FIC: Accidentally All Right (Kirihara/Yanagi, NC17, 3/3)
Title: Accidentally All Right (3/3)
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]
It's not very festive, in Kirihara's opinion, but since Yanagi wanted to come, he reckons it's an all right spot for a date.
Tonight is Christmas Eve.
His sister already gave him a hard time. "Going out?" she asked. "With a giiiirl?" Kirihara told her to shut up. His face was on fire like he was in devil mode. He wanted to be in devil mode and bite her, or something, but when she ruffled his hair and said, "Aka-chan is all grown up having a date! You're probably lying. There's probably no real girl!"
He really should have left it. He really shouldn't have snapped, "Yes, it's a real girl!" before he ran out of the apartment. It'll be hell when he gets home. He'll never have the end of the kissy faces and teasing, but…
Yanagi is a real girl.
Nobody should say he isn't, Kirihara thinks. Yanagi is as real and as good-no, better!-than any other girl out there could be. Kirihara holds Yanagi's mitten tight. Yanagi swings their arms together, then he sits down on a stone bench.
In the middle of winter, the garden is empty. The Christmas lights of the city shine into the bare trees and the thin bamboo, sparkling reds and greens and yellows over the glassy fish pond. The koi are sleeping. Their footsteps are hushed. Kirihara sits down beside Yanagi. The bench is cold on his butt, so he inches closer.
Yanagi has been acting weird all evening. He hasn't said a word since the train station. He's been looking at everything but Kirihara. His eyes are glazed over with the twinkling lights. There's something behind them, but Kirihara can't quite figure out what.
Maybe this is a bad date.
Maybe Yanagi's angry because Kirihara said they can't go to his place and do it because his Dad is finally back from Hong Kong and his parents are both there and that'd be gross.
Maybe he's just…Kirihara doesn't know. He sighs. He tries to be a good boyfriend and rub Yanagi's shoulder. Yanagi leans away. He looks up at a pine tree. Everywhere else in the city trees like this are covered in fairy lights. In this park, behind the temple, it's quiet and dark.
Kirihara's stomach is in knots. He wrings his mittens together.
"Akaya," Yanagi says. His voice is soft, but it shakes. Kirihara scrunches his forehead up. He touches Yanagi on the arm of his coat and turns him, gently. Yanagi's eyes are shiny and his mouth is a weird mix of a smile and a grimace.
"I'm pregnant."
For the longest while they sit there. Kirihara says nothing. Yanagi bows his head. The words hang in the air, clinging to the chill and their cloudy breaths, when Kirihara remembers to breathe. He looks at his knees. He looks at his hands and his feet. The words are surreal, but Yanagi doesn't take them back.
Kirihara doesn't know what to say. He looks up into the night sky. A round, heavy mood sits right above their heads. Its pearly light peeks down and reflects off the toes of Yanagi's boots, and off the chain hanging from Kirihara's wallet in his pocket.
"It's 100% certainty," Yanagi whispers.
Kirihara says nothing. Yanagi's voice is detached from his body. Their legs don't touch on the bench anymore, but the chill seeps into Kirihara's pants. His stomach sinks into the frozen ground the longer this lasts. He can already hear his sister saying, "Aka-chan having an aka-chan? Yeah right!"
Yanagi stands up. His coat rustles. Dead leaves and twigs crunch softly under his shoes as he steps in front of Kirihara. He bows his head and says, "I'm-"
Kirihara stands up faster than he can think. He grabs Yanagi hard and tight. It's enough to crush their ribs when he squeezes Yanagi to his chest. He shakes his head furiously. A sudden rush of something new and hot and protective makes his body stiff and shaky all at once. "I'm-" He pauses. He swallows and looks up at Yanagi, whose eyes slowly focus on him as his pupils widen. Kirihara's face is reflected in them, lips tight and resolute. Kirihara takes a deep breath and then he steps back. He bows his head and his body as low as he can go and he shouts,
"I promise to do my best! I PROMISE!"
Renji's eyes are shiny when he nods. Kirihara wipes his own eyes, then he pulls Yanagi close again.
I promise to be number one for you!
***
Training is tough.
Not only is his leg shaky at best, but the lack of practice has atrophied his muscles and made his body lazy. He forces himself through a kick serve, but the pain bursts below his knee and he collapses to the gym floor again. Kirihara groans through his teeth. He exhales. The coach yells, "If you want to make it to Qatar, you gotta work, Kirihara! Push it and watch that leg!"
Kirihara grinds his teeth. He whips his head around and glares at his coach, who tosses him a new ball. On an adjacent gym, he knows Yukimura is practicing. If he listens carefully enough, he can hear that squeak and shuffle of movement and the thwock of serves and volleys.
He might not be in top form for the Invitational in Qatar in three weeks, but damned if Yukimura's gonna take the National title from him again. Kirihara breathes hard. He forces his body to work through the strain in his knees and the agony of his leg. He limps to the baseline and loosens his arms up. He throws the ball above his head.
The racket hits right on the sweet spot. The sound is beautiful, like a song, or a woman's moan of ecstasy. Hearing that thwock again, from his own shot, is energizing. Kirihara runs to the net and leans low, ready for the return from the coach.
Training is tough and he sweats hard. In the locker room, he's leaving just as Yukimura enters. Yukimura raises his hand. Kirihara says, "Yo."
Yukimura gives him the one-up with a look to Kirihara's leg. "Do you have it wrapped?" he asks.
Kirihara nods.
Yukimura makes a little noise of agreement. He has a small smile playing at the sides of his mouth, the sort that sets Kirihara on edge. Before Yukimura says anything more, just idle small talk that means nothing, Kirihara says, "I'll win the title this year, senpai."
Yukimura's smile widens. He laughs and wipes sweat from the back of his neck. He chucks the towel onto the empty bench beside himself. "Ne, you do that, Akaya," he says.
Yukimura's tone pisses him off. But Kirihara's twenty-nine. He's a grown up and he's a professional athlete now. Besides, the Olympics are this summer. So long as he's number one this summer, that's what matters most.
Kirihara uncurls his fist when he leaves the locker room. He limps out to the parking lot and fishes his keys out of his pocket. The new Toyota isn't the same as the Honda was. Kirihara hasn't decided if he likes the colour (orange) or the different feel of the seats. He hasn’t decided if he likes the way it feels to drive again, even. His hands shake on the steering wheel sometimes. When he turns corners and the blinker clicks, brief panic sometimes flares in his belly. Is there someone coming? Is it safe?
He hates not being able to allow himself to drive down the expressway with the same carefree speed he had before. He still tailgates. He still screams at the seniors who drive too slow and he still cackles at the housewives who hug the outer lanes with too much caution, but sometimes, occasionally, he's doing the same thing.
If something happened, if Renji was left alone…
Kirihara shakes his head. He signals to turn and he pulls into the merge lane, driving into the space opened up between a lorry and a scooter. The heat is on full-blast and the radio plays soft in the background. Not until he drives into the apartment lot and turns off the ignition does he exhale that tense breathe. Kirihara glances up the cement block. Twilight colours the cement a mauve colour. Renji's left their futon out on the balcony again. It'll be cold and damp tonight, just a little, until Renji climbs over Kirihara's lap and licks his neck. It won't matter when Renji's hands curl around Kirihara's dick that his leg still aches even though he told the doctor it didn't anymore. It won't matter when Renji's small breasts are pressed to his stomach, his chest and Renji's back is slick with sweat under Kirihara's nails. It won't matter when Renji's hot, wet cunt eases down Kirihara's dick and their bodies move together, rising and falling like the tide.
If Kirihara's got that, he's okay.
***
He's got no job.
He's got no money.
He's a failure.
Kirihara tries the arcade. He tries ten arcades and three more. It's the same answer every time: "Sorry kid, we don't hire people your age."
He tries the ramen stands at the train station, the ones with the help wanted ads in their windows. He tries McDonald's and the advertisements in the classifieds of the local paper. It's the same answer every time.
Kirihara takes the bus to the end of the line. He searches the shopping arcades and outside the station, he wanders through the tight, smelly alleys packed with host clubs and bars. He turns off his cellphone and wears the new jacket he got on his birthday. He walks with a swagger unnatural to his body and he stands up as tall as he can. He walks into the club from the flyer a guy offered outside the station. Kirihara peers around. Drunken girls stumble on their heels. Guys in suits bow and smile. One has dimples. He looks about Kirihara's sister's age.
Kirihara walks up to him. "I'm 18," he lies.
The guy with the dimples raises an eyebrow. His smile falls and his dyed hair falls over his eyes. He looks like a playboy and he probably hates this job. The women entering the club are pathetic: dressed up like tarts and smelling of too much perfume and alcohol. Yanagi would never do that, but Kirihara keeps his thoughts to himself.
"Yeah?" the host asks. "You sure about that?"
Kirihara nods.
He works for one night. He falls asleep in school the next day. He works a second night, scrubbing dishes behind the counter. His feet hurt and he breaks too many plates. His back aches from hunching over the sink and he breaks too many martini glasses. Kirihara's never felt so crummy in his life than he does when he has to bow and apologize to the kitchen manager.
His Dad's away. His sister's out with her boyfriend. His mom asks where he is and when did you come home last night, Akaya?!?
He lies and tells her she must not have heard him. He lies and says she musta been too busy watching her tv shows to hear him come in. Because he did, you know, at ten, just like always.
Kirihara really didn't come back until 4am. He walked from the bus stop, a half hour away. The trains stopped hours before and the night buses don't stop very close to him.
He falls asleep during tennis practice. A freshman pokes him in the arm. Waking up to the sight of Urayama Shiita's big eyes staring down at him is the last thing Kirihara wants. "Buchou are you OKAY?" he asks, all in a breathless rush.
On the third night, he's fired.
