling to Jackal to come and eat with them.
Now, they eat as a group, conspiring and guessing over Sanada. Two days, Yukimura has had to put up with the questions. Two days of Akaya being a pest and pouting and whining about some dumb tennis move Sanada promised to show him. Or asking why Yukimura is looking at his fried whale bento like that.
Yukimura grinds his teeth.
"Sanada-kun-" Yagyuu says.
"-Sanada," Niou says.
"Sanada-fukubuchou-" from Akaya and "Sanada" from Jackal. "Genichirou blah blah blah" from Yanagi and nothing from Marui, because he's too busy playing Second Life on Akaya's cellphone. He concentrates on the stupid game with his tongue between his teeth and then he says "Sanada, come on, ask him out, you oaf!"
And Yukimura has had it.
He throws Akaya's whale bento onto the floor. He throws his own sushi set off the edge of the stairwell railing. As it clatters to the ground, three floors below he shouts:
"HE'S A FUCKING MERMAID, OKAY?"
Six pairs of eyes stare at him. Jackal's mouth hangs open and Marui stops chewing on his tongue. He stops chewing on his gum, too, because that drops to the floor as well. Akaya starts to laugh, that irritating, fake little sound that grates Yukimura's ears.
"Huh?" Niou says.
Yukimura's face is on fire, even though he has nothing to be embarrassed about. But the sudden scrutiny of his teammates-as well as the third years' math teacher poking her head around the corner to check-make Yukimura duck his head and clear his throat.
He groans.
Yagyuu's glasses have fallen down.
Yukimura clenches and unclenches his fist. He hates this, this explaining thing. He can lead, fine, he can say things, but-
Sanada's been the one to carry them out and deal with the nitty-gritty.
Yukimura shakes his head and wrings at the air. Jackal drops his lunch, his bag and rushes up to him, grabbing Yukimura on either side of his waist and asking, "Are you okay? Is it a relapse? Is it cancer?"
Yukimura shoves him off. Yanagi looks uncomfortable as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. In that instant Yukimura knows Yanagi knows.
"Sanada's probably just off in some hole he dug for himself," Marui says. "Or maybe he's visiting relatives."
"Or maybe he's a fucking mermaid!" Yukimura snaps. Akaya keeps laughing. The sound keeps making his ears bleed and his eye twitch. Before Akaya realizes, Yukimura has whipped around, slapping him on the face with suppressed anger because no one is taking him seriously!
Akaya doesn't even cringe. He mutters "Ow". Yukimura slaps him again, venting into the force of his palm, but he's the one who winces from the pain, not Akaya.
He can't even punish his kouhais right anymore.
Dammit!
Yukimura groans through his teeth, but his voice cracks up and he loses the impact of his anger. With a groan, he gives up, instead sitting back down between Marui and Akaya before he shakes his hands and spits, "He has a tail. He was the one who-"
"Pooped in the pool?" Jackal asks.
"Aa," Yanagi says. The staring eyes turn to him now, giving Yukimura a break. As Yanagi starts to speak exhaustion floods over Yukimura's body and a heaviness settles down on his shoulders; the impact of all these sleepless nights finally take a toll as the secret comes out.
"He appears to be from the species Homomaritimus Sapiens," Yanagi says. "Or, as commonly called, a merperson. For an indeterminate period of the day, at least," he adds with a small smirk.
"Wait-Sanada's a dugong?" Jackal asks.
"Naw," Niou says. He clicks his tongue and circles Yanagi, pointing his finger. "Dugongs are mammals. Sanada's more like a sea bass, ne Data Master?"
Yanagi opens his mouth, then he closes it carefully. "Aa…yes," he manages. "Perhaps more akin to the Giant Sea Bass. It is a fish native to the Northern Pacific Ocean. With its conspicuous size and a curious nature, it is surprising that relatively little is known about its behavior and biology. There are published reports of giant sea bass reaching a size of 2.5 m-"
"Gross," Akaya says.
"I can't believe I didn't notice," Yagyuu mutters. Niou sidles up to him and whispers something in his ear. Yukimura happens to be close enough to be able to hear Niou murmur, "There's a lot you haven't noticed, babe."
Marui pokes at his bento, continuing to eat his rice as Yanagi goes on about something, measurements and statistics and by the way, Akaya, no it wasn't a first year who pooped in the pool, that was a lie to keep the tennis team quiet.
"I love a good clam bake," Marui says. He sighs and stares off into space. His chopstick clatters when it hits the cellphone on the ground, the music still chiming as his Second Life Sanada moves around.
Ironically, swimming in his swimming pool.
Yukimura drags his feet through afternoon classes. He drags his racket through tennis practice, thankful in the back of his mind that Yanagi pinky-swore the team to secrecy.
"It would be bad form if the other tennis clubs knew we admitted mythical creatures," he explained. "Rikkai could be accused of cheating."
Yukimura wants to crawl into bed instead of dealing with this garbage, all the sly looks and snickering. The pre-regulars still ask, still bother him about when Sanada-fukubuchou will come back, but they seem awfully cheerful as they jog through the ten laps Yukimura assigns.
He leans back on the bench, his eyes heavy and his limbs sluggish. The hollow ping pong sound of the tennis balls all around is the only thing that keeps him from lolling back into a sleep.
He needs the cool breeze off the sea, the low rushing noises of the ocean, the sun-warmed sand under his feet, Sanada's arms around his-
No! he thinks. Yukimura shakes his head furiously and blinks. "No!" he hisses to himself.
Marui flops down beside him, panting and puffing rather loudly for only having practiced twenty minutes. He exhales and catches his breath, clenching the side of the bench as he asks, "Dude, Yukimura, how long has Sanada been a mermaid?"
Over his shoulder, Jackal adds, "How did you find out?"
Yukimura grunts and waves his hand. He wants to tell them to go away, to leave him alone, but his face feels hot; the memory of touching, kissing, humping Sanada is too real and too recent. He kicks himself inside for being so foolish, for not realizing before that Sanada was a freak. Of course nothing good would come of his presence. Of course nothing good would have ever come of making out with him because Yukimura always got the short end of the stick. Being sick as a kid. Losing the third nationals title. Having a relationship with a gay mermaid!
Bitterness fills his mouth, and he nearly gags when Marui pokes him in the leg, repeating his question. Yukimura would slap him like he slapped Akaya, except his hand still throbs faintly.
"Fuck off," he mutters. "Your form is sloppy and we have a tournament coming up."
He doesn't have the energy to ride home. He walks his bike, listening to the squeak of the wheel. His tennisbag weighs his shoulder down. He shuffles and scuffs his shoes, almost walking out into traffic more than once because his eyes are too tired, his vision too blurry to see the lights properly.
Climbing the stairs to the apartment is agony. His body is worn out, and his heart is too. Yukimura sniffles when a gust of wind brings fresh pollen and petals and dust, swirling it around him as he mounts the stairs, one at a time, his feet clomping up home.
He's too tired to even think about riding his bike around tonight. He's too tired to even think about playing tennis until his palms bleed, the way he did two nights before, slamming balls and screaming at the cement divider wall in the nearest streetcourts by Jackal, Marui and Akaya's elementary school.
