FIC: Accidentally All Right (Kirihara/Yanagi, NC17, 1/3)
Title: Accidentally All Right (1/3)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Kirihara/Yanagi + others
Wordcount: 24 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Lots of boobs, a few pubes and the crotchless panties. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire manga series.
Summary: Kirihara discovers something about Yanagi-senpai.
Author's notes: This is one-shot fic related to Dénoument and We'll Always Have Kanagawa. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together. Written for Yanagi's birthday 2008. Happy Birthday Yanagi!
This fic has been truncated into 3 parts due to length. The parts are NOT chapters. This is a one-shot fic.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
The furins are chiming. There is a warm summer breeze, the sort that makes you want to stay out on the balcony all night, under the blanket of milky stars. The laundry flutters as it's picked up. Kirihara leans on the metal railing, warm and damp under his arms. Between the punctuating trains, there is nothing but the rush of traffic below and the plinking chimes.
Renji brings the laundry in. It billows like white ghosts, the sheets and the shirts and the underpants. His back is long and narrow, but his hips are wider. He moves with easy motions, comfortable like the weather.
It is a perfect summer night. Kirihara is twenty-eight. He sets his beer down on the floor of the balcony and steps behind Renji, sliding his arms around the waist he knows so well. On his toes, he can press his chin to Renji's shoulder.
"Akaya?"
"Hn?"
Kirihara can feel Renji breathe with a smile. He smiles too. There are distant, glowing lights from the suburb down below. Up here on the apartment balcony, the breeze is the best, nothing to obstruct or stop it. Renji's neck is warm on Kirihara's lips. His eyes flick to the sliding glass door. The tv is on inside, glowing with colours that Genki and Kento watch from their show. In the kitchen, Natsuko reads a book, probably some old copy of Renji's that has been lying around for months-or for years. The window is open. Cross breezes float through the apartment, dissolving the unbearable heat of day. The baby is already asleep.
"Akaya?"
"Hn?"
Renji sets the laundry hamper down. He turns to Kirihara's face; their lips meet in a slow, soft kiss that Renji deepens. His mouth is wet and hungry. Kirihara bites his lips, grazing his teeth over them until Renji's moans join the tinkling chimes hanging above their heads.
"Stay out here a little while more," Renji says.
Kirihara shifts his eyes. The backs silhouetted against the tv don't turn around. He places a hand on Renji's hip, kneading his skin beneath the bunching apron. Against the cool cement partition wall blocking off the neighbour's view, they kiss again.
It's the number one place to be alone at home.
***
It's an accident, it's completely an accident.
He doesn't mean to forget his racket in the clubhouse.
Kirihara does what Yukimura says. He waits outside with the other guys. He tries not to look at Sanada's boobs (like buchou does). He tries not to look at Jackal's butt (like Marui does). He tries to avoid Niou (like Yagyuu tries to do), but Niou sometimes suckerfishes him during laps. He feels the burn of boobs on his shoulders. Scrubbing in the showers doesn't make it go away.
The girls come out from the clubhouse. Kirihara waits. He bounces from foot to foot. Yukimura looks at Sanada. Sanada blushes, but he lets Yukimura hold his hand.
They're dating.
Ew, Kirihara thinks.
It’s team Friday. They always eat out.
Kirihara runs back into the clubhouse. The lights are all still on and someone is in the showers-water rushes. It must be Yanagi-senpai, Kirihara thinks. Yanagi was working on a schedule, or something. Boring shit that Kirihara really doesn't care about much yet. He unlocks his locker. He throws out the pile of dirty uniform shirts. They stream across the damp floor. No racket.
Kirihara scratches his chin. “It’s gotta be around here somewhere. I know I brought it in with me.”
He peeks around the corner, checking along the row of trophies in the cabinet. No racket leaning there, either. There is nothing except the golden shine of three years’ worth of nationals wins and fifteen years of regionals medals.
Kirihara’s insides flip-flop. He doesn’t know how to explain to his mom if he needs another 10 000 yen for a new racket. He’ll be grounded for a month. He's going to be buchou in a month. It won't look good. Half the freshmen quit last week when they thought Sanada's girlitis was contagious.
Kirihara kicks one of his t-shirts from the pile. It smells like mould. Marui’s gotten lazy with his cleaning duties this week. Too many girls making him too distracted and even buchou hasn't noticed yet. Kirihara crinkles his nose-grossed out-but there is definitely no racket hiding there.
Running water echoes through the clubhouse. Kirihara shoves everything back into his locker. He grabs his tennisbag and walks down the tiled hallway. “Senpai, are you in there?” he calls. “Have you seen my racket?” Kirihara pokes his head around the corner. The haze of water droplets in the air is thick. Yanagi-senpai whips his head around, black hair plastered over his face.
“Have you seen my…”
Kirihara stops talking.
Yanagi makes a funny noise in the back of his throat.
His senpai is naked-not that Kirihara hasn’t seen this before. Yanagi isn't a prude, either. But never, ever, not in a hundred million years did Kirihara expect to see Yanagi like this.
Kirihara makes a funny noise in the back of his throat too.
Yanagi’s still tall. He still looks the same in the face. From behind, he's skinny and pale and his butt is flat and his muscles move under his skin. His arms and legs are the same, too, but his chest looks weird. It's like he has the manboobs that some of the OBs get from working out so much.
When Kirihara’s eyes move downward, then he knows they aren’t manboobs of muscle.
Yanagi has nothing between his legs. No dick, just a dark…patch…of…
Kirihara's mouth hangs open.
"You-you’re a girl!"
***
It's late May. He just got back from the French Open two days ago. Kirihara sleeps until noon, but he's still jetlagged. It should be six am, but instead it's after one. The irises in the pots on the balcony that Yukimura gave to them have started to bloom. The flowers are purple and blue and fragrant and the stalks sway in the spring breeze.
Kirihara stumbles into the shower. His foot steps on something hard and plastic. "Ow," he says. He blinks. There is a Barbie on the tile floor.
He scrubs the airplane gunk from his skin, but it never really leaves. Kirihara sleeps through his flights, always. And always, he's never rested. The water feels good on his back. He slept the wrong way. His neck still has a crick, despite the comfy leather seats in business class.
Being abroad isn't the same without his family. His futon is gone. Renji's warm body is gone. The sound of children never follows him to the hotels in Europe and America. Even the damn Barbies in the bathroom-he misses those too.
Kirihara uses Renji's soap. It smells good, but a little girly. He doesn't mind because it makes him think about Renji and licking his neck and boobs and cunt. Kirihara cups his dick and masturbates a bit, until he's hard, but not panting. The Barbie doll staring at him from the shower rack kills the desire to finish.
Plus, he's hungry.
He pulls on a pair of boxers and pads into the kitchen. Hana-chan sits on the floor with a spread of Barbies around herself. Kirihara bites back a laugh. He pulls on Renji's apron string. Renji blinks, then he turns around. A smile curls across his lips and he sets down the spoon.
"You're up," he says.
Kirihara scratches the back of his head, then he scratches his stomach. "Yeah," he says. He yawns and Renji hands him a cup of tea and a doughnut. There is a pot of curry on the stove. Kirihara stuffs the doughnut into his mouth. Hana-chan pulls a Barbie head off. Renji rolls his eyes.
"Whatcha making?" Kirihara asks. He looks over Renji's shoulder and his hand slides down Renji's side. He's missed this. He's missed rubbing his head on Renji's shoulder. It feels comfortable and homey to set his chin in the crook of Renji's neck.
Renji swats his head. Kirihara pulls away. He looks up to see a pot of curry, the colour of duck poop in Yamashita Park. "What is that?" he asks. He scrunches up his nose. Hana-chan keeps beheading Barbies. She offers one to Kirihara.
"Daddy?" she asks.
"No thanks," Kirihara says.
"It's a recipe from a friend," Renji says.
"It looks like poison," Kirihara says. The pot starts to bubble. It turns a shade of green with each burst on the surface.
"That may be true," Renji says. He stirs the pot, swirling the green around more. "Hn. I followed the recipe…"
"Hungry, Daddy?" Hana-chan asks. She holds up another Barbie head and smiles at him. Kirihara's chest feels tight for a moment, but in a good. He crouches down and takes the Barbie.
"Thanks," he says.
"It's my number one," she says. "Number one Barbie."
***
Akaya,” Yanagi says. It's the third time, or maybe the fourth. “You cannot tell anyone.”
Kirihara stares at his shoes. His shoelaces are muddy. His toes push against the end of his sneakers. He’ll have to ask his mom to buy another pair before his birthday.
Kirihara looks up, but Yanagi clears his throat, so Kirihara keeps his eyes down. His face feels hot. He wants to tell his senpai to change in the bathroom, but he doesn’t want to be insolent-whatever that means.
At least Yanagi turns his back. From here Kirihara can’t tell that he’s a girl. He thinks that Yanagi has been turning around a lot lately in the change rooms. More than he used to. That would probably explain a lot.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Yanagi says. He pokes Kirihara in the chest, pushing him back up against the row of lockers. Kirihara nods. He tries to look away. Yanagi stares him down worse than Sanada.
Something clatters overhead.
“My racket!” he says.
Yanagi reaches up. Then he hands Kirihara a racket. Kirihara hesitates. Yanagi's eyes narrow. For a second, Kirihara winces and expects Yanagi to whack him on the shins. Instead, Yanagi just zips up his jacket. He looks like a boy again.
"Tell anyone and you're 100% dead," he says.
Kirihara gulps.
***
Sanada and Yukimura come over and they bring their baby. Sanada plunks him on the floor with Hana-chan. If he was a chick, maybe he'd think it was cute seeing the two of them toddle off together to play with blocks or tie on the wii cables, but Kirihara isn't.
"Beer?" he offers. Yukimura nods.
