urgh...hate this fic so much
Title: Sidetracked
Pairing/Characters: Yanagi/Kirihara, slight Yukimura/Niou
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual situations, bad language. Future fic. Really poorly beta'ed I'm told XD;;
Disclaimer: Not mine. Konomi’s.
Summary: Things don’t always go as planned.
Author's Notes: Written for rikkai_exchange ...possibly the most loathed fic in my collection.
It was another Tuesday afternoon in another traffic jam. Yanagi was sitting in his car, his cell phone ear piece attached to his ear as he waited for the other cars to inch slowly towards their destination. He barely heard the voice speaking to him, making occasional noises of affirmation as he nudged the gas pedal down ever so lightly.
Days like these he couldn’t stand, days when he would spend hours in the office, watching the clock tick by slowly, days when his mother would call him to tell him about his father’s blood pressure. Yanagi would respond with some health tips he’d read off the medical journals in the digest magazines stacked in his bathroom. The conversations were always long and drawn out, enough to moderately entertain him during the hour-long journey home. Though, nowadays the concept of ‘home’ was affable even to him.
Home wasn’t home for him anymore. There was a woman waiting at home for him -a woman who cooked, cleaned, redecorated, and rearranged just like every good son should have. She’s a kind woman, very plain and sweet. She’s also a nursing student. They’d met in college back when she had been a biology major and Yanagi had been undecided.
Sitting in the passenger side were the decorative towels that Yanagi also had to pick up on the way home. Every time he looked at them, he’d notice the turquoise blue color and hear his fiancée’s voice in his head telling him that turquoise went better with the bathroom décor than the plain white towels he once had.
The couch had also been replaced. Yanagi missed the comfortable knitted fabric that had been exchanged with coral-colored leather. The smell of leather sometimes stuck to his palms.
“Are you listening to me?” the voice on the other line questioned.
“Yes, mother,” Yanagi replied, eyeing the towels again before nudging the gas pedal once more.
She continued with her mostly one-sided conversation as Yanagi’s gaze drifted along the cars nearest to him. Even after high school, even after quitting tennis, Yanagi’s senses were still honed to observe all sorts of details.
The man in front of him was smoking the same menthol cigarettes he’d once caught Niou taking a drag from. The little boy screeching in the backseat of the car next to him had a black cap that reminded of Sanada’s favorite companion. The elder woman walking from window to window was trying to sell the same newspaper that Marui wrote restaurant reviews for. Yanagi sometimes found himself buying the paper only to read the one-time volley specialist’s writing. Marui had a good eye for food, and more than once, Yanagi had ended up taking his fiancée to the highly recommended restaurants.
Being that observant about details usually lead to the problem of missing the big picture. Sometimes, Yanagi found himself blind to very obvious things. A part of him still insisted he should have recognized that Inui had been tricking him the first time they had played one another at the Kantou Regionals. Another part of him still wondered whether noticing would have made a difference.
His car inched forward another few feet before jerking to a stop. His mother was already describing in unnecessary detail about the new paint job in her bedroom to match the new curtains, which matched with their new rug.
He was so caught up in staring at the picture of a palm tree on the customized license plate of the man in front of him that he almost missed the giant billboard up ahead and to his left. It was plastered on the side of the building and probably new because Yanagi was sure he would have noticed it before. He took the same route to and from work every single day.
His mother’s voice faded to a soft buzzing in his ear, and the towels were forgotten as he gazed at the billboard. There was Kirihara Akaya, racket casually slung over his shoulder and a soda bottle in hand as he gave everyone in Tokyo who took this route home a very saucy wink. Long, unruly curls clung to his sweaty face, and his lips were dark red from the cherry-flavored soda.
Yanagi just stared, burning the image into his mind where he kept a catalogue of several magazine ads featuring Kirihara. If he stared at it long enough, he could imagine those lips moving, challenging him to another tennis match.
“Senpai, play a match with me! I’m going to crush you today for sure!"
He could also imagine a warm, pink tongue sweeping in between lips as bloodshot eyes leveled at him. That part got to him the most, and he immediately ripped the ear piece out of his ear and tossed the phone to the passenger side. He didn’t need his mother’s voice droning in the background of a memory that kept running further and further away from him.
Then again, the days of chasing those memories hand long since passed.
The car behind him snapped him out of his thoughts with loud, obnoxious beeping, and he barely registered that traffic started moving again. He didn’t know how long he had remained stagnant. All he could concentrate was on the way his heart kept pounding furiously as if he had just run fifty laps.