Yukimura grunts at his mother when he comes inside. He peels off his sneakers, dumps his bags and shuffles into his bedroom. His room stinks of something fishy and when he falls back onto his bed, he can hear the tiny splashes underneath his mattress. From the Tupperware bin under his bed.
He closes his eyes and curls onto his bed. A breeze rustles his curtains, rattling the papers stacked up on his desk, forms to fill out before the district prefecturals in a couple weeks. He tries to let his body sink into the sleep it craves but he keeps hearing them under his bed.
Stupid eels, he thinks. Yukimura sniffs and rolls onto his side, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it against his ear. Underneath it, he breathes stuffy, recycled air from that stinks of Akaya's fried whale he'd pilfered at lunch.
It makes him want to retch.
That, and the tiny splashes, the muffled sounds of swimming under his bed make it hard. They prick his stomach with guilt. He squeezes his eyes, willing the eels to shut up and die and leave him be because he never wanted them in the first place, they were a present for Sanada but…
A hot, wet tear slides down his nose, staining the musty sheets he breathes in. Groaning, Yukimura tosses his pillow across the room and grabs an energy bar from his tennisbag. His breath catches in his chest-along with his heart-when he slides the bin out from under his bed and opens it.
The sight of the eels is painful. Their pitiful eyes stare up at him, beady and hungry and neglected. They're thin and their usual frantic wriggling has been reduced to lame flopping. A sob surfaces in his throat, cut off only by his own guilt at leaving the eels alone because he's been angry at Sanada and blaming them.
"I'm…I'm sorry," Yukimura mutters. As he crumples up the energy bar and drops it into the bin, a second tear runs down his cheek, falling into the eels' water before he starts to cry. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry…"
*--+--~--U--~--+--*
If he was still on the surface, he might be practicing tennis right now. He might be walking home with Yukimura, his hands aching in a good way from holding his racket tight as he worked on a new move-maybe perfecting his Rai, to be as fast as lightning and strike from anywhere on the court. It would have been perfect to use, to try out and play a game against another team, to win with Yukimura…
Instead, he slinks in his cave, at the bottom of the ocean, and sighs. His chest always aches, that omnipresent push on his ribs, crushing him with the weight of loneliness, of depression.
Of heartache.
Because his heart is broken, Sanada knows that.
He shouldn't feel these things anymore, not as a merman. He should be once more unconcerned with trivial human emotions, and yet he can't even leave his cave. He curls up in the water at the back, near the wilted, swaying sea weeds, feathery against his tail when he brushes up against them.
All he thinks about is Yukimura. It's been a week, maybe more. It feels like forever: the days bleed into the next as his heart weeps. Outside, he can hear the eels rising for the evening as the last of the sunlight dims at the surface. Their song tonight is plaintive and low, barely more than a hum.
Sanada sniffles. Their sound is sad. He sniffles and his chest heaves, a sob threatening to rise again. He buries his head in the sand, trying to drown the sound of the eels out, but he can't. Their song vibrates on the ocean floor, their motions moving with the swollen waters of dusk. The tide will be in soon, and with it, the darkness.
The moon penetrates deep enough that pearly shadows will light up the ocean floor. But in Sanada's cave, the family rock blocks nearly everything out. He wants to be left alone, where nothing can reach him, where nothing can hurt him. He wants to be left alone forever.
Without Yukimura, there is nothing.
Sometimes, he thinks he could swim to the surface and beach himself near where he and Yukimura first kissed. He could lie there, out of the water, until his lungs collapsed and his gills sucked the dry, hard air of the land. But thoughts of being found by anyone but Yukimura stop him. Yukimura would probably laugh and kick his shriveled corpse back into the ocean.
"You freak!" he'd scream. "You belong in there!"
In the water. Away from Yukimura.
"Yukimura…" he whispers. The name is a bubble that rises from his lips and hovers on the top of his cave.
Sanada rests his face on the sandy floor, closing his eyes as best he can. Merpeople don't close their eyes to sleep, but humanity taught him the appreciation of the darkness it can bring. He needs the darkness. He needs the cold black of night to wash over his body and consume him, to wash these thoughts of Yukimura away-the good memories that prick his eyes, and the sad, sore ones that prick his heart, too.
The sea is alive, though. The faint scuttling noise not far from his cave keeps him awake. The crab moves slow and sure across the sea floor. Scuttle scuttle. Then a pause, and it will start again. Scuttle scuttle scuttle. The crab walks with a purpose, skittering and scuttling sideways as it moves toward the shallows.
The sound is soothing, rhythmic and regular, until it disappears into the din and the sad song of the eels takes over, only adding to the ache Sanada feels, penetrating deep into his cartilage.
*--+--~--R--~--+--*
Author: Ociwen
Pairing/characters: Sanada/Yukimura with others
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 47 000
Warning (if any): Bad fic ahoy! This fic contains spoilers for 40.5, crude humour, bodily functions and crabs.
Summary: Sanada experiences a sea change in order to begin a relationship with Yukimura. Can he balance his secrets, the Rikkai Dai tennis club, and still achieve his goal?
Notes (if any): Thank you pixxers for all the help and koneko_meow for the beta. Written for a rude and ungrateful recipient in balls_it_up. Hopefully others can appreciate the humour-and horror-involved in badfic. Have your umbrellas ready!
This fic has been truncated into 6 sections due to length. These are not chapters. [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
"I can help," Yukimura says. He grabs the bowl of salad from his mother, flashing a feigned smile and a quick nod. "I'll clean up today."
She looks at him oddly and takes her hands from the salad bowl with a lengthy hesitation. "All right…" she says, "If you want, Seiichi." When she turns to take the fish plate off the table, Yukimura waves her off that as well.
"No, really, I'll do it," he offers.
His mother continues to look at him as though he has two heads. Yukimura feels a bit that way, too: one head is all light and floaty and dizzy, swirling his thoughts around. The other head is heavy, weighed down by the secret under his bed.
He scrapes the fish into a smaller dish and tops it with the leftover salad, already wilting with dressing. His mother putters around the main room, sorting a bin of laundry and clicking her tongue at all the shirts of his father's she'll need to press.
"When is your business trip to Milan again, honey?" she asks.
From the bathroom his father answers, "Tuesday!"
Yukimura tucks the bowl under his arm and tiptoes down the hallway. A fresh breeze lifts the sheer curtains and flutters his hair. His toes are cool on the Pergo flooring; he's left sweaty footprints trailing to his bedroom.
He closes the door and sets the bowl down for a moment. He listens for any sounds of his sister, of his father flushing the toilet, or even his mother shuffling around in her health slippers.
Nothing.
Just a faint slapping noise from under his bed.
He frowns. The other day, he didn't understand why Sanada was so upset-besides the fact he doesn't like sushi. It hurt to watch Sanada puke on the sidewalk and it took Yukimura a moment to even realize what was going on. Not until the acrid smell of vomit reached his nose did he comprehend.
