Dream and shape and whittle and varnish (and give up)
Here's my lame little tribute to the Rikkai D1 fandom, which has more or less taken over my life. Not really there, but as good as. Yagyuu and Niou make me happy, so I thought I'd try my hand at writing something in turn. Which turned out... Like this.
It's (supposed to be) a chaptered fic, so uh. Yeah. Still very new to fan-writing, so please, please don't hesitate to point out every single wonky lump of story, or typo, or boring sentence, or anything at all. Critique away, I'll cherish every flame or unimpressed response!
Train To Elsewhere--
Part I
“Come with me to Kyoto during winter?”
“Kyoto? What are you going there for?”
“Part-time job. I got myself hired for dishwashing at a gourmet restaurant.”
“...You cannot be serious.”
“Obviously. I- well- auditioned for stunts double in this low-budget yakuza movie. The contract is for three weeks, so I figure I’d stay for the whole break and skip the first week back. All the exams’ll be over anyway. ”
“And I assume they conveniently cast an albino sixteen-year-old as the katana-wielding main character?”
“Kick-ass henchman, actually, and I’ll be seventeen by then. I’m not averse to hair dye, as you should be well aware of. Besides, you do know this stuff is bleached, right?”
“Give me some credit here, Niou. But honestly, your parents agreed to this? I find it hard to believe.”
“Well, no. Which is why I’d really appreciate if you popped around sometime and casually mentioned our upcoming winter break school trip to Kyoto.”
“Ah. Your true intentions revealed. I knew you couldn’t just be after my delightful company.”
“Don’t be like that, you prick. And. I need someone to share the rent with. The flats there cost the skin off the ass. What, did you actually have any plans for winter?”
He’d planned on playing tennis with Niou in the old indoor courts, bringing him to that skating rink by the library, maybe getting a couple of tickets, three if Yanagi was free, for the Cirque du Soleil performances in January.
“Nothing including you. But I don’t suppose I have a say now.”
Yagyuu was sold the moment Niou mentioned skipping school. The first week back from winter break was impossibly tedious, all revisions and speeches and no tennis practice. If they were going to be wasting time, he might as well waste it with Niou.
“Knew you wouldn’t refuse.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
It was October when Niou wheedled a promise out of him, and it took him until nearly December to broach the subject with his parents. They weren’t very partial to his partner, mainly because they didn’t know what to make of him: Niou, the boy who impersonated their son so well that no one in the family realized it until the real Yagyuu came home after supper to switch back, hair bleached a garish white and pulled back at the nape.
It worked, the second Yagyuu stated, walking up behind the boy doing the dishes.
I know, not-Yagyuu replied, drying his hands on his school-pants before slipping the glasses off his nose and sliding them onto the other boy’s. Meichi stared, a slice of honeydew frozen halfway to her mouth.
Stay for a while, white-hair-glasses offered, not-quite frown in his voice. The other didn’t look at him, and finished rinsing the porcelain bowls in the sink.
Thank you for the delicious meal, Yagyuu-san. The impostor bowed at the startled mother, briefly, and left. There was a lilting drawl in his voice and a hint of a slouch in his gait as he closed the door behind him. That was the first time they’d ever met Niou Masaharu.
---
They’d won their doubles one match in the regionals two weeks later. No one in the family had said a word when Niou came by to drag Yagyuu out for celebratory ice-cream that Saturday, and they never did when they’d come home to find him just about to leave the Yagyuu household, always courteous and never sociable.
Hiroshi seemed to enjoy his company, so they let them be.
It has been two years since they’d first sat down and eaten a family dinner with him.
---
“Mother,” Yagyuu was cleaning up the supper table, piling the dishes in the sink.
“Hiroshi?”
“There is an upcoming trip to Kyoto scheduled for the winter vacations. Kagawa-sensei claims the historical palaces and temples there are most educational.” Not that Kagawa-sensei had anything to do with the trip, nor was Yagyuu planning on visiting any of the cultural relics of bygone dynasties. “We should be back by the end of the third week.”
“Is that so? That’s nice. Are any of your friends going, too?”
“A tennis teammate, a friend from class, Niou-kun.”
Which all referred to the same person, but Yagyuu had never stated otherwise. There was more to deceit than blatant untruths. It was a matter of principle; he didn’t lie to his family.
The art of truth and nothing but the truth, but certainly not the whole of it, as Niou had called it.
He’d laughed until he couldn’t breathe when he’d first seen Yagyuu in action, deftly explaining away the presence of a family of sewer rats living in the bathroom of the economics classroom back in junior high.
The green-tinged teacher hadn’t found it very amusing.
Not even the decency to look embarrassed. Niou had punched him on the arm.
“You’ll bring your winter homework with you, of course.” His mother looked up from wiping the table, smiling lightly to show she didn’t mean it. Her Hiroshi didn’t need anyone to remind him of his homework. Ace student, naturally. Like his father and mother and grandfather, and likely the whole Yagyuu generation before them.
“Of course.” His voice was impassive. He pulled his uniform sleeves up and scrubbed at the dishes diligently, meticulously, rubbing up a thin layer of foamy soapsuds.
She nodded absently, walking over to place the rag in the sink and tried to coax her son into an apron. Yagyuu humored her, sliding his dripping forearms into the straps of the faded, teddy-bear patterned apron.
He listened to his father’s deep, rumbling chuckles in the living room and his sister humming quietly in the shower, off-key. He thought of sharp, jagged smiles and flashing dark-gold eyes, of tense silence around another dinner table while wearing contact lenses with white-dyed hair, and he thought of Kyoto.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“I can’t believe you.” Niou chuckled, eyes closed. The evening breeze was crisp and soothing, and the streets were quiet and deserted on this side of the train tracks.