There's nothing Kirihara can do when Marui sneaks into the Happy Vallee Host Club. There's nothing he can do when Marui sees him behind the counter cleaning dishes. There's nothing he can do when a bouncer escorts Marui out and he yells, "Why can't I come in if you're hiring people even younger than me?!"
Kirihara shuffles home. He stares at his ceiling until dawn breaks. Grey light touches the tops of the apartment blocks as he walks to school. His body aches from lack of sleep. His mind rushes a hundred different directions. His skull pounds. Kirihara sits on a bench by the school tennis courts. He kicks up the cold clay with his sneaker.
He doesn't even have 15 000 yen saved from the three nights at the job. Yanagi will need more than that. And he’ll need it soon.
Kirihara tells Urayama Shiita to run afternoon practice. Urayama stutters and points to his chest. His eyes are huge. "Me?"
Kirihara nods. "Yeah, you, pipsqueak. I got things to do." He walks off. Behind him, Urayama calls out:
"Things more important than tennis, buchou?!"
Kirihara doesn't turn back.
In English, he falls asleep. The ALT from America wakes him up with a poke from a piece of chalk. Kirihara blinks at her. "Eh?"
"Please pay attention," she says. "Kiriyama-kun."
Kirihara rolls over onto the other side of his desk and closes his eyes. If the ALT can't remember his name, he can't be bothered to stay awake in class. The way Kirihara sees it, he needs as much energy as he can muster. He needs to work.
Two girls take him up on his offer at lunch. No one else does. Kirihara holds his hand out to them, palm up.
Maki-chan of 2B shakes her head. "Not until you've done the work." Her friend Aya folds her wallet back up and shakes her head. She says the same thing. She at least says, "I'll give it to you tomorrow morning by your locker."
They walk off giggling to each other. Kirihara scratches his head. He doesn't get it, but he doesn't really care either. After school, he skives off tennis practice. He checks the corridors, but there aren't any third years around. It's not his scheduled day to sweep, but money is money.
Kirihara takes the broom from the closet. A guy from 2B looks at him, all weird-like. "What are you doing?" he asks. Kirihara says nothing. He yawns and grabs the dust pan.
Halfway through sweeping the hallway, two guys from 2B come up to him. Kirihara blinks. It takes a moment for his vision to clear and his head to process their question. His body is so heavy. His limbs are so tired. But he nods and takes their money. He needs it.
Kirihara leans on the broom. He looks down the hallway. It stretches forever. The lights in the stairwell turn off. Time seems to thicken as the other students finish their cleaning duties and pass him by. Kirihara pushes the broom. His shoulder drops. He fumbles with the dust pan. He yawns, louder than ever. The broom handle falls to the floor with a hard, loud snap on the linoleum.
The dust he'd been sweeping flies up in a cloud.
"Fuck," Kirihara says. He yawns again. He picks up the broom and his arm drops. His fingers don't work and he can't stop the forward lean of his body. The sleepiness only gets worse. Kirihara sets the broom on the wall and walks up to one of the wide windows. The pane is cold on his palm and tiny frost patterns creep across the bottom. The sun has set. Only the tennis court floodlights shine on the campus, illuminating the naked trees and the long shadows in the hallway.
His stomach rumbles. He's still got another two classrooms to wipe the chalkboards of and the rest of the annex hallway to sweep. Kirihara sighs.
"Akaya."
Renji stands in the shadows of a row of lockers. He walks up to Kirihara and his shoes squeak on the floor. His lips are tight and he's not smiling. The glow from outside highlights half his face.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
Kirihara swallows. His body sways and he can't help it. "You-I…I need money. I gotta get a job to pay for you…your…"
He can't say it.
He can't say one simple word. Abortion.
He's a failure.
Kirihara sinks to his knees. A wave of something washes over his body. It's an overwhelming force that drags him down and makes his back shake. He moans and cringes at himself. He hates this. He bangs his fists on the floor and he shakes his head. Hot tears prick the sides of his eyes.
Renji touches his arm. He crouches down beside Kirihara. "I'm not having one. I don't want you to pay for anything, Akaya."
Kirihara looks at him. Yanagi has grown three heads, as well as breasts now. "What?" he hisses. "You can't-you, I…we…" He shakes his head again. "You gotta senpai! You gotta!" The words are hard to say and the more Kirihara repeats them, the more Renji's face changes and twists and his eyes look wide and sad and Kirihara's stomach hurts, too. He wants to barf.
Renji says, "If I was given this chance, I think I'd like to take it." When Kirihara's jaw drops, Yanagi adds, "After all, it's not normal to wake up one morning as a girl. I could turn back any day, so…"
His hands slide down to his stomach, cupping the area where…
Kirihara shakes his head. Renji reaches out with one hand, taking Kirihara's hand under his and placing it on top of his stomach. Kirihara hisses. His palm tingles and he's burned with the sensation under his skin. He's burned with the knowledge that inside Renji's stomach, something is alive and moving and his.
Renji tells him it's okay to cry.
***
Qatar doesn't happen.
The flights are booked. The hotels are booked. The transfers are set up and the practices are scheduled in a state-of-the-art facility in the middle of the desert, or so Kirihara imagines it: palm trees and belly dancers and camels and a random green tennis court in an Arabian oasis.
Two days before he's due to leave, Kirihara is at the university sports complex in Yokohama. His shin has gone numb, but that's nothing new. He's had prickles under the skin, like it's falling asleep, off and on for a couple days.
He tosses the ball up to serve. It's nothing, really. He's done it a thousand times before: throw the ball, lean low, shift to the right and loosen his grip on the racket and-
Kirihara screams.
His right leg collapses under himself. It's on fire and frozen at the same time. It's being stabbed by knives, all over and under the surface. His bones shatter in agony and he is there, above himself, floating and watching the scene as the coach runs. The coach shakes him. Kirihara can't answer. He reaches down to clutch his leg and something explodes in his bone, unbearable pain that he's never felt before.
He doesn't remember the ride to the hospital. He knows that there are nurses and doctors rushing around him and asking questions. He knows that the coach is answering them. He knows that something is wrong when the hands touch his leg and he screams bloody murder. Because it is murder. His leg is being cut apart without incisions-he's being cut apart from the inside out.
The drugs are bliss. Kirihara swims through whatever operation the doctors perform. He swims through the recover in a haze of lolling his head and smiling vaguely at the nurses who check his stats. It's not too bad, except in the intervals between drips, when, for that brief moment, pain sears his leg, so tight and so hot that his eyes roll back and he doubles over, sobbing.
Renji takes him home. Again.
"Do not lie to me, Akaya," he says.
Kirihara nods.
"Do not lie to your coach if there is something up with your leg," he says.
Kirihara nods. "Can I still go to Qatar?" he asks.
Renji laughs at him. The sound is cold and ironic. He tells Kirihara to sit on the couch. He feeds Kirihara instant miso soup and tea. "The coach gave me a list of stretches to help you," he says.
If he wasn't savouring the effects of that Tylenol 3, Kirihara might be more upset. And at supper, he's cranky. The Tylenol wears off and the stitching from the operation hurts. His skin is being pulled apart, torn open, and he's not allowed to touch the wrappings. Kirihara winces through dinner. He pushes the takeaway around his plate. With his leg burning like this, he's not really interested in eating to start with.
To top it off, Genki and Kento flick on the tv. There's a tennis game on one of the satellite channels. Kirihara can see the green clay out of the corner of his eye. For a brief moment, the sound of the pong of the ball and the grunts of the players take him back to the court. He knows those sounds.
Yukimura is playing.
Qatar is already playing.
Kirihara sinks lower in his chair. Renji asks him something, but he doesn't hear. He doesn't really want to hear, either.
***
Renji says, "I'm not going to tell them for a couple more weeks."
Spring is in the air. The birds are getting frisky as the green buds form on the trees. The school year is almost done. Kirihara struggles through English. His mind is elsewhere, but Renji gives him enough cheats to squeak by with a just passing mark.
In the past weeks, Renji's gotten bigger. On the surface, he's the same. Okay, his face is maybe a bit rounder, but until Kirihara peels off his clothes in the dimness of one of their bedrooms before their parents get home, it's hard to notice the swell of Renji's stomach and the new thickness in his hips. It's hard to tell that he's got small breasts now instead of puffy little nipples because Renji wears a bra underneath the layers of his school uniform.
How no one's noticed yet in Renji's PE classes, Kirihara would like to know. Renji doesn't say and he doesn't ask. He kisses the rise of Renji's stomach. There are faint little vertical lines tearing the white skin. Kirihara licks them. "Are you okay?" he asks.
Renji touches the top of Kirihara's hair. They're naked. He nods. "I'm fine. Those are just stretch marks, Akaya. They'll probably get a lot bigger."
Kirihara looks up from under his bangs. Renji's lips curl. "95% chance they'll get bigger, in fact." Kirihara frowns. He looks at the marks. He traces them with the tip of his finger. Something moves under the surface, but Kirihara doesn't smile. It's weird to think that he did this. It's weird to think that there's a baby inside that's his.
It makes Kirihara's stomach twist up. It makes Kirihara's intestines knot with guilt. Renji spreads his legs wider and taps Kirihara with his foot. He lifts his hips and rubs against Kirihara's dick.
Kirihara rolls off the bed. Renji looks at him. "Akaya?"
Kirihara buttons his shirt. He pulls on his underpants and his pants. Renji frowns and does the same. His pants pull at his middle. He really won't be able to hide it much longer.
Renji's frown deepens into a scowl. When the sound of the door slamming open and his sister screaming that she's home fills the silence between them, Renji digs his nails into Kirihara's arm.
"Don't do anything stupid!" he hisses.
But Renji is calm and collected when he leaves. He nods to Kirihara's sister. He smiles at her with bland ease as he pulls his shoes on. The first sakura blossoms have opened, the news on tv announces. It's really, truly spring now.