Yukimura reaches under his overhanging sheet, fumbling for it. Then, he pulls the large Tupperware bin from under his bed, sliding it out far enough across his floor to take the lid off. It cost him all the cash he'd been saving up for a new racket too. Maybe he could have bought that silvery new Yonex model, or even the Wilson Factor One, the one with the white handle and the ultralight frame that would make his shots explosive.
Instead, Yukimura looks at the writhing mass of eels and sighs. "Sorry guys," he says, dumping in the leftovers. "I hope you like this."
He has no idea what eels eat. Last night, they had bits of the fried spam from supper that he crumbled up. Yesterday morning, they ate toast.
But they're alive and the food disappears as they splash around, wriggling and twisting and occasionally looking at him with tiny wet eyes, expressions (do eels even have expressions?) that Yukimura hopes say 'Thanks, Seiichi. Thanks so much.'
But he doesn't talk to eels, so he makes the best guesses about them he can, based on his biology textbook.
Yukimura closes the lid and pushes the bin back under his bed. The water sloshes; no one else in his family has noticed yet, but he can hear the eels swimming around.
I need to give them to Sanada soon. He'll be so happy with the gift.
It's Saturday. He could have held practice, but when Sanada missed practice yesterday-both morning and afternoon-Yukimura didn't have the heart. It was lonely, standing there with just Yanagi. When Yukimura called out laps, he didn't have the voice-or the heart-to give more than twenty. Sanada was the one who yelled them out. Sanada was the one who enforced the rules.
"I hope he's feeling better," Yukimura murmurs. It's been two days. Sanada should be. Yukimura sits down on the chair by his desk. His phone sits on top of his textbooks: homework for classes he doesn't have the desire to do right now. The history textbook with the samurai on the cover reminds him of Sanada, all strong and stoic and disciplined. Yukimura sighs and drums his fingers on the book.
I shouldn’t hesitate. I want Sanada to have the present. I can't keep them in my room forever.
Besides, before that incident Sanada tried to tell him something. Thinking about it makes Yukimura's face warm. He blushes harder and touches his cheeks, feeling the blood under his skin. Between his legs, he's swollen and aching, hoping that Sanada was going to confess.
I shouldn't hesitate, he thinks. Then, he dials Sanada's number. He heart pounds as the pulse sounds once. He leans over the edge of his chair, his knees shaking when the pulse sounds a second time. His stomach churns when the pulse sounds a third time, vibrating in his ear as the echo subsides and the voice mail kicks in.
Yukimura slumps over; his chair wheels into the side of his desk in the process. Defeat makes him sigh into the message-it's automated, not even Sanada's voice-and he says, "Sanada, it's me. Can you call me soon?" But then, Yukimura hears his voice and the whiny tone grates his ears, making him cringe. Yukimura tries again, searching for an excuse, no matter how lame.
"Um, maybe…" He grasps at the air, desperate for his mind to think faster, but the soft flopping and tiny splashes from under his bed distract him. "Maybe you want to play tennis this afternoon? Just…us…?"
The beep sounds. The line goes dead. Yukimura sighs again.
It's odd, that. Sanada not answering his phone. He's punctual and reliable and Yukimura's never had to wait more than two pulse tones before Sanada answers. Fear constricts his chest: he's worried, not just because of his silly message, but what if something happened to Sanada?
The prefecturals are coming up.
The team needs Sanada.
He needs Sanada, too.
Yukimura dials Yanagi's number. One pulse, then a click and "Hello?"
Yukimura plays with the drawstring of his hooded t-shirt. Speaking with Yanagi has always been easier and harder than speaking with Sanada. Everything is coded, picked apart, then analyzed. It makes Yukimura a little uncomfortable, nervous of what Yanagi might do if he displayed his feelings too openly.
But at the same time, Yanagi is his friend. And Sanada's, too. He would know.
"Ne, Yanagi?" Yukimura says, tossing the drawstring aside. "Have you heard from Sanada today? Because he's not answering his phone and…"
"No," Yanagi says. Yukimura's worst fear is confirmed when Yanagi exhales heavily and adds, "He wasn't at school at all yesterday and Niou said he hasn’t been home in two days-"
Yukimura closes his phone, hanging up before he hears any more. He shoves his phone into his pocket and then he rushes out of his chair, ignoring the jingle as he phone goes off-Yanagi, no doubt, calling back to ask what's going on.
He runs into the hallway, whirring past his mother, whose apron strings flap as she turns, asking him where he's going as he rummages for his shoes, any shoes. They're all lost in a pile as he throws the shoes up, mixing slippers with sneakers with Hello Kitty flats of his sister's. Finally, he sees a pair of blue flip-flops. His blue flip-flops and even through he's not wearing tabi socks, he wedges the strap between his toes and runs out of the apartment.
"Seiichi!" his mother calls. "Seiichi, where are you going? Have you taken your pills this morning? Seiichi!"
Yukimura groans as he flies down the flights of stairs, his footsteps ricocheting off the cement walls of the stairwell. "I'll be back later." He keeps running. She keeps yelling. Yukimura yells again, refusing to stop. "Later. Supper. Whatever!"
He has to find Sanada.
Something tears at him inside, the insatiable knowledge that he has to find Sanada. Sanada doesn’t disappear like that. He wouldn't. Something must be wrong. He could have found another sushi shop and passed out and hit his head in an alley dumpster and-
Yukimura's throat closes off. He bites back a sob. No! he thinks. No!
He fumbles with the lock on his bicycle, then flings it off. He mounts his bike, his balance staggering as he starts to pedal, leaning low as he rounds the corner around the apartment block onto a main street. His heart races. He races, whizzing through the back streets and sidewalks. The streetscapes are a blur of conbini signs and petrol stations. Yukimura looks ahead, plowing through groups of kids with PET bottles in hand and sports bags slung over their shoulders.
He doesn't care.
He has to find Sanada.
He doesn't know where he's going. His legs keep pedaling. His heart pounds and his blood rushes. He zooms up a hill, then down another road, the gravel bumpy and making his body jump. Yukimura grinds his teeth and growls, his voice as gritty as the dirt road, breaking up the determined noises he makes.
Yukimura ends up by the sand dunes. Past the art gallery, over the grassy hills and right by his place. He doesn't remember deciding to come here, but it feels right. He searches the dunes, scanning the horizon for a tall figure with a black cap.
His eyes sting. He blinks quickly, refusing to cry but with each running stride he takes to the beach, it's getting harder to hold back.
"Sanada, where are you…?" he moans.
His cellphone keeps ringing. Yukimura jumps down another rock level and then reaches into his pocket. He glares at his phone. Shut up shut up! Torn between slamming in on the rocks and throwing it into the water, he fumbles, his hands shake, but he turns it off and shoves it back into his pocket.
The tension rises and he grows more frantic, scanning the open water and balling his fists, refusing to believe the calm, blue waters. They're hiding something-he can feel it, the way the seagulls squawk and mock him and the crabs skitter along the beach as his flip-flops sink into the wet sand and his toes get damp in his socks. It's hard to run, but he has to. He has to find Sanada.
Yukimura looks up towards the rocky cliffs, seeing the scattered driftwood and seaweed blackened by the sun. Sand flies swarm around him as he struggles along the beach, needing some tangible proof of Sanada.