Yukimura and Sanada come for dinner sometimes. Kirihara doesn't mind, though the apartment isn't all that big. It's family-sized and has a balcony with a tray of vegetables and shiso in a pot. Yukimura brings Renji small pots of flowers from his garden: sometimes, Renji over-waters them. Sometimes they dry out and shrivel up. Sometimes, the plants survive when Natsuko takes care of them in the window sill. She lines the pots up in her bedroom. "This one is Basho," she says. "And this is Natsume." She points to another.
Kirihara doesn't get it.
Renji smiles. "Soseki?"
Natsuko nods. "Of course." She smiles. Her face looks like Renji's. It makes Kirihara's insides feel warm in the same way when he won the All-Asia Open title.
Kirihara doesn't mind when Yukimura and Sanada come over. He and Yukimura sit on the couch. They nurse beers. On-court competition sizzles under the surface. It never really disappears.
"The flight home could have been better," Yukimura says. "I was next to a salaryman from Korea." He shakes his head. "Didn't get a wink of sleep."
Kirihara nods. He slept most of the flight. It was an intermittent sleep and he woke up twice with cramps in his legs. Now, he's used to the long hours on airplanes. The stale air becomes second nature, but the jetlag is ever-present. Kirihara yawns. Yukimura laughs.
In the kitchen, Sanada says, "Tarundoru!" Yukimura laughs again. Kirihara cranes his neck to see. Sanada shakes his head at Renji's stew. "This is disgusting," he says.
"Terrible," Yukimura adds. He doesn't bite back a smile. Sanada glares at him. It makes Kirihara snicker. He wonders when they'll all be real grown-ups. He's twenty-eight, but he still doesn't feel like an adult.
"It's good that you brought the soba salad," Renji says. Sanada sniffs. There is a large, green Tupperware container on the table that he brought into the apartment. Kirihara looks at Yukimura. Yukimura raises his eyebrows above the rim of his beer can. Yukimura eats well at home. Kirihara and Renji order a lot of takeaway. Renji buys a lot of department store combos. The kitchen cupboards are stacked with more plastic takeaway boxes than lacquer bowls for miso soup, or oblong dishes for fish and gyoza.
Renji calls the sushi takeaway place. Sanada serves up soba salad. Yukimura uncorks a bottle of red wine that Kirihara bought at the duty-free in Charles de Gaulle last year. Kirihara knows nothing about wine. He makes a pinched face when he sips his glass. Renji pops in a shamisen CD and they pretend to be adults. The babies and Genki and Kento eat at the low table in the main row, nearby, but not out of earshot. Sanada keeps looking over his shoulder to check on them.
Renji looks at Kirihara. Kirihara laughs under his breath. Yukimura touches Sanada on the arm and says, "He's not going anywhere."
Sanada grunts.
Sanada and Yukimura stay until nine-ish. The sun sets in a red oblivion to the west. Renji washes dishes in the sink. Kirihara stands in the doorway of the open glass door to the porch. He watches a white Toyota drive off down the road until it recedes and disappears.
Then, there is a crash-there is always a crash at this time of night.
It comes from the bathroom. Kirihara looks inside. Kento is sprawled on the floor. There are broken bottles of foundation and toothbrushes scattered around him. Genki peeks out from the bathtub and looks shifty.
"What were you doing?" Kirihara asks.
"Nothing." Their voices chime together-it's never a good thing, but Kirihara doesn't really want to know. He glances at the digital clock by the mirror. His belly is hot with anticipation and his throat thick. He places a hand down on the side of the sink bowl.
"Get ready for bed," he says. Kirihara looks down his nose at them. He tries to use his biggest, sternest voice. When he turns around, he can hear both Genki and Kento start to snicker and whisper about ninjas.
***
Yanagi stands on the tennis court. It seems greener than ever. Maybe the school finally bothered to have it repainted. He looks at Kirihara with his narrow, dark eyes.
Kirihara plays the other side of the net, but his racket lies at his feet. If he wants to start playing, then he needs to pick it up. Instead he just stares at Yanagi. Yanagi walks up to the net with that little smile he makes whenever he’s thinking about doing something nasty to his opponent-or taking data.
Kirihara swallows. His palms sweat, so he wipes them off on his shorts. His shorts feel all funny too-tight and uncomfortable. Yanagi keeps walking towards him. His hips are moving. They sway the same way Kirihara’s sister moves when she walks. Kirihara’s eyes go wide. Yanagi closes his eyes and rests a hand on the net.
It’s illegal to touch the net! I’ll win the game! a little voice says.
“Do you have the balls, Akaya?” Yanagi asks. His voice is low and soft. He touches his mouth with his fingers. Kirihara’s heart pounds.
He can’t breathe when Yanagi leans on the net. His eyes never, ever leave Kirihara’s. Even though they are closed, they look deeper into Kirihara and make him squirm and shift his weight. His palms are all sweaty again and his pulse throbs, echoing in his ears. Yanagi runs his tongue over his top lip.
“Akaya,” he whispers.
Kirihara wakes up. He gasps so hard and sits up so fast that he bonks his head on the wall. He groans, then falls back on his bed. His skull throbs.
“That was just a weird dream,” he whispers. The floor creaks when he stumbles to the bathroom. In the dark, he fumbles with the junk his sister leaves everywhere and steals the first cup he finds.
Sweat trickles down his face and down his back.
Kirihara takes one sip of water, then dumps the rest over his head. His body feels hot and gross. He can’t shake the image of Yanagi licking his lips. His tongue was pink and his saliva was shiny and the way he said Kirihara’s name…
It makes Kirihara shiver.
He leans on the sink. His dick pushes against the edge. His pajama pants don’t feel all weird and tight and damp from growing pains, they feel all weird and tight and damp because his dream was a little more exciting that he thought.
“Dammit…” he says. He bangs his fist on the counter. His family is asleep. If they catch him awake and hitting things with his wet-dreamed-in pajama pants, he’ll be dead from the embarrassment.
Kirihara crawls back into bed and hugs his legs to his chest. The shadows move across his ceilings. Cars on the streets outside roll by and shine through his window. Kirihara closes his eyes. Yanagi whispers “Akaya…” in his ears. Kirihara’s stomach does flip-flops in a bad way.
He can’t go back to sleep now.
***
Renji folds his apron up. His motions are long and fluid. He probably knows Kirihara is watching him from the hallway, but in the half-light from the single lamp, Kirihara can't tell for certain.
"Is Natsuko in bed?" Renji murmurs.
Kirihara remembers to breath. His pants are tight. He swallows. As Renji walks toward him, his breathing is shallow and whistles through his nostrils. Over the years, Renji's body has changed. His hips have widened. His breasts have gotten a little bigger. He's tall and thin and he has big hands. Kirihara takes one and tugs. Renji allows himself to fall into Kirihara. They start to kiss.
Renji swats Kirihara away after a moment. "Not here," he says. He takes Kirihara's hands in his own and rubs his hips. They are hot through his clothes. Kirihara licks his lips. He kisses Renji again and growls.
Renji pulls them backwards to their bedroom. He digs his hands into Kirihara's ribs. Kirihara shrieks. He slides the door closed. The walls are thin, but they've never minded. Other people might spend nights at a love hotel, fucking on a king-sized bed that vibrates. Kirihara is just as content to jump Renji on their futons. If their kids hear, they've never said much. The sound machines that put them to sleep are usually on full blast with the tinkling sounds of shamisen and koi ponds: "temple mix", Renji called it.
The bedroom is the only Japanese-style room in the apartment. The tatami floor is a bit worn, but it absorbs the sounds of Renji peeling off Kirihara's pants. He stuffs his hands down Kirihara's underpants. Renji goes straight for the kill with his tongue in Kirihara's ear. Kirihara gasps. He bites Renji's neck. Renji squirms on the futon, bunching up the sheets that were never made this morning. His body is hot and slippery. His long legs are in the air, opening for Kirihara when he crawls down Renji's stomach. He tastes the salt between Renji's boobs and the fuzzy taste in his navel. Kirihara's dick is hard. He licks his lips.
Renji looks at him with slitted eyes. His hair is messed. He moans softly and touches Kirihara's hair. "Akaya," he mutters. His clothes are half-unbuttoned and his skirt is pushed up to his waist. The zipper is open. Kirihara tugs on Renji's panties with his teeth, then his fingers. He can smell Renji: musky and alive. His heart beats faster. His dick fills with blood until he's at breaking point. The pressure behind his eyes grows until his pupils pop out. Renji bucks his hips when Kirihara's tongue slides over the inside of his thigh. His breathing is shuddered. His stomach shakes.
Kirihara licks his cunt. Renji pants. He moans and mewls. Renji's thigh shivers and he squeezes his legs together. Kirihara pries them apart with his hands. He licks Renji's clit and the inside, too. His tongue moves in and around the folds. Renji cries and tells him he's number one. Kirihara slips a finger inside: Renji is hot and wet. Kirihara curls his finger up and presses. Renji's cunt tightens around his index and he comes, Kirihara's name always on his lips.
They have sex once, twice after: half-clothed and then naked. Kirihara will never get tired of this. Even now, years later, his heart skips a beat when Renji's face softens and his moans quicken as Kirihara pushes his dick inside. Their skin is sticky and their kisses sloppier as Kirihara thrusts. Renji rolls over the second time. He's on top of Kirihara and bouncing. Light from the night skyline of the city streams in through the papery window. Renji's skin is pearly and his breasts have a slight bounce. Kirihara pushes deeper. Renji hisses. He pushes down on Kirihara. His hips grind down. He scratches Kirihara's arms and the pain feels good as it mixes with their orgasms.
After, Renji pulls on a yukata and reads part of a book. Kirihara lies across his lap. An idle hand combs through his hair. Kirihara sighs and he drifts into a boneless sleep.
There are plenty of women in Paris and Stuttgart if Kirihara wanted them, but it's good to be home.
***
The dreams only get worse.
