Did I mention I'm into Eyeshield 21 now? Like, really really.
Title: Marshmallows
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori, Monta-->Mamori, and...I don't know. Some kind of interaction involving Sena and Monta; make of it what you will.
Rating: PG-13 for Hiruma.
Summary: The Devil Bats go camping, Mamori and Hiruma fight (sort of), Sena is distressed, and Monta comes to at least two realizations.
Author's Note: I don't know if anyone on my f-list even reads Eyeshield 21 (you all should, for the record), but if so, here's this! Also, pikabot? I know I said I wouldn't. I lied. Shut up.
Most of the team was already asleep in their tents; it had been a long hike up through the hills, and a hard one due to the oversized and overfilled packs carried by the team as part of a Training from Hell exercise. Kurita had fallen onto his bedroll moments before if the tree-rattling thump was any indication, and Mamori suspected that he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. She had at least managed to make Sena exempt from any extreme load-carrying, though she had been forced to lug Hiruma’s bag of supplementary firearms as a result. Because of Sena’s unbroken back and Monta’s apparent deriving of instant energy from dinner, the two boys were somewhere out in the woods engaged in a firewood-gathering competition. Mamori was concerned, but Hiruma had explained that neither man nor unwelcome beast would get within a hundred yards of the campsite without setting Cerberus off, and she had to concede to that point.
So now it was just the two of them by the campfire, Hiruma leaning back against a stump with his arms stacked behind his head, eyes shut, and Mamori toasting marshmallows on a stick for the boys. It must have been almost ten o’ clock, she guessed. No doubt they would have an early morning for more hellish training. Mamori sighed and glanced at Hiruma; he gave off no outward signs of being awake, but she’d bet her left arm that he wasn’t sleeping.
“Hiruma-kun?”
There was a pause, and then an exasperated sigh.
“What.”
Mamori smiled, turning the marshmallows over the fire. “Thank you for taking us on this trip.”
At that, Hiruma cracked an eye open and gave her a lazy yet calculating glance before shutting it again. “It’s not a vacation, fucking manager. It’s a training exercise.”
“I know that.” She slid a little closer to him on the bench they’d made from a fallen tree trunk. “But thank you. This is nice.”
“I only brought you along as an extra packhorse.”
Mamori giggled. “Is that right?” She leaned in, resting the side of her face against his arm. She could see his lip curl into a sneer, and he turned to look at her, as if he was gearing up to say something nasty. But he didn’t. He stopped, glaring at her from so close that she could feel his breath brush her face. She could practically see him thinking, analyzing the situation, deciding-
His lips tasted like sugar-free gum and lingering cigarette smoke.
She’d always expected him to be a harsh kisser, but he wasn’t, not really. Forceful, perhaps, and calculated…but certainly not bad…one of the arms behind his head went to wrap around her shoulders, and his other hand ended up in her hair. Mamori kissed him back for several seconds, until he started to press her back against the tree stump-suddenly she felt uncomfortably trapped and wriggled halfway out of Hiruma’s grip, breaking the kiss and leaving him to stare at her in a carefully blank manner.
Without warning, Hiruma got to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started to walk away toward the woods.
Mamori sat up, staring after him and feeling lost. Only now did she notice that she was still holding the marshmallow stick. She ran her free hand through her hair a few times, inexplicably embarrassed.
“Hiruma!” she called, and he stopped walking, just at the tree line.
“…What.”
She looked down. “Come back?”
There was a pause, and he looked back over his shoulder, grinning like a demon. “What’s in it for me?”
Mamori dutifully kept herself from rolling her eyes. She waved the marshmallow stick in a hopefully tantalizing fashion. “I’ll give you all the marshmallows on this stick.”
Hiruma appeared to consider this. Then, he sauntered back over and propped one foot on the log, leaning down to look Mamori in the eyes. “I thought you were cooking those for the fucking shrimps,” he observed, sounding bored.
Mamori bit her lip and glanced at the marshmallow stick, feeling guilty. She was toasting them for Sena and Monta…but it didn’t take long, and by the time the boys got back, they might be burnt or cold. She would make them more when they returned with firewood. She smiled, trying to look coy. “I am…but they don’t know that yet.”
At this, Hiruma cackled deviously and threw himself back down on the log, pillowing his head with his arms. “Good one, fucking manager.”