His eyes hit a pile. A small pile that beeps. A smile pile that looks like a white shirt and sneakers sticking out from under it and-
"Oh god!" Yukimura moans. He runs up, knowing that it's Sanada's sneakers when he sees the size and the Yonex logo on the sides. Yukimura sinks to his knees, shaking his head and falling forward with a repressed sob when he finds Sanada's cellphone sitting on top the pile, beeping softly that he has three messages.
"No…" Yukimura whispers. His throat chokes up. He sniffles and something hot and salty and wet slides down his nose. "No…Sanada…"
Yukimura touches Sanada's shirt, picking it up to shake the sand off. It's damp from the dew and from the salty sea water too, but when he holds it to his face, sniffling and shaking, he can smell Sanada's scent: the laundry detergent Niou's mother must use, the crisp deodorant, the woodsy soap he uses in the showers after tennis, even a lingering, heady smell of the sea.
"No…" Yukimura shakes his head. His lip trembles and he can't stop the heaving sobs that rise, bubbling out of his throat as he cries into Sanada's forgotten school shirt. There is a sound of water splashing in the background and seagulls swarming above, laughing at him because Sanada's gone and drowned.
Yukimura collapses into the pile of clothes, but the second splashing noise, too loud for a simple fish, makes him turn to the noise. Through tear-streaked vision, Yukimura sees something.
His jaw drops. The shirt clenched between his fingers drops, too.
There, in the water, is Sanada. He wades through the water with slow, even steps. Sanada tips his head back and runs his hand through his wet hair before he shakes it off, spraying those pearls of water everywhere. Droplets glisten over his chest, sliding down his collar bone, his brownish nipples, down his stomach where a thin trail of dark hair forms. Yukimura's gaze follows downwards as Sanada rises, the water growing shallower. Yukimura's throat goes dry.
Sanada keeps walking. Yukimura's eyes go wide and his breathing becomes shallow. He looks, unable to turn away when Sanada emerges and the water sluices over his thighs. Yukimura can see the dark patch of hair between Sanada's legs. His nipples harden at the sight, his cock twitches, swells between his own legs and he trembles harder than ever when he sees glimpses, peeps of Sanada because seaweed clings to his manhood.
Water continues to roll off Sanada's buttery skin and Yukimura rises, too-in his pants, to his feet. He wants to run up, splash through the lapping waves and grab Sanada's arms, to feel his warm skin, his solid body and make sure that Sanada is okay, that he's fine, that he's not a mirage over the endless blue horizon.
Instead, Sanada looks up and meets Yukimura's gaze with a burning, wide-eyed-
Shriek.
Sanada yelps. His hands fly down to cover himself and he hunches up, throat bobbing before he says, "Yuki-mura!" in a breathless, croaking voice that only sends electric shivers through Yukimura's body. Sanada's face burns bright red and water slides down his arms, his broad shoulders and his thighs as he gapes, unable to hide himself, not even behind his big hands.
Sanada looks at him with huge round eyes that waver-almost scared in their dark depths-when Yukimura stands up and staggers toward him. Yukimura can't resist the primal pull and he walks through the water, not caring that his socks are wet and the hems of his pants too. Sanada's chest rises and falls quickly, and he starts to shake his head.
Yukimura doesn't care.
Yukimura takes the last step forward to take Sanada's hand away from his crotch. A thrill runs down his spine, all goosepimples and a trembling shiver too, when he realizes his fingers feel that burning heat, so close to Sanada's cock. Yukimura looks up, licking his top lip and trying to find the courage to say something, to say anything as the welled tears in his eyes find new emotion to release.
"Shut up," he murmurs when Sanada gasps in protest. Yukimura takes the hand, wrapping it around his shoulder as he leans close. He presses his chin to Sanada's shoulders and revels in the relief of Sanada. Here, with him.
"Shut up," Yukimura says again. "Just…Sanada," he says, breathing his name across Sanada's wet skin. "Just hold me."
They stagger up to the beach: Sanada awkward shuffles and Yukimura clinging to him, refusing to let go even when Sanada squirms and sputters in protest. Yukimura won't hear it. He won't have it.
He just wants Sanada. Yukimura digs his fingers in, gasping into Sanada's chest when he feels the press of Sanada's erection against his belly. It thrills him. It excites him. It makes him trip backward and land on the sand, with Sanada on top of him, heavy and warm and making his clothes all wet and stick to his body as he lifts his face, his nose brushing Sanada's cheek before…
Before their lips meet. Or rather, Yukimura takes the initiative. Thoughts of I won't hesitate anymore float through his mind before the sensation of their lips touching, mouths meeting pushes anything and everything else away. This is what he has been waiting for all these weeks of feeling fluttery and light-headed and weak-kneed around Sanada: that first electric shock as his dry lips brush over Sanada's salty mouth. It's barely anything more than a touch because he's not sure he's doing this right. He's not sure if Sanada wants this. Sanada is frozen, his eyes huge when Yukimura's eyes flutter open for a moment. Sanada lifts up off Yukimura, but Yukimura hooks a leg around the back of Sanada's thigh and rubs up, pushing his hips off the ground as he parts his mouth, his tongue sliding over Sanada's mouth, tasting the sea…
His belly burns where Sanada's erection is squished between their bodies. Yukimura feels the strain between his own legs, but he can't think about it, not when he's concentrating on the feeling of his tongue curling over Sanada's. He loves the slick wetness in Sanada's mouth and the vibration of his moans. Hearing them, feeling them, having Sanada heavy and hard on top of him makes Yukimura tremble and wrap his other hand around Sanada's waist. Sanada's skin feels divine under his kneading fingers.
Sanada makes little noises, happy mewls in the back of his throat that Yukimura echoes with moans of his own. His t-shirt rides up, pebbly sand pokes his back but when Sanada finally relents and shifts onto his side, Yukimura rolls with him. He sighs into the kisses that grow harder, deeper, more urgent as the tension of his cock aches more and more.
They kiss. Yukimura grows bolder as Sanada gasps, dragging Yukimura's tongue deeper into his mouth, sucking and salty and hot. Yukimura parts his legs, giving Sanada more room as he half-thrusts, his dick between Yukimura's legs, rubbing so so sweetly. Yukimura stiffens, shocked, scared, excited for what it means: that damp, searing heat on his thigh now, so close to his straining balls…
Sanada pulls away, dragging his lips from Yukimura's mouth, over his jaw and neck and Yukimura wonders if he should have shaved those few straggly hairs of him that must be gross and prickly. He cringes when he sees the expression on Sanada's face.
Sanada's mouth is set in a thin line, though it breaks up for a moment as he runs his tongue along his lip, then brings a hand up to touch it. Yukimura shivers, feeling the ghosting kiss on his lips. He sits up, his fingers curling into the damp beach instead of Sanada's skin. The feeling is so different, so cold and hard and he swallows a lump of worry. Sanada looks away, his brow as twisted as Yukimura's insides feel right now.
"Yukimura…" Sanada mumbles. His voice barely sounds over the caw of a lone crow in the distance.