At first, Yanagi just licks his lips. Then, he starts to unbutton his shirt. Kirihara knows that he should say “Stop!” and “Don’t!” but he can’t not look. Yanagi’s eyes are open: narrow and shining all at once. He bites his bottom lip. It's puffy and pink.
“Are you watching me, Akaya?” he asks. “Did you forget your…” Yanagi unbuttons another button. He sighs. Kirihara squirms, “…racket?”
Kirihara says nothing. He can't speak in his dreams.
Yanagi turns around. He glances over his shoulder as he slips his uniform shirt off. It's so slow, so achingly slow that Kirihara holds his tennis racket tighter. He makes a funny noise, like a squeak. Yanagi’s shoulder looks the same as usual-there is pale skin with a mole on the left side. His muscles shift. His shoulder blade moves. Kirihara's shorts feel funny and…
“Do you need some data, Akaya?” Yanagi asks.
The shirt falls to the floor in a white flutter.
Kirihara wakes up with his hand firm around his dick. His heart pounds. He bites his lip so his sister doesn’t hear through the wall. It’s wrong and weird, but he thinks about Yanagi’s long fingers stroking the buttons of his shirt until he comes with a grunt.
The wall thumps.
“Shut up, Akaya! I can hear you, you dickhead!” his sister yells.
Kirihara groans.
***
For Renji's birthday, they go to one of those American family restaurants, the sort that serves croquettes and hamburger patties and fried steaks and ramen. It's just Kirihara's sort of place. He orders a big plate of fries smothered in brown sauce and a hamburger patty. It comes with a fried egg on top.
Renji frowns and says nothing. He orders the tomato ramen. Genki and Kento order themselves cokes before Renji says no. Kirihara says nothing. The boys play with the ketchup bottles and shoyu and mix a mess into a spare water glass. Natusko rolls her eyes and Hana-chan claps. Their table is loud. Other customers stare. Kirihara feels a pang of guilt. He wishes he knew how to be more romantic, but Renji doesn't complain. He never mentions chic French restaurants or expensive first-edition books from the early Showa era. He never pitches fits like Yukimura says Sanada does and he doesn't kick Kirihara out onto the couch when he's had too much to drink, the way Marui says Jackal does.
His present is in Kirihara's jacket pocket. Kirihara drove straight from training at the university to the restaurant. It's out in the suburbs, across from a supermarket. There are bags of groceries underneath the table that Genki kicks. They rustle and packages of tofu and instant miso soup spill out.
"Stop it!" Kirihara snaps. "Can't you sit still for your mom's birthday?"
Genki pouts. Kirihara feels guilty for that too.
"It's okay," Renji says. He always gives into their kids. Kirihara sometimes wonders if that's why the elementary school teacher recommended ritarin last year. Kirihara only gives them Dimetapp cough syrup and that's only when they're sick sick.
Kento bounces an ice cube off the table. It skips across Hana-chan's high chair tray and skids across the floor. The other customers keep staring. Natsuko sighs and frowns. She looks so much like Renji that sometimes Kirihara's chest hurts. She's not much younger than Renji was when they first started all this, either. It's different with her, though. When the teenager across the row of booths waggles his eyebrows at Natsuko, Kirihara balls his fist. An urge to deck the brat rises in his belly. Renji touches his hand.
"Akaya," he says.
"Yeah yeah," Kirihara mutters. Guilt thickens in his throat, more than before. He'd totally ruin Renji's birthday this year if he picked a fight with a kid half his age in a Royal Host franchise.
He's never really sure about what Renji wants and it hurts. In bed, it doesn't matter. In bed, Renji gasps and moans and Kirihara can't think about the next second, let alone next week. It doesn't matter when he's fucking Renji, when Renji's bouncing on him, when he's slapping Renji's bum or Renji's clawing at his back. But in public, with his kids screaming and jumping on the table and Renji frowning and telling them off, even though they don't seem to listen, Kirihara really, truly wonders if this is what Renji wants with his life.
"SIT DOWN!" Kirihara yells.
Genki and Kento don't really listen to him. Not until Renji says, "If you two don't sit down right now, you'll have no arcade money for a month!" do they stop. Kirihara hangs his head. The fried egg congeals on top of the lumpy brown gravy. The food looks nowhere near as tasty as it did ten minutes ago.
"I'm sorry," Kirihara whispers under his breath.
Renji doesn't hear that, either.
***
“Good morning,” Yanagi murmurs.
Do you need some data, Akaya…
His tone is the same as the dream. It has the same low pitch and the same cadence. Kirihara shakes his head. No data!
“Akaya?” Yukimura asks. “Why haven’t you started your laps? Stop staring at Yanagi and get your ass in gear."
Kirihara's face burns hotter. He mumbles, "Yes buchou" and starts to run. He runs fifty laps, like they're supposed to, and then ten more, because he feels guilty for being weird. Plus, Yanagi hasn't finished his laps. Kirihara does his stretches. Marui and Yagyuu have finished. Kirihara could stretch with Niou (who seems to enjoy stretching his arms above his head and making his boobs squish up tight), or he could stretch with Jackal, but they're girls and that would be weird.
Only Yukimura stretches with Sanada.
Everyone is paired up and practicing at a court. The freshmen pick up balls. The juniors practice with each other. Jackal practices with Niou, whose tennis skirt flips up whenever Yagyuu looks over. Kirihara rubs his chin. He's not that dumb to be too dense to realize that Niou and Yagyuu are flirting in their own, weird gross way.
Yanagi stands near the basket of balls. Kirihara's got no partner and Yanagi is alone because Sanada waits for Yukimura who has to tell Marui off for stealing panties from Jackal's bag again, or whatever. It's just too creepy for Kirihara to care much.
But it's even creepier that Yanagi is a girl, too. Kirihara squeezes his eyes shut. Do you need some data, Akaya…? In his mind, Yanagi starts to unbutton his shirt and lick his lips. His nipples are stiff through the fabric, which is so thin that Kirihara can practically feel the hard pink little peaks under the cotton-
"Akaya?"
Kirihara's dick twitches in his shorts. He squirms and squeezes his eyes closed tighter. Yanagi says his name again. It might be a dream. It might be fake. Either way, Kirihara shakes his head fervently. He's got no one else to practice with and if he doesn't get his ass in gear, buchou will get angry. Yukimura's already been in enough moods since all this girl stuff happened.
Kirihara opens his eyes. Yanagi looks at him. He gives Kirihara a thin smile. Kirihara means to say, "Do you want to practice with me?"
But instead, he blurts, "Do you want to go on a date with me?"
It's entirely an accident. His eyes go wide. Yanagi blinks. Kirihara clamps a hand over his mouth. Blood drains from his face.
"All right," Yanagi says.
***
Kirihara leaves for London before he remembers that he forgot to give Renji his birthday present. He's standing in the middle of a terminal in Heathrow with a pair of sunglasses on. His manager caught the later flight. Kirihara's been here a dozen times now and he still can't read a word of English. A worker in a yellow suit approaches him. Kirihara backs up. He forces a laugh, then shouts, "Go away!"
The hotel is in the west part of the city, where there are Georgian terraces and large, leafy parks. Kirihara swears he sees Madonna jogging around near the supermarket and at dinner, in the curry restaurant, he swears he sees the bassist from Orange Range.
"Marui-senpai would be impressed," he mutters.
"What was that?" his manager asks.
Kirihara shakes his head and says it was nothing. His mouth is on fire from the curry. English curries are hotter than home, even if they do taste better than the green slop Renji sometimes makes from that recipe from a friend. He sighs. The present sits in his tracksuit jacket pocket still. He touches the edge of the paper with his fingers. The paper is worn and soft. Kirihara unfolds it under the table and reads what he's written. It's so cheesy that he cringes.
He's an idiot for forgetting. He kicks himself inside and he kicks the table leg with his sneaker. It slips and he hits the manager in the shin.
"Ow!" his manager snaps.
Kirihara winces at that, too. Deep down, he doesn't feel like the grown-up he's supposed to be. He's twenty-eight and he's got one grand slam under his belt, but that was a fluke the year Yukimura was out with a strained tendon and Roger Federer had just retired. Unlike Yukimura, with his worship-kick ass relationship with Andy Roddick, the only real rival Kirihara has is himself.
He's still not number one. Yukimura still beats him all the time in tournaments.
There's a message on his cellphone back at the hotel. Kirihara lazes on the bed. It's half-past nine and he's not really tired. He slept on the drive from the hotel to the courts this morning. He slept on the tube coming back to the hotel this evening. He doesn't know what time it is back home, but Renji is up and messaging him.
Im lonely
Kirihara blinks. Then his belly warms. A low fire burns in his dick. He checks the next message Renji sent two minutes later. Kirihara must've been on the tube then, because he doesn't remember his cell buzzing.
Im 84% naked
Yeah, Kirihara thinks. He closes his eyes and pictures Renji. Renji's probably lying in bed, right before the kids wake up for school. Kirihara licks his lips. Renji's probably got his yukata open at the waist and a hand between his legs. Kirihara shivers.
He clicks again. His pulse quickens.
Im thinkin of u
Renji's probably masturbating, rubbing his click nice and slow. He's probably got his eyes mostly closed in that way he knows drives Kirihara insane: eyelashes fluttering and pupils barely registering the fact Kirihara's got his own hand between his own legs now. He shifts his weight on his hip to tug his shorts down, but he rolls on something that crinkles. Kirihara takes his hand out of his underpants. He reaches into the pocket.
It's the present, crumpled more than ever.
He closes his eyes and groans. His erection flags and he sighs. Nervous tension rises inside. The longer he waits, the more he feels stupid for forgetting. The stupider he feels, the more his stomach twists with worry for the games this tournament. It's not even anything special because he's not bright enough to think of romantic things Renji might want.
Kirihara sighs again.
***
His palms are sweaty and his voice cracks when they meet at the top of the escalator in the movie theatre. Renji looks the same as usual: he came in his school uniform. "Hi," he says.