Yagyuu strolled along briskly, gloved hands shoved in the pockets of his padded winter jacket. Niou cracked an eye open to gaze at his partner’s back, eyebrow quirked quizzically. He watched Yagyuu’s breath condense into white fog, coiling up and snatched away by the wind.
“How do you do that? I think my father would’ve let you take me to North Korea for spelunking, from the way he spoke to you.”
School trip, go ahead. About time the brat learned some culture, fill up that empty head of his, haha. Get rid of him for a while, eh?
Yagyuu didn’t answer, and slowed his pace to match Niou’s. He led them both to the side of the road under the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp, stopped and turned around casually to face Niou.
“Sometimes, bothering to speak civilly pays off. And learning to bend the truth a little never hurts, either,” he added wryly, reaching out absently to tug Niou’s light jacket close. The slighter boy’s nose twitched.
Yagyuu unwound the black-and-yellow striped scarf from around his own neck, the one his sister had knitted and given him for his birthday two months ago.
“Your family is… a reserved one,” he said carefully, wrapping the still-warm scarf around his friend’s neck. Smooth and pale skin taut, like Niou’s sharp-angled face.
Niou shrugged, noncommittal, and they resumed the walk from his house to Yagyuu’s. He thought about his father’s disdainful eyes and his mother’s false, unsteady laughter; the fading bruise on Shuya’s cheek and the mismatched bowls at supper and how soft and woolly the scarf felt around his neck.
He should’ve worn a warmer vest.
“Kyoto will be fun.” He held his head up to the barely visible stars in the darkening sky.
“It will,” Yagyuu agreed from beside him. Silence. “You’re seventeen now, Niou-kun.”
And he pressed a small, neatly-wrapped box between the birthday-boy’s rapidly numbing fingers. Niou could feel his friend’s body heat through Yagyuu’s gloves. A nearby streetlamp cast the taller boy’s eyes with shimmering ash-fire behind semi-opaque lenses.
Niou remembered to breathe two heartbeats later.
He stopped thinking about how he didn’t remember the last time his father had spoken to him, and just smiled crookedly at Yagyuu, all pale lips and white teeth and moonlit eyes.
“It’s the certificate for your adoption,” Yagyuu murmured. Niou chuckled low and harsh.
He was only a little disappointed when it turned out not to be when he unwrapped it in bed late that night, but really, it wouldn’t be like Yagyuu to fold a piece of paper into a little square anyway.
---
“You can stay here tonight if you’d like, Niou-kun.”
“It’s Monday tomorrow, we’ve got school.”
“Since when has that ever mattered to you? Come in.”
“Nah, gotta go back to my loving family and all.”
“Niou.”
“Ah, your scarf.”
“Keep it, it’s cold tonight.”
“…G’night, Yagyuu.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“…Your cheek is bleeding again, Niou-senpai.”
Kirihara glanced up at the second-year’s red-tinged face, flushed from the endurance rally he’d just lost against Sanada. Kirihara took a swig from his water bottle, the three ice cubes half-melted in the interior courts’ warm temperature. Kirihara wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still eyeing the thin cut with mild interest.
“Thank you, Kirihara-kun. I noticed,” Niou deadpanned, collapsing with great show against the cool wall of the gym. From the referee’s chair, Marui wordlessly threw a towel down at Niou without glancing away from the intense Yanagi-Jackal match drawing to a close on B court. The narrow metallic band on Niou’s finger flashed white under the flat fluorescent lights as he caught the towel.
Rikkai High’s tennis club was, as per expectations, reigned over by the same talents as in their junior high years.
“Hey, I didn’t know you liked that shark-tooth ring from the trinket store that much.” The first-year bent close to gaze at the keen-edged triangular tooth with interest, black curls plastered to his brow with sweat.
Niou panted slightly and wiped his face with the rough towel, not wincing as the cloth rubbed over his smarting cheek.
“I do now.”
Kirihara quirked an eyebrow at the vague reply, and Niou had to laugh at the entirely too Yanagi-like expression. He swiped at his stinging wound with the back of his left hand, impatient. And drew a second cut beneath and near-parallel to the first, shallow and red.
“Ouch. Damn, I’ve got to stop doing that.”
“Mm-hm. You don’t say,” Kirihara murmured, eyes gleaming with sardonic amusement. Niou reached over to rap him sharply on the back of his head and the first-year ducked with a laugh. Damn, the kid was spending too much time with Yanagi.
Over on B court, said second-year panted slightly as he shook hands with Jackal for the match well-played, 6-3 for the former.
---
Niou wore his birthday present around his neck on his nicest spare shoelace after the third day. The steel band was hard and cold against his skin, but he didn’t feel the scratches anymore.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Renji speaking.”
“Hello, Yanagi.”
“Yagyuu.”
“I have a favor to ask of you, if I may.”
“But of course. Does it perchance pertain to your planned winter escapade with Niou-kun?”
“…Well, so much for it being a discreet affair.”
Chuckle. “Yes, now if only you could convince Niou-kun to learn subtlety.”
“Learn it? You mean bother to exercise it, surely.”
“Fair. So how may I help you?”
“I’d just like you to pretend to have prior knowledge of a school trip to Kyoto, in case my mother ever happens to inquire. And we’ll be missing the first week back, if anyone needs to know.”
“So it’s to Kyoto, then. I- ah- wasn’t aware of any strained relations between your parents and Niou-kun…?”
“Not strained so much as nonexistent. Niou… never gives me the chance.”
“Alright, then. Is this school trip to be a grade-wide event? Should I inform a few key second-year students of it?”
“If you and say, Yukimura could cover for me, that should be sufficient. Thank you, Yanagi. I hope this call isn’t too late. I apologize if I woke you.”
“Nonsense. We all know I’m an immortal demi-god who never sleeps.”
Chuckles on both sides of the line.