One hand clutched his chest when he stopped again just to feel his heart racing. From his vintage point, he couldn’t see the billboard ad anymore, but his mind summoned a precise imitation of Kirihara’s expression. The younger man looked positively cocky and every bit the paramour of the Kirihara in Yanagi’s head. Even his youthful looks had followed him in adulthood.
His cell phone started buzzing frantically again, but he ignored this time. He could call his mother back when he got home and give her an excuse about losing service. Cell phones were prone to being erratic and inconsistent.
The rest of the drive was lost in large, green eyes and a tennis racket pointed inches from his nose.
“I want a match,” Kirihara’s voice repeated in his head.
---
“I want a match, senpai!” Kirihara’s voice whined as he followed Yanagi. “Come on!”
Yanagi stopped in his tracks and turned around to give the younger boy a placating smile. Kirihara was always impatient.
“But Seiichi said you had to play Niou today.”
“I don’t want to play Niou-senpai! He sucks! I already beat him twice last week. I want to play you!”
Yanagi placed a hand on Kirihara’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You always want to play one of the three of us, but you are going to have to listen to Seiichi. He knows what’s best for you.”
Kirihara’s lower lip stuck out slightly like a scolded child, and Yanagi half expected him to start protesting again. He knew the other boy wanted to.
“Fine! But next time we play, I’ll show you!”
Yanagi couldn’t hold back another smile. “I look forward to it.”
---
The next morning, Yanagi found himself staring dully at his reflection as he brushed his teeth. The bowl-like hair cut had remained for the most part, though he could hear Niou in the back of his head teasing him about how boring he looked.
He spent most of his days with his eyes completely open now, having nothing more to shield from the world. It had been difficult getting used to it, but his fiancée had told him once that he had very smart-looking eyes.
Now, they simply look tired. Perhaps because his body felt tired, waking up on a Saturday morning at 9 a.m. so he and his fiancée could go to the mall bright and early to pick out new upholstery for the dinning room chairs.
After rinsing his mouth, he picked up one of the medical journals on the toilet lid and browsed through it. Yagyuu had gone into sports medicine he remembered. He absently wondered if Kirihara ever visited Yagyuu after injuring his knee a year ago.
The medical journals had also been one of many additions to his apartment. There used to be a different novel every week on Yanagi’s toilet lid, but he hardly had time for recreational reading. He was lucky if he could even get through the daily newspaper.
Beneath the medical journals, Yanagi hid the few sports magazines he picked up from time to time. His favorite was the July issue from a year ago. There was an in-depth interview with Kirihara he could quote word for word. Kirihara had recently won the Australian open then, and there was a two page spread with him laid out in the beaches of Sydney, wearing a French cut bathing suit that revealed too much of his stream-lined athletic built. His hip bones were jutting out nicely, and there was a small patch of hair that ran down from his toned abdominal muscles, disappearing underneath the dark blue strip of spandex that tried to pass itself off as a bathing suit.
There was also a picture of him with his dog, a mixed-breed he took with him everywhere. Yanagi could tell Kirihara loved the dog. They appeared together in most of the pictures -at least the ones where Kirihara wasn’t play tennis or didn’t have his arm linked with some Australian model. Tabloids were always matching him up to different women, and Yanagi knew better to believe any of those accounts.
“Renji, are you ready to go?” his fiancée called out from the kitchen.
“Yes,” he replied shortly before drying his face on the new turquoise towels.
---
“Senpai, play a match with me!” Kirihara called out, closing his hand around the back of Yanagi’s shirt.
Yanagi stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Kirihara who was now only just a few centimeters shorter than he was.
“Akaya, the third years have retired from the club, already.”
“I know, but you’ll be going off to college soon! And I have exams coming up and stuff! This could be our last chance!”
“If you couldn’t beat me three weeks ago, you won’t be able to-“ Yanagi began, but Kirihara shook his head stubbornly.
“I can do it this time!”
“What do you want to prove by beating me?”
Kirihara grew quiet, hands toying with hem of his shirt as he looked to be deep in thought.
“This could be my last chance,” he repeated, voice sounding more numb and hollow and nothing like the cheerful Kirihara Yanagi had known for almost five years now. It must have been a sign that Kirihara was starting to mature.
“Okay.”