"He-ro," Kirihara croaks.
His face is on fire. He ducks his head and tries to walk away as fast as he can to the ticket line, but Renji follows him. Kirihara buys two tickets. He hands Renji the less sweaty of the two and jerks his hand away before their fingers can brush.
Renji has a weird little smile on his face. He's probably laughing at Kirihara inside. Kirihara winces. "Sorry," he mumbles. The movie is lame-it's not the sort girls want to watch, robots and explosions and blood and Bruce Willis.
"This is fine," Renji says. "I can buy the popcorn."
"NO!" Kirihara yells. "Girls don't pay!" His mouth drops a bit and he scratches the back of his head, laughing to dull the rising embarrassment that makes his cheeks warmer than ever. Yanagi frowns. His eyes narrow.
"Watch it!" he hisses. Yanagi shifts his eyes around the movie theatre. There's a few other people, but no one Kirihara recognizes and no one else in Rikkai Dai uniforms.
Kirihara hunches his shoulders to hide his head. "Sorry," he mumbles.
So far, the date isn't going very well. Kirihara wonders what the hell he was thinking in the first place. He wasn't-that's the problem. He blurted the first thing that came to mind. He's at that age where all girls make his dick hard and his head fluttery.
The two girls in front of him in line for popcorn giggle and talk about Tom Cruise. Kirihara taps his sneaker. "Jeez," he mutters. When they don't pay attention to the server who asks for the next customer, Kirihara rolls his eyes. "Can't you fucking hurry up?" he says under his breath.
Beside him, Renji coughs.
Kirihara's palms drip sweat onto the floor. His hair curls up more and his pants are way too tight. When he finally gets to the snack counter, his voice doesn't work and he has to point and grunt to the popcorn.
The theatre is too dark. Kirihara takes a seat in the middle-middle. It's a safe zone. There are people below. There are people behind. There are people to his right, a couple elementary school kids who don't look old enough for a PG13 movie the way Kirihara is. He sits down and holds his breath. There are empty seats five down the row, but Yanagi sits right beside him.
Their thighs brush.
Kirihara's heart patters doki doki. His dick is on fire. He wiggles. This isn't good! he thinks. He can't breathe when Yanagi takes the popcorn from him and their fingers brush. Kirihara pulls back. His fingertips are numb and there's a tense coil in his belly. It tightens when the movie starts. Yanagi sinks deeper into his seat. Kirihara sweats a puddle onto the sticky floor.
He forgets about Bruce Willis kicking ass onscreen. He forgets about the awesome explosions and the fiery gun fights. He forgets about the motorcycle chase with the cops and the blonde girl with the big, round boobies who has twenty foot cleavage. All Kirihara can think about is Yanagi's knee, which keeps tapping his every few minutes. He squirms back into his seat. He wriggles away and points his knees the other direction. Still, Yanagi's knee taps his.
It can't be a coincidence.
Kirihara's dick pokes through his pants. He's so hard his vision blurs. He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. He grabs the arm rest and digs his nails into the plastic. A tendon in his wrist pops. Kirihara screams in his head No no no! because this is weird and he's confused and he keeps seeing images of Yanagi unbuttoning his shirt and licking his lips and he has pubes and no dick and little boobs that Kirihara could bite if he wanted to-
Something touches the back of his hand. Kirihara turns his palm over. Only then does he get that there's a hand holding his. There are fingers slipping through his. There is a warm palm pressed to his.
His eyes fly open. He looks down, then up. Yanagi squeezes their hands, just enough for the sweaty mess to smush together. Yanagi smiles a little at him, then he turns back to the movie. Yanagi chews on a handful of popcorn. It crunches as Bruce Willis talks. The only word Kirihara understands is "Motherfucker".
His eyes roll back into his head and he can't read the subtitles anymore.
They walk home and hold hands. Kirihara can't stop thinking about it. He doesn't know if Yanagi is collecting data, or if it's really okay-but it must be, since Yanagi hasn't stopped. He can't stop thinking about his sweaty neck, or seeing Yanagi naked. He can't stop thinking about Yanagi.
There is a slight wind and the air is thick with the smell of flowers and something chemical. There's probably a storm coming. Hot air blows at the back of Kirihara's neck. Yanagi's hair ruffles. A car drives by and honks at them. The driver probably thinks that Kirihara is gay, or something. But he's not. Because Yanagi is a girl, even if he doesn't really look like it.
They stop at a street lined with tall cement fences and a couple token Toyotas. Yanagi's house is just around the corner. The streetlamp overhead glows orange. Kirihara swallows a thick lump in his throat.
"You can't tell anyone," Yanagi says. His voice is softer than before. He doesn't make any death threats.
Kirihara nods. "I won't!" he insists.
Yanagi says nothing. He pulls his hand away. Kirihara shivers. A pang of something pokes his stomach and he feels a little barfy. He opens his mouth to say "'night" or "see ya" but Yanagi is faster.
He kisses Kirihara.
He kisses Kirihara on the lips.
Kirihara's eyes go as wide as the moon. His mouth tingles. He licks his lips when Yanagi pulls back, but all he can taste is popcorn. His heart slams into his chest but his lungs have closed up. His brain plays tricks on him, replaying the sensation of Yanagi's mouth pressed to his over and over again. It was only there for a moment in real life.
A single cricket chirps. Yanagi touches his mouth and turns away. Kirihara can't see what he's thinking. He swallows again.
"Thank you, Akaya," Yanagi says.
Kirihara goes home. He slides his bedroom door closed before his sister can bother him. He stuffs his hand down his pants and masturbates until his legs give out and he's shuddering on the floor.
He thinks about Yanagi the whole time.
***
The furins are chiming, but the rush of mid-afternoon traffic drowns their music out. Not that Kirihara hears it. The window is closed and sealed tight. The A/C rattles softly, the way it does on the trains. Kirihara wakes up to the sounds of something buzzing. The mechanistic noise that pulls him out of the cool den of the bedroom. He rolls off the futon. He scratches his scalp, and then his side. He pads out into the apartment. Hana-chan toddles up to him and latches onto his right leg. Kirihara picks her up. Her hair tickles his bare chest.
He yawns.
Renji's back is turned to both of them. Kirihara peeks around the couch to get a better look. There is a garbage bin on the floor and a paper shredder on the table. Renji feeds sheet after sheet of paper into the machine. It shreds. It beeps. The paper wafts down into the bin. Renji makes a noise, but he doesn't hear Kirihara.
Hana-chan says, "Mommy, whacha doing?"
Renji turns around. His eyes go wide as he notices Kirihara standing there. He sets down the sheet of paper he was holding. He presses his palm down on top of it and there is a whiteness to his cheeks that wasn't there before. Kirihara scrunches up his forehead.
"You're awake," Renji says.
Kirihara nods. He forces a laugh, but his eyes keep glancing down to the stack of letters and papers Renji has on the table. "What are those?" Kirihara asks. He sets Hana down on the floor.
"Nothing important," Renji says. His expression is even.
Kirihara doesn't believe him. He dives. Renji steps closer to the table to block him. Kirihara darts the other direction. Renji might have more height and more grace, but Kirihara is fast. He has the reflexes from tennis that are just as good as fourteen years of reflexes from dealing with kids.
He grabs a letter and flips it over. Renji jerks forward, but stops himself. Kirihara looks at him. Renji's lips are set in a thin line and his eyes are huge and black. Outside, a car honks on the street below the apartment block. An engine revs and a car alarm goes off. The sound makes Renji cringe.
Kirihara turns the letter over. It looks like one of the dozens he gets each week from his fans: pink stationary with flowering script. There is a cartoon sticker sealing the envelope, but it's been cut at the top with a knife.
They have a steel letter opener in one of the kitchen drawers. It was a gift from Niou when they got married.
The letter is addressed not to Kirihara, but to Renji. Kirihara frowns. He touches his chin. "Weird," he says. When he glances up to Renji, his face has drained of colour completely. His lips have a green tint to them. Kirihara feels a pang in his stomach that isn’t hunger. He steps over to touch Renji's arm-it's cold and stiff under Kirihara's fingertips.
He pulls the letter out from the envelope. He unfolds it and reads the first line. Then, the letter slips from his hands.
It is addressed:
You horrible bitch
The first thing Kirihara says is: "What the hell?"
He shakes his head. He was seeing things. He's got jetlag again and he can't read properly after all the romanji signs in Europe. For a moment, he closes his eyes and exhales. When he opens them, Renji's hand slips off the table. Letters fly down and flutter in the A/C blowing around the apartment. Hana-chan reaches for a letter, laughing and skipping and then she hands another to Kirihara.
Kirihara reads it. The script is different, the stationary is blue and covered in clouds, but the words make his hands go numb.
You bitch, you're such a slut! How could you do that to Kirihara-kun and SEDUCE him!? You witch! Your poison is going to ruin his game!
Another. Another script, a new stationary:
drrty cunt! ur not good enuff for Kiriharakun!
Kirihara balls his fist. With the other hand, he shreds the letter into a hundred pieces. "What are these?" he yells. He shakes. Anger boils inside his belly. "What the hell are THESE?" Kirihara slams his hand down onto the table. The last of the letters are knocked off.
Renji's frozen to the spot. He doesn't blink, not even when Kirihara yells again. Spit flies and Renji doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. Hana-chan starts to cry. Only then do Renji's legs give out and he sinks to the floor.
His expression doesn't change. He takes Hana-chan against his chest. His eyes are blank.
Kirihara grabs him by the shoulder and shakes. Look at me! he wants to scream. Tell me! he might scream. I'll crush those bitches for you! Hana keeps crying. Renji's lips move, but Kirihara can't hear him over the sounds of the traffic, and of his own shouting.
When Hana-chan stops, when the traffic breaks and a single furin chime tinkles outside the porch, Kirihara can hear Renji's voice.
"You aren't the only one who gets mail from your fans, Akaya."