Yukimura shakes his head. He grabs Sanada's shoulder and pulls it roughly, shakes it, drags it until Sanada faces him with a downward gaze. He crosses his arms over his chest and makes that strange, gurgling "Tarundoru" sound Yukimura has heard before. Sanada looks to the ocean and exhales heavily. His chest rises and falls in tune with the ocean's waves on the shore.
No more hesitation…
His mouth opens and Yukimura says it.
Then he sucks in a breath, shocked at himself when the words in his ears in a soft, pleading voice.
"I love you."
A single cloud rolls over the sun. The light casting warmth down over them disappears as Yukimura's words hang in the air. He won't take them back. He can't take them back now, and the longer the silence grows, the more serious Sanada's face becomes. His eyes flicker with a dark, stoic transfixion over the water.
Yukimura feels cold. His arms are cool to the touch, even under his numb fingertips. He can't breathe, he can hardly look at Sanada because his vision is blurring again and a sob surfaces to his lips, parting them and breaking the silence.
His face burns with shame, with an apology for being so frank and Yukimura feels foolish for this. Contrary to what Niou and Yanagi implied, Sanada must not have known and now, he can't return the feelings and it aches, even more because he's hard and sore for Sanada and his lips tingle from their kissing and surely Sanada liked it too because Yukimura felt his erection, he felt Sanada rubbing on his thigh and he wants more, he needs more.
Yukimura reaches a shaking hand out to Sanada when Sanada whips his head around, crawling over Yukimura. He pins Yukimura's shoulders to the sand as he takes Yukimura in his arms, as he captures a kiss that steals Yukimura's breath, drowning him in sensation.
He groans and gives himself to the force, unable to hold back the passion threatening to explode when Sanada groans too.
Time passes in a haze of laughter and kisses and Sanada's hot flushes when his eyes go wide and his legs tense, right before he comes into Yukimura's hand, wrapped around his cock and urging him on, urging him with licks to his ear, and murmurs of "Sanada, please…" The sun dips in and out of the pregnant clouds overhead and the breezes off the water are cool and fresh as they lay there, panting and supine on the beach as their hearts slow, as their bodies cool.
His place, his beach is perfect. Secluded, yet open to the ocean that laps at their toes, that washes up around their ankles as Yukimura takes Sanada's hand in his and they run across the surf. The sheer elation of being together like this makes him smile, makes him laugh, makes him pull Sanada's arm around his shoulders again, leading into a new kiss.
Yukimura should be hungry, because they don't eat, nothing but each other: all eager tongues and tight nipples and swollen cocks. He should be tired, because they spend the morning, the afternoon, even the cool evening in and out of napping and kissing and rolling around on the sand. Yukimura laughs the first time when Sanada pulls his clothes off, peeling away the layers of t-shirt and pants and underpants, uncovering his naked body with blushes and murmurs and lambent kisses over his body. They're naked together, scared and aroused and ardent when palms spread over naked chests and hips for the first time. He pulls tiny strands of seaweed from Sanada's ass, his eyes wide and dancing when Sanada grumbles.
"It's not funny," Sanada mutters.
Yukimura tosses the seaweed bits into the surf and grins. Sanada doesn't grumble anymore when Yukimura's hands search his ass again, slipping between his legs, over that spot behind his balls that makes him come again and again until he sobs and begs for Yukimura to stop, to leave him be.
If his cellphone goes off, Yukimura ignores it. They doze in the late afternoon, then roll around again, this time with Yukimura on top, their cocks straining together as Yukimura rubs and rises, grinding down onto Sanada's waist until they're both mindless and panting with pleasure, gasping and grabbing at each other and covered in sand, too.
There is a comfort in knowing no one is here to disturb them, that nothing will come between them. Yukimura leans on Sanada's chest, sighing his contentment as Sanada's chin rests on his head. A warm arm wraps around his shoulders, sweaty and gritty with sand and smelling of the sea, that distinctive Sanada smell that makes Yukimura's toes curl.
I want to be like this always, he thinks.
Like this, he can do anything. He feels so light and airy, like the sea foam floating over the ocean and hissing in the crevices of rocks at the far end of the beach.
I could paint. I could play tennis. I could do everything and not regret a thing…
Yukimura smiles.
They watch the sun set together. Vaguely, Yukimura is aware he should be home, but he can't bring himself to move from Sanada's embrace. Not yet. Not yet! He's too warm, he's too comfortable, even naked and sticky and sandy. But they're naked and sticky and sandy together. If he had to, Yukimura could walk back home, proud and naked if his clothes were carried out to sea. Because he has Sanada with him again.
The light streaks fingers of blood over the water, and gold and amber too, colours dissolving into a violet, then indigo, then a wash of black that twinkles with the lights of the city, a blurred smear of yellow across the sea. The rock shelf they sit on is cold and clammy under Yukimura's bare bum. He shifts closer to Sanada, feeling the drops of water spray from the waves crashing softly around them.
The rush grows louder, not just water spray off the sea, but from above, too; Yukimura can feel the drips sluicing down his arms, over his face, over his legs. He looks at Sanada, who mutters, "It's raining."
Yukimura nods. He holds out his hand, catching the droplets in his hand for a moment, until he stands up, stretching out his aching, stretched limbs and his over-sensitized body. He swallows. His eyes drift up the cliffs to the dunes where he left his bike.
It can't be over yet, he thinks. Yukimura swallows again. His heart feels heavy and his shoulders sink with the realization the day is done.
But as the rain picks up, pattering down onto their bodies with a cool wash that makes Yukimura shiver, something takes his hand. He looks down, seeing Sanada's fingers twining with his. Sanada's grip is strong and firm, just like his gaze is now.
"I know a place," he says. And then they run. Yukimura lags behind, his feet catching in the swollen waves. The hours of lethargy, of rubbing and kissing and touching make his body sluggish and slow. It's a dream he hasn't been able to wake from, and the ethereal feeling of the light rain dancing over his body only heightens the effect. Sanada says something. Yukimura laughs. Sanada's hand tightens, encouraging Yukimura on as they jog towards the caves, splashing through the water toward the deep rocky crevices kissed by the tides.
He doesn't ask how Sanada knows this place. He doesn't ask where they're going, or why, he just follows Sanada's lead. Maybe he's filled with foolish, fuzzy puppy love, but Yukimura lets Sanada guide him through thigh-deep water around a cliff, then into a tight crevice in the rock.
"Careful," Sanada says.
"I won't get careless!" Yukimura says, teasing Sanada with a laugh. Sanada says nothing, he just guides Yukimura on into a hidden grotto.
They climb onto a large rock shelf, half in the water and half out. The water is cooler here and Yukimura gasps at the rush of air that hits his body when he curls up around Sanada on the dry part of the rock. They are surrounded by cliff on three sides, but the rain is weaker here. An oculus streams wavering, pearly moonlight down onto the water around them, reflecting their faces too.
"I…" Sanada exhales as Yukimura rests his face on his chest, listening to Sanada's thumping heart. He presses a kiss to Sanada's nipple, licking at the hardness that forms. "I have something to say," Sanada says. He sucks in his chest. Yukimura drags his teeth over Sanada's nipple, flicking it with his tongue before pulling back for a moment.