---
It was already late in the afternoon when Yanagi returned, hauling two large bags of their reupholstered pillows. The cat ran up to greet them, weaving between his fiancée’s legs and ignoring him completely as usual. The cat had also been her idea. Yanagi despised it and the way it liked to sit on his bathroom rug and watch him use the bathroom in the morning just to make him nervous.
“Do you mind tying them on to the chairs? I’m going to visit Keiko down the hall for a moment,” his fiancée called out as she fed the cat.
“Not at all.”
Dropping the bags by the kitchen table, Yanagi noticed his cell phone lying precariously on the dining room table. He must have left it by accident that morning. The small screen told him he had five missed calls.
Flipping it open, he scrolled through his missed call list, noting that four of them were from his mother and the last one had been from an unknown number. It was a Tokyo phone number, so it had to be from someone who lived nearby. He’d moved away from Kanagawa to go to college and had settled down in a nice house in the outer suburbs of Tokyo with his fiancée just a year ago.
It wouldn’t hurt to call back and confirm whether or not the number was from an acquaintance. He pressed the ‘call back’ option on his phone and waited patiently for another voice to come on the line.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?” Yanagi asked before mentally wincing at his own rudeness. “Forgive me. Someone called me from this number earlier-“
“Renji?”
Yanagi froze. He recognized the voice.
“…Yes?”
“It is me …Seiichi.”
“I know. It occurred to me just now.” He didn’t know why his heart was beating quickly again. He hadn’t spoken to Yukimura, either, in years. They’d all gone their separate ways after high school.
“I didn’t know you moved to Tokyo,” Yukimura continued, completely nonplussed.
“Ah.”
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“It has.”
Yanagi absently unbuttoned the top buttons of his collared and sat down before realizing the chairs still didn’t have cushions. His butt was squished uncomfortably, and he was glad his fiancée had already left so she couldn’t see him ambling to stand up again and remove the chair from his posterior.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Seiichi, how did you get this number?”
“Masaharu.”
That made sense. Yanagi remembered running into him a few months ago in a bar. Niou had been unemployed then, but he had claimed to be ‘in between jobs.’ Their conversation was short and awkward before Niou had left, telling him he had somewhere to go but they should stay in touch.
One phone number exchange later and here was Yukimura calling him out of nowhere.
“I didn’t realize you two were so close,” Yanagi said slowly.
“Our former data master doesn’t see everything.”
He could almost hear the smile in Yukimura’s voice.
“Would you like to meet up tonight?” Yukimura suddenly asked.
“Tonight?”
Did Yanagi have anything to do that night? He racked his brain, trying to sift through his wife’s recent conversations. Lately, he’d been forgetting things like dinner parties and friendly gatherings that his fiancée claimed to have informed him about previously. Perhaps he’d become too good at tuning her out, as well.
“It should not be a problem.”
“Good. I’ll text you with a meeting place and time later. I must go now.”
“Goodbye,” Yanagi murmured quickly before the line was cut off.
For a long time, all he could do was stare at the phone in mild shock. Yukimura had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth after they had finished high school. He thought even Sanada would keep in-touch with him, but Sanada had never gotten a single phone call back from the millions he had left on Yukimura’s phone.
In fact, Sanada was the only person on his former team Yanagi kept in regular touch with. He was even going to be the best man at Yanagi’s wedding.
The only other people he’d had contact with since high school was that aforementioned meeting with Niou and a letter he’d received from Kirihara, containing the first published article about him in a major nation-wide newspaper. Yanagi kept the letter in his night stand beneath an old team photo.
---
Yukimura was one of the few seniors still practicing daily on the court even after all the other third years stopped entirely and focused on entrance exams. Yanagi and Sanada often came along with him to play a few matches.
As Yanagi followed Kirihara onto the court, he absently spied Yukimura practicing on the ball machines. He wondered if the former Rikkai captain would continue on with tennis in college -if he would go on to become a professional. He remembered Yukimura claiming to live, breathe, eat, and sleep tennis.
“Are you two playing a game?” Yukimura asked, still focused on returning balls.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to referee?”
“That would be good.”
“Sanada, turn off the machine,” Yukimura called out, and Yanagi hadn’t even noticed the older boy standing next to the machine. He supposed it was harder to recognize Sanada without the hat sometimes -at least when he was on a tennis court.
“I’m surprised you two aren’t playing a match,” Yanagi remarked absently, standing next to the net where Kirihara was waiting for him.
“Yeah!” Kirihara interjected. “Yukimura-senpai always jumps on every chance to kick Sanada-senpai’s ass.”