“Ah, but Kirihara-kun seems to have quite a different story to tell. You look sweet drooling all over his grammar textbook, you know. At any rate, good night, Yanagi.”
Dial tone.
Silence.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Akaya, what in the world have you been showing Yagyuu?”
“Huh?”
“Did I… ever fall asleep during tutorial? You never told me.”
“Oh. That, well. Remember that one time you had the flu? But you came anyway, and then you… Right, so. I have, um, this picture. Y’know. In my wallet? Of when-”
“…Akaya, please don’t make me hurt you.”
“But it’s a nice picture! Here, see, I have it somewhere, wait…”
“…”
“See? And no one can tell the difference because your eyes are always like that anyways.”
“…”
“…”
Thwack.
“Ow.”
“Burn it.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They liked to eat lunch in the small third-floor reference library beside Hatase-sensei’s environmental sciences classroom. Yagyuu liked it for the quiet, the musty smell of old books and cedar-wood shelves, the dim ceiling lamps, the straight-backed, cushioned chairs.
Niou liked it for the wide, arching windows and Yagyuu.
“Are we really going to be doing this?”
Niou glanced up from his broiled eel and from tracing the grains of wood on the worn tabletop with his eyes.
“Doing what?”
“Running off to Kyoto. We’re barely seventeen.”
“Yagyuu, it’s only for the winter. We’re not eloping, you know. And we’re plenty old enough. I can drive already, right? And you can cook, of course.”
Yagyuu looked at him levelly from behind his wire-rimmed lenses, gray eyes dark and thoughtful. He closed the thick volume on Chinese medicine he was perusing while nibbling on his tempura.
“This won’t do.”
Niou chewed and swallowed slowly, and put his cheap plastic chopsticks down with a quiet clink, suddenly blank eyes not leaving his friend’s unfathomable gaze.
You promised.
Yagyuu reached sideways to flip through his schoolbooks. He tugged a folded sheet of newspaper from between his social studies essay and sketches of a stapler for technology class. He laid it flat on the table between them, and flipped it to face Niou.
The other boy glanced quickly at the circled ads, and blinked.
KYOTO, 10-flr high-rise bldg. Clean and quiet. 3 ½ or 4 ½, laundry room and kitchen. A/C and heating, hardwood floors. No pets. ¥65,300 per month. Call 075 221-0936
Downtown Kyoto, apartment complex. 3 ½, 5 units avail. Fully furnished, heating, hot water, fridge, stove. Balcony. Rent ¥61,000/month 075 211-2882
Bargain Rentals, Kyoto. Near downtown, close to train and bus stations. 4 ½ with beds, fridge & stove, TV and renovated bthrm. Nice view, friendly neighbors! 075 221-7451
“Personally, I’m partial to the second one. It’ll be January, and they’re the only ones mentioning anything about hot water,” Yagyuu commented mildly, tapping the circled ad lightly with the reverse of his chopsticks.
Niou’s lips curled upwards into a smirk-smile, delight in his eyes. You promised, indeed. He skimmed over the other posts thoughtfully, and pointed at a fourth, unmarked one. He looked up at his friend inquiringly.
“Kyoto apartment. Two bedrooms, furnished kitchen, big lounge, ceramic-tiled bathroom. Brand-new bathtub, hot water and central heating. Near all amenities. ¥74,100 per month.” Yagyuu read easily upside-down. He arched his eyebrows at Niou.
“Sounds lovely. And how do you plan on acquiring the money, Niou-kun?” Deadpan voice and unimpressed gaze. Maybe it wasn’t the data-boy Kirihara spent too much time with.
“Easy. Rob a bank,” he answered without missing a beat, straight-faced.
“That’s nice,” Yagyuu murmured absently, primly dipping a slice of fried taro in the soy-sauce vinegar mix in the corner of his bento. He resumed reading the advertising page upside-down.
Niou rolled his eyes.
“Alright. How about this one?” He jabbed a disdainful finger at the small, pen-marked ad headed ‘bargain rentals’ in bold. The one with the television.
His friend shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not so sure. No price listing, and when one is reduced to boasting of nice views and friendly neighbors…”
---
They spent the last half-hour of their lunch-break quibbling over the ads, and ended up choosing the second one Yagyuu had carefully circled in dark red marker. The balcony finally won Niou over, and Yagyuu really just wanted the assurance of hot water.
And it was the cheapest of the three.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Aniki.” Light, rapid footsteps on the creaking upstairs floorboard.
“A-ni-ki.” The half-open bedroom door was pushed open. Dark, serious eyes peeked through timidly.
“What is it, Meichi.” Yagyuu was unwilling to muster the effort for tacking question-marks to the end of his sentences when addressing his sister.
“Mom says you’re leaving Friday.” Her gray eyes flashed behind her round glasses. It sounded like an accusation, but with a Yagyuu, intonation-or lack thereof- was nothing to go by.
“I am,” Yagyuu neatly folded his worn maroon fleece sweater and placed it in his compact trunk, beside the waterproof case with his toothbrush, comb, contact lenses and bottled shampoo. There might not be enough for a month. They’d have to buy more in Kyoto if they ran out.
Meichi’s lips tightened a fraction as she padded quietly into the room, sitting down on the ground beside Yagyuu and glancing down at the packed suitcase laid out on the futon. Her sharp eyes ran over the contents searchingly until she saw the yellow-and-black striped socks tucked neatly in the corner by the thick, warm sleepwear and crisp shirts.
They were a set. Yagyuu received a piece from her every year at his birthday, hand-knitted scarves or mittens or socks or hats. Always dusky black, tawny yellow, black, yellow, stripes. It was an inexplicable choice, because no one in the family had ever been particularly fond of either color.