"Just…" Yukimura sighs, and it turns into a long yawn. He burrows his face into the crook of Sanada's neck, seeking the comfortable heat of his body. "In a bit…" he whispers as his eyes drift. The sound of the rain falling all around them and Sanada's breathing lulls him into an easy doze and Yukimura sinks down, into Sanada's arms and then into sleep.
Splash. Plink. Plonk.
And then a groan.
A rumbling noise, a deep-set vibration under Yukimura's body that isn’t the sound of the crowds cheering him on the tennis court at all. He blinks, remembering the day as the fragments of his dream fade. He remembers the frolicking on the beach and Sanada, naked and glorious as he rose from the water. Yukimura nuzzles his cheek against the warm chest underneath his face. He slings his leg further over Sanada, feeling the hard, dry scales-
Scales?
He opens his eyes and rubs them with balled fists. Yukimura shakes his head, confused for a moment when he looks up to see Sanada's face, when he hears Sanada's laboured, wheezing breathing and hears the sound of another splash in the water.
His eyes adjust to the moonlight as he looks around, moving his legs away from the odd hard object moving under his thigh. The smell of fish is thick.
And then his blood freezes solid.
Between his legs isn't Sanada's naked thigh, it's a large, gleaming tail. A fish's tale. Yukimura scrambles off, gasping and shrieking when his eyes trail up the tail, over the silvery scales, up to a patch of stomach and navel and chest and neck with weird things rasping on the sides, flapping open and closed and then up higher, still, to the face.
To Sanada's face.
Yukimura screams. Sanada shakes his open, mouth open and gaping as Yukimura runs off the rock, runs to the edge of the rock shouting, "OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!?!" Sanada drags himself by his arms closer and Yukimura kicks, hitting Sanada in the shoulder hard enough to make him hiss.
"Yukimura-"
But Yukimura has seen it and he screams again. "Get away FROM ME! WHAT ARE YOU!?" he kicks again and Sanada's face crumples, he shakes on his elbows, his eyes big and black and shiny like a fish's before he makes a strangled noise and heaves himself off the rock, dragging his body and that- that tail into the water with a loud, flopping splash.
Yukimura scrambles into the water, screaming and slapping his arms on the surface. "WHAT ARE YOU!? GET AWAY! GO AWAY! YOU FREAK! YOU FREAK! YOU MONSTER!!"
*--+--~--I--~--+--*
The cave is dark, gloomy even. Dusk settles for a second night-or maybe a third or forth, Sanada has lost count. He curls up in a deep crevice, his tail tucked around himself. He cringes when he feels his gills moving, breathing. Yukimura hated them. Yukimura hated him.
He should have known better.
A fresh sob rises, a hiccup out of his gills and a bubble of air floats out, up to the top of the cave where it hovers, a reminder of the air above, some fifty metres to the surface, maybe more. The evening hums with life, even on the seafloor, as the crabs and stingrays come out, and the eels, too, peeking out of their holes. The water moves around him, even at the back of his cave where he's retreated.
He can't leave this place.
No one wants him.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. Sanada sinks to the floor, his face pressed to the sand and the corals and anemones shift and flow outside.
A shadow passes across the front of the cave. Sanada buries his head deeper. Go away, he thinks. A moan vibrates softly in his throat, the never-ending ache a dull, stabbing sword in his chest.
"Yo!" a voice calls out.
Sanada hides his face, staring into the rocky wall, littered with tiny creatures, all swaying in the ocean current, all hopeful for an evening meal. He knows who it is, swimming into the cave with seamless glides. He knows the crested tuft on the top of that head, a toothy smile flashing a little too dangerously at him.
Sanada turns away from it. "Leave me alone," he mutters. His voice cracks and even though he's fifty metres under, his mouth feels as dry as on land. His throat is tight, choked off and his body trembles again, ready to release another pathetic sob.
"You all right?" he asks. A single squinty eye looks at Sanada, then a tail pokes his side. "Haven't seen you in a while," Chitoseel says. "Whadda you been up to?"
Sanada says nothing. He jerks his shoulder, unable to even glare at Chitoseel and make him leave. He stares at the wall, his eyes welling up with that odd, teary sensation of crying he never felt before he became a human. And now, he feels it still. Now, those human emotions weigh him down, dragging him deeper and deeper. He feels so heavy he could sink below the ocean floor and disappear forever.
Chitoseel makes a noise, and then a bright glow illuminates the cave. Sanada raises a hand to his eyes; the light blinds him as Chitoseel swims off, sparkling into the darkened waters when he waves his tail in goodbye.
"If you ever need help," he shouts, "you know where my patch of reef is!"
That night, Sanada rolls the family rock in front of the entrance of his cave. He doesn't want to be bothered by anyone. He wants to swim under the rock and die. Yukimura was his reason to live. Yukimura was his reason to try.
I should have known better, he thinks, blinking away the sting in his eyes. I shouldn't have tried. His stomach knots up, pain spiking through his chest as though a sting ray has cut him straight through to the heart. His stomach throbs. His head is pounds. The cave smells of stale water and fish poo and strands of slime litter the edges of the cave.
But he doesn't care anymore.
Sanada curls his tail up again and huddles into himself, hating his tail. Hating the scales that cover half his body. His fingers rise to touch the flapping gills at the side of his neck. They probe the edges of the slits, then stick, shoving deep down in. He clenches his teeth, wanting to rip the gills off but he just chokes on air. Sanada digs his fingers into the hard, scaly mass of his tale and he wants to take a coral sword and slice it off like sushi, then prove to Yukimura he could…
Sanada's stomach heaves again. The knowledge that he can't change sinks in, covering him in a cold chill of reality. He's already bleeding inside.
What's a bit more…? he thinks.
It was so perfect, that day, when he and Yukimura kissed at last. When he and Yukimura touched at last. He felt things he never had before-true desire, when Yukimura's hands wrapped around his swollen cock and squeezed, pumping once or twice before he spilled himself, gasping Yukimura's name, feeling the flush of love warm him, although his skin was cool.
It was so perfect, and it could have lasted, maybe just a little longer, if only he'd remembered to have transformed before midnight. The water was so close and he forgot, relishing instead the heavy warmth of Yukimura's sleeping body cradled against his chest.
As beautiful as it was, the memory aches. Because everything is replaced by the horrified sneer on Yukimura's face, the stain of shock across his features and then the echoes of his screaming as he yelled and kicked and then ran from Sanada.
Ran from Sanada.
Ran
from
Sanada.
Outside, the tiny marine eels are singing as they emerge from their pits, their chorus a cheerful song of innocence that pains Sanada. They don't know what waits for them when the fishing trawlers come. They don't know how humans don't know, don't want them, the same way Yukimura doesn't want him.
Sanada starts to shake again and his throat fills with mucus as the tears stain the sea water with a new saltiness. He hears the sound of the eels' chorus break for a moment as something rumbles past his cave, but he just squeezes his eyes shut against the newest looming shadow.
Though the slit between his cave and the large stone, a single massive eye peeks inside. An eye rimmed with a dark circle. A paper is pushed inside, the colours washed off from weeks, months of being underwater, though the faintest shading of blue remains.