Sanada gave the younger a boy a glare before shrugging and muttering, “Didn’t feel like playing today.”
It was strange. Yanagi couldn’t remember a time where Sanada didn’t want to play tennis, especially against Yukimura. There was something Sanada wasn’t telling them, and he eyed his friend for a moment before returning his attention to Kirihara.
“Smooth or rough?” Kirihara asked with a grin.
---
The bar Yukimura had Yanagi meet him at was moderately crowded, mostly with local college students. He didn’t picture Yukimura as the type to even hang around in bars, but he supposed Yukimura probably had changed a lot since high school.
Yanagi took a table close to the entrance and already ordered a bottle of Kirin light to occupy himself with since he’d arrived twenty minutes earlier than the proposed meeting time. He absently stared at the distant TV screen, displaying highlights from the latest World Cup soccer game.
Yukimura’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“Renji?”
Yanagi swiveled around in his seat before standing up and bowing his head slightly.
Yukimura didn’t look any different than Yanagi had anticipated. His hair was a bit longer in the back and kept in a low pony tail, and two wavy strands fell on either side of his face. He also had on a sweater that looked more at home on someone’s grandfather than on a boy in his twenties.
“It’s good to see you,” Yukimura greeted with a smile before they both took their seats.
“How have you been?” Yukimura continued, hands clasped in front of him. Yanagi couldn’t help staring at the familiar thin, pale wrists that stuck out of the sweater. Yukimura had always had a somewhat delicate, frail appearance especially after his illness.
“I’ve been good. You?”
“Good, as well.”
A waitress came by to take their drink orders, and Yanagi asked for another beer. The taste was usually too acrid and bitter for him, but he didn’t mind the effect it had on calming him down. Tennis used to be the most calming experience for him, but he supposed beer was a decent enough substitute.
“Masaharu tells me you’re engaged.”
Yanagi nodded slowly.
“When’s the wedding?”
“In three months.”
Yukimura’s face looked thoughtful for a moment before taking the drink that was set down in front of him. He didn’t know why, but he would have suspected Yukimura to favor fruitier drinks and not cold, hard liquor.
“This place has the best scotch,” Yukimura remarked with another smile as if reading Yanagi’s thoughts.
“Ah.”
“I never thought you would be the first of us to get married. We’re all still so young.”
Yanagi never thought so either, but his mother really wanted grand children and pointed out on more than one occasion that Mizuho would make such a lovely bride for him.
“What are you doing now?” Yukimura asked, plucking an ice cube from the glass after he finished it off and tossing it into his mouth.
“I’m an accountant.”
“But you hate accounting.”
“I know.” Yanagi’s father was the one to push him into a math degree when he had been already taking a few core courses for a degree in Japanese literature. In the end, he’d done what a good son would do.
“What about you?” Yanagi asked, changing the subject quickly.
“I own my own flower shop. It’s small, but I get good business.”
“I always wondered why you didn’t go on to play professional tennis.”
“It’s a long story,” Yukimura said softly, tracing the rim of his empty glass. His face looked solemn, and Yanagi got the impression that it was a delicate subject.
“You don’t have to-“
“No, no. It’s okay.” Yukimura feigned a short laugh. “I just…lost all passion for it. Tennis in college and in the pro leagues was nothing like tennis in junior high and high school. There, it’s all about money and image. Probably something Atobe would appreciate. I wanted to play to win. Not for money or fame.”
Yanagi didn’t know what to say. His own reasons for giving up tennis was just a matter of needing to grow up. He suddenly hadn’t been interested in games anymore.
“It seems like only someone with Akaya’s spirit could go as far as he has,” Yukimura continued before ordering another glass of scotch.
Yanagi’s fingers froze around his own bottle. It felt strange hearing Yukimura say Kirihara’s name out loud. He himself hadn’t spoken it out loud since the last time they saw each other. It was always a forbidden echo in his head.
Yukimura gave him that mysterious smile -the same smile he gave his opponents when he knew he was about to win.
“He’s here in Tokyo, you know.”
The alcohol seemed to burn and sting deeper as it slid down his throat. “How do you know?”
“He still calls me all the time.”
Of course. Yukimura was the person Kirihara looked up to the most. He was Kirihara’s goal and idol. He was the one Kirihara always strived to defeat.
“Ah.”
“He asks about you, too.”