Yagyuu’s Rikkai tennis uniform was in very nearly the same shades. He kept them neatly folded in a separate drawer, scrupulously clean and ironed and with his initials carefully sewn on the tag.
“Dress warm. The forecast says it’ll be very cold next week.”
“I will,” Yagyuu promised. He slid a thin murder mystery in between his Japanese history textbook and the compulsory reading for eleventh-grade English. Lord of the Flies.
“Don’t stay up too late and don’t go out to bad places after dark and stay away from empty streets,” she muttered against her pulled-up knees.
“I won’t.”
“And phone back every day. If you don’t mom will worry and dad will be sad and I’ll be cross.”
“Every week,” Yagyuu bargained. He closed the lid of the trunk and zipped it shut.
“Alright.” She got up reluctantly and walked to the door.
Yagyuu picked up his old stuffed raccoon sitting atop the bookshelf. It was missing an eye and dust flew out of the soft synthetic fur when he shook it lightly.
“Meichi.”
She turned around and barely caught the used plush toy, fumbling with the flopping dark-ringed tail with all the elegance of a gangly eleven-year-old. She looked solemnly at Yagyuu for a moment, and bit her lips.
She fell asleep with it clutched loosely to her chest Friday night.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Niou pulled his boots on, leaning against the side of the small vestibule for balance. His bulging backpack threatened to topple him over.
“Where are you going?”
He glanced backwards at the entrance hall, and saw his mother staring down at him from the stairs, blinking blearily and still managing to look faintly suspicious and disapproving. Her pretty face was gaunt and starting to wrinkle, dark-ringed eyes weary and bitter.
“School trip,” he grunted, shifting the ridiculously heavy bag on his shoulders.
“Oh. That thing to Kyoto?”
It wasn’t much of a question; he didn’t answer. She turned away and shuffled into the bathroom. Bottles clattered and toes were stubbed, judging by the muffled none-too-delicate snarl ensuing.
Drawn by the noise, his brother wandered out from the kitchen, breakfast bowl clutched in hand. He looked at Niou questioningly as he checked his pockets for his keys and wallet.
“If dad gives you any crap, get mom. If she’s sober. Stick with sis, all right? And if I’m not back in a month, you know where to find me,” Niou muttered under his breath. His brother glanced up from his soggy unheated congee, eyes flickering unhappily.
“Where?”
“Outta the country, kid.” He turned away and waved lazily back in the general direction of the kitchen, and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t hear Shuya say, wait for me.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Yagyuu blew at the steam rising from the paper cup between his hands, a spot of searing heat between his recuperating frost-bitten fingers. He blinked and leaned back as the hot air fogged up the lenses of his glasses.
Drowned in the murmur of conversation and clink of cutlery and rustle of newspaper, the chime of the coffee-shop door opening rang unnoticed. A brush of the cold late-December air made him glance up, glasses clearing rapidly in the warmth of the shop.
Niou slid into the booth across from him, plunking his backpack down unceremoniously beside Yagyuu’s small trunk. His cheeks were rosy, his bare head a mess of wind-tousled hair. Yagyuu wordlessly handed him the cup of hot chocolate.
Niou raked a hand through his pale locks, catching his breath and reaching for the proffered drink. He raised the cup slightly at Yagyuu in thanks, a mock toast, before downing a gulp of scalding drink. His eyes watered, and Yagyuu clicked his tongue reprovingly.
“Have you eaten yet?” The taller boy took the hot chocolate from Niou’s fingers and sipped demurely, pointedly glancing at his friend over the rim of the cup.
“Not hungry,” the other boy replied dismissively, thinking of cold congee and Shuya’s slight limp. “Besides, the studio pays enough for the apartment, I’ve got enough for take-out and the like, but we’re not rich. Might as well start getting used to our life of frugality.”
“I thought I was sharing rent with you and serving as your live-in cook, that being the purpose of my accompanying you.”
“I was kidding when I said that, Yagyuu.” He rolled his eyes and slouched against the plush seat, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-thin jeans.
“So was I,” dryly. “But really, we aren’t destitute. I also have some savings. Eat something.”
Niou made a vague, noncommittal sound, swirling the contents of the paper cup on the counter with a coffee straw. Vapid, sweet-smelling steam rose from the hot chocolate, and Niou took another sip, cautiously this time. Yagyuu kicked his foot lightly under the table, and stood up.
“The pineapple buns here are quite commendable,” he persuaded blandly, a faint quirk around the corners of his pale, winter-chapped lips.
Niou just glanced at him sideways as he got up in turn, careful not to spill the drink as he swung his bulky backpack onto his shoulders and headed for the door.
---
Yagyuu ended up buying one himself, which he nibbled at for show. Niou stole bites intermittently, and the crisp, coconut-scented bread never stood a chance between the two of them. Yagyuu nearly smiled when Niou offered him the last piece, glancing up at him expectantly, wordless and casual.
He declined politely. “It wasn’t for me anyway.”
The other froze mid-chew, and stared at him through snow-laced locks.
“Sneak,” he said accusingly after he’d swallowed, throwing the oilpaper wrapper into the sidewalk bin with the heat lacking in his voice.
Teetering silence, staccato steps, pause.
“I can take care of myself.”
Yagyuu just shrugged like he didn’t care, and glanced down the street. It was late morning; the streets were full of leisurely students window-shopping and mothers with their children in tow. High above, wispy gray clouds stretched over blue skies, blurry and washed-out on the horizon. Out by the intersection, red lights turned green as their transfer bus to Tokyo approached.
But I’m here anyway.
---
“Quit fidgeting, Niou. We will arrive within the hour.”
“I think I dislocated my shoulder.”
“So put your bag down.”
“The floor’s wet. And muddy.”
“…”
“…”
“There, go sit down. There’s a free seat towards the back.”
“…Finally.”