Kirihara clutches the edge of the kitchen table. Renji left an hour ago. His entire family is home, for once. He sets his chopsticks down. His hands shake and his knees wobble. His father picks a piece of fish from his teeth and his mom picks her nails. His sister pulls her ear and plays with a curl of purple in her hair.
"Um," he says.
No one looks at him.
Kirihara clears his throat. His voice is on the end of his tongue and still, his voice wavers. He pushes through the fear and the hot shame and says, as loud as he can, "I got my girlfriend pregnant and we're having a baby."
It could be worse.
He could have been the one to tell Sanada.
During the first week of school, when all the sakura trees on the junior high school campus grounds have burst into simultaneous pink showers of blossoms, Renji blurts it out. Kirihara isn't there. He's still in junior high, working on a tennis practice schedule by himself. But he gets a phone call from Renji who tells him what happens. Sanada yells in the background. Kirihara has to press his cellphone to his ear to hear. Kirihara swallows a lump in his chest. The rice in his mouth sits like ashes on his tongue.
Renji started to steal Marui's cheetos.
Marui said, "I thought you hated this shit, Yanagi."
Jackal nods. "Yeah-and you pilfered some of my nachos last week after practice."
Yagyuu and Niou exchanged glances. Niou raised an eyebrow, but he didn't get up from Yagyuu's lap. Yagyuu fixed his glasses. "You have been snacking a lot more than usual," Yagyuu said.
"That'd explain his pudge," Niou said. He looked at Marui, who chucked a cheeto at Niou's head. It landed between his boobs and he ate it anyway. A bead of sweat slithered down Yagyuu's nose.
Kirihara squirms. Renji keeps talking. He's too calm for this, given that Sanada is yelling about Kirihara being too young in the background. Kirihara winces. He knows this. The memory of his entire family screaming at him is too fresh. He can't help it when his eyes flick to floor, though. He can't help it when his face flushes when even though Sanada's not at junior high to glare at him anymore.
"I'm pregnant," Renji said.
"I'm pregnant by Akaya."
Really, as much as his parents got angry at him, Sanada is the one who got furious-once the blood returned to his face and he got that Renji was a girl. And that Kirihara's had sex. And that Renji and Kirihara made something together.
Kirihara limps home that afternoon. His neck hurts from Sanada showing up at the junior high courts and trying to choke him at tennis practice-Yukimura showed up a couple minutes later and stopped Sanada from doing any real damage. Sanada yelled. Kirihara shouted back. "I'm gonna be responsible!"
Sanada's still pretty angry. He sputters when Renji waits for Kirihara by the tennis clubhouse. "We're walking home together," Renji tells Sanada.
When Renji offers Kirihara a hand, it's all right. Kirihara leans on Renji. He snakes a hand over Renji's belly.
It's all right, really.
***
Between the doctor's okay that his leg is healing fine this time and the National games, Kirihara has a window of ten days.
He's at the sports centre from dawn until ten, each day. He eats the bento box Renji packed him between sessions with the sports med consultant who works on his physio exercises, and his coach, who works on everything else. Kirihara stretches his calves until the muscles burn. He works on his serve until his wrists go numb. He drinks a dozen PET bottles and sweats twice as much. His sneakers burn the wood flooring and his smashes leave scorch marks.
He comes home and sleeps. Renji doesn't press and Kirihara doesn't ask. He's too exhausted for sex, although he dreams about Renji moaning in his ear and whispering he's the best. He dreams of Renji's hand tight around his dick, and he dreams of Renji touching himself, too: two fingers slipping between those crotchless panties make for pleasant dreams, even if Kirihara doesn't remember them.
On day nine, his coach stops him at the ball machine. "Kirihara," he says.
Kirihara looks up. His hair is a twisted, sweaty veil over his eyes. He flips it back and shakes it off like a dog. He slings his racket over his shoulder and leans on his left foot-if he wants a chance at the Nationals, he's gotta keep the weight off his right as much as he can. The split-steps are agony enough already.
His stomach is in knots that sink lower. The fluorescent lights are a harsh glare above him, hot and unnatural. His vision blurs as his coach starts to speak. Kirihara tries to breathe, all proper like.
Finally, his coach says the words: "You're good to go."
Kirihara leans on the gym wall and slams his fist into it. His coach asks what's wrong, but Kirihara just shakes his head. He's grinding his teeth at the pricks in the corners of his eyes, but he's smiling, too.
The courts at Sendai are old and dusty compared to the training facility in Yokohama. The stands are wooden and freshly painted white. The paint is so fresh that Kirihara's nostrils tinge when he steps onto the main court. The ceiling of the courts is painted blue, like the winter sky outdoors. The colour reflects off Yukimura's hair.
They shake hands at the net. It's the finals. Kirihara squeezes Yukimura's hand a fraction longer than necessary. He glares at Yukimura, but his smile isn't false.
"Good luck," Yukimura says. "We're both going to the Olympics regardless, you know."
Kirihara laughs. "I will be number one," he says. Yukimura laughs, too, but the sound is sharp and low. It's a challenge for battle. They'll fight on the court, old friends and rivals, like they have ten, twenty times before.
Kirihara doesn’t think that this will be a game he can finish in thirteen minutes. He looks up and narrows his eyes. Yukimura's hair ruffles, but there is no wind inside the stadium in Sendai. I'll crush you, he thinks-he needs to think.
The first serve is his. Kirihara swallows the lump of tension that has grown in his throat. The ball is warm in his hand and his sweaty palm sticks to the felt. He glances up to the stands. Even in the sea dark heads, he can see his family sitting there. Renji with Hana-chan in her pink cap, Genki and Kento who've put away their gameboys for once, and Natsuko in a short white skirt with Yagyuu and Niou's oldest son next to her.
Determination flares in Kirihara's belly. It burns hot and bright and it makes his body sing. The air is crisp inside and the anticipation thick. His fingers tingle when he bounces the ball the first time. Yukimura stands in the middle of his court, near the baseline, but not quite there. It's his favourite spot.
Kirihara squeezes the ball in his hand, then he releases it. It spins and whirls and shoots left, right, centre. His knuckle serve never gets old.
His heart races and the game's on. Kirihara runs. Yukimura swings wide. Kirihara tries to smash. He grinds his teeth and before the ball's left his racket, he's rushing again for Yukimura's return. It will be-it is-a rising shot. Yukimura's tennis is straightforward, but tough.
Kirihara's feet fly. He ignores the sharp jabs of pain when he sets his right foot down. He shoots an underhand lob. Yukimura grunts and returns a volley.
It's back and forth, back and forth. Whoosh! Shwoop! Thwock!
Kirihara swings. "I'll crush you, old man!"
Yukimura clicks his tongue. He steps back and returns the shot. "Watch it, kiddo!"
Kirihara can get a point. Kirihara can get a game. But he can't get enough of a lead to break the tie they're headed for. Yukimura starts to sweat. Kirihara's back is wet and his face burns. His lungs pound against his ribs, harder than the ball on the courts. Another point is called, this time for Yukimura. Kirihara tenses his jaw and he digs his feet into the court. His right foot starts to slip. Panic makes him stiffen. He tightens his grip on his racket. The ball arcs overhead, nearly lost in the blinding lights. Kirihara squints.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Renji and his family. Renji's eyes are only on him, Kirihara, not the ball. Renji nods and his lips move, but Kirihara doesn't catch what he says.
Instead, he dives for the ball. If he makes it, if he can reach, stretch, force, push himself past the brink of the sluggish pain in his body, this can be his.
"Fuck!" he shouts. His arm pulls. His knees skid on the courts. He hasn't realized he's diving until his chest slams into the court. The ball is falling, so slow that the descent is nearly painful to watch. Kirihara tries to scramble to his knees. He tries to catch the ball with the face of his racket, but his wrist freezes. The muscles won't move. He shakes his head. The crowds gasp, a collective noise that stops entirely when Kirihara feels something in his arm. His eyes focus in on his racket and the recoil in his tendons.
The ball hits the gut.
The ball shoots up.
The ball arcs over the net and falls. It has enough sudden movement that Yukimura doesn't have time to move from his favourite spot, at centre court, near the baseline.
"Point, Kirihara. Game set and match, 7-6!"
Kirihara lays on his back, on the court, as his coach and manager rush out to him. The crowds in the stands erupt into a single, massed cheer. They scream his name. And Kirihara understands what Renji was saying now. He closes his eyes and savours the words. He closes his eyes and savours the moment.
You'll be number one, Akaya!
***
A week before the regionals in July, Kirihara gets a call. It's dark out. He's asleep-or, he was asleep. The soft chime of his ring tone wakes him up. The LCD screen, the lone light in his bedroom, shines blue and says it's 3:34am and he has a call from Renji Yanagi.
His eyes snap open.
"I think it's coming."
"Where-what? Where are you?"
"I'm at home," Renji says. His voice is barely above a whisper. Then, there is a sharp intake of his breath and a strangled moan. Kirihara clings to his cellphone.
"I'll come get you!"
"No-no, it's okay. Meet me at the bus stop. I don't want to wake my parents. It's not their-"
"I'll come!"
Any other day, Kirihara would be both horribly embarrassed and angry to storm into his sister's room and wake her up. Any other day, Kirihara would screech at the sight of his sister's pajama top flung up in sleep and her boob hanging out.
Instead, he shakes her hard and says, "You gotta drive me!"
She doesn't say much in the car. It's a little red Toyota that speeds down the expressway and cuts off a few late-night lorries lumbering along. Kirihara's got one hand on his cellphone and the other on the door handle. He's shaking and sweating and he can't remember if he pulled a pair of underpants on underneath his capris or not. It probably doesn't matter.
His sister's a fast driver. The city lights blur into one. The suburban houses melt into a continuous whir. Kirihara can't think straight. Kirihara can't do anything now and he hates the feeling. Like he's just played a tennis match and his heart slams in his chest, but singles two and singles one are out of his hands.