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Kirihara/Yanagi + others
Wordcount: 24 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Lots of boobs, a few pubes and the crotchless panties. Spoilers for 40.5 and the entire manga series.
Summary: Kirihara discovers something about Yanagi-senpai.
Author's notes: This is one-shot fic related to Dénoument and We'll Always Have Kanagawa. The fics can be read separately, but they make more sense together. Written for Yanagi's birthday 2008. Happy Birthday Yanagi!
This fic has been truncated into 3 parts due to length. The parts are NOT chapters. This is a one-shot fic.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
The furins are chiming. There is a warm summer breeze, the sort that makes you want to stay out on the balcony all night, under the blanket of milky stars. The laundry flutters as it's picked up. Kirihara leans on the metal railing, warm and damp under his arms. Between the punctuating trains, there is nothing but the rush of traffic below and the plinking chimes.
Renji brings the laundry in. It billows like white ghosts, the sheets and the shirts and the underpants. His back is long and narrow, but his hips are wider. He moves with easy motions, comfortable like the weather.
It is a perfect summer night. Kirihara is twenty-eight. He sets his beer down on the floor of the balcony and steps behind Renji, sliding his arms around the waist he knows so well. On his toes, he can press his chin to Renji's shoulder.
"Akaya?"
"Hn?"
Kirihara can feel Renji breathe with a smile. He smiles too. There are distant, glowing lights from the suburb down below. Up here on the apartment balcony, the breeze is the best, nothing to obstruct or stop it. Renji's neck is warm on Kirihara's lips. His eyes flick to the sliding glass door. The tv is on inside, glowing with colours that Genki and Kento watch from their show. In the kitchen, Natsuko reads a book, probably some old copy of Renji's that has been lying around for months-or for years. The window is open. Cross breezes float through the apartment, dissolving the unbearable heat of day. The baby is already asleep.
"Akaya?"
"Hn?"
Renji sets the laundry hamper down. He turns to Kirihara's face; their lips meet in a slow, soft kiss that Renji deepens. His mouth is wet and hungry. Kirihara bites his lips, grazing his teeth over them until Renji's moans join the tinkling chimes hanging above their heads.
"Stay out here a little while more," Renji says.
Kirihara shifts his eyes. The backs silhouetted against the tv don't turn around. He places a hand on Renji's hip, kneading his skin beneath the bunching apron. Against the cool cement partition wall blocking off the neighbour's view, they kiss again.
It's the number one place to be alone at home.
***
It's an accident, it's completely an accident.
He doesn't mean to forget his racket in the clubhouse.
Kirihara does what Yukimura says. He waits outside with the other guys. He tries not to look at Sanada's boobs (like buchou does). He tries not to look at Jackal's butt (like Marui does). He tries to avoid Niou (like Yagyuu tries to do), but Niou sometimes suckerfishes him during laps. He feels the burn of boobs on his shoulders. Scrubbing in the showers doesn't make it go away.
The girls come out from the clubhouse. Kirihara waits. He bounces from foot to foot. Yukimura looks at Sanada. Sanada blushes, but he lets Yukimura hold his hand.
They're dating.
Ew, Kirihara thinks.
It’s team Friday. They always eat out.
Kirihara runs back into the clubhouse. The lights are all still on and someone is in the showers-water rushes. It must be Yanagi-senpai, Kirihara thinks. Yanagi was working on a schedule, or something. Boring shit that Kirihara really doesn't care about much yet. He unlocks his locker. He throws out the pile of dirty uniform shirts. They stream across the damp floor. No racket.
Kirihara scratches his chin. “It’s gotta be around here somewhere. I know I brought it in with me.”
He peeks around the corner, checking along the row of trophies in the cabinet. No racket leaning there, either. There is nothing except the golden shine of three years’ worth of nationals wins and fifteen years of regionals medals.
Kirihara’s insides flip-flop. He doesn’t know how to explain to his mom if he needs another 10 000 yen for a new racket. He’ll be grounded for a month. He's going to be buchou in a month. It won't look good. Half the freshmen quit last week when they thought Sanada's girlitis was contagious.
Kirihara kicks one of his t-shirts from the pile. It smells like mould. Marui’s gotten lazy with his cleaning duties this week. Too many girls making him too distracted and even buchou hasn't noticed yet. Kirihara crinkles his nose-grossed out-but there is definitely no racket hiding there.
Running water echoes through the clubhouse. Kirihara shoves everything back into his locker. He grabs his tennisbag and walks down the tiled hallway. “Senpai, are you in there?” he calls. “Have you seen my racket?” Kirihara pokes his head around the corner. The haze of water droplets in the air is thick. Yanagi-senpai whips his head around, black hair plastered over his face.
“Have you seen my…”
Kirihara stops talking.
Yanagi makes a funny noise in the back of his throat.
His senpai is naked-not that Kirihara hasn’t seen this before. Yanagi isn't a prude, either. But never, ever, not in a hundred million years did Kirihara expect to see Yanagi like this.
Kirihara makes a funny noise in the back of his throat too.
Yanagi’s still tall. He still looks the same in the face. From behind, he's skinny and pale and his butt is flat and his muscles move under his skin. His arms and legs are the same, too, but his chest looks weird. It's like he has the manboobs that some of the OBs get from working out so much.
When Kirihara’s eyes move downward, then he knows they aren’t manboobs of muscle.
Yanagi has nothing between his legs. No dick, just a dark…patch…of…
Kirihara's mouth hangs open.
"You-you’re a girl!"
***
It's late May. He just got back from the French Open two days ago. Kirihara sleeps until noon, but he's still jetlagged. It should be six am, but instead it's after one. The irises in the pots on the balcony that Yukimura gave to them have started to bloom. The flowers are purple and blue and fragrant and the stalks sway in the spring breeze.
Kirihara stumbles into the shower. His foot steps on something hard and plastic. "Ow," he says. He blinks. There is a Barbie on the tile floor.
He scrubs the airplane gunk from his skin, but it never really leaves. Kirihara sleeps through his flights, always. And always, he's never rested. The water feels good on his back. He slept the wrong way. His neck still has a crick, despite the comfy leather seats in business class.
Being abroad isn't the same without his family. His futon is gone. Renji's warm body is gone. The sound of children never follows him to the hotels in Europe and America. Even the damn Barbies in the bathroom-he misses those too.
Kirihara uses Renji's soap. It smells good, but a little girly. He doesn't mind because it makes him think about Renji and licking his neck and boobs and cunt. Kirihara cups his dick and masturbates a bit, until he's hard, but not panting. The Barbie doll staring at him from the shower rack kills the desire to finish.
Plus, he's hungry.
He pulls on a pair of boxers and pads into the kitchen. Hana-chan sits on the floor with a spread of Barbies around herself. Kirihara bites back a laugh. He pulls on Renji's apron string. Renji blinks, then he turns around. A smile curls across his lips and he sets down the spoon.
"You're up," he says.
Kirihara scratches the back of his head, then he scratches his stomach. "Yeah," he says. He yawns and Renji hands him a cup of tea and a doughnut. There is a pot of curry on the stove. Kirihara stuffs the doughnut into his mouth. Hana-chan pulls a Barbie head off. Renji rolls his eyes.
"Whatcha making?" Kirihara asks. He looks over Renji's shoulder and his hand slides down Renji's side. He's missed this. He's missed rubbing his head on Renji's shoulder. It feels comfortable and homey to set his chin in the crook of Renji's neck.
Renji swats his head. Kirihara pulls away. He looks up to see a pot of curry, the colour of duck poop in Yamashita Park. "What is that?" he asks. He scrunches up his nose. Hana-chan keeps beheading Barbies. She offers one to Kirihara.
"Daddy?" she asks.
"No thanks," Kirihara says.
"It's a recipe from a friend," Renji says.
"It looks like poison," Kirihara says. The pot starts to bubble. It turns a shade of green with each burst on the surface.
"That may be true," Renji says. He stirs the pot, swirling the green around more. "Hn. I followed the recipe…"
"Hungry, Daddy?" Hana-chan asks. She holds up another Barbie head and smiles at him. Kirihara's chest feels tight for a moment, but in a good. He crouches down and takes the Barbie.
"Thanks," he says.
"It's my number one," she says. "Number one Barbie."
***
Akaya,” Yanagi says. It's the third time, or maybe the fourth. “You cannot tell anyone.”
Kirihara stares at his shoes. His shoelaces are muddy. His toes push against the end of his sneakers. He’ll have to ask his mom to buy another pair before his birthday.
Kirihara looks up, but Yanagi clears his throat, so Kirihara keeps his eyes down. His face feels hot. He wants to tell his senpai to change in the bathroom, but he doesn’t want to be insolent-whatever that means.
At least Yanagi turns his back. From here Kirihara can’t tell that he’s a girl. He thinks that Yanagi has been turning around a lot lately in the change rooms. More than he used to. That would probably explain a lot.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Yanagi says. He pokes Kirihara in the chest, pushing him back up against the row of lockers. Kirihara nods. He tries to look away. Yanagi stares him down worse than Sanada.
Something clatters overhead.
“My racket!” he says.
Yanagi reaches up. Then he hands Kirihara a racket. Kirihara hesitates. Yanagi's eyes narrow. For a second, Kirihara winces and expects Yanagi to whack him on the shins. Instead, Yanagi just zips up his jacket. He looks like a boy again.
"Tell anyone and you're 100% dead," he says.
Kirihara gulps.
***
Sanada and Yukimura come over and they bring their baby. Sanada plunks him on the floor with Hana-chan. If he was a chick, maybe he'd think it was cute seeing the two of them toddle off together to play with blocks or tie on the wii cables, but Kirihara isn't.
"Beer?" he offers. Yukimura nods.