His stomach was turning quickly, making all the alcohol he just ingested start to crawl its way back up his throat. Outwardly, he nodded as calm as ever.
“I think he misses you,” Yukimura continued, his smile growing sharper.
Yanagi took a large sip before ordering another bottle.
“I think he wonders why you’ve never kept in touch with him.”
The more alcohol he consumed, the more heavy his head felt. He could picture Kirihara in his mind with a bottle of beer in his hand instead of soda, grinning cockily at him.
“Why don’t you call me?” he kept asking.
Yanagi shook his head to clear it and drank another large sip.
“He doesn’t know about your engagement.”
That was relieving to hear, though he couldn’t quite comprehend why.
“I think he wants to see you.”
“I think you’re sleeping with Niou,” Yanagi blurted out, blaming that statment on the fact that he was well on his way to being drunk and surprisingly terrible at holding his liquor.
Yukimura’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well played, Data Master.”
Yanagi muttered a quick apology. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.” His reasoning was always far too sharp for his own good.
Quickly standing up, he reached his wallet and tugged out a few paper bills. “It was nice seeing you again, Seiichi, but I have to go before Mizuho worries.”
“You didn’t tell her where you were going?” Yukimura questioned, making no move to get up himself.
“I told her I was going out to get eggs.”
The other man let out a short laugh. “I’ll keep in touch. I have your number. Akaya does, too, now.”
Yanagi didn’t say another word, walking out of the bar quickly, hoping the stench of alcohol hasn’t followed him. His fiancée always despised drinkers, and the smell of alcohol would probably clash with the rosemary aroma that permanently wafted throughout his apartment.
---
The ball whizzed passed Yanagi’s ear before he could even register it. He swore he could feel the tennis fuzz clipping his ear.
“That’s my game,” Kirihara said with a sneer, his body hunched over as he stayed all the way by the baseline.
Kirihara’s hands were resting on his knees, but he didn’t look anywhere near as tired as Yanagi felt. His eyes were already blood shot, making his irises appear a sickly green, and when he licked his lips slowly before bouncing the ball to serve, Yanagi felt his heart smash into his rib cage with enough force that he imagined cracks were appearing on his rib bones.
---
Yanagi woke up covered in sweat and shoved the flower-patterned comforter off of himself. His body was damp, his pajamas sticking to him awkwardly as he rose from bed and padded into the bathroom.
Shutting and locking the door, he frantically dug through the magazines, shoving aside the medical journals until he grabbed the right one. There it was. The July issue.
Yanagi flipped the pages open before landing on the spread. Kirihara stared up at him from where he was sprawled on the sand, fingers teasingly grazing his stomach muscles. The image had also been burned in his mind since he had first laid eyes on it. He could see tan lines, little stripes of white where the bathing suit was cut too short, little strips of white beneath the dark hair that trailed down, down, far too down.
Yanagi’s hand was already moving, digging into his own pajama bottoms, sinking beneath his boxers. He grabbed his straining erection and just stroked harshly, jerking himself with enough force and speed to make his own body curl forward.
He tried to keep shut, lips pressing tightly together as all the air spilled out of his nose. His free hand was clutching the magazine, crumpling the glossy pages under his fingers as his knees threatened to give out from the building pressure.
It didn’t take him long to find release, and he collapsed on the floor with a loud exhalation. The tiles beneath his face felt nice and cool as he absently tugged at the toilet paper to clean himself off.
After tossing his soiled boxers in the hamper, he neatly rearranged the magazines and fixed the skewed rug. His reflection in the mirror stopped him before he could step back into the bedroom. His eyes looked wild, pupils full and large. His hair was disheveled even more than his morning hair, and there were streaks of sweat above his brow and along his cheeks.
It only took a few seconds to smooth the wayward strands down before he crawled back into bed. His fiancée immediately pressed against his back and slipped an arm around his stomach, and he felt the earlier alcohol resurfacing and nudging thickly at the back of his throat.
In just a few seconds, he was up again, running into the bathroom to throw up.
---
Kirihara collapsed first. The younger boy was leaking sweat all over his body as he fell on fours, still clutching his racket. He was grinning triumphantly as his hair hung around his face, looking even more like seaweed when it was soaked through.
“I won,” he wheezed, glancing across the net at Yanagi.
Yanagi watched with disbelief, standing motionlessly as his own racket hit the ground with a clatter. His palms were wet, and he swiped them against his tennis shorts before his knees abruptly gave out.
The tennis court was rough and warm against his cheek, and he could almost feel his skin burning against it.