His sister pulls into the drive of Renji's house just as Renji and his mom come out. Renji's in a bathrobe over a yukata. The night air is heavy with the scent of flowers and damp when Kirihara flings the back door open. Renji waddles-he's not fat, but his face is twisted up, even more than after he lost that tennis game to Seigaku last year.
Kirihara's sister frowns and says nothing when Renji's mom gets into the back seat on the opposite side. Before, she's bitched at him, "Your girlfriend or whatever had better not give birth back there. I just cleaned the car last week!" Now, all she says is, "Which hospital?"
It's Kannai General-the same hospital where Yukimura was last year. At this time of night, the streets around it are empty, except for a few lurching and drunk salarymen. Kirihara's sister drives up to the emergency drop-off. Renji's mom gets out first and helps Renji. Kirihara's hand fumbles on the door latch. For a brief moment, it's just him and his sister in the front seats. She turns to him and her eyes are big and black and shiny.
She nods. In a soft voice she says, "Good luck, Daddy-san."
Then, she kicks him out of the car.
Kirihara runs through the hospital wings to the maternity ward. It doesn't matter if he's a stupid teenage kid who knocked his girlfriend up. It doesn't matter if he's too young and too immature to really get the consequences of what he's done. Nothing matters when he finds Renji's mom outside of a wing. She's sitting on a cushioned bench and her face is white.
Kirihara's stomach plummets. He can't breathe anymore when she says, "There's something wrong. They have to operate."
Kirihara shakes his head. He slams his fists on the wall and screams, "NO!" He slides down to the floor and his legs go numb. He looks up above the automatic doors. A red sign flashes, Operation in Progress.
It doesn't make any sense. Renji said the doctor said it was fine, everything, just last week. And now Renji's mom is talking. Her voice shakes and breaks, though she's not crying. She tells Kirihara words he doesn't understand like "breach" and "heart rate" and "wrong".
Kirihara curls into a ball and chews his lip. Blood fills his mouth. Fingers of honeyed light break through the blinds lining the hallway as dawn comes. Renji's mom says, "There's nothing we can do except wait, Kirihara-kun. Everything will be fine. 100% certainty."
The doors fly open. Kirihara whips his head around. A box rolls out, surrounded by nurses, but he knows that there's something alive inside. Kirihara tries to stand, but he's too slow to catch the nurses before they're gone. He runs halfway down the hallway before he hears the sound of the doors opening a second time.
The doctor comes out. She's smiling at Kirihara. "Everything's fine," she says.
Kirihara holds his breath. Blood pulses behind his eyes and they bulge. He wrings the hem of his jacket. His knees tremble. The doctor says it's a girl and Kirihara falls to his knees a second time. There are shiny patches on the linoleum floor before he realizes he's crying.
Sanada is the first person Kirihara calls. The baby is in a glass box behind a glass window in the maternity ward. He's seen her. He's seen the red, wrinkled face and touched her tiny fingers. They wrapped around his index, perfectly formed and Kirihara knew this was the best thing ever. He couldn't speak because his mouth closed up, but that was okay.
He's overtired and elated. He's definitely not wearing any underpants and his t-shirt is sticky from sitting in a hospital lobby all day in a plastic bucket seat. His voice breaks on the phone when he tells Sanada, "Gu-ess what?"
Niou-senpai shows up maybe an hour later. Renji's mom has gone home to sleep. Kirihara's sister has come and gone. He keeps the department store bag with the onesies his sister spent months knitting by his feet. Niou waves from the alcove. He's got a bag of takeaway sushi with him and his purse slung around his other shoulder.
They unwrap the sushi. Kirihara didn't know he was this hungry until he polishes off eight California rolls and makes a grab for Niou's tuna roll. Niou says, "Puri," but he lets Kirihara have it anyway.
From his purse, Niou gives Kirihara a small box. It's not wrapped. "It's a present for the Data Master," he says. "Figure you guys'll need…something like this in a few months." Niou stands and stretches. In the dim glow of the hospital lighting, his face looks a bit green. "I'm heading out," he says. Niou sets the Styrofoam container of the last sushi on Kirihara's lap. "Not feeling very well," he mumbles.
After Niou leaves, Kirihara peeks inside the box. There is a lacy pair of red panties. He slaps the box lid down and his face is on fire. None of the other nurses in the lobby seem to notice. The box takes on a new heaviness when Kirihara sneaks another look.
The panties don't have a crotch.
"Niou-senpai!" he hisses under his breath. In his mind, though, the fantasy images of Renji walking up to him in crotchless panties with a coy little smile on his lips makes Kirihara's heart flutter and his dick twitch a bit, until they are interrupted by the sound of a baby's cry.
A nurse walks up to him and asks his name. She nods and tells Kirihara, "You can see Yanagi-san, now, if you like. She's awake."
Renji is in half of a shared room. The nurse pulls back the curtain. Kirihara bunches his hands together. The box is clammy in his hands. He hasn't bought Renji any flowers yet. Kirihara ducks his head. He eyes the nurse as she backs up and closes the door behind them. They're alone.
Renji turns. His hair is a mess and his eyes have purple bags forming underneath them. There is an IV drip connected to his hand. He blinks slowly, but then his lips twitch.
Kirihara sets the box down on a small table. He touches Renji's hand. Kirihara's never felt more proud in his life than when he says, "You did it."
***
"You did it," Renji says.
They're alone in the hotel room in Sendai. Renji locked the connecting door to the other room, where the kids are right now. Kirihara's belly is full of the sushi they had for supper with his manager and coach. Sake makes his head float, just enough to be light and comfortable when Renji's fingers dance up his arm and his lips tickle Kirihara's throat.
On the courts, when a reporter came up to Kirihara and asked him how he felt, Kirihara had looked into the stands. Hundreds of his fans were there, those indeterminate women he hated for their jealously. They flapped and flailed at him when he waved, but it wasn't them he was waving at. He was waving at his family, in front of them.
Kirihara leaned into the mic. He looked around and waved, vaguely, when he heard another female voice scream his name. The back of his neck was drenched with sweat and the Gatorade he'd poured over his head-maybe not the smartest move, in hindsight. But when his mouth opened, he grinned.
"It's all thanks to my family. And my wife, Renji."
The ultimate revenge is having the clip played on national tv news channels, all across the country.
The ultimate revenge is having Renji with him in the hotel room, stripping his clothes off piecemeal. Renji's got a black bra on and a pair of those crotchless panties, the umpteenth successors to Niou's first joke. Kirihara's body is as tense as always when Renji rubs his breasts on Kirihara's chest, pulling the cups of the bras back to let Kirihara's skin feel those stiff, hard nipples.
They roll back onto the bed. Renji unzips Kirihara's pants. He spreads his legs and straddles Kirihara's thigh. His cunt is wet and hot-the cool air of the hotel room makes his body that much hotter under Kirihara's fingertips. They kiss, tongue on tongue and Kirihara moans. The bed creaks, then something rustles under Kirihara's back.
His jacket.
The pocket.
The present.
Kirihara opens his eyes. Renji is in his face. Renji's tongue is in his mouth and their noses brush. He rubs himself on Kirihara, hot and wet and demanding. Kirihara's dick pulses in Renji's hand.
He pulls back. A thin trail of saliva follows, like a red thread, linking them. Renji rocks back onto his ankles. The hooded look in his eyes narrows. Kirihara touches Renji's arm. His fingers brush the side of Renji's breast. The skin is soft and smooth.
"I…" He forces himself to laugh. It's such a stupid, trivial thing, but he's carted it around for ages. Kirihara's cheeks flush. His voice roughens. "I got something for you," he mumbles.
Renji raises an eyebrow.
"It's…from a long time ago," Kirihara says. "Supposed to be for your birthday." He avoids Renji's eye when he pulls the envelope out from his jacket pocket underneath their bodies. Renji sits cross-legged. Kirihara looks away, but his eyes drift back. He can't stop looking at the panties. They don't have a crotch. He can't help it-he likes them and he likes what they reveal.
His heart thumps. His blood rushes in his ears. Renji turns the envelope over and slides his finger underneath. His face is expressionless, which only makes the cold coils in Kirihara's belly tighten and strain more.
"Sorry," he says. "I kept…and then stuff happened and…sorry." When Renji pulls the paper out from the envelope and his eyes move back and forth, reading, Kirihara apologizes again. The laugh that bubbles out from his lips is nervous and brittle. He scratches his head. "It's dumb," he says. "Sorry."
Renji sets down the present. He touches Kirihara's jaw with his thumb and he shakes his head. He presses his lips to Kirihara's chin in a single, dry kiss. "No," he says. His words and slow and deliberate. "It's not stupid." He kisses Kirihara on the lips. Renji slides his hands behind Kirihara's neck and he lifts himself onto Kirihara's lap. Their bodies rise together as their mouths meet. Renji groans. "Thank you," he says.
Kirihara nods once. He stops biting his lip because, instead, Renji bites it for him. Renji bites hard and long, dragging Kirihara's bottom lip between his teeth until Kirihara hisses. The pain is beautiful. He digs his hands into Renji's back, scratching down all the way to the swell of Renji's bum.
"It's supposed to be-ah!-the number one onsen experience in…nnngh!"
Renji hums.
Somewhere, in the distance, there is the sound of furins chiming, maybe from a cellphone ringtone down the hotel corridor. Behind the locked door to the adjacent hotel room, the sounds of gameboys beeping and children's voices filter until the doorway, just enough to reach Kirihara's ears.
They move together. The mattress groans and their bodies slap, skin to skin as Kirihara pushes himself deeper into Renji. Renji's still got the panties on. Kirihara's trophy sits on the hotel desk, shining honeyed light onto them. Kirihara moans.
"You're number one," Renji whispers. "Akaya, you're number one!"
For the first time, Kirihara feels almost grown-up, like he's done something important for his family.