A lone tentacle manages to wedge its way into the cave, and the creature frowns. The tentacle pats Sanada on the back once, before it slips back out of the cave, and Tezuka swims away.
*--+--~--M--~--+--*
He's furious.
He's beyond furious.
Yukimura pedals faster and faster, swooping up hills and coasting down the valleys. He veers behind back alleys, seething into the wind and screaming his frustrations into the ferocious speed he picks up as he cycles. Behind the malls, along the sides of expressways, around the basketball courts at the university, he pedals and rides and pedals some more. His hands dig into his handlebars so tight that his knuckles go white. He avoids the sea because the sight of the water and the fishy smell remind him too much of that day. It makes bile rise in his throat-angry and scorching because Sanada was a merman.
Gross! he thinks. Yukimura rises in his seat, stretching his legs down as he coasts around a corner. The flashing lights of traffic and the horns honking at him are reminders that he could get smucked at any minute if he crosses the eight-lane road before the light turns.
He purses his lips and grinds his teeth. Fine! Yukimura dings his bell over and over until the cars stop honking at him and his bell is the loudest.
The light goes green. Yukimura pushes down hard on the pedal and goes. He pumps his legs until his muscles strain. His hair flips back-he didn't bother with a helmet tonight either. The lights of the arcade that he rides through shine, blurring into one mass of red, yellow, continuous stream of colour and blaring Lucky Star and pachinko balls.
He has no destination in mind, he just needs to do this. He can't sleep without flashes of that cold, scaly tail between his legs. He can't rest without the sounds of the flopping and splashing under his bed, the damned eels in the damned container that he saved for that damned fishboy-
Yukimura exhales, groaning his way through a turn into a dark side street. His bike crunches PET bottles and shards of broken glass underneath his tires, jerking the ride and making his bike skid to the side. He sideswipes a tin wall, a little garden shack that shakes and bangs as his body slams into it, then he keeps going.
In school, Akaya bothers him, asking if he's okay. "Buchou, you have bags under your eyes," he says. It's lunch time. Yukimura eats sushi from the cafeteria, stuffing his face with salmon rolls and roe faster than Marui can shovel down his three ramen cups.
"Is Sanada-kun returning soon?" Yagyuu asks. "I've collected his homework for the past three days, but-"
"He mighta gone back home," Niou says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back on his heels, whistling to Jackal to come and eat with them.
Now, they eat as a group, conspiring and guessing over Sanada. Two days, Yukimura has had to put up with the questions. Two days of Akaya being a pest and pouting and whining about some dumb tennis move Sanada promised to show him. Or asking why Yukimura is looking at his fried whale bento like that.
Yukimura grinds his teeth.
"Sanada-kun-" Yagyuu says.
"-Sanada," Niou says.
"Sanada-fukubuchou-" from Akaya and "Sanada" from Jackal. "Genichirou blah blah blah" from Yanagi and nothing from Marui, because he's too busy playing Second Life on Akaya's cellphone. He concentrates on the stupid game with his tongue between his teeth and then he says "Sanada, come on, ask him out, you oaf!"
And Yukimura has had it.
He throws Akaya's whale bento onto the floor. He throws his own sushi set off the edge of the stairwell railing. As it clatters to the ground, three floors below he shouts:
"HE'S A FUCKING MERMAID, OKAY?"
Six pairs of eyes stare at him. Jackal's mouth hangs open and Marui stops chewing on his tongue. He stops chewing on his gum, too, because that drops to the floor as well. Akaya starts to laugh, that irritating, fake little sound that grates Yukimura's ears.
"Huh?" Niou says.
Yukimura's face is on fire, even though he has nothing to be embarrassed about. But the sudden scrutiny of his teammates-as well as the third years' math teacher poking her head around the corner to check-make Yukimura duck his head and clear his throat.
He groans.
Yagyuu's glasses have fallen down.
Yukimura clenches and unclenches his fist. He hates this, this explaining thing. He can lead, fine, he can say things, but-
Sanada's been the one to carry them out and deal with the nitty-gritty.
Yukimura shakes his head and wrings at the air. Jackal drops his lunch, his bag and rushes up to him, grabbing Yukimura on either side of his waist and asking, "Are you okay? Is it a relapse? Is it cancer?"
Yukimura shoves him off. Yanagi looks uncomfortable as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. In that instant Yukimura knows Yanagi knows.
"Sanada's probably just off in some hole he dug for himself," Marui says. "Or maybe he's visiting relatives."
"Or maybe he's a fucking mermaid!" Yukimura snaps. Akaya keeps laughing. The sound keeps making his ears bleed and his eye twitch. Before Akaya realizes, Yukimura has whipped around, slapping him on the face with suppressed anger because no one is taking him seriously!
Akaya doesn't even cringe. He mutters "Ow". Yukimura slaps him again, venting into the force of his palm, but he's the one who winces from the pain, not Akaya.
He can't even punish his kouhais right anymore.
Dammit!
Yukimura groans through his teeth, but his voice cracks up and he loses the impact of his anger. With a groan, he gives up, instead sitting back down between Marui and Akaya before he shakes his hands and spits, "He has a tail. He was the one who-"
"Pooped in the pool?" Jackal asks.
"Aa," Yanagi says. The staring eyes turn to him now, giving Yukimura a break. As Yanagi starts to speak exhaustion floods over Yukimura's body and a heaviness settles down on his shoulders; the impact of all these sleepless nights finally take a toll as the secret comes out.
"He appears to be from the species Homomaritimus Sapiens," Yanagi says. "Or, as commonly called, a merperson. For an indeterminate period of the day, at least," he adds with a small smirk.
"Wait-Sanada's a dugong?" Jackal asks.
"Naw," Niou says. He clicks his tongue and circles Yanagi, pointing his finger. "Dugongs are mammals. Sanada's more like a sea bass, ne Data Master?"
Yanagi opens his mouth, then he closes it carefully. "Aa…yes," he manages. "Perhaps more akin to the Giant Sea Bass. It is a fish native to the Northern Pacific Ocean. With its conspicuous size and a curious nature, it is surprising that relatively little is known about its behavior and biology. There are published reports of giant sea bass reaching a size of 2.5 m-"
"Gross," Akaya says.
"I can't believe I didn't notice," Yagyuu mutters. Niou sidles up to him and whispers something in his ear. Yukimura happens to be close enough to be able to hear Niou murmur, "There's a lot you haven't noticed, babe."
Marui pokes at his bento, continuing to eat his rice as Yanagi goes on about something, measurements and statistics and by the way, Akaya, no it wasn't a first year who pooped in the pool, that was a lie to keep the tennis team quiet.
"I love a good clam bake," Marui says. He sighs and stares off into space. His chopstick clatters when it hits the cellphone on the ground, the music still chiming as his Second Life Sanada moves around.
Ironically, swimming in his swimming pool.
Yukimura drags his feet through afternoon classes. He drags his racket through tennis practice, thankful in the back of his mind that Yanagi pinky-swore the team to secrecy.