Yukimura and Sanada come for dinner sometimes. Kirihara doesn't mind, though the apartment isn't all that big. It's family-sized and has a balcony with a tray of vegetables and shiso in a pot. Yukimura brings Renji small pots of flowers from his garden: sometimes, Renji over-waters them. Sometimes they dry out and shrivel up. Sometimes, the plants survive when Natsuko takes care of them in the window sill. She lines the pots up in her bedroom. "This one is Basho," she says. "And this is Natsume." She points to another.
Kirihara doesn't get it.
Renji smiles. "Soseki?"
Natsuko nods. "Of course." She smiles. Her face looks like Renji's. It makes Kirihara's insides feel warm in the same way when he won the All-Asia Open title.
Kirihara doesn't mind when Yukimura and Sanada come over. He and Yukimura sit on the couch. They nurse beers. On-court competition sizzles under the surface. It never really disappears.
"The flight home could have been better," Yukimura says. "I was next to a salaryman from Korea." He shakes his head. "Didn't get a wink of sleep."
Kirihara nods. He slept most of the flight. It was an intermittent sleep and he woke up twice with cramps in his legs. Now, he's used to the long hours on airplanes. The stale air becomes second nature, but the jetlag is ever-present. Kirihara yawns. Yukimura laughs.
In the kitchen, Sanada says, "Tarundoru!" Yukimura laughs again. Kirihara cranes his neck to see. Sanada shakes his head at Renji's stew. "This is disgusting," he says.
"Terrible," Yukimura adds. He doesn't bite back a smile. Sanada glares at him. It makes Kirihara snicker. He wonders when they'll all be real grown-ups. He's twenty-eight, but he still doesn't feel like an adult.
"It's good that you brought the soba salad," Renji says. Sanada sniffs. There is a large, green Tupperware container on the table that he brought into the apartment. Kirihara looks at Yukimura. Yukimura raises his eyebrows above the rim of his beer can. Yukimura eats well at home. Kirihara and Renji order a lot of takeaway. Renji buys a lot of department store combos. The kitchen cupboards are stacked with more plastic takeaway boxes than lacquer bowls for miso soup, or oblong dishes for fish and gyoza.
Renji calls the sushi takeaway place. Sanada serves up soba salad. Yukimura uncorks a bottle of red wine that Kirihara bought at the duty-free in Charles de Gaulle last year. Kirihara knows nothing about wine. He makes a pinched face when he sips his glass. Renji pops in a shamisen CD and they pretend to be adults. The babies and Genki and Kento eat at the low table in the main row, nearby, but not out of earshot. Sanada keeps looking over his shoulder to check on them.
Renji looks at Kirihara. Kirihara laughs under his breath. Yukimura touches Sanada on the arm and says, "He's not going anywhere."
Sanada grunts.
Sanada and Yukimura stay until nine-ish. The sun sets in a red oblivion to the west. Renji washes dishes in the sink. Kirihara stands in the doorway of the open glass door to the porch. He watches a white Toyota drive off down the road until it recedes and disappears.
Then, there is a crash-there is always a crash at this time of night.
It comes from the bathroom. Kirihara looks inside. Kento is sprawled on the floor. There are broken bottles of foundation and toothbrushes scattered around him. Genki peeks out from the bathtub and looks shifty.
"What were you doing?" Kirihara asks.
"Nothing." Their voices chime together-it's never a good thing, but Kirihara doesn't really want to know. He glances at the digital clock by the mirror. His belly is hot with anticipation and his throat thick. He places a hand down on the side of the sink bowl.
"Get ready for bed," he says. Kirihara looks down his nose at them. He tries to use his biggest, sternest voice. When he turns around, he can hear both Genki and Kento start to snicker and whisper about ninjas.
***
Yanagi stands on the tennis court. It seems greener than ever. Maybe the school finally bothered to have it repainted. He looks at Kirihara with his narrow, dark eyes.
Kirihara plays the other side of the net, but his racket lies at his feet. If he wants to start playing, then he needs to pick it up. Instead he just stares at Yanagi. Yanagi walks up to the net with that little smile he makes whenever he’s thinking about doing something nasty to his opponent-or taking data.
Kirihara swallows. His palms sweat, so he wipes them off on his shorts. His shorts feel all funny too-tight and uncomfortable. Yanagi keeps walking towards him. His hips are moving. They sway the same way Kirihara’s sister moves when she walks. Kirihara’s eyes go wide. Yanagi closes his eyes and rests a hand on the net.
It’s illegal to touch the net! I’ll win the game! a little voice says.
“Do you have the balls, Akaya?” Yanagi asks. His voice is low and soft. He touches his mouth with his fingers. Kirihara’s heart pounds.
He can’t breathe when Yanagi leans on the net. His eyes never, ever leave Kirihara’s. Even though they are closed, they look deeper into Kirihara and make him squirm and shift his weight. His palms are all sweaty again and his pulse throbs, echoing in his ears. Yanagi runs his tongue over his top lip.
“Akaya,” he whispers.
Kirihara wakes up. He gasps so hard and sits up so fast that he bonks his head on the wall. He groans, then falls back on his bed. His skull throbs.
“That was just a weird dream,” he whispers. The floor creaks when he stumbles to the bathroom. In the dark, he fumbles with the junk his sister leaves everywhere and steals the first cup he finds.
Sweat trickles down his face and down his back.
Kirihara takes one sip of water, then dumps the rest over his head. His body feels hot and gross. He can’t shake the image of Yanagi licking his lips. His tongue was pink and his saliva was shiny and the way he said Kirihara’s name…
It makes Kirihara shiver.
He leans on the sink. His dick pushes against the edge. His pajama pants don’t feel all weird and tight and damp from growing pains, they feel all weird and tight and damp because his dream was a little more exciting that he thought.
“Dammit…” he says. He bangs his fist on the counter. His family is asleep. If they catch him awake and hitting things with his wet-dreamed-in pajama pants, he’ll be dead from the embarrassment.
Kirihara crawls back into bed and hugs his legs to his chest. The shadows move across his ceilings. Cars on the streets outside roll by and shine through his window. Kirihara closes his eyes. Yanagi whispers “Akaya…” in his ears. Kirihara’s stomach does flip-flops in a bad way.
He can’t go back to sleep now.
***
Renji folds his apron up. His motions are long and fluid. He probably knows Kirihara is watching him from the hallway, but in the half-light from the single lamp, Kirihara can't tell for certain.
"Is Natsuko in bed?" Renji murmurs.
Kirihara remembers to breath. His pants are tight. He swallows. As Renji walks toward him, his breathing is shallow and whistles through his nostrils. Over the years, Renji's body has changed. His hips have widened. His breasts have gotten a little bigger. He's tall and thin and he has big hands. Kirihara takes one and tugs. Renji allows himself to fall into Kirihara. They start to kiss.
Renji swats Kirihara away after a moment. "Not here," he says. He takes Kirihara's hands in his own and rubs his hips. They are hot through his clothes. Kirihara licks his lips. He kisses Renji again and growls.
Renji pulls them backwards to their bedroom. He digs his hands into Kirihara's ribs. Kirihara shrieks. He slides the door closed. The walls are thin, but they've never minded. Other people might spend nights at a love hotel, fucking on a king-sized bed that vibrates. Kirihara is just as content to jump Renji on their futons. If their kids hear, they've never said much. The sound machines that put them to sleep are usually on full blast with the tinkling sounds of shamisen and koi ponds: "temple mix", Renji called it.
The bedroom is the only Japanese-style room in the apartment. The tatami floor is a bit worn, but it absorbs the sounds of Renji peeling off Kirihara's pants. He stuffs his hands down Kirihara's underpants. Renji goes straight for the kill with his tongue in Kirihara's ear. Kirihara gasps. He bites Renji's neck. Renji squirms on the futon, bunching up the sheets that were never made this morning. His body is hot and slippery. His long legs are in the air, opening for Kirihara when he crawls down Renji's stomach. He tastes the salt between Renji's boobs and the fuzzy taste in his navel. Kirihara's dick is hard. He licks his lips.
Renji looks at him with slitted eyes. His hair is messed. He moans softly and touches Kirihara's hair. "Akaya," he mutters. His clothes are half-unbuttoned and his skirt is pushed up to his waist. The zipper is open. Kirihara tugs on Renji's panties with his teeth, then his fingers. He can smell Renji: musky and alive. His heart beats faster. His dick fills with blood until he's at breaking point. The pressure behind his eyes grows until his pupils pop out. Renji bucks his hips when Kirihara's tongue slides over the inside of his thigh. His breathing is shuddered. His stomach shakes.
Kirihara licks his cunt. Renji pants. He moans and mewls. Renji's thigh shivers and he squeezes his legs together. Kirihara pries them apart with his hands. He licks Renji's clit and the inside, too. His tongue moves in and around the folds. Renji cries and tells him he's number one. Kirihara slips a finger inside: Renji is hot and wet. Kirihara curls his finger up and presses. Renji's cunt tightens around his index and he comes, Kirihara's name always on his lips.
They have sex once, twice after: half-clothed and then naked. Kirihara will never get tired of this. Even now, years later, his heart skips a beat when Renji's face softens and his moans quicken as Kirihara pushes his dick inside. Their skin is sticky and their kisses sloppier as Kirihara thrusts. Renji rolls over the second time. He's on top of Kirihara and bouncing. Light from the night skyline of the city streams in through the papery window. Renji's skin is pearly and his breasts have a slight bounce. Kirihara pushes deeper. Renji hisses. He pushes down on Kirihara. His hips grind down. He scratches Kirihara's arms and the pain feels good as it mixes with their orgasms.
After, Renji pulls on a yukata and reads part of a book. Kirihara lies across his lap. An idle hand combs through his hair. Kirihara sighs and he drifts into a boneless sleep.
There are plenty of women in Paris and Stuttgart if Kirihara wanted them, but it's good to be home.
***
The dreams only get worse.
At first, Yanagi just licks his lips. Then, he starts to unbutton his shirt. Kirihara knows that he should say “Stop!” and “Don’t!” but he can’t not look. Yanagi’s eyes are open: narrow and shining all at once. He bites his bottom lip. It's puffy and pink.