“I told you not to talk to me that way.” She smiled. “Do you want these marshmallows or not?”
The demonic grin was back. “I don’t feel like moving. Gimme one.”
Mamori balked. “You want me to-Hiruma, I am not going to feed you marshmallows.”
“Well, they’re not gonna jump in my mouth, are they?” He was still smiling like a shark, and this time Mamori did roll her eyes.
“Oh, honestly. All right, here.” She plucked one gooey, slightly overcooked marshmallow from the stick. “Open up!”
He did. And in a fit of gleeful immaturity, Mamori smashed the marshmallow on his nose.
Triumphant, Mamori caught a moment of unbridled shock in Hiruma’s face before it transmuted into an expression of vengeful, marshmallow-covered fury. He dragged a hand down his face while she giggled, wiping the sticky mess smudged on his nose and flicking it into the ground. And then, almost too fast for Mamori to register, he leapt up and made a grab for her.
“Hey!” She scrambled out of the way, watching in horror as he whipped a marshmallow off the stick and grinned with unchecked menace. “Oh no…”
Hiruma lunged, marshmallow in hand, and Mamori shrieked and ran to the other side of the fire. “Help! Hiruma, no! Help!” But she was laughing too hard to sound properly convincing, and when he caught her around the waist all she could do was laugh more and flail ineffectually against his grip. “Oh no, don’t, no!”
“You asked for it!” Hiruma cackled, and smashed the marshmallow onto her cheek.
“Ewww!” Mamori shrieked, and leaned forward in an attempt to escape while he ground the marshmallow against her face with his palm. “Ew, Hiruma, stop! That’s so gross!”
“Yeah, how do you like that, fucking manager?” was Hiruma’s only response. He sounded immensely proud of himself, and Mamori could only laugh helplessly, until-
The sound of sticks clattering as they fell to the ground cut off all other sound. Mamori and Hiruma looked as one to the tree line at the other end of the clearing.
The dropped sticks were Monta’s; Sena was still holding his.
Quickly, Mamori took stock. Her face was covered in sticky marshmallow, one of Hiruma’s hands still gripping her chin, the other arm wrapped vice-like around her waist, and he was leaning over her, pressed to her back, staring in silence. Monta was still in evident shock. Sena appeared to be growing more uncomfortable and uncertain by the second. Well…
Mamori decided to extricate herself from Hiruma’s grip at the same time he decided to let go, resulting in a momentary stumble, but she righted herself and scrubbed the sticky mess from her face as well as she could before flashing the boys a reassuring smile. “Oh good, you’re back! I see you found lots of firewood!”
She went to meet them, bending to pick up Monta’s dropped sticks. He flew into action, rushing to get to them himself.
“Y-Yes Mamori-neesan,” Sena mumbled, recovering. “We had a contest…”
“To see who could collect fifty sticks and get back to camp the fastest!” Monta finished, grinning, as Mamori helped pile the last of the sticks into his arms. “Sena won. But I was close!”
“Oh, very good, Sena-kun!” Mamori exclaimed, and reached over to wrap an arm around Sena’s shoulders and ruffle his hair. That helped; he smiled, readjusting his sticks as if they were a trophy. “Why don’t you go and put them over by the fire so we can-oh! Monta-kun, is that a scratch?”
He gave her a quizzical look, and then touched a scrape on his cheek. “Oh, yeah…I think I got it running through the trees.”
“Poor Monta-kun,” Mamori said sympathetically. “Here, come with me and we’ll clean it up so it doesn’t get infected. Sena-kun, would you please take his sticks to the fire as well?”
“Sure,” he said, reaching for Monta’s bundle. Mamori turned to watch him carry the pile of sticks to the fireside and caught Hiruma staring at her through the flames. It was a callous glare, and Mamori wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what there was to say, so instead she put a hand on Monta’s shoulder and led him away to sit in front of the girls’ tent.
Mamori collected the first-aid kit and returned, rifling through it for an antiseptic wipe. She found one, tore it open, and held Monta’s chin in her hand to wipe the grit out of his scrape. “Honestly, Monta-kun, it seems as if you always end up with some kind of bruise or cut by the end of the day…”
“I don’t do it on purpose,” he mumbled, red-faced.
Mamori smiled. “I didn’t think you did,” she said, smoothing a band-aid over his scratch. “But it’s okay. You have me to look after you, don’t you?”