“…”
“Yagyuu…”
“What is it now, Niou?”
“I’m hungry.”
“…Tough.”
- -.-.-.-.-.-.- -
It's (supposed to be) a chaptered fic, so uh. Yeah. Still very new to fan-writing, so please, please don't hesitate to point out every single wonky lump of story, or typo, or boring sentence, or anything at all. Critique away, I'll cherish every flame or unimpressed response!
Train To Elsewhere--
Part I
“Come with me to Kyoto during winter?”
“Kyoto? What are you going there for?”
“Part-time job. I got myself hired for dishwashing at a gourmet restaurant.”
“...You cannot be serious.”
“Obviously. I- well- auditioned for stunts double in this low-budget yakuza movie. The contract is for three weeks, so I figure I’d stay for the whole break and skip the first week back. All the exams’ll be over anyway. ”
“And I assume they conveniently cast an albino sixteen-year-old as the katana-wielding main character?”
“Kick-ass henchman, actually, and I’ll be seventeen by then. I’m not averse to hair dye, as you should be well aware of. Besides, you do know this stuff is bleached, right?”
“Give me some credit here, Niou. But honestly, your parents agreed to this? I find it hard to believe.”
“Well, no. Which is why I’d really appreciate if you popped around sometime and casually mentioned our upcoming winter break school trip to Kyoto.”
“Ah. Your true intentions revealed. I knew you couldn’t just be after my delightful company.”
“Don’t be like that, you prick. And. I need someone to share the rent with. The flats there cost the skin off the ass. What, did you actually have any plans for winter?”
He’d planned on playing tennis with Niou in the old indoor courts, bringing him to that skating rink by the library, maybe getting a couple of tickets, three if Yanagi was free, for the Cirque du Soleil performances in January.
“Nothing including you. But I don’t suppose I have a say now.”
Yagyuu was sold the moment Niou mentioned skipping school. The first week back from winter break was impossibly tedious, all revisions and speeches and no tennis practice. If they were going to be wasting time, he might as well waste it with Niou.
“Knew you wouldn’t refuse.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
It was October when Niou wheedled a promise out of him, and it took him until nearly December to broach the subject with his parents. They weren’t very partial to his partner, mainly because they didn’t know what to make of him: Niou, the boy who impersonated their son so well that no one in the family realized it until the real Yagyuu came home after supper to switch back, hair bleached a garish white and pulled back at the nape.
It worked, the second Yagyuu stated, walking up behind the boy doing the dishes.
I know, not-Yagyuu replied, drying his hands on his school-pants before slipping the glasses off his nose and sliding them onto the other boy’s. Meichi stared, a slice of honeydew frozen halfway to her mouth.
Stay for a while, white-hair-glasses offered, not-quite frown in his voice. The other didn’t look at him, and finished rinsing the porcelain bowls in the sink.
Thank you for the delicious meal, Yagyuu-san. The impostor bowed at the startled mother, briefly, and left. There was a lilting drawl in his voice and a hint of a slouch in his gait as he closed the door behind him. That was the first time they’d ever met Niou Masaharu.
---
They’d won their doubles one match in the regionals two weeks later. No one in the family had said a word when Niou came by to drag Yagyuu out for celebratory ice-cream that Saturday, and they never did when they’d come home to find him just about to leave the Yagyuu household, always courteous and never sociable.
Hiroshi seemed to enjoy his company, so they let them be.
It has been two years since they’d first sat down and eaten a family dinner with him.
---
“Mother,” Yagyuu was cleaning up the supper table, piling the dishes in the sink.
“Hiroshi?”
“There is an upcoming trip to Kyoto scheduled for the winter vacations. Kagawa-sensei claims the historical palaces and temples there are most educational.” Not that Kagawa-sensei had anything to do with the trip, nor was Yagyuu planning on visiting any of the cultural relics of bygone dynasties. “We should be back by the end of the third week.”
“Is that so? That’s nice. Are any of your friends going, too?”
“A tennis teammate, a friend from class, Niou-kun.”
Which all referred to the same person, but Yagyuu had never stated otherwise. There was more to deceit than blatant untruths. It was a matter of principle; he didn’t lie to his family.
The art of truth and nothing but the truth, but certainly not the whole of it, as Niou had called it.
He’d laughed until he couldn’t breathe when he’d first seen Yagyuu in action, deftly explaining away the presence of a family of sewer rats living in the bathroom of the economics classroom back in junior high.
The green-tinged teacher hadn’t found it very amusing.
Not even the decency to look embarrassed. Niou had punched him on the arm.
“You’ll bring your winter homework with you, of course.” His mother looked up from wiping the table, smiling lightly to show she didn’t mean it. Her Hiroshi didn’t need anyone to remind him of his homework. Ace student, naturally. Like his father and mother and grandfather, and likely the whole Yagyuu generation before them.
“Of course.” His voice was impassive. He pulled his uniform sleeves up and scrubbed at the dishes diligently, meticulously, rubbing up a thin layer of foamy soapsuds.
She nodded absently, walking over to place the rag in the sink and tried to coax her son into an apron. Yagyuu humored her, sliding his dripping forearms into the straps of the faded, teddy-bear patterned apron.
He listened to his father’s deep, rumbling chuckles in the living room and his sister humming quietly in the shower, off-key. He thought of sharp, jagged smiles and flashing dark-gold eyes, of tense silence around another dinner table while wearing contact lenses with white-dyed hair, and he thought of Kyoto.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“I can’t believe you.” Niou chuckled, eyes closed. The evening breeze was crisp and soothing, and the streets were quiet and deserted on this side of the train tracks.
Yagyuu strolled along briskly, gloved hands shoved in the pockets of his padded winter jacket. Niou cracked an eye open to gaze at his partner’s back, eyebrow quirked quizzically. He watched Yagyuu’s breath condense into white fog, coiling up and snatched away by the wind.