Nothing is more all right than that.
~finis~
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]
It's not very festive, in Kirihara's opinion, but since Yanagi wanted to come, he reckons it's an all right spot for a date.
Tonight is Christmas Eve.
His sister already gave him a hard time. "Going out?" she asked. "With a giiiirl?" Kirihara told her to shut up. His face was on fire like he was in devil mode. He wanted to be in devil mode and bite her, or something, but when she ruffled his hair and said, "Aka-chan is all grown up having a date! You're probably lying. There's probably no real girl!"
He really should have left it. He really shouldn't have snapped, "Yes, it's a real girl!" before he ran out of the apartment. It'll be hell when he gets home. He'll never have the end of the kissy faces and teasing, but…
Yanagi is a real girl.
Nobody should say he isn't, Kirihara thinks. Yanagi is as real and as good-no, better!-than any other girl out there could be. Kirihara holds Yanagi's mitten tight. Yanagi swings their arms together, then he sits down on a stone bench.
In the middle of winter, the garden is empty. The Christmas lights of the city shine into the bare trees and the thin bamboo, sparkling reds and greens and yellows over the glassy fish pond. The koi are sleeping. Their footsteps are hushed. Kirihara sits down beside Yanagi. The bench is cold on his butt, so he inches closer.
Yanagi has been acting weird all evening. He hasn't said a word since the train station. He's been looking at everything but Kirihara. His eyes are glazed over with the twinkling lights. There's something behind them, but Kirihara can't quite figure out what.
Maybe this is a bad date.
Maybe Yanagi's angry because Kirihara said they can't go to his place and do it because his Dad is finally back from Hong Kong and his parents are both there and that'd be gross.
Maybe he's just…Kirihara doesn't know. He sighs. He tries to be a good boyfriend and rub Yanagi's shoulder. Yanagi leans away. He looks up at a pine tree. Everywhere else in the city trees like this are covered in fairy lights. In this park, behind the temple, it's quiet and dark.
Kirihara's stomach is in knots. He wrings his mittens together.
"Akaya," Yanagi says. His voice is soft, but it shakes. Kirihara scrunches his forehead up. He touches Yanagi on the arm of his coat and turns him, gently. Yanagi's eyes are shiny and his mouth is a weird mix of a smile and a grimace.
"I'm pregnant."
For the longest while they sit there. Kirihara says nothing. Yanagi bows his head. The words hang in the air, clinging to the chill and their cloudy breaths, when Kirihara remembers to breathe. He looks at his knees. He looks at his hands and his feet. The words are surreal, but Yanagi doesn't take them back.
Kirihara doesn't know what to say. He looks up into the night sky. A round, heavy mood sits right above their heads. Its pearly light peeks down and reflects off the toes of Yanagi's boots, and off the chain hanging from Kirihara's wallet in his pocket.
"It's 100% certainty," Yanagi whispers.
Kirihara says nothing. Yanagi's voice is detached from his body. Their legs don't touch on the bench anymore, but the chill seeps into Kirihara's pants. His stomach sinks into the frozen ground the longer this lasts. He can already hear his sister saying, "Aka-chan having an aka-chan? Yeah right!"
Yanagi stands up. His coat rustles. Dead leaves and twigs crunch softly under his shoes as he steps in front of Kirihara. He bows his head and says, "I'm-"
Kirihara stands up faster than he can think. He grabs Yanagi hard and tight. It's enough to crush their ribs when he squeezes Yanagi to his chest. He shakes his head furiously. A sudden rush of something new and hot and protective makes his body stiff and shaky all at once. "I'm-" He pauses. He swallows and looks up at Yanagi, whose eyes slowly focus on him as his pupils widen. Kirihara's face is reflected in them, lips tight and resolute. Kirihara takes a deep breath and then he steps back. He bows his head and his body as low as he can go and he shouts,
"I promise to do my best! I PROMISE!"
Renji's eyes are shiny when he nods. Kirihara wipes his own eyes, then he pulls Yanagi close again.
I promise to be number one for you!
***
Training is tough.
Not only is his leg shaky at best, but the lack of practice has atrophied his muscles and made his body lazy. He forces himself through a kick serve, but the pain bursts below his knee and he collapses to the gym floor again. Kirihara groans through his teeth. He exhales. The coach yells, "If you want to make it to Qatar, you gotta work, Kirihara! Push it and watch that leg!"
Kirihara grinds his teeth. He whips his head around and glares at his coach, who tosses him a new ball. On an adjacent gym, he knows Yukimura is practicing. If he listens carefully enough, he can hear that squeak and shuffle of movement and the thwock of serves and volleys.
He might not be in top form for the Invitational in Qatar in three weeks, but damned if Yukimura's gonna take the National title from him again. Kirihara breathes hard. He forces his body to work through the strain in his knees and the agony of his leg. He limps to the baseline and loosens his arms up. He throws the ball above his head.
The racket hits right on the sweet spot. The sound is beautiful, like a song, or a woman's moan of ecstasy. Hearing that thwock again, from his own shot, is energizing. Kirihara runs to the net and leans low, ready for the return from the coach.
Training is tough and he sweats hard. In the locker room, he's leaving just as Yukimura enters. Yukimura raises his hand. Kirihara says, "Yo."
Yukimura gives him the one-up with a look to Kirihara's leg. "Do you have it wrapped?" he asks.
Kirihara nods.
Yukimura makes a little noise of agreement. He has a small smile playing at the sides of his mouth, the sort that sets Kirihara on edge. Before Yukimura says anything more, just idle small talk that means nothing, Kirihara says, "I'll win the title this year, senpai."
Yukimura's smile widens. He laughs and wipes sweat from the back of his neck. He chucks the towel onto the empty bench beside himself. "Ne, you do that, Akaya," he says.
Yukimura's tone pisses him off. But Kirihara's twenty-nine. He's a grown up and he's a professional athlete now. Besides, the Olympics are this summer. So long as he's number one this summer, that's what matters most.
Kirihara uncurls his fist when he leaves the locker room. He limps out to the parking lot and fishes his keys out of his pocket. The new Toyota isn't the same as the Honda was. Kirihara hasn't decided if he likes the colour (orange) or the different feel of the seats. He hasn’t decided if he likes the way it feels to drive again, even. His hands shake on the steering wheel sometimes. When he turns corners and the blinker clicks, brief panic sometimes flares in his belly. Is there someone coming? Is it safe?
He hates not being able to allow himself to drive down the expressway with the same carefree speed he had before. He still tailgates. He still screams at the seniors who drive too slow and he still cackles at the housewives who hug the outer lanes with too much caution, but sometimes, occasionally, he's doing the same thing.
If something happened, if Renji was left alone…
Kirihara shakes his head. He signals to turn and he pulls into the merge lane, driving into the space opened up between a lorry and a scooter. The heat is on full-blast and the radio plays soft in the background. Not until he drives into the apartment lot and turns off the ignition does he exhale that tense breathe. Kirihara glances up the cement block. Twilight colours the cement a mauve colour. Renji's left their futon out on the balcony again. It'll be cold and damp tonight, just a little, until Renji climbs over Kirihara's lap and licks his neck. It won't matter when Renji's hands curl around Kirihara's dick that his leg still aches even though he told the doctor it didn't anymore. It won't matter when Renji's small breasts are pressed to his stomach, his chest and Renji's back is slick with sweat under Kirihara's nails. It won't matter when Renji's hot, wet cunt eases down Kirihara's dick and their bodies move together, rising and falling like the tide.
If Kirihara's got that, he's okay.
***
He's got no job.
He's got no money.
He's a failure.
Kirihara tries the arcade. He tries ten arcades and three more. It's the same answer every time: "Sorry kid, we don't hire people your age."
He tries the ramen stands at the train station, the ones with the help wanted ads in their windows. He tries McDonald's and the advertisements in the classifieds of the local paper. It's the same answer every time.
Kirihara takes the bus to the end of the line. He searches the shopping arcades and outside the station, he wanders through the tight, smelly alleys packed with host clubs and bars. He turns off his cellphone and wears the new jacket he got on his birthday. He walks with a swagger unnatural to his body and he stands up as tall as he can. He walks into the club from the flyer a guy offered outside the station. Kirihara peers around. Drunken girls stumble on their heels. Guys in suits bow and smile. One has dimples. He looks about Kirihara's sister's age.
Kirihara walks up to him. "I'm 18," he lies.
The guy with the dimples raises an eyebrow. His smile falls and his dyed hair falls over his eyes. He looks like a playboy and he probably hates this job. The women entering the club are pathetic: dressed up like tarts and smelling of too much perfume and alcohol. Yanagi would never do that, but Kirihara keeps his thoughts to himself.
"Yeah?" the host asks. "You sure about that?"
Kirihara nods.
He works for one night. He falls asleep in school the next day. He works a second night, scrubbing dishes behind the counter. His feet hurt and he breaks too many plates. His back aches from hunching over the sink and he breaks too many martini glasses. Kirihara's never felt so crummy in his life than he does when he has to bow and apologize to the kitchen manager.
His Dad's away. His sister's out with her boyfriend. His mom asks where he is and when did you come home last night, Akaya?!?
He lies and tells her she must not have heard him. He lies and says she musta been too busy watching her tv shows to hear him come in. Because he did, you know, at ten, just like always.
Kirihara really didn't come back until 4am. He walked from the bus stop, a half hour away. The trains stopped hours before and the night buses don't stop very close to him.
He falls asleep during tennis practice. A freshman pokes him in the arm. Waking up to the sight of Urayama Shiita's big eyes staring down at him is the last thing Kirihara wants. "Buchou are you OKAY?" he asks, all in a breathless rush.
On the third night, he's fired.
There's nothing Kirihara can do when Marui sneaks into the Happy Vallee Host Club. There's nothing he can do when Marui sees him behind the counter cleaning dishes. There's nothing he can do when a bouncer escorts Marui out and he yells, "Why can't I come in if you're hiring people even younger than me?!"