Monta stared at her in something that looked like shock, wise-eyed and blinking. His face picked up a whole new shade of red. “M-Mamori-san…”
Mamori sat back, closing the first-aid kit. “Yes?”
“I…I have something to tell you…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and his next words were so quiet she almost didn’t catch them. “I-I um. I really like you, Mamori-san.”
Mamori considered this. Then she smiled. “I’m glad, Monta-kun. I like you too.”
“You do!?” He looked shocked. Mamori giggled.
“Of course I do!”
“Really? I…wow…”
“I know we haven’t really known each other all that long, but I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time, almost since I first met you.”
Monta nodded along, looking stunned. “Yeah, me too! I mean I always thought-well, you just…I’ve spent so long trying to figure out how to ask-”
“You know,” Mamori said (and she realized too late she shouldn’t have cut him off, but he didn’t seem to mind), “I…I really do think of you the same way I think of Sena-kun.”
Monta looked shocked again. “…What?”
“Yes, I…well…I just sort of feel like, like you could almost be my little brother, you know?” She smiled a little wider, for emphasis, and because he looked crestfallen. Had she said something wrong…?
“Oh,” Monta said, sounding hollow. “Right. Yeah…little brother, right.”
Mamori bit her lip. “You can call me Mamori-neesan if you’d like.”
Monta smiled. He looked like he was trying too hard. “Thanks! I…I guess I can. Um. Would you mind if…maybe I just called you Mamori-san?”
Mamori frowned, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be too familiar…”
“No! No, it’s okay! I just…I don’t want to start calling you that because maybe…um…maybe Sena would get jealous! You know?”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “Of course. I’ve been Sena-kun’s ‘big sister’ for so long that. perhaps…right! Of course. Just call me Mamori-san! Or, if you think it would be okay, you could just call me Mamori!” She grinned, and Monta smiled back.
“Thanks, Mamori-san. Er, Mamori. Er…well, thanks.”
She giggled. “No problem. I’m glad we had this talk, Monta-kun. If you ever have anything to tell me, feel free!”
“I will,” he mumbled.
“Now, I think you and Sena-kun ought to get some sleep. I’m sure Hiruma-kun has some big plans for the team tomorrow.” And speaking of Hiruma, she would have to talk to him.
“Yeah, good point,” said Monta, suddenly distracted by what Mamori guessed were thoughts of torture. He got up, scrambled to help Mamori to her feet at the last second, and jogged to the fire to find Sena, who was perched stiffly on the edge of the log, the other end of which was occupied by an ostensibly dozing Hiruma.
“See you two in the morning!” Mamori said, waving them along, and went to get her pajamas on. She’d have to talk to Hiruma later…
“Sena?” Monta whispered as they shuffled around Kurita’s prone bulk to their bedrolls.
“Yes?”
“I talked to Mamori-san…”
Sena peered at him through the darkness, toeing his way around his sleeping teammates. “What about?”
There was a moment of silence as they located their bedrolls. “I told her I like her.”
Sena paused. He crawled into his bedroll. “What did she say?”
He knew by Monta’s plaintive sigh that the answer wasn’t the one he’d been looking for. “She says,” he explained bitterly, huddling down into his bedroll, “she thinks of me the same way she thinks of you. She told me I can call her Mamori-neesan.”
“Oh, that’s good!” Sena whispered cheerfully. Monta gave him a look through the darkness that registered as evil despite its lack of total visibility. “I-I mean…”
Monta sighed again. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m just mad she doesn’t like me. I’m a good guy! How come I can’t get her to notice me, you know? I mean, don’t you think I’m a good guy?”
Sena situated himself comfortably in his bedroll and turned his head to look at Monta, who was glaring at the ceiling of the tent. “Yes.”
“Yeah! See? What haven’t I got, huh? I don’t know, Sena…this is just max depressing.” He was quiet for a moment. “Do you think maybe she’ll ever like me?”
Sena thought. “I don’t know. But I like you. And even if no one else ever does, I’ll always be there for you, and you can always count on me. So you don’t have to worry about me letting you down!”
Monta turned to look at his friend’s hazy profile in the darkness. He considered telling him that that didn’t count, or that it wasn’t the same, or that he didn’t get it, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Thanks, Sena.”
Hiruma was still pretending to be asleep when Mamori returned to the fire.
“Hiruma-kun? Are you awake?”