“How do you do that? I think my father would’ve let you take me to North Korea for spelunking, from the way he spoke to you.”
School trip, go ahead. About time the brat learned some culture, fill up that empty head of his, haha. Get rid of him for a while, eh?
Yagyuu didn’t answer, and slowed his pace to match Niou’s. He led them both to the side of the road under the dim yellow glow of a streetlamp, stopped and turned around casually to face Niou.
“Sometimes, bothering to speak civilly pays off. And learning to bend the truth a little never hurts, either,” he added wryly, reaching out absently to tug Niou’s light jacket close. The slighter boy’s nose twitched.
Yagyuu unwound the black-and-yellow striped scarf from around his own neck, the one his sister had knitted and given him for his birthday two months ago.
“Your family is… a reserved one,” he said carefully, wrapping the still-warm scarf around his friend’s neck. Smooth and pale skin taut, like Niou’s sharp-angled face.
Niou shrugged, noncommittal, and they resumed the walk from his house to Yagyuu’s. He thought about his father’s disdainful eyes and his mother’s false, unsteady laughter; the fading bruise on Shuya’s cheek and the mismatched bowls at supper and how soft and woolly the scarf felt around his neck.
He should’ve worn a warmer vest.
“Kyoto will be fun.” He held his head up to the barely visible stars in the darkening sky.
“It will,” Yagyuu agreed from beside him. Silence. “You’re seventeen now, Niou-kun.”
And he pressed a small, neatly-wrapped box between the birthday-boy’s rapidly numbing fingers. Niou could feel his friend’s body heat through Yagyuu’s gloves. A nearby streetlamp cast the taller boy’s eyes with shimmering ash-fire behind semi-opaque lenses.
Niou remembered to breathe two heartbeats later.
He stopped thinking about how he didn’t remember the last time his father had spoken to him, and just smiled crookedly at Yagyuu, all pale lips and white teeth and moonlit eyes.
“It’s the certificate for your adoption,” Yagyuu murmured. Niou chuckled low and harsh.
He was only a little disappointed when it turned out not to be when he unwrapped it in bed late that night, but really, it wouldn’t be like Yagyuu to fold a piece of paper into a little square anyway.
---
“You can stay here tonight if you’d like, Niou-kun.”
“It’s Monday tomorrow, we’ve got school.”
“Since when has that ever mattered to you? Come in.”
“Nah, gotta go back to my loving family and all.”
“Niou.”
“Ah, your scarf.”
“Keep it, it’s cold tonight.”
“…G’night, Yagyuu.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“…Your cheek is bleeding again, Niou-senpai.”
Kirihara glanced up at the second-year’s red-tinged face, flushed from the endurance rally he’d just lost against Sanada. Kirihara took a swig from his water bottle, the three ice cubes half-melted in the interior courts’ warm temperature. Kirihara wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still eyeing the thin cut with mild interest.
“Thank you, Kirihara-kun. I noticed,” Niou deadpanned, collapsing with great show against the cool wall of the gym. From the referee’s chair, Marui wordlessly threw a towel down at Niou without glancing away from the intense Yanagi-Jackal match drawing to a close on B court. The narrow metallic band on Niou’s finger flashed white under the flat fluorescent lights as he caught the towel.
Rikkai High’s tennis club was, as per expectations, reigned over by the same talents as in their junior high years.
“Hey, I didn’t know you liked that shark-tooth ring from the trinket store that much.” The first-year bent close to gaze at the keen-edged triangular tooth with interest, black curls plastered to his brow with sweat.
Niou panted slightly and wiped his face with the rough towel, not wincing as the cloth rubbed over his smarting cheek.
“I do now.”
Kirihara quirked an eyebrow at the vague reply, and Niou had to laugh at the entirely too Yanagi-like expression. He swiped at his stinging wound with the back of his left hand, impatient. And drew a second cut beneath and near-parallel to the first, shallow and red.
“Ouch. Damn, I’ve got to stop doing that.”
“Mm-hm. You don’t say,” Kirihara murmured, eyes gleaming with sardonic amusement. Niou reached over to rap him sharply on the back of his head and the first-year ducked with a laugh. Damn, the kid was spending too much time with Yanagi.
Over on B court, said second-year panted slightly as he shook hands with Jackal for the match well-played, 6-3 for the former.
---
Niou wore his birthday present around his neck on his nicest spare shoelace after the third day. The steel band was hard and cold against his skin, but he didn’t feel the scratches anymore.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Renji speaking.”
“Hello, Yanagi.”
“Yagyuu.”
“I have a favor to ask of you, if I may.”
“But of course. Does it perchance pertain to your planned winter escapade with Niou-kun?”
“…Well, so much for it being a discreet affair.”
Chuckle. “Yes, now if only you could convince Niou-kun to learn subtlety.”
“Learn it? You mean bother to exercise it, surely.”
“Fair. So how may I help you?”
“I’d just like you to pretend to have prior knowledge of a school trip to Kyoto, in case my mother ever happens to inquire. And we’ll be missing the first week back, if anyone needs to know.”
“So it’s to Kyoto, then. I- ah- wasn’t aware of any strained relations between your parents and Niou-kun…?”
“Not strained so much as nonexistent. Niou… never gives me the chance.”
“Alright, then. Is this school trip to be a grade-wide event? Should I inform a few key second-year students of it?”
“If you and say, Yukimura could cover for me, that should be sufficient. Thank you, Yanagi. I hope this call isn’t too late. I apologize if I woke you.”
“Nonsense. We all know I’m an immortal demi-god who never sleeps.”
Chuckles on both sides of the line.
“Ah, but Kirihara-kun seems to have quite a different story to tell. You look sweet drooling all over his grammar textbook, you know. At any rate, good night, Yanagi.”