Kirihara shuffles home. He stares at his ceiling until dawn breaks. Grey light touches the tops of the apartment blocks as he walks to school. His body aches from lack of sleep. His mind rushes a hundred different directions. His skull pounds. Kirihara sits on a bench by the school tennis courts. He kicks up the cold clay with his sneaker.
He doesn't even have 15 000 yen saved from the three nights at the job. Yanagi will need more than that. And he’ll need it soon.
Kirihara tells Urayama Shiita to run afternoon practice. Urayama stutters and points to his chest. His eyes are huge. "Me?"
Kirihara nods. "Yeah, you, pipsqueak. I got things to do." He walks off. Behind him, Urayama calls out:
"Things more important than tennis, buchou?!"
Kirihara doesn't turn back.
In English, he falls asleep. The ALT from America wakes him up with a poke from a piece of chalk. Kirihara blinks at her. "Eh?"
"Please pay attention," she says. "Kiriyama-kun."
Kirihara rolls over onto the other side of his desk and closes his eyes. If the ALT can't remember his name, he can't be bothered to stay awake in class. The way Kirihara sees it, he needs as much energy as he can muster. He needs to work.
Two girls take him up on his offer at lunch. No one else does. Kirihara holds his hand out to them, palm up.
Maki-chan of 2B shakes her head. "Not until you've done the work." Her friend Aya folds her wallet back up and shakes her head. She says the same thing. She at least says, "I'll give it to you tomorrow morning by your locker."
They walk off giggling to each other. Kirihara scratches his head. He doesn't get it, but he doesn't really care either. After school, he skives off tennis practice. He checks the corridors, but there aren't any third years around. It's not his scheduled day to sweep, but money is money.
Kirihara takes the broom from the closet. A guy from 2B looks at him, all weird-like. "What are you doing?" he asks. Kirihara says nothing. He yawns and grabs the dust pan.
Halfway through sweeping the hallway, two guys from 2B come up to him. Kirihara blinks. It takes a moment for his vision to clear and his head to process their question. His body is so heavy. His limbs are so tired. But he nods and takes their money. He needs it.
Kirihara leans on the broom. He looks down the hallway. It stretches forever. The lights in the stairwell turn off. Time seems to thicken as the other students finish their cleaning duties and pass him by. Kirihara pushes the broom. His shoulder drops. He fumbles with the dust pan. He yawns, louder than ever. The broom handle falls to the floor with a hard, loud snap on the linoleum.
The dust he'd been sweeping flies up in a cloud.
"Fuck," Kirihara says. He yawns again. He picks up the broom and his arm drops. His fingers don't work and he can't stop the forward lean of his body. The sleepiness only gets worse. Kirihara sets the broom on the wall and walks up to one of the wide windows. The pane is cold on his palm and tiny frost patterns creep across the bottom. The sun has set. Only the tennis court floodlights shine on the campus, illuminating the naked trees and the long shadows in the hallway.
His stomach rumbles. He's still got another two classrooms to wipe the chalkboards of and the rest of the annex hallway to sweep. Kirihara sighs.
"Akaya."
Renji stands in the shadows of a row of lockers. He walks up to Kirihara and his shoes squeak on the floor. His lips are tight and he's not smiling. The glow from outside highlights half his face.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
Kirihara swallows. His body sways and he can't help it. "You-I…I need money. I gotta get a job to pay for you…your…"
He can't say it.
He can't say one simple word. Abortion.
He's a failure.
Kirihara sinks to his knees. A wave of something washes over his body. It's an overwhelming force that drags him down and makes his back shake. He moans and cringes at himself. He hates this. He bangs his fists on the floor and he shakes his head. Hot tears prick the sides of his eyes.
Renji touches his arm. He crouches down beside Kirihara. "I'm not having one. I don't want you to pay for anything, Akaya."
Kirihara looks at him. Yanagi has grown three heads, as well as breasts now. "What?" he hisses. "You can't-you, I…we…" He shakes his head again. "You gotta senpai! You gotta!" The words are hard to say and the more Kirihara repeats them, the more Renji's face changes and twists and his eyes look wide and sad and Kirihara's stomach hurts, too. He wants to barf.
Renji says, "If I was given this chance, I think I'd like to take it." When Kirihara's jaw drops, Yanagi adds, "After all, it's not normal to wake up one morning as a girl. I could turn back any day, so…"
His hands slide down to his stomach, cupping the area where…
Kirihara shakes his head. Renji reaches out with one hand, taking Kirihara's hand under his and placing it on top of his stomach. Kirihara hisses. His palm tingles and he's burned with the sensation under his skin. He's burned with the knowledge that inside Renji's stomach, something is alive and moving and his.
Renji tells him it's okay to cry.
***
Qatar doesn't happen.
The flights are booked. The hotels are booked. The transfers are set up and the practices are scheduled in a state-of-the-art facility in the middle of the desert, or so Kirihara imagines it: palm trees and belly dancers and camels and a random green tennis court in an Arabian oasis.
Two days before he's due to leave, Kirihara is at the university sports complex in Yokohama. His shin has gone numb, but that's nothing new. He's had prickles under the skin, like it's falling asleep, off and on for a couple days.
He tosses the ball up to serve. It's nothing, really. He's done it a thousand times before: throw the ball, lean low, shift to the right and loosen his grip on the racket and-
Kirihara screams.
His right leg collapses under himself. It's on fire and frozen at the same time. It's being stabbed by knives, all over and under the surface. His bones shatter in agony and he is there, above himself, floating and watching the scene as the coach runs. The coach shakes him. Kirihara can't answer. He reaches down to clutch his leg and something explodes in his bone, unbearable pain that he's never felt before.
He doesn't remember the ride to the hospital. He knows that there are nurses and doctors rushing around him and asking questions. He knows that the coach is answering them. He knows that something is wrong when the hands touch his leg and he screams bloody murder. Because it is murder. His leg is being cut apart without incisions-he's being cut apart from the inside out.
The drugs are bliss. Kirihara swims through whatever operation the doctors perform. He swims through the recover in a haze of lolling his head and smiling vaguely at the nurses who check his stats. It's not too bad, except in the intervals between drips, when, for that brief moment, pain sears his leg, so tight and so hot that his eyes roll back and he doubles over, sobbing.
Renji takes him home. Again.
"Do not lie to me, Akaya," he says.
Kirihara nods.
"Do not lie to your coach if there is something up with your leg," he says.
Kirihara nods. "Can I still go to Qatar?" he asks.
Renji laughs at him. The sound is cold and ironic. He tells Kirihara to sit on the couch. He feeds Kirihara instant miso soup and tea. "The coach gave me a list of stretches to help you," he says.
If he wasn't savouring the effects of that Tylenol 3, Kirihara might be more upset. And at supper, he's cranky. The Tylenol wears off and the stitching from the operation hurts. His skin is being pulled apart, torn open, and he's not allowed to touch the wrappings. Kirihara winces through dinner. He pushes the takeaway around his plate. With his leg burning like this, he's not really interested in eating to start with.
To top it off, Genki and Kento flick on the tv. There's a tennis game on one of the satellite channels. Kirihara can see the green clay out of the corner of his eye. For a brief moment, the sound of the pong of the ball and the grunts of the players take him back to the court. He knows those sounds.
Yukimura is playing.
Qatar is already playing.
Kirihara sinks lower in his chair. Renji asks him something, but he doesn't hear. He doesn't really want to hear, either.
***
Renji says, "I'm not going to tell them for a couple more weeks."
Spring is in the air. The birds are getting frisky as the green buds form on the trees. The school year is almost done. Kirihara struggles through English. His mind is elsewhere, but Renji gives him enough cheats to squeak by with a just passing mark.
In the past weeks, Renji's gotten bigger. On the surface, he's the same. Okay, his face is maybe a bit rounder, but until Kirihara peels off his clothes in the dimness of one of their bedrooms before their parents get home, it's hard to notice the swell of Renji's stomach and the new thickness in his hips. It's hard to tell that he's got small breasts now instead of puffy little nipples because Renji wears a bra underneath the layers of his school uniform.
How no one's noticed yet in Renji's PE classes, Kirihara would like to know. Renji doesn't say and he doesn't ask. He kisses the rise of Renji's stomach. There are faint little vertical lines tearing the white skin. Kirihara licks them. "Are you okay?" he asks.
Renji touches the top of Kirihara's hair. They're naked. He nods. "I'm fine. Those are just stretch marks, Akaya. They'll probably get a lot bigger."
Kirihara looks up from under his bangs. Renji's lips curl. "95% chance they'll get bigger, in fact." Kirihara frowns. He looks at the marks. He traces them with the tip of his finger. Something moves under the surface, but Kirihara doesn't smile. It's weird to think that he did this. It's weird to think that there's a baby inside that's his.
It makes Kirihara's stomach twist up. It makes Kirihara's intestines knot with guilt. Renji spreads his legs wider and taps Kirihara with his foot. He lifts his hips and rubs against Kirihara's dick.
Kirihara rolls off the bed. Renji looks at him. "Akaya?"
Kirihara buttons his shirt. He pulls on his underpants and his pants. Renji frowns and does the same. His pants pull at his middle. He really won't be able to hide it much longer.
Renji's frown deepens into a scowl. When the sound of the door slamming open and his sister screaming that she's home fills the silence between them, Renji digs his nails into Kirihara's arm.
"Don't do anything stupid!" he hisses.
But Renji is calm and collected when he leaves. He nods to Kirihara's sister. He smiles at her with bland ease as he pulls his shoes on. The first sakura blossoms have opened, the news on tv announces. It's really, truly spring now.