He didn’t move. “What do you want, fucking manager?”
She tiptoed barefoot to the log and sat down beside him. “Nothing. I just wanted to come out and say goodnight before I turned in. You should get some sleep too, you know.”
“I was trying. Then you came along and ruined it.”
Mamori sighed, not entirely exasperated. She noticed that the marshmallow stick, planted in the ground, bore freshly-toasted marshmallows. “Are these for me?”
He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. She considered thanking him and saying that it was a sweet gesture, but she suspected it would go over like a lead balloon, and besides, he’d probably only made them for himself and then decided he didn’t want them. She took one from the stick and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, and Hiruma cracked an eye open to look at her.
“Quit coddling my receiver,” he said. Mamori swallowed the remaining bits of marshmallow and looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You treat my players like fucking babies.”
“I’m sorry,” Mamori said simply, after a moment. She scooted closer, leaning against his shoulder. “I’ll try to stop. I just like to make sure everyone is taken care of.”
“Some people don’t need taking care of, fucking manager.”
She wrapped one arm around him and closed her eyes. “Oh, I think everyone needs someone else to take care of them once in awhile, even if they think they don’t.”
She could practically feel his ire rising, but instead of calling her a name, he just tipped her head back and kissed her with more force than strictly necessary. She leaned into it, wrapping her arms around him and refusing to return the kiss as harshly as he was giving it. She suspected he found this almost unbearably irritating, but he didn’t stop. And after a moment, she felt the hand that wasn’t on her back sliding under the edge of her shirt.
Mamori smacked Hiruma’s hand away and leaned back, glaring. He glared back, expression approaching something Mamori was tempted to dub ‘bored surprise’.
“You move fast,” she scolded.
“I’m a quarterback,” he stated matter-of-factly, and kissed her again.
But when his hand found the hem of her shirt again, she pushed him away. This time, he sneered. “Fucking prude,” he spat, and turned away, leaning his side against the stump and glaring out into the forest.
Mamori leaned into his back, settling against him and wrapping her arms around his torso, chin on his shoulder. He didn’t move away.
The marshmallows grew cold and tacky on their stick, and Mamori, as she closed her eyes, vowed to toast some more in the morning.
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori, Monta-->Mamori, and...I don't know. Some kind of interaction involving Sena and Monta; make of it what you will.
Rating: PG-13 for Hiruma.
Summary: The Devil Bats go camping, Mamori and Hiruma fight (sort of), Sena is distressed, and Monta comes to at least two realizations.
Author's Note: I don't know if anyone on my f-list even reads Eyeshield 21 (you all should, for the record), but if so, here's this! Also, pikabot? I know I said I wouldn't. I lied. Shut up.
Most of the team was already asleep in their tents; it had been a long hike up through the hills, and a hard one due to the oversized and overfilled packs carried by the team as part of a Training from Hell exercise. Kurita had fallen onto his bedroll moments before if the tree-rattling thump was any indication, and Mamori suspected that he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. She had at least managed to make Sena exempt from any extreme load-carrying, though she had been forced to lug Hiruma’s bag of supplementary firearms as a result. Because of Sena’s unbroken back and Monta’s apparent deriving of instant energy from dinner, the two boys were somewhere out in the woods engaged in a firewood-gathering competition. Mamori was concerned, but Hiruma had explained that neither man nor unwelcome beast would get within a hundred yards of the campsite without setting Cerberus off, and she had to concede to that point.
So now it was just the two of them by the campfire, Hiruma leaning back against a stump with his arms stacked behind his head, eyes shut, and Mamori toasting marshmallows on a stick for the boys. It must have been almost ten o’ clock, she guessed. No doubt they would have an early morning for more hellish training. Mamori sighed and glanced at Hiruma; he gave off no outward signs of being awake, but she’d bet her left arm that he wasn’t sleeping.
“Hiruma-kun?”
There was a pause, and then an exasperated sigh.
“What.”
Mamori smiled, turning the marshmallows over the fire. “Thank you for taking us on this trip.”
At that, Hiruma cracked an eye open and gave her a lazy yet calculating glance before shutting it again. “It’s not a vacation, fucking manager. It’s a training exercise.”
“I know that.” She slid a little closer to him on the bench they’d made from a fallen tree trunk. “But thank you. This is nice.”
“I only brought you along as an extra packhorse.”