Dial tone.
Silence.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Akaya, what in the world have you been showing Yagyuu?”
“Huh?”
“Did I… ever fall asleep during tutorial? You never told me.”
“Oh. That, well. Remember that one time you had the flu? But you came anyway, and then you… Right, so. I have, um, this picture. Y’know. In my wallet? Of when-”
“…Akaya, please don’t make me hurt you.”
“But it’s a nice picture! Here, see, I have it somewhere, wait…”
“…”
“See? And no one can tell the difference because your eyes are always like that anyways.”
“…”
“…”
Thwack.
“Ow.”
“Burn it.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They liked to eat lunch in the small third-floor reference library beside Hatase-sensei’s environmental sciences classroom. Yagyuu liked it for the quiet, the musty smell of old books and cedar-wood shelves, the dim ceiling lamps, the straight-backed, cushioned chairs.
Niou liked it for the wide, arching windows and Yagyuu.
“Are we really going to be doing this?”
Niou glanced up from his broiled eel and from tracing the grains of wood on the worn tabletop with his eyes.
“Doing what?”
“Running off to Kyoto. We’re barely seventeen.”
“Yagyuu, it’s only for the winter. We’re not eloping, you know. And we’re plenty old enough. I can drive already, right? And you can cook, of course.”
Yagyuu looked at him levelly from behind his wire-rimmed lenses, gray eyes dark and thoughtful. He closed the thick volume on Chinese medicine he was perusing while nibbling on his tempura.
“This won’t do.”
Niou chewed and swallowed slowly, and put his cheap plastic chopsticks down with a quiet clink, suddenly blank eyes not leaving his friend’s unfathomable gaze.
You promised.
Yagyuu reached sideways to flip through his schoolbooks. He tugged a folded sheet of newspaper from between his social studies essay and sketches of a stapler for technology class. He laid it flat on the table between them, and flipped it to face Niou.
The other boy glanced quickly at the circled ads, and blinked.
KYOTO, 10-flr high-rise bldg. Clean and quiet. 3 ½ or 4 ½, laundry room and kitchen. A/C and heating, hardwood floors. No pets. ¥65,300 per month. Call 075 221-0936
Downtown Kyoto, apartment complex. 3 ½, 5 units avail. Fully furnished, heating, hot water, fridge, stove. Balcony. Rent ¥61,000/month 075 211-2882
Bargain Rentals, Kyoto. Near downtown, close to train and bus stations. 4 ½ with beds, fridge & stove, TV and renovated bthrm. Nice view, friendly neighbors! 075 221-7451
“Personally, I’m partial to the second one. It’ll be January, and they’re the only ones mentioning anything about hot water,” Yagyuu commented mildly, tapping the circled ad lightly with the reverse of his chopsticks.
Niou’s lips curled upwards into a smirk-smile, delight in his eyes. You promised, indeed. He skimmed over the other posts thoughtfully, and pointed at a fourth, unmarked one. He looked up at his friend inquiringly.
“Kyoto apartment. Two bedrooms, furnished kitchen, big lounge, ceramic-tiled bathroom. Brand-new bathtub, hot water and central heating. Near all amenities. ¥74,100 per month.” Yagyuu read easily upside-down. He arched his eyebrows at Niou.
“Sounds lovely. And how do you plan on acquiring the money, Niou-kun?” Deadpan voice and unimpressed gaze. Maybe it wasn’t the data-boy Kirihara spent too much time with.
“Easy. Rob a bank,” he answered without missing a beat, straight-faced.
“That’s nice,” Yagyuu murmured absently, primly dipping a slice of fried taro in the soy-sauce vinegar mix in the corner of his bento. He resumed reading the advertising page upside-down.
Niou rolled his eyes.
“Alright. How about this one?” He jabbed a disdainful finger at the small, pen-marked ad headed ‘bargain rentals’ in bold. The one with the television.
His friend shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not so sure. No price listing, and when one is reduced to boasting of nice views and friendly neighbors…”
---
They spent the last half-hour of their lunch-break quibbling over the ads, and ended up choosing the second one Yagyuu had carefully circled in dark red marker. The balcony finally won Niou over, and Yagyuu really just wanted the assurance of hot water.
And it was the cheapest of the three.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“Aniki.” Light, rapid footsteps on the creaking upstairs floorboard.
“A-ni-ki.” The half-open bedroom door was pushed open. Dark, serious eyes peeked through timidly.
“What is it, Meichi.” Yagyuu was unwilling to muster the effort for tacking question-marks to the end of his sentences when addressing his sister.
“Mom says you’re leaving Friday.” Her gray eyes flashed behind her round glasses. It sounded like an accusation, but with a Yagyuu, intonation-or lack thereof- was nothing to go by.
“I am,” Yagyuu neatly folded his worn maroon fleece sweater and placed it in his compact trunk, beside the waterproof case with his toothbrush, comb, contact lenses and bottled shampoo. There might not be enough for a month. They’d have to buy more in Kyoto if they ran out.
Meichi’s lips tightened a fraction as she padded quietly into the room, sitting down on the ground beside Yagyuu and glancing down at the packed suitcase laid out on the futon. Her sharp eyes ran over the contents searchingly until she saw the yellow-and-black striped socks tucked neatly in the corner by the thick, warm sleepwear and crisp shirts.
They were a set. Yagyuu received a piece from her every year at his birthday, hand-knitted scarves or mittens or socks or hats. Always dusky black, tawny yellow, black, yellow, stripes. It was an inexplicable choice, because no one in the family had ever been particularly fond of either color.
Yagyuu’s Rikkai tennis uniform was in very nearly the same shades. He kept them neatly folded in a separate drawer, scrupulously clean and ironed and with his initials carefully sewn on the tag.