“I won,” Kirihara repeated, laughing loudly as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Either that or the heat was making him hysterical.
Yukimura was clapping on the sidelines before uncapping his water bottle and pouring it over Kirihara’s head. The younger boy raised his head and lapped eagerly at the liquid like a dog.
It was Sanada who helped Yanagi up, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him to the bench.
“You played a good game, Renji.”
“I know.”
Kirihara’s body plunked down next to him with Yukimura’s help. Kirihara was still panting and leaning over, unable to hold his body up any longer. Instead, he opted to rest against Yanagi’s side, head lolling heavily onto Yanagi’s shoulder.
“Yanagi-senpai, you’ll still talk to me when you go to college, right?” he asked suddenly, his eyes wide and staring up at Yanagi.
Yanagi noted there were still faint webs of pink around his irises. “Yes.”
Kirihara smiled.
---
Yanagi’s cell phone ringer woke up. He absently glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand, noting it was the middle of the afternoon, and he was apparently in bed with a hangover.
His fiancée must have taken off at some point. He vaguely remembered her bringing him water and aspirin and telling him she was going to go pick out bride’s maids dresses. Yanagi was still appalled by the idea of large western weddings. He thought they were wasteful and irritating, but he smiled and handed over his bank card because it meant a lot to her.
The ringing went off again, and Yanagi groaned as he slid out of bed, scratching his stomach as he yawned and walked towards his phone. It was still on the dinning room table, and the battery was nearly empty.
The phone screen had another mysterious Tokyo phone number. Yanagi frowned and contemplated ignoring it, but his curiosity started itching.
“Hello?” he greeted once he flipped open his phone.
“Yanagi-senpai!?”
Yanagi’s eyes widened, and he shut the phone immediately.
The ringer went off just a few seconds after. Kirihara was always persistent, but Yanagi wouldn’t give in. He quickly turned the phone off and chucked it across the room at the cat.
There was a loud hiss from the corner, but he ignored it, walking to the bathroom for a shower.
---
Several kids shuffled through the halls, nudging against each other in the early morning as they dragged unwilling limbs to class.
“Tomorrow’s really your last day?” Kirihara asked as he followed Yanagi down the halls, his back pack slung over his shoulder.
“It is.”
There was a shuffling sound as Kirihara jogged a bit to catch up to Yanagi’s long strides. His hands gripped Yanagi’s sleeve, giving it a harsh tug.
“Can you play with me once more this afternoon?”
Yanagi actually paused and glanced down at Kirihara, eyes fluttering open in curiosity.
“But you already beat me, Akaya?”
“I know,” Kirihara replied, eyes darting quickly to the floor. “It’s not about beating you.”
“Then what is it about?”
“Just come.” Kirihara gave him a beseeching look this time before taking off to class.
Yanagi didn’t know what to make of it as he followed Kirihara’s disappearing bright yellow back pack down the hall with his gaze.
---
“Do you think we should go with zinnias for the center pieces or orange blossoms?”
“Either is fine,” Yanagi replied almost robotically as he headed down the route towards their apartment.
His fiancée was holding a notepad and absently going through notes. In another lifetime, he was sure he’d be impressed by her organization skills. Instead, he was rather annoyed that she had an entire notepad dedicated to their wedding plans.
“Renji? I think you should have more input. This is really important,” she told him.
The words flew over his head as he stopped at a red light. Over to his left, there was the billboard, Kirihara still on it -Kirihara’s eyes now staring down at him rather than looking up at him. Red-stained lips were beckoning him.
“Renji-kun? Renji-kun!”
“Yanagi-senpai! Yanagi-senpai!”
Yanagi remembered the thrill of tennis and the thrill of playing against Kirihara. He remembered tennis balls erratically flying towards him and being able to predict exactly where they’d land. He remembered the way Kirihara looked after victory, smirking triumphantly, his face sharp and hungry as if he wanted to play longer. He remembered the way Kirihara looked in defeat as if the weight of the world crushed down on his shoulders, head down and eyes dull. He remembered-
“Renji!! Hit the gas! The cars are beeping at you.”
Yanagi blinked before calmly accelerating.
“What’s with you?” his fiancée interrogated, “You completely spaced out. Is something wrong with you lately? You’ve been…I don’t know… out of it.”
“My apologies.”
The rest of the car ride home was silent save for the sound of his fiancée’s pencil scratching against the notepad.