Mamori giggled. “Is that right?” She leaned in, resting the side of her face against his arm. She could see his lip curl into a sneer, and he turned to look at her, as if he was gearing up to say something nasty. But he didn’t. He stopped, glaring at her from so close that she could feel his breath brush her face. She could practically see him thinking, analyzing the situation, deciding-
His lips tasted like sugar-free gum and lingering cigarette smoke.
She’d always expected him to be a harsh kisser, but he wasn’t, not really. Forceful, perhaps, and calculated…but certainly not bad…one of the arms behind his head went to wrap around her shoulders, and his other hand ended up in her hair. Mamori kissed him back for several seconds, until he started to press her back against the tree stump-suddenly she felt uncomfortably trapped and wriggled halfway out of Hiruma’s grip, breaking the kiss and leaving him to stare at her in a carefully blank manner.
Without warning, Hiruma got to his feet, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started to walk away toward the woods.
Mamori sat up, staring after him and feeling lost. Only now did she notice that she was still holding the marshmallow stick. She ran her free hand through her hair a few times, inexplicably embarrassed.
“Hiruma!” she called, and he stopped walking, just at the tree line.
“…What.”
She looked down. “Come back?”
There was a pause, and he looked back over his shoulder, grinning like a demon. “What’s in it for me?”
Mamori dutifully kept herself from rolling her eyes. She waved the marshmallow stick in a hopefully tantalizing fashion. “I’ll give you all the marshmallows on this stick.”
Hiruma appeared to consider this. Then, he sauntered back over and propped one foot on the log, leaning down to look Mamori in the eyes. “I thought you were cooking those for the fucking shrimps,” he observed, sounding bored.
Mamori bit her lip and glanced at the marshmallow stick, feeling guilty. She was toasting them for Sena and Monta…but it didn’t take long, and by the time the boys got back, they might be burnt or cold. She would make them more when they returned with firewood. She smiled, trying to look coy. “I am…but they don’t know that yet.”
At this, Hiruma cackled deviously and threw himself back down on the log, pillowing his head with his arms. “Good one, fucking manager.”
“I told you not to talk to me that way.” She smiled. “Do you want these marshmallows or not?”
The demonic grin was back. “I don’t feel like moving. Gimme one.”
Mamori balked. “You want me to-Hiruma, I am not going to feed you marshmallows.”
“Well, they’re not gonna jump in my mouth, are they?” He was still smiling like a shark, and this time Mamori did roll her eyes.
“Oh, honestly. All right, here.” She plucked one gooey, slightly overcooked marshmallow from the stick. “Open up!”
He did. And in a fit of gleeful immaturity, Mamori smashed the marshmallow on his nose.
Triumphant, Mamori caught a moment of unbridled shock in Hiruma’s face before it transmuted into an expression of vengeful, marshmallow-covered fury. He dragged a hand down his face while she giggled, wiping the sticky mess smudged on his nose and flicking it into the ground. And then, almost too fast for Mamori to register, he leapt up and made a grab for her.
“Hey!” She scrambled out of the way, watching in horror as he whipped a marshmallow off the stick and grinned with unchecked menace. “Oh no…”
Hiruma lunged, marshmallow in hand, and Mamori shrieked and ran to the other side of the fire. “Help! Hiruma, no! Help!” But she was laughing too hard to sound properly convincing, and when he caught her around the waist all she could do was laugh more and flail ineffectually against his grip. “Oh no, don’t, no!”
“You asked for it!” Hiruma cackled, and smashed the marshmallow onto her cheek.
“Ewww!” Mamori shrieked, and leaned forward in an attempt to escape while he ground the marshmallow against her face with his palm. “Ew, Hiruma, stop! That’s so gross!”
“Yeah, how do you like that, fucking manager?” was Hiruma’s only response. He sounded immensely proud of himself, and Mamori could only laugh helplessly, until-
The sound of sticks clattering as they fell to the ground cut off all other sound. Mamori and Hiruma looked as one to the tree line at the other end of the clearing.
The dropped sticks were Monta’s; Sena was still holding his.