Kirihara clutches the edge of the kitchen table. Renji left an hour ago. His entire family is home, for once. He sets his chopsticks down. His hands shake and his knees wobble. His father picks a piece of fish from his teeth and his mom picks her nails. His sister pulls her ear and plays with a curl of purple in her hair.
"Um," he says.
No one looks at him.
Kirihara clears his throat. His voice is on the end of his tongue and still, his voice wavers. He pushes through the fear and the hot shame and says, as loud as he can, "I got my girlfriend pregnant and we're having a baby."
It could be worse.
He could have been the one to tell Sanada.
During the first week of school, when all the sakura trees on the junior high school campus grounds have burst into simultaneous pink showers of blossoms, Renji blurts it out. Kirihara isn't there. He's still in junior high, working on a tennis practice schedule by himself. But he gets a phone call from Renji who tells him what happens. Sanada yells in the background. Kirihara has to press his cellphone to his ear to hear. Kirihara swallows a lump in his chest. The rice in his mouth sits like ashes on his tongue.
Renji started to steal Marui's cheetos.
Marui said, "I thought you hated this shit, Yanagi."
Jackal nods. "Yeah-and you pilfered some of my nachos last week after practice."
Yagyuu and Niou exchanged glances. Niou raised an eyebrow, but he didn't get up from Yagyuu's lap. Yagyuu fixed his glasses. "You have been snacking a lot more than usual," Yagyuu said.
"That'd explain his pudge," Niou said. He looked at Marui, who chucked a cheeto at Niou's head. It landed between his boobs and he ate it anyway. A bead of sweat slithered down Yagyuu's nose.
Kirihara squirms. Renji keeps talking. He's too calm for this, given that Sanada is yelling about Kirihara being too young in the background. Kirihara winces. He knows this. The memory of his entire family screaming at him is too fresh. He can't help it when his eyes flick to floor, though. He can't help it when his face flushes when even though Sanada's not at junior high to glare at him anymore.
"I'm pregnant," Renji said.
"I'm pregnant by Akaya."
Really, as much as his parents got angry at him, Sanada is the one who got furious-once the blood returned to his face and he got that Renji was a girl. And that Kirihara's had sex. And that Renji and Kirihara made something together.
Kirihara limps home that afternoon. His neck hurts from Sanada showing up at the junior high courts and trying to choke him at tennis practice-Yukimura showed up a couple minutes later and stopped Sanada from doing any real damage. Sanada yelled. Kirihara shouted back. "I'm gonna be responsible!"
Sanada's still pretty angry. He sputters when Renji waits for Kirihara by the tennis clubhouse. "We're walking home together," Renji tells Sanada.
When Renji offers Kirihara a hand, it's all right. Kirihara leans on Renji. He snakes a hand over Renji's belly.
It's all right, really.
***
Between the doctor's okay that his leg is healing fine this time and the National games, Kirihara has a window of ten days.
He's at the sports centre from dawn until ten, each day. He eats the bento box Renji packed him between sessions with the sports med consultant who works on his physio exercises, and his coach, who works on everything else. Kirihara stretches his calves until the muscles burn. He works on his serve until his wrists go numb. He drinks a dozen PET bottles and sweats twice as much. His sneakers burn the wood flooring and his smashes leave scorch marks.
He comes home and sleeps. Renji doesn't press and Kirihara doesn't ask. He's too exhausted for sex, although he dreams about Renji moaning in his ear and whispering he's the best. He dreams of Renji's hand tight around his dick, and he dreams of Renji touching himself, too: two fingers slipping between those crotchless panties make for pleasant dreams, even if Kirihara doesn't remember them.
On day nine, his coach stops him at the ball machine. "Kirihara," he says.
Kirihara looks up. His hair is a twisted, sweaty veil over his eyes. He flips it back and shakes it off like a dog. He slings his racket over his shoulder and leans on his left foot-if he wants a chance at the Nationals, he's gotta keep the weight off his right as much as he can. The split-steps are agony enough already.
His stomach is in knots that sink lower. The fluorescent lights are a harsh glare above him, hot and unnatural. His vision blurs as his coach starts to speak. Kirihara tries to breathe, all proper like.
Finally, his coach says the words: "You're good to go."
Kirihara leans on the gym wall and slams his fist into it. His coach asks what's wrong, but Kirihara just shakes his head. He's grinding his teeth at the pricks in the corners of his eyes, but he's smiling, too.
The courts at Sendai are old and dusty compared to the training facility in Yokohama. The stands are wooden and freshly painted white. The paint is so fresh that Kirihara's nostrils tinge when he steps onto the main court. The ceiling of the courts is painted blue, like the winter sky outdoors. The colour reflects off Yukimura's hair.
They shake hands at the net. It's the finals. Kirihara squeezes Yukimura's hand a fraction longer than necessary. He glares at Yukimura, but his smile isn't false.
"Good luck," Yukimura says. "We're both going to the Olympics regardless, you know."
Kirihara laughs. "I will be number one," he says. Yukimura laughs, too, but the sound is sharp and low. It's a challenge for battle. They'll fight on the court, old friends and rivals, like they have ten, twenty times before.
Kirihara doesn’t think that this will be a game he can finish in thirteen minutes. He looks up and narrows his eyes. Yukimura's hair ruffles, but there is no wind inside the stadium in Sendai. I'll crush you, he thinks-he needs to think.
The first serve is his. Kirihara swallows the lump of tension that has grown in his throat. The ball is warm in his hand and his sweaty palm sticks to the felt. He glances up to the stands. Even in the sea dark heads, he can see his family sitting there. Renji with Hana-chan in her pink cap, Genki and Kento who've put away their gameboys for once, and Natsuko in a short white skirt with Yagyuu and Niou's oldest son next to her.
Determination flares in Kirihara's belly. It burns hot and bright and it makes his body sing. The air is crisp inside and the anticipation thick. His fingers tingle when he bounces the ball the first time. Yukimura stands in the middle of his court, near the baseline, but not quite there. It's his favourite spot.
Kirihara squeezes the ball in his hand, then he releases it. It spins and whirls and shoots left, right, centre. His knuckle serve never gets old.
His heart races and the game's on. Kirihara runs. Yukimura swings wide. Kirihara tries to smash. He grinds his teeth and before the ball's left his racket, he's rushing again for Yukimura's return. It will be-it is-a rising shot. Yukimura's tennis is straightforward, but tough.
Kirihara's feet fly. He ignores the sharp jabs of pain when he sets his right foot down. He shoots an underhand lob. Yukimura grunts and returns a volley.
It's back and forth, back and forth. Whoosh! Shwoop! Thwock!
Kirihara swings. "I'll crush you, old man!"
Yukimura clicks his tongue. He steps back and returns the shot. "Watch it, kiddo!"
Kirihara can get a point. Kirihara can get a game. But he can't get enough of a lead to break the tie they're headed for. Yukimura starts to sweat. Kirihara's back is wet and his face burns. His lungs pound against his ribs, harder than the ball on the courts. Another point is called, this time for Yukimura. Kirihara tenses his jaw and he digs his feet into the court. His right foot starts to slip. Panic makes him stiffen. He tightens his grip on his racket. The ball arcs overhead, nearly lost in the blinding lights. Kirihara squints.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Renji and his family. Renji's eyes are only on him, Kirihara, not the ball. Renji nods and his lips move, but Kirihara doesn't catch what he says.
Instead, he dives for the ball. If he makes it, if he can reach, stretch, force, push himself past the brink of the sluggish pain in his body, this can be his.
"Fuck!" he shouts. His arm pulls. His knees skid on the courts. He hasn't realized he's diving until his chest slams into the court. The ball is falling, so slow that the descent is nearly painful to watch. Kirihara tries to scramble to his knees. He tries to catch the ball with the face of his racket, but his wrist freezes. The muscles won't move. He shakes his head. The crowds gasp, a collective noise that stops entirely when Kirihara feels something in his arm. His eyes focus in on his racket and the recoil in his tendons.
The ball hits the gut.
The ball shoots up.
The ball arcs over the net and falls. It has enough sudden movement that Yukimura doesn't have time to move from his favourite spot, at centre court, near the baseline.
"Point, Kirihara. Game set and match, 7-6!"
Kirihara lays on his back, on the court, as his coach and manager rush out to him. The crowds in the stands erupt into a single, massed cheer. They scream his name. And Kirihara understands what Renji was saying now. He closes his eyes and savours the words. He closes his eyes and savours the moment.
You'll be number one, Akaya!
***
A week before the regionals in July, Kirihara gets a call. It's dark out. He's asleep-or, he was asleep. The soft chime of his ring tone wakes him up. The LCD screen, the lone light in his bedroom, shines blue and says it's 3:34am and he has a call from Renji Yanagi.
His eyes snap open.
"I think it's coming."
"Where-what? Where are you?"
"I'm at home," Renji says. His voice is barely above a whisper. Then, there is a sharp intake of his breath and a strangled moan. Kirihara clings to his cellphone.
"I'll come get you!"
"No-no, it's okay. Meet me at the bus stop. I don't want to wake my parents. It's not their-"
"I'll come!"
Any other day, Kirihara would be both horribly embarrassed and angry to storm into his sister's room and wake her up. Any other day, Kirihara would screech at the sight of his sister's pajama top flung up in sleep and her boob hanging out.
Instead, he shakes her hard and says, "You gotta drive me!"
She doesn't say much in the car. It's a little red Toyota that speeds down the expressway and cuts off a few late-night lorries lumbering along. Kirihara's got one hand on his cellphone and the other on the door handle. He's shaking and sweating and he can't remember if he pulled a pair of underpants on underneath his capris or not. It probably doesn't matter.
His sister's a fast driver. The city lights blur into one. The suburban houses melt into a continuous whir. Kirihara can't think straight. Kirihara can't do anything now and he hates the feeling. Like he's just played a tennis match and his heart slams in his chest, but singles two and singles one are out of his hands.