---
The locker room was empty after school except for Kirihara who was sitting on the bench. His lower lip was caught in between his teeth in apprehension, and he absently stared down at his outstretched legs.
“Akaya,” Yanagi said loud enough to get the boy’s attention.
Kirihara tensed up before glancing over his shoulder at him and scratching the back of his head.
“Didn’t know you were there.”
Yanagi walked further inside, staring at where his locker used to be. It wasn’t his locker anymore and now bore the name of some other regular that finally got to be promoted.
“I didn’t bring my tennis equipment, I’m afraid.”
Kirihara rose from the bench, lips twitching as he toyed with the end of his tie. “That’s okay,” he murmured hastily. “I didn’t really want to play tennis, anyway.”
The strange behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Kirihara was definitely up to something. The way his gaze landed on everywhere but Yanagi’s face supported this assumption.
“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yeah.” Kirihara paused, looking uncertain again and gnawing at his bottom lip as he inched closer to Yanagi. He didn’t stop until he was close enough to Yanagi that he could feel the body heat radiating from the younger boy.
When they had been in junior high, Yanagi had been able to look over Kirihara’s head. Now, Kirihara’s head blocked his view. His body hadn’t quite filled out like Sanada’s, maintaining a very slender physique, but his face was all cheek bones, supple lips, and slim, cat-like eyes.
“I know you’re leaving tomorrow,” Kirihara continued, and his hands were now fidgeting with Yanagi’s tie. “So I don’t feel as bad telling you this now because …if you think it’s stupid then you don’t have to do anything about it. You can just leave, and we won’t see each other again, right?”
Yanagi couldn’t get passed Kirihara’s tennis-worn fingers rolling the bottom of Yanagi’s tie then unrolling it. He tried to absorb what Kirihara was telling him, knowing it was probably a very good idea to listen, but his mind wasn’t functioning. There was no data that could account for fingers on his tie or how wet Kirihara’s lips looked after he licked them.
“Don’t hate me, please,” Kirihara whispered several times as if in prayer until his lips were moving against Yanagi’s mouth.
They were kissing.
They were kissing, and Yanagi couldn’t process it. They were kissing, and Yanagi’s rib cage was about to explode against the weight of his frantically beating heart.
---
When Yanagi turned his phone back on, there were thirty-eight missed calls on it. A good chunk were from his mother, and the rest were from Kirihara.
He slowly scrolled down the call list, deleting each of them one by one. It was an arduous task, one that absorbed thirty minutes of his life while his fiancée had left him alone to do some shopping with her sister -today they were picking out place settings and napkin holders.
His hand paused on the button when he reached the last number, unable to bring himself to erase it from his phone, despite all inclination to do so. If his finger hit the button, the number would be gone forever and who knew if Kirihara would call again. The younger man’s patience could only stretch so far, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if he had given up on Yanagi.
Yanagi almost hoped he would, so he could move on. He didn’t even know what he was still holding on to. High school had been over long ago, and so had been tennis, literature, Kirihara, everything…
With new resolve, he applied pressure to the button and watched as the confirmation popped up.
Yes.
The number was erased.
He set the phone down and breathed out a sigh as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. It was another release, another shift of focus. His life was accounting and making sure his fiancée had the western wedding she dreamed of. She’d told him on more than one occasion how she loved watching the marriages of European princesses on TV and dreamt of long, white trains as she walked down ‘the virgin road.’
The sound of someone knocking on the door snapped him out of his thoughts, and he set the phone down to move from the chair to answer the front door. Figuring it was either his neighbor visiting or his fiancée had left her keys, he didn’t even bother looking through the peep hole before opening the door.
His eyes snapped open wide as they dragged down the messy mop of curly hair, lower along a smooth boyish face, far more tanned than he last remembered. Two green eyes peered up at him in between bangs, though Yanagi was surprised to note that they were both a lot closer in height now.
“Yanagi-sen-! Uh, I mean, hey Yanagi…”
Yanagi’s throat dried up as he stared down at Kirihara, pushing out thoughts of the last time they had spoken to each other. It seemed like years ago -a faded memory left to replay itself like a damaged record in the back of his mind.
No, he didn’t run away. He never ran away from anything. Other circumstances forced him to move. It was pure, simple physics. Objects in motion remain in motion until an equal or greater force acts upon it, and objects at rest remain at rest until an equal or greater force acts upon it. He’d been heading down a stable path until Kirihara had happened, and he was enough of a force to knock all the air out of Yanagi.