Quickly, Mamori took stock. Her face was covered in sticky marshmallow, one of Hiruma’s hands still gripping her chin, the other arm wrapped vice-like around her waist, and he was leaning over her, pressed to her back, staring in silence. Monta was still in evident shock. Sena appeared to be growing more uncomfortable and uncertain by the second. Well…
Mamori decided to extricate herself from Hiruma’s grip at the same time he decided to let go, resulting in a momentary stumble, but she righted herself and scrubbed the sticky mess from her face as well as she could before flashing the boys a reassuring smile. “Oh good, you’re back! I see you found lots of firewood!”
She went to meet them, bending to pick up Monta’s dropped sticks. He flew into action, rushing to get to them himself.
“Y-Yes Mamori-neesan,” Sena mumbled, recovering. “We had a contest…”
“To see who could collect fifty sticks and get back to camp the fastest!” Monta finished, grinning, as Mamori helped pile the last of the sticks into his arms. “Sena won. But I was close!”
“Oh, very good, Sena-kun!” Mamori exclaimed, and reached over to wrap an arm around Sena’s shoulders and ruffle his hair. That helped; he smiled, readjusting his sticks as if they were a trophy. “Why don’t you go and put them over by the fire so we can-oh! Monta-kun, is that a scratch?”
He gave her a quizzical look, and then touched a scrape on his cheek. “Oh, yeah…I think I got it running through the trees.”
“Poor Monta-kun,” Mamori said sympathetically. “Here, come with me and we’ll clean it up so it doesn’t get infected. Sena-kun, would you please take his sticks to the fire as well?”
“Sure,” he said, reaching for Monta’s bundle. Mamori turned to watch him carry the pile of sticks to the fireside and caught Hiruma staring at her through the flames. It was a callous glare, and Mamori wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what there was to say, so instead she put a hand on Monta’s shoulder and led him away to sit in front of the girls’ tent.
Mamori collected the first-aid kit and returned, rifling through it for an antiseptic wipe. She found one, tore it open, and held Monta’s chin in her hand to wipe the grit out of his scrape. “Honestly, Monta-kun, it seems as if you always end up with some kind of bruise or cut by the end of the day…”
“I don’t do it on purpose,” he mumbled, red-faced.
Mamori smiled. “I didn’t think you did,” she said, smoothing a band-aid over his scratch. “But it’s okay. You have me to look after you, don’t you?”
Monta stared at her in something that looked like shock, wise-eyed and blinking. His face picked up a whole new shade of red. “M-Mamori-san…”
Mamori sat back, closing the first-aid kit. “Yes?”
“I…I have something to tell you…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and his next words were so quiet she almost didn’t catch them. “I-I um. I really like you, Mamori-san.”
Mamori considered this. Then she smiled. “I’m glad, Monta-kun. I like you too.”
“You do!?” He looked shocked. Mamori giggled.
“Of course I do!”
“Really? I…wow…”
“I know we haven’t really known each other all that long, but I feel as if I’ve known you for a long time, almost since I first met you.”
Monta nodded along, looking stunned. “Yeah, me too! I mean I always thought-well, you just…I’ve spent so long trying to figure out how to ask-”
“You know,” Mamori said (and she realized too late she shouldn’t have cut him off, but he didn’t seem to mind), “I…I really do think of you the same way I think of Sena-kun.”
Monta looked shocked again. “…What?”
“Yes, I…well…I just sort of feel like, like you could almost be my little brother, you know?” She smiled a little wider, for emphasis, and because he looked crestfallen. Had she said something wrong…?
“Oh,” Monta said, sounding hollow. “Right. Yeah…little brother, right.”
Mamori bit her lip. “You can call me Mamori-neesan if you’d like.”
Monta smiled. He looked like he was trying too hard. “Thanks! I…I guess I can. Um. Would you mind if…maybe I just called you Mamori-san?”
Mamori frowned, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be too familiar…”
“No! No, it’s okay! I just…I don’t want to start calling you that because maybe…um…maybe Sena would get jealous! You know?”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “Of course. I’ve been Sena-kun’s ‘big sister’ for so long that. perhaps…right! Of course. Just call me Mamori-san! Or, if you think it would be okay, you could just call me Mamori!” She grinned, and Monta smiled back.
“Thanks, Mamori-san. Er, Mamori. Er…well, thanks.”
She giggled. “No problem. I’m glad we had this talk, Monta-kun. If you ever have anything to tell me, feel free!”
“I will,” he mumbled.
“Now, I think you and Sena-kun ought to get some sleep. I’m sure Hiruma-kun has some big plans for the team tomorrow.” And speaking of Hiruma, she would have to talk to him.