“Are you watching me, Akaya?” he asks. “Did you forget your…” Yanagi unbuttons another button. He sighs. Kirihara squirms, “…racket?”
Kirihara says nothing. He can't speak in his dreams.
Yanagi turns around. He glances over his shoulder as he slips his uniform shirt off. It's so slow, so achingly slow that Kirihara holds his tennis racket tighter. He makes a funny noise, like a squeak. Yanagi’s shoulder looks the same as usual-there is pale skin with a mole on the left side. His muscles shift. His shoulder blade moves. Kirihara's shorts feel funny and…
“Do you need some data, Akaya?” Yanagi asks.
The shirt falls to the floor in a white flutter.
Kirihara wakes up with his hand firm around his dick. His heart pounds. He bites his lip so his sister doesn’t hear through the wall. It’s wrong and weird, but he thinks about Yanagi’s long fingers stroking the buttons of his shirt until he comes with a grunt.
The wall thumps.
“Shut up, Akaya! I can hear you, you dickhead!” his sister yells.
Kirihara groans.
***
For Renji's birthday, they go to one of those American family restaurants, the sort that serves croquettes and hamburger patties and fried steaks and ramen. It's just Kirihara's sort of place. He orders a big plate of fries smothered in brown sauce and a hamburger patty. It comes with a fried egg on top.
Renji frowns and says nothing. He orders the tomato ramen. Genki and Kento order themselves cokes before Renji says no. Kirihara says nothing. The boys play with the ketchup bottles and shoyu and mix a mess into a spare water glass. Natusko rolls her eyes and Hana-chan claps. Their table is loud. Other customers stare. Kirihara feels a pang of guilt. He wishes he knew how to be more romantic, but Renji doesn't complain. He never mentions chic French restaurants or expensive first-edition books from the early Showa era. He never pitches fits like Yukimura says Sanada does and he doesn't kick Kirihara out onto the couch when he's had too much to drink, the way Marui says Jackal does.
His present is in Kirihara's jacket pocket. Kirihara drove straight from training at the university to the restaurant. It's out in the suburbs, across from a supermarket. There are bags of groceries underneath the table that Genki kicks. They rustle and packages of tofu and instant miso soup spill out.
"Stop it!" Kirihara snaps. "Can't you sit still for your mom's birthday?"
Genki pouts. Kirihara feels guilty for that too.
"It's okay," Renji says. He always gives into their kids. Kirihara sometimes wonders if that's why the elementary school teacher recommended ritarin last year. Kirihara only gives them Dimetapp cough syrup and that's only when they're sick sick.
Kento bounces an ice cube off the table. It skips across Hana-chan's high chair tray and skids across the floor. The other customers keep staring. Natsuko sighs and frowns. She looks so much like Renji that sometimes Kirihara's chest hurts. She's not much younger than Renji was when they first started all this, either. It's different with her, though. When the teenager across the row of booths waggles his eyebrows at Natsuko, Kirihara balls his fist. An urge to deck the brat rises in his belly. Renji touches his hand.
"Akaya," he says.
"Yeah yeah," Kirihara mutters. Guilt thickens in his throat, more than before. He'd totally ruin Renji's birthday this year if he picked a fight with a kid half his age in a Royal Host franchise.
He's never really sure about what Renji wants and it hurts. In bed, it doesn't matter. In bed, Renji gasps and moans and Kirihara can't think about the next second, let alone next week. It doesn't matter when he's fucking Renji, when Renji's bouncing on him, when he's slapping Renji's bum or Renji's clawing at his back. But in public, with his kids screaming and jumping on the table and Renji frowning and telling them off, even though they don't seem to listen, Kirihara really, truly wonders if this is what Renji wants with his life.
"SIT DOWN!" Kirihara yells.
Genki and Kento don't really listen to him. Not until Renji says, "If you two don't sit down right now, you'll have no arcade money for a month!" do they stop. Kirihara hangs his head. The fried egg congeals on top of the lumpy brown gravy. The food looks nowhere near as tasty as it did ten minutes ago.
"I'm sorry," Kirihara whispers under his breath.
Renji doesn't hear that, either.
***
“Good morning,” Yanagi murmurs.
Do you need some data, Akaya…
His tone is the same as the dream. It has the same low pitch and the same cadence. Kirihara shakes his head. No data!
“Akaya?” Yukimura asks. “Why haven’t you started your laps? Stop staring at Yanagi and get your ass in gear."
Kirihara's face burns hotter. He mumbles, "Yes buchou" and starts to run. He runs fifty laps, like they're supposed to, and then ten more, because he feels guilty for being weird. Plus, Yanagi hasn't finished his laps. Kirihara does his stretches. Marui and Yagyuu have finished. Kirihara could stretch with Niou (who seems to enjoy stretching his arms above his head and making his boobs squish up tight), or he could stretch with Jackal, but they're girls and that would be weird.
Only Yukimura stretches with Sanada.
Everyone is paired up and practicing at a court. The freshmen pick up balls. The juniors practice with each other. Jackal practices with Niou, whose tennis skirt flips up whenever Yagyuu looks over. Kirihara rubs his chin. He's not that dumb to be too dense to realize that Niou and Yagyuu are flirting in their own, weird gross way.
Yanagi stands near the basket of balls. Kirihara's got no partner and Yanagi is alone because Sanada waits for Yukimura who has to tell Marui off for stealing panties from Jackal's bag again, or whatever. It's just too creepy for Kirihara to care much.
But it's even creepier that Yanagi is a girl, too. Kirihara squeezes his eyes shut. Do you need some data, Akaya…? In his mind, Yanagi starts to unbutton his shirt and lick his lips. His nipples are stiff through the fabric, which is so thin that Kirihara can practically feel the hard pink little peaks under the cotton-
"Akaya?"
Kirihara's dick twitches in his shorts. He squirms and squeezes his eyes closed tighter. Yanagi says his name again. It might be a dream. It might be fake. Either way, Kirihara shakes his head fervently. He's got no one else to practice with and if he doesn't get his ass in gear, buchou will get angry. Yukimura's already been in enough moods since all this girl stuff happened.
Kirihara opens his eyes. Yanagi looks at him. He gives Kirihara a thin smile. Kirihara means to say, "Do you want to practice with me?"
But instead, he blurts, "Do you want to go on a date with me?"
It's entirely an accident. His eyes go wide. Yanagi blinks. Kirihara clamps a hand over his mouth. Blood drains from his face.
"All right," Yanagi says.
***
Kirihara leaves for London before he remembers that he forgot to give Renji his birthday present. He's standing in the middle of a terminal in Heathrow with a pair of sunglasses on. His manager caught the later flight. Kirihara's been here a dozen times now and he still can't read a word of English. A worker in a yellow suit approaches him. Kirihara backs up. He forces a laugh, then shouts, "Go away!"
The hotel is in the west part of the city, where there are Georgian terraces and large, leafy parks. Kirihara swears he sees Madonna jogging around near the supermarket and at dinner, in the curry restaurant, he swears he sees the bassist from Orange Range.
"Marui-senpai would be impressed," he mutters.
"What was that?" his manager asks.
Kirihara shakes his head and says it was nothing. His mouth is on fire from the curry. English curries are hotter than home, even if they do taste better than the green slop Renji sometimes makes from that recipe from a friend. He sighs. The present sits in his tracksuit jacket pocket still. He touches the edge of the paper with his fingers. The paper is worn and soft. Kirihara unfolds it under the table and reads what he's written. It's so cheesy that he cringes.
He's an idiot for forgetting. He kicks himself inside and he kicks the table leg with his sneaker. It slips and he hits the manager in the shin.
"Ow!" his manager snaps.
Kirihara winces at that, too. Deep down, he doesn't feel like the grown-up he's supposed to be. He's twenty-eight and he's got one grand slam under his belt, but that was a fluke the year Yukimura was out with a strained tendon and Roger Federer had just retired. Unlike Yukimura, with his worship-kick ass relationship with Andy Roddick, the only real rival Kirihara has is himself.
He's still not number one. Yukimura still beats him all the time in tournaments.
There's a message on his cellphone back at the hotel. Kirihara lazes on the bed. It's half-past nine and he's not really tired. He slept on the drive from the hotel to the courts this morning. He slept on the tube coming back to the hotel this evening. He doesn't know what time it is back home, but Renji is up and messaging him.
Im lonely
Kirihara blinks. Then his belly warms. A low fire burns in his dick. He checks the next message Renji sent two minutes later. Kirihara must've been on the tube then, because he doesn't remember his cell buzzing.
Im 84% naked
Yeah, Kirihara thinks. He closes his eyes and pictures Renji. Renji's probably lying in bed, right before the kids wake up for school. Kirihara licks his lips. Renji's probably got his yukata open at the waist and a hand between his legs. Kirihara shivers.
He clicks again. His pulse quickens.
Im thinkin of u
Renji's probably masturbating, rubbing his click nice and slow. He's probably got his eyes mostly closed in that way he knows drives Kirihara insane: eyelashes fluttering and pupils barely registering the fact Kirihara's got his own hand between his own legs now. He shifts his weight on his hip to tug his shorts down, but he rolls on something that crinkles. Kirihara takes his hand out of his underpants. He reaches into the pocket.
It's the present, crumpled more than ever.
He closes his eyes and groans. His erection flags and he sighs. Nervous tension rises inside. The longer he waits, the more he feels stupid for forgetting. The stupider he feels, the more his stomach twists with worry for the games this tournament. It's not even anything special because he's not bright enough to think of romantic things Renji might want.
Kirihara sighs again.
***
His palms are sweaty and his voice cracks when they meet at the top of the escalator in the movie theatre. Renji looks the same as usual: he came in his school uniform. "Hi," he says.
"He-ro," Kirihara croaks.