“Dress warm. The forecast says it’ll be very cold next week.”
“I will,” Yagyuu promised. He slid a thin murder mystery in between his Japanese history textbook and the compulsory reading for eleventh-grade English. Lord of the Flies.
“Don’t stay up too late and don’t go out to bad places after dark and stay away from empty streets,” she muttered against her pulled-up knees.
“I won’t.”
“And phone back every day. If you don’t mom will worry and dad will be sad and I’ll be cross.”
“Every week,” Yagyuu bargained. He closed the lid of the trunk and zipped it shut.
“Alright.” She got up reluctantly and walked to the door.
Yagyuu picked up his old stuffed raccoon sitting atop the bookshelf. It was missing an eye and dust flew out of the soft synthetic fur when he shook it lightly.
“Meichi.”
She turned around and barely caught the used plush toy, fumbling with the flopping dark-ringed tail with all the elegance of a gangly eleven-year-old. She looked solemnly at Yagyuu for a moment, and bit her lips.
She fell asleep with it clutched loosely to her chest Friday night.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Niou pulled his boots on, leaning against the side of the small vestibule for balance. His bulging backpack threatened to topple him over.
“Where are you going?”
He glanced backwards at the entrance hall, and saw his mother staring down at him from the stairs, blinking blearily and still managing to look faintly suspicious and disapproving. Her pretty face was gaunt and starting to wrinkle, dark-ringed eyes weary and bitter.
“School trip,” he grunted, shifting the ridiculously heavy bag on his shoulders.
“Oh. That thing to Kyoto?”
It wasn’t much of a question; he didn’t answer. She turned away and shuffled into the bathroom. Bottles clattered and toes were stubbed, judging by the muffled none-too-delicate snarl ensuing.
Drawn by the noise, his brother wandered out from the kitchen, breakfast bowl clutched in hand. He looked at Niou questioningly as he checked his pockets for his keys and wallet.
“If dad gives you any crap, get mom. If she’s sober. Stick with sis, all right? And if I’m not back in a month, you know where to find me,” Niou muttered under his breath. His brother glanced up from his soggy unheated congee, eyes flickering unhappily.
“Where?”
“Outta the country, kid.” He turned away and waved lazily back in the general direction of the kitchen, and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t hear Shuya say, wait for me.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Yagyuu blew at the steam rising from the paper cup between his hands, a spot of searing heat between his recuperating frost-bitten fingers. He blinked and leaned back as the hot air fogged up the lenses of his glasses.
Drowned in the murmur of conversation and clink of cutlery and rustle of newspaper, the chime of the coffee-shop door opening rang unnoticed. A brush of the cold late-December air made him glance up, glasses clearing rapidly in the warmth of the shop.
Niou slid into the booth across from him, plunking his backpack down unceremoniously beside Yagyuu’s small trunk. His cheeks were rosy, his bare head a mess of wind-tousled hair. Yagyuu wordlessly handed him the cup of hot chocolate.
Niou raked a hand through his pale locks, catching his breath and reaching for the proffered drink. He raised the cup slightly at Yagyuu in thanks, a mock toast, before downing a gulp of scalding drink. His eyes watered, and Yagyuu clicked his tongue reprovingly.
“Have you eaten yet?” The taller boy took the hot chocolate from Niou’s fingers and sipped demurely, pointedly glancing at his friend over the rim of the cup.
“Not hungry,” the other boy replied dismissively, thinking of cold congee and Shuya’s slight limp. “Besides, the studio pays enough for the apartment, I’ve got enough for take-out and the like, but we’re not rich. Might as well start getting used to our life of frugality.”
“I thought I was sharing rent with you and serving as your live-in cook, that being the purpose of my accompanying you.”
“I was kidding when I said that, Yagyuu.” He rolled his eyes and slouched against the plush seat, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-thin jeans.
“So was I,” dryly. “But really, we aren’t destitute. I also have some savings. Eat something.”
Niou made a vague, noncommittal sound, swirling the contents of the paper cup on the counter with a coffee straw. Vapid, sweet-smelling steam rose from the hot chocolate, and Niou took another sip, cautiously this time. Yagyuu kicked his foot lightly under the table, and stood up.
“The pineapple buns here are quite commendable,” he persuaded blandly, a faint quirk around the corners of his pale, winter-chapped lips.
Niou just glanced at him sideways as he got up in turn, careful not to spill the drink as he swung his bulky backpack onto his shoulders and headed for the door.
---
Yagyuu ended up buying one himself, which he nibbled at for show. Niou stole bites intermittently, and the crisp, coconut-scented bread never stood a chance between the two of them. Yagyuu nearly smiled when Niou offered him the last piece, glancing up at him expectantly, wordless and casual.
He declined politely. “It wasn’t for me anyway.”
The other froze mid-chew, and stared at him through snow-laced locks.
“Sneak,” he said accusingly after he’d swallowed, throwing the oilpaper wrapper into the sidewalk bin with the heat lacking in his voice.
Teetering silence, staccato steps, pause.
“I can take care of myself.”
Yagyuu just shrugged like he didn’t care, and glanced down the street. It was late morning; the streets were full of leisurely students window-shopping and mothers with their children in tow. High above, wispy gray clouds stretched over blue skies, blurry and washed-out on the horizon. Out by the intersection, red lights turned green as their transfer bus to Tokyo approached.
But I’m here anyway.
---
“Quit fidgeting, Niou. We will arrive within the hour.”
“I think I dislocated my shoulder.”
“So put your bag down.”
“The floor’s wet. And muddy.”
“…”
“…”
“There, go sit down. There’s a free seat towards the back.”
“…Finally.”
“…”
“Yagyuu…”
“What is it now, Niou?”
“I’m hungry.”
“…Tough.”
- -.-.-.-.-.-.- -