“Yeah, good point,” said Monta, suddenly distracted by what Mamori guessed were thoughts of torture. He got up, scrambled to help Mamori to her feet at the last second, and jogged to the fire to find Sena, who was perched stiffly on the edge of the log, the other end of which was occupied by an ostensibly dozing Hiruma.
“See you two in the morning!” Mamori said, waving them along, and went to get her pajamas on. She’d have to talk to Hiruma later…
“Sena?” Monta whispered as they shuffled around Kurita’s prone bulk to their bedrolls.
“Yes?”
“I talked to Mamori-san…”
Sena peered at him through the darkness, toeing his way around his sleeping teammates. “What about?”
There was a moment of silence as they located their bedrolls. “I told her I like her.”
Sena paused. He crawled into his bedroll. “What did she say?”
He knew by Monta’s plaintive sigh that the answer wasn’t the one he’d been looking for. “She says,” he explained bitterly, huddling down into his bedroll, “she thinks of me the same way she thinks of you. She told me I can call her Mamori-neesan.”
“Oh, that’s good!” Sena whispered cheerfully. Monta gave him a look through the darkness that registered as evil despite its lack of total visibility. “I-I mean…”
Monta sighed again. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m just mad she doesn’t like me. I’m a good guy! How come I can’t get her to notice me, you know? I mean, don’t you think I’m a good guy?”
Sena situated himself comfortably in his bedroll and turned his head to look at Monta, who was glaring at the ceiling of the tent. “Yes.”
“Yeah! See? What haven’t I got, huh? I don’t know, Sena…this is just max depressing.” He was quiet for a moment. “Do you think maybe she’ll ever like me?”
Sena thought. “I don’t know. But I like you. And even if no one else ever does, I’ll always be there for you, and you can always count on me. So you don’t have to worry about me letting you down!”
Monta turned to look at his friend’s hazy profile in the darkness. He considered telling him that that didn’t count, or that it wasn’t the same, or that he didn’t get it, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was, “Thanks, Sena.”
Hiruma was still pretending to be asleep when Mamori returned to the fire.
“Hiruma-kun? Are you awake?”
He didn’t move. “What do you want, fucking manager?”
She tiptoed barefoot to the log and sat down beside him. “Nothing. I just wanted to come out and say goodnight before I turned in. You should get some sleep too, you know.”
“I was trying. Then you came along and ruined it.”
Mamori sighed, not entirely exasperated. She noticed that the marshmallow stick, planted in the ground, bore freshly-toasted marshmallows. “Are these for me?”
He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. She considered thanking him and saying that it was a sweet gesture, but she suspected it would go over like a lead balloon, and besides, he’d probably only made them for himself and then decided he didn’t want them. She took one from the stick and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm,” she said, and Hiruma cracked an eye open to look at her.
“Quit coddling my receiver,” he said. Mamori swallowed the remaining bits of marshmallow and looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“You treat my players like fucking babies.”
“I’m sorry,” Mamori said simply, after a moment. She scooted closer, leaning against his shoulder. “I’ll try to stop. I just like to make sure everyone is taken care of.”
“Some people don’t need taking care of, fucking manager.”
She wrapped one arm around him and closed her eyes. “Oh, I think everyone needs someone else to take care of them once in awhile, even if they think they don’t.”
She could practically feel his ire rising, but instead of calling her a name, he just tipped her head back and kissed her with more force than strictly necessary. She leaned into it, wrapping her arms around him and refusing to return the kiss as harshly as he was giving it. She suspected he found this almost unbearably irritating, but he didn’t stop. And after a moment, she felt the hand that wasn’t on her back sliding under the edge of her shirt.
Mamori smacked Hiruma’s hand away and leaned back, glaring. He glared back, expression approaching something Mamori was tempted to dub ‘bored surprise’.
“You move fast,” she scolded.
“I’m a quarterback,” he stated matter-of-factly, and kissed her again.
But when his hand found the hem of her shirt again, she pushed him away. This time, he sneered. “Fucking prude,” he spat, and turned away, leaning his side against the stump and glaring out into the forest.
Mamori leaned into his back, settling against him and wrapping her arms around his torso, chin on his shoulder. He didn’t move away.
The marshmallows grew cold and tacky on their stick, and Mamori, as she closed her eyes, vowed to toast some more in the morning.