His sister pulls into the drive of Renji's house just as Renji and his mom come out. Renji's in a bathrobe over a yukata. The night air is heavy with the scent of flowers and damp when Kirihara flings the back door open. Renji waddles-he's not fat, but his face is twisted up, even more than after he lost that tennis game to Seigaku last year.
Kirihara's sister frowns and says nothing when Renji's mom gets into the back seat on the opposite side. Before, she's bitched at him, "Your girlfriend or whatever had better not give birth back there. I just cleaned the car last week!" Now, all she says is, "Which hospital?"
It's Kannai General-the same hospital where Yukimura was last year. At this time of night, the streets around it are empty, except for a few lurching and drunk salarymen. Kirihara's sister drives up to the emergency drop-off. Renji's mom gets out first and helps Renji. Kirihara's hand fumbles on the door latch. For a brief moment, it's just him and his sister in the front seats. She turns to him and her eyes are big and black and shiny.
She nods. In a soft voice she says, "Good luck, Daddy-san."
Then, she kicks him out of the car.
Kirihara runs through the hospital wings to the maternity ward. It doesn't matter if he's a stupid teenage kid who knocked his girlfriend up. It doesn't matter if he's too young and too immature to really get the consequences of what he's done. Nothing matters when he finds Renji's mom outside of a wing. She's sitting on a cushioned bench and her face is white.
Kirihara's stomach plummets. He can't breathe anymore when she says, "There's something wrong. They have to operate."
Kirihara shakes his head. He slams his fists on the wall and screams, "NO!" He slides down to the floor and his legs go numb. He looks up above the automatic doors. A red sign flashes, Operation in Progress.
It doesn't make any sense. Renji said the doctor said it was fine, everything, just last week. And now Renji's mom is talking. Her voice shakes and breaks, though she's not crying. She tells Kirihara words he doesn't understand like "breach" and "heart rate" and "wrong".
Kirihara curls into a ball and chews his lip. Blood fills his mouth. Fingers of honeyed light break through the blinds lining the hallway as dawn comes. Renji's mom says, "There's nothing we can do except wait, Kirihara-kun. Everything will be fine. 100% certainty."
The doors fly open. Kirihara whips his head around. A box rolls out, surrounded by nurses, but he knows that there's something alive inside. Kirihara tries to stand, but he's too slow to catch the nurses before they're gone. He runs halfway down the hallway before he hears the sound of the doors opening a second time.
The doctor comes out. She's smiling at Kirihara. "Everything's fine," she says.
Kirihara holds his breath. Blood pulses behind his eyes and they bulge. He wrings the hem of his jacket. His knees tremble. The doctor says it's a girl and Kirihara falls to his knees a second time. There are shiny patches on the linoleum floor before he realizes he's crying.
Sanada is the first person Kirihara calls. The baby is in a glass box behind a glass window in the maternity ward. He's seen her. He's seen the red, wrinkled face and touched her tiny fingers. They wrapped around his index, perfectly formed and Kirihara knew this was the best thing ever. He couldn't speak because his mouth closed up, but that was okay.
He's overtired and elated. He's definitely not wearing any underpants and his t-shirt is sticky from sitting in a hospital lobby all day in a plastic bucket seat. His voice breaks on the phone when he tells Sanada, "Gu-ess what?"
Niou-senpai shows up maybe an hour later. Renji's mom has gone home to sleep. Kirihara's sister has come and gone. He keeps the department store bag with the onesies his sister spent months knitting by his feet. Niou waves from the alcove. He's got a bag of takeaway sushi with him and his purse slung around his other shoulder.
They unwrap the sushi. Kirihara didn't know he was this hungry until he polishes off eight California rolls and makes a grab for Niou's tuna roll. Niou says, "Puri," but he lets Kirihara have it anyway.
From his purse, Niou gives Kirihara a small box. It's not wrapped. "It's a present for the Data Master," he says. "Figure you guys'll need…something like this in a few months." Niou stands and stretches. In the dim glow of the hospital lighting, his face looks a bit green. "I'm heading out," he says. Niou sets the Styrofoam container of the last sushi on Kirihara's lap. "Not feeling very well," he mumbles.
After Niou leaves, Kirihara peeks inside the box. There is a lacy pair of red panties. He slaps the box lid down and his face is on fire. None of the other nurses in the lobby seem to notice. The box takes on a new heaviness when Kirihara sneaks another look.
The panties don't have a crotch.
"Niou-senpai!" he hisses under his breath. In his mind, though, the fantasy images of Renji walking up to him in crotchless panties with a coy little smile on his lips makes Kirihara's heart flutter and his dick twitch a bit, until they are interrupted by the sound of a baby's cry.
A nurse walks up to him and asks his name. She nods and tells Kirihara, "You can see Yanagi-san, now, if you like. She's awake."
Renji is in half of a shared room. The nurse pulls back the curtain. Kirihara bunches his hands together. The box is clammy in his hands. He hasn't bought Renji any flowers yet. Kirihara ducks his head. He eyes the nurse as she backs up and closes the door behind them. They're alone.
Renji turns. His hair is a mess and his eyes have purple bags forming underneath them. There is an IV drip connected to his hand. He blinks slowly, but then his lips twitch.
Kirihara sets the box down on a small table. He touches Renji's hand. Kirihara's never felt more proud in his life than when he says, "You did it."
***
"You did it," Renji says.
They're alone in the hotel room in Sendai. Renji locked the connecting door to the other room, where the kids are right now. Kirihara's belly is full of the sushi they had for supper with his manager and coach. Sake makes his head float, just enough to be light and comfortable when Renji's fingers dance up his arm and his lips tickle Kirihara's throat.
On the courts, when a reporter came up to Kirihara and asked him how he felt, Kirihara had looked into the stands. Hundreds of his fans were there, those indeterminate women he hated for their jealously. They flapped and flailed at him when he waved, but it wasn't them he was waving at. He was waving at his family, in front of them.
Kirihara leaned into the mic. He looked around and waved, vaguely, when he heard another female voice scream his name. The back of his neck was drenched with sweat and the Gatorade he'd poured over his head-maybe not the smartest move, in hindsight. But when his mouth opened, he grinned.
"It's all thanks to my family. And my wife, Renji."
The ultimate revenge is having the clip played on national tv news channels, all across the country.
The ultimate revenge is having Renji with him in the hotel room, stripping his clothes off piecemeal. Renji's got a black bra on and a pair of those crotchless panties, the umpteenth successors to Niou's first joke. Kirihara's body is as tense as always when Renji rubs his breasts on Kirihara's chest, pulling the cups of the bras back to let Kirihara's skin feel those stiff, hard nipples.
They roll back onto the bed. Renji unzips Kirihara's pants. He spreads his legs and straddles Kirihara's thigh. His cunt is wet and hot-the cool air of the hotel room makes his body that much hotter under Kirihara's fingertips. They kiss, tongue on tongue and Kirihara moans. The bed creaks, then something rustles under Kirihara's back.
His jacket.
The pocket.
The present.
Kirihara opens his eyes. Renji is in his face. Renji's tongue is in his mouth and their noses brush. He rubs himself on Kirihara, hot and wet and demanding. Kirihara's dick pulses in Renji's hand.
He pulls back. A thin trail of saliva follows, like a red thread, linking them. Renji rocks back onto his ankles. The hooded look in his eyes narrows. Kirihara touches Renji's arm. His fingers brush the side of Renji's breast. The skin is soft and smooth.
"I…" He forces himself to laugh. It's such a stupid, trivial thing, but he's carted it around for ages. Kirihara's cheeks flush. His voice roughens. "I got something for you," he mumbles.
Renji raises an eyebrow.
"It's…from a long time ago," Kirihara says. "Supposed to be for your birthday." He avoids Renji's eye when he pulls the envelope out from his jacket pocket underneath their bodies. Renji sits cross-legged. Kirihara looks away, but his eyes drift back. He can't stop looking at the panties. They don't have a crotch. He can't help it-he likes them and he likes what they reveal.
His heart thumps. His blood rushes in his ears. Renji turns the envelope over and slides his finger underneath. His face is expressionless, which only makes the cold coils in Kirihara's belly tighten and strain more.
"Sorry," he says. "I kept…and then stuff happened and…sorry." When Renji pulls the paper out from the envelope and his eyes move back and forth, reading, Kirihara apologizes again. The laugh that bubbles out from his lips is nervous and brittle. He scratches his head. "It's dumb," he says. "Sorry."
Renji sets down the present. He touches Kirihara's jaw with his thumb and he shakes his head. He presses his lips to Kirihara's chin in a single, dry kiss. "No," he says. His words and slow and deliberate. "It's not stupid." He kisses Kirihara on the lips. Renji slides his hands behind Kirihara's neck and he lifts himself onto Kirihara's lap. Their bodies rise together as their mouths meet. Renji groans. "Thank you," he says.
Kirihara nods once. He stops biting his lip because, instead, Renji bites it for him. Renji bites hard and long, dragging Kirihara's bottom lip between his teeth until Kirihara hisses. The pain is beautiful. He digs his hands into Renji's back, scratching down all the way to the swell of Renji's bum.
"It's supposed to be-ah!-the number one onsen experience in…nnngh!"
Renji hums.
Somewhere, in the distance, there is the sound of furins chiming, maybe from a cellphone ringtone down the hotel corridor. Behind the locked door to the adjacent hotel room, the sounds of gameboys beeping and children's voices filter until the doorway, just enough to reach Kirihara's ears.
They move together. The mattress groans and their bodies slap, skin to skin as Kirihara pushes himself deeper into Renji. Renji's still got the panties on. Kirihara's trophy sits on the hotel desk, shining honeyed light onto them. Kirihara moans.
"You're number one," Renji whispers. "Akaya, you're number one!"
For the first time, Kirihara feels almost grown-up, like he's done something important for his family.
Nothing is more all right than that.
~finis~