"It would be bad form if the other tennis clubs knew we admitted mythical creatures," he explained. "Rikkai could be accused of cheating."
Yukimura wants to crawl into bed instead of dealing with this garbage, all the sly looks and snickering. The pre-regulars still ask, still bother him about when Sanada-fukubuchou will come back, but they seem awfully cheerful as they jog through the ten laps Yukimura assigns.
He leans back on the bench, his eyes heavy and his limbs sluggish. The hollow ping pong sound of the tennis balls all around is the only thing that keeps him from lolling back into a sleep.
He needs the cool breeze off the sea, the low rushing noises of the ocean, the sun-warmed sand under his feet, Sanada's arms around his-
No! he thinks. Yukimura shakes his head furiously and blinks. "No!" he hisses to himself.
Marui flops down beside him, panting and puffing rather loudly for only having practiced twenty minutes. He exhales and catches his breath, clenching the side of the bench as he asks, "Dude, Yukimura, how long has Sanada been a mermaid?"
Over his shoulder, Jackal adds, "How did you find out?"
Yukimura grunts and waves his hand. He wants to tell them to go away, to leave him alone, but his face feels hot; the memory of touching, kissing, humping Sanada is too real and too recent. He kicks himself inside for being so foolish, for not realizing before that Sanada was a freak. Of course nothing good would come of his presence. Of course nothing good would have ever come of making out with him because Yukimura always got the short end of the stick. Being sick as a kid. Losing the third nationals title. Having a relationship with a gay mermaid!
Bitterness fills his mouth, and he nearly gags when Marui pokes him in the leg, repeating his question. Yukimura would slap him like he slapped Akaya, except his hand still throbs faintly.
"Fuck off," he mutters. "Your form is sloppy and we have a tournament coming up."
He doesn't have the energy to ride home. He walks his bike, listening to the squeak of the wheel. His tennisbag weighs his shoulder down. He shuffles and scuffs his shoes, almost walking out into traffic more than once because his eyes are too tired, his vision too blurry to see the lights properly.
Climbing the stairs to the apartment is agony. His body is worn out, and his heart is too. Yukimura sniffles when a gust of wind brings fresh pollen and petals and dust, swirling it around him as he mounts the stairs, one at a time, his feet clomping up home.
He's too tired to even think about riding his bike around tonight. He's too tired to even think about playing tennis until his palms bleed, the way he did two nights before, slamming balls and screaming at the cement divider wall in the nearest streetcourts by Jackal, Marui and Akaya's elementary school.
Yukimura grunts at his mother when he comes inside. He peels off his sneakers, dumps his bags and shuffles into his bedroom. His room stinks of something fishy and when he falls back onto his bed, he can hear the tiny splashes underneath his mattress. From the Tupperware bin under his bed.
He closes his eyes and curls onto his bed. A breeze rustles his curtains, rattling the papers stacked up on his desk, forms to fill out before the district prefecturals in a couple weeks. He tries to let his body sink into the sleep it craves but he keeps hearing them under his bed.
Stupid eels, he thinks. Yukimura sniffs and rolls onto his side, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it against his ear. Underneath it, he breathes stuffy, recycled air from that stinks of Akaya's fried whale he'd pilfered at lunch.
It makes him want to retch.
That, and the tiny splashes, the muffled sounds of swimming under his bed make it hard. They prick his stomach with guilt. He squeezes his eyes, willing the eels to shut up and die and leave him be because he never wanted them in the first place, they were a present for Sanada but…
A hot, wet tear slides down his nose, staining the musty sheets he breathes in. Groaning, Yukimura tosses his pillow across the room and grabs an energy bar from his tennisbag. His breath catches in his chest-along with his heart-when he slides the bin out from under his bed and opens it.
The sight of the eels is painful. Their pitiful eyes stare up at him, beady and hungry and neglected. They're thin and their usual frantic wriggling has been reduced to lame flopping. A sob surfaces in his throat, cut off only by his own guilt at leaving the eels alone because he's been angry at Sanada and blaming them.
"I'm…I'm sorry," Yukimura mutters. As he crumples up the energy bar and drops it into the bin, a second tear runs down his cheek, falling into the eels' water before he starts to cry. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry…"
*--+--~--U--~--+--*
If he was still on the surface, he might be practicing tennis right now. He might be walking home with Yukimura, his hands aching in a good way from holding his racket tight as he worked on a new move-maybe perfecting his Rai, to be as fast as lightning and strike from anywhere on the court. It would have been perfect to use, to try out and play a game against another team, to win with Yukimura…
Instead, he slinks in his cave, at the bottom of the ocean, and sighs. His chest always aches, that omnipresent push on his ribs, crushing him with the weight of loneliness, of depression.
Of heartache.
Because his heart is broken, Sanada knows that.
He shouldn't feel these things anymore, not as a merman. He should be once more unconcerned with trivial human emotions, and yet he can't even leave his cave. He curls up in the water at the back, near the wilted, swaying sea weeds, feathery against his tail when he brushes up against them.
All he thinks about is Yukimura. It's been a week, maybe more. It feels like forever: the days bleed into the next as his heart weeps. Outside, he can hear the eels rising for the evening as the last of the sunlight dims at the surface. Their song tonight is plaintive and low, barely more than a hum.
Sanada sniffles. Their sound is sad. He sniffles and his chest heaves, a sob threatening to rise again. He buries his head in the sand, trying to drown the sound of the eels out, but he can't. Their song vibrates on the ocean floor, their motions moving with the swollen waters of dusk. The tide will be in soon, and with it, the darkness.
The moon penetrates deep enough that pearly shadows will light up the ocean floor. But in Sanada's cave, the family rock blocks nearly everything out. He wants to be left alone, where nothing can reach him, where nothing can hurt him. He wants to be left alone forever.
Without Yukimura, there is nothing.
Sometimes, he thinks he could swim to the surface and beach himself near where he and Yukimura first kissed. He could lie there, out of the water, until his lungs collapsed and his gills sucked the dry, hard air of the land. But thoughts of being found by anyone but Yukimura stop him. Yukimura would probably laugh and kick his shriveled corpse back into the ocean.
"You freak!" he'd scream. "You belong in there!"
In the water. Away from Yukimura.
"Yukimura…" he whispers. The name is a bubble that rises from his lips and hovers on the top of his cave.
Sanada rests his face on the sandy floor, closing his eyes as best he can. Merpeople don't close their eyes to sleep, but humanity taught him the appreciation of the darkness it can bring. He needs the darkness. He needs the cold black of night to wash over his body and consume him, to wash these thoughts of Yukimura away-the good memories that prick his eyes, and the sad, sore ones that prick his heart, too.
The sea is alive, though. The faint scuttling noise not far from his cave keeps him awake. The crab moves slow and sure across the sea floor. Scuttle scuttle. Then a pause, and it will start again. Scuttle scuttle scuttle. The crab walks with a purpose, skittering and scuttling sideways as it moves toward the shallows.
The sound is soothing, rhythmic and regular, until it disappears into the din and the sad song of the eels takes over, only adding to the ache Sanada feels, penetrating deep into his cartilage.
*--+--~--R--~--+--*