His face is on fire. He ducks his head and tries to walk away as fast as he can to the ticket line, but Renji follows him. Kirihara buys two tickets. He hands Renji the less sweaty of the two and jerks his hand away before their fingers can brush.
Renji has a weird little smile on his face. He's probably laughing at Kirihara inside. Kirihara winces. "Sorry," he mumbles. The movie is lame-it's not the sort girls want to watch, robots and explosions and blood and Bruce Willis.
"This is fine," Renji says. "I can buy the popcorn."
"NO!" Kirihara yells. "Girls don't pay!" His mouth drops a bit and he scratches the back of his head, laughing to dull the rising embarrassment that makes his cheeks warmer than ever. Yanagi frowns. His eyes narrow.
"Watch it!" he hisses. Yanagi shifts his eyes around the movie theatre. There's a few other people, but no one Kirihara recognizes and no one else in Rikkai Dai uniforms.
Kirihara hunches his shoulders to hide his head. "Sorry," he mumbles.
So far, the date isn't going very well. Kirihara wonders what the hell he was thinking in the first place. He wasn't-that's the problem. He blurted the first thing that came to mind. He's at that age where all girls make his dick hard and his head fluttery.
The two girls in front of him in line for popcorn giggle and talk about Tom Cruise. Kirihara taps his sneaker. "Jeez," he mutters. When they don't pay attention to the server who asks for the next customer, Kirihara rolls his eyes. "Can't you fucking hurry up?" he says under his breath.
Beside him, Renji coughs.
Kirihara's palms drip sweat onto the floor. His hair curls up more and his pants are way too tight. When he finally gets to the snack counter, his voice doesn't work and he has to point and grunt to the popcorn.
The theatre is too dark. Kirihara takes a seat in the middle-middle. It's a safe zone. There are people below. There are people behind. There are people to his right, a couple elementary school kids who don't look old enough for a PG13 movie the way Kirihara is. He sits down and holds his breath. There are empty seats five down the row, but Yanagi sits right beside him.
Their thighs brush.
Kirihara's heart patters doki doki. His dick is on fire. He wiggles. This isn't good! he thinks. He can't breathe when Yanagi takes the popcorn from him and their fingers brush. Kirihara pulls back. His fingertips are numb and there's a tense coil in his belly. It tightens when the movie starts. Yanagi sinks deeper into his seat. Kirihara sweats a puddle onto the sticky floor.
He forgets about Bruce Willis kicking ass onscreen. He forgets about the awesome explosions and the fiery gun fights. He forgets about the motorcycle chase with the cops and the blonde girl with the big, round boobies who has twenty foot cleavage. All Kirihara can think about is Yanagi's knee, which keeps tapping his every few minutes. He squirms back into his seat. He wriggles away and points his knees the other direction. Still, Yanagi's knee taps his.
It can't be a coincidence.
Kirihara's dick pokes through his pants. He's so hard his vision blurs. He squeezes his eyes closed and shakes his head. He grabs the arm rest and digs his nails into the plastic. A tendon in his wrist pops. Kirihara screams in his head No no no! because this is weird and he's confused and he keeps seeing images of Yanagi unbuttoning his shirt and licking his lips and he has pubes and no dick and little boobs that Kirihara could bite if he wanted to-
Something touches the back of his hand. Kirihara turns his palm over. Only then does he get that there's a hand holding his. There are fingers slipping through his. There is a warm palm pressed to his.
His eyes fly open. He looks down, then up. Yanagi squeezes their hands, just enough for the sweaty mess to smush together. Yanagi smiles a little at him, then he turns back to the movie. Yanagi chews on a handful of popcorn. It crunches as Bruce Willis talks. The only word Kirihara understands is "Motherfucker".
His eyes roll back into his head and he can't read the subtitles anymore.
They walk home and hold hands. Kirihara can't stop thinking about it. He doesn't know if Yanagi is collecting data, or if it's really okay-but it must be, since Yanagi hasn't stopped. He can't stop thinking about his sweaty neck, or seeing Yanagi naked. He can't stop thinking about Yanagi.
There is a slight wind and the air is thick with the smell of flowers and something chemical. There's probably a storm coming. Hot air blows at the back of Kirihara's neck. Yanagi's hair ruffles. A car drives by and honks at them. The driver probably thinks that Kirihara is gay, or something. But he's not. Because Yanagi is a girl, even if he doesn't really look like it.
They stop at a street lined with tall cement fences and a couple token Toyotas. Yanagi's house is just around the corner. The streetlamp overhead glows orange. Kirihara swallows a thick lump in his throat.
"You can't tell anyone," Yanagi says. His voice is softer than before. He doesn't make any death threats.
Kirihara nods. "I won't!" he insists.
Yanagi says nothing. He pulls his hand away. Kirihara shivers. A pang of something pokes his stomach and he feels a little barfy. He opens his mouth to say "'night" or "see ya" but Yanagi is faster.
He kisses Kirihara.
He kisses Kirihara on the lips.
Kirihara's eyes go as wide as the moon. His mouth tingles. He licks his lips when Yanagi pulls back, but all he can taste is popcorn. His heart slams into his chest but his lungs have closed up. His brain plays tricks on him, replaying the sensation of Yanagi's mouth pressed to his over and over again. It was only there for a moment in real life.
A single cricket chirps. Yanagi touches his mouth and turns away. Kirihara can't see what he's thinking. He swallows again.
"Thank you, Akaya," Yanagi says.
Kirihara goes home. He slides his bedroom door closed before his sister can bother him. He stuffs his hand down his pants and masturbates until his legs give out and he's shuddering on the floor.
He thinks about Yanagi the whole time.
***
The furins are chiming, but the rush of mid-afternoon traffic drowns their music out. Not that Kirihara hears it. The window is closed and sealed tight. The A/C rattles softly, the way it does on the trains. Kirihara wakes up to the sounds of something buzzing. The mechanistic noise that pulls him out of the cool den of the bedroom. He rolls off the futon. He scratches his scalp, and then his side. He pads out into the apartment. Hana-chan toddles up to him and latches onto his right leg. Kirihara picks her up. Her hair tickles his bare chest.
He yawns.
Renji's back is turned to both of them. Kirihara peeks around the couch to get a better look. There is a garbage bin on the floor and a paper shredder on the table. Renji feeds sheet after sheet of paper into the machine. It shreds. It beeps. The paper wafts down into the bin. Renji makes a noise, but he doesn't hear Kirihara.
Hana-chan says, "Mommy, whacha doing?"
Renji turns around. His eyes go wide as he notices Kirihara standing there. He sets down the sheet of paper he was holding. He presses his palm down on top of it and there is a whiteness to his cheeks that wasn't there before. Kirihara scrunches up his forehead.
"You're awake," Renji says.
Kirihara nods. He forces a laugh, but his eyes keep glancing down to the stack of letters and papers Renji has on the table. "What are those?" Kirihara asks. He sets Hana down on the floor.
"Nothing important," Renji says. His expression is even.
Kirihara doesn't believe him. He dives. Renji steps closer to the table to block him. Kirihara darts the other direction. Renji might have more height and more grace, but Kirihara is fast. He has the reflexes from tennis that are just as good as fourteen years of reflexes from dealing with kids.
He grabs a letter and flips it over. Renji jerks forward, but stops himself. Kirihara looks at him. Renji's lips are set in a thin line and his eyes are huge and black. Outside, a car honks on the street below the apartment block. An engine revs and a car alarm goes off. The sound makes Renji cringe.
Kirihara turns the letter over. It looks like one of the dozens he gets each week from his fans: pink stationary with flowering script. There is a cartoon sticker sealing the envelope, but it's been cut at the top with a knife.
They have a steel letter opener in one of the kitchen drawers. It was a gift from Niou when they got married.
The letter is addressed not to Kirihara, but to Renji. Kirihara frowns. He touches his chin. "Weird," he says. When he glances up to Renji, his face has drained of colour completely. His lips have a green tint to them. Kirihara feels a pang in his stomach that isn’t hunger. He steps over to touch Renji's arm-it's cold and stiff under Kirihara's fingertips.
He pulls the letter out from the envelope. He unfolds it and reads the first line. Then, the letter slips from his hands.
It is addressed:
You horrible bitch
The first thing Kirihara says is: "What the hell?"
He shakes his head. He was seeing things. He's got jetlag again and he can't read properly after all the romanji signs in Europe. For a moment, he closes his eyes and exhales. When he opens them, Renji's hand slips off the table. Letters fly down and flutter in the A/C blowing around the apartment. Hana-chan reaches for a letter, laughing and skipping and then she hands another to Kirihara.
Kirihara reads it. The script is different, the stationary is blue and covered in clouds, but the words make his hands go numb.
You bitch, you're such a slut! How could you do that to Kirihara-kun and SEDUCE him!? You witch! Your poison is going to ruin his game!
Another. Another script, a new stationary:
drrty cunt! ur not good enuff for Kiriharakun!
Kirihara balls his fist. With the other hand, he shreds the letter into a hundred pieces. "What are these?" he yells. He shakes. Anger boils inside his belly. "What the hell are THESE?" Kirihara slams his hand down onto the table. The last of the letters are knocked off.
Renji's frozen to the spot. He doesn't blink, not even when Kirihara yells again. Spit flies and Renji doesn't move. He doesn't breathe. Hana-chan starts to cry. Only then do Renji's legs give out and he sinks to the floor.
His expression doesn't change. He takes Hana-chan against his chest. His eyes are blank.
Kirihara grabs him by the shoulder and shakes. Look at me! he wants to scream. Tell me! he might scream. I'll crush those bitches for you! Hana keeps crying. Renji's lips move, but Kirihara can't hear him over the sounds of the traffic, and of his own shouting.
When Hana-chan stops, when the traffic breaks and a single furin chime tinkles outside the porch, Kirihara can hear Renji's voice.
"You aren't the only one who gets mail from your fans, Akaya."