---
The heat of the water spray slammed into his hair, weighing his bangs down over his face. His eyes were clenched tightly as he pushed Kirihara against the tiled wall, skin warm and hot against his own. He slipped his arms tighter around Kirihara and ground against the squirming body that just couldn’t stay still.
“Yanagi,” Kirihara whispered, digging blunt nails into his biceps as he rocked against him fervently. “I want to …I want to…”
Yanagi could feel the twitch of muscles as they strained and tightened around him. Warm breath slid across his jaw muscles which were clenched so tightly with restraint that was quickly breaking. His thighs tremored as he pressed his cock into sharp hip bones, thrusting, pushing, shoving Kirihara back harder.
“Yanagi,” Kirihara whined again and dragged his fingers down his arms, leaving red trails in their wake.
The younger boy gasped and suddenly grabbed Yanagi by the hair, fisting greedy hands into the wet strands to pull their faces closer as he locked one of his long, gangly legs around Yanagi’s waist. Yanagi felt the warm weight of Kirihara’s arousal as it pushed against his abdomen while Kirihara gracelessly humped him.
His own hands found purchase on the other boy’s back, clutching at naked flesh as he captured his mouth in a messy kiss to muffle both of their voices. He knew the locker room would be empty with all sports practices cancelled for exams and graduation, but he didn’t want to take his chances.
It was bad enough his heart was pounding frantically in his chest in panic and urgency. He didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like it when the outcomes were variable, like being thrown over the edge with only 50% chance that he’ll actually meet his death. The problems turned themselves in his mind, math equations he tried to solve in his leisure, only now there weren’t any logical answers.
He’d always been told he thought too much -spent too much time thinking and not enough acting. When he did act, though, he acted with precision and assuredness.
The only time he’d failed to do so was playing against Inui in the Kantou regionals.
…and now. This instance. It was a page torn out of the wrong text book and re-sewn into the data book he kept in his head. All rational abandoned for a few seconds of irresponsible behavior. He was supposed to be a mentor to Kirihara, but instead he was grinding into him, visions floating through his mind of how it would feel like to fuck him, what Kirihara would sound like if he moved inside of him -would those tiny gasps and whimpers turn into screams? How tight could he make that body curl? How hard would those nails brand his flesh?
He moved faster, holding onto Kirihara as they kissed open-mouthed beneath the water spray, saliva mingling with the drops pouring down on them. His body tensed all too quickly like a wave bearing down at him as he bit down hard on Kirihara’s lower lip. He could feel the tightening on his groin, the surge of pressure that overtook him. A loud noise bubbled in the back of his throat as he spilt out his release. The intensity stabbed through him with a knife, leaving him weak and trying not to slip as he held onto Kirihara who quivered noticeably in his arms.
All he had to do was wrap his fingers around Kirihara’s erection, and the younger boy was thrusting forward and staining Yanagi’s stomach. Kirihara’s breath hitched, and his eyes cracked open as he gazed up at Yanagi, looking dazed. Red stretched out across his eyes like blood-stained spider webs, burning painfully and poignantly itself into Yanagi’s memory.
“…Yanagi-senpai…”
---
Kirihara shifted weight from one leg to the other, stuffing his fingers into his pockets and looking far younger than his age dictated. The awkwardness had never left him. Neither did that boyish exuberance that had always clung to him.
He licked the dryness from his lips before glancing up at Yanagi. “Can I come in?”
‘No.’
“Yes,” Yanagi answered and stepped aside and held the cat from escaping with his sock-covered foot.
Kirihara stepped inside and removed his shoes before glancing down at the cat, eyes widening a bit.
“You have a pet! Oh man, I didn’t think you liked cats that much.”
‘I don’t.’
“…he was a gift,” Yanagi replied slowly, watching the Rikkai’s former junior ace crouch down to pet the cat.
The cat hissed at him and tried to dig its claw in Kirihara’s arm before Yanagi pushed it away with his foot.
“Would you like something to-“ Yanagi paused as his glance followed Kirihara who had suddenly crossed to the other side of the room.
The younger man was holding a picture frame in his hands, studying it with furrowed eyebrows. His eyes shifted from Yanagi to the woman his arm was casually draped around.
“…old girlfriend?” Kirihara’s voice sounded dry and cracked as he formed the question, his lips curling into a wavering smile.
“Fiancée.”
“Oh.”
The silence hung thickly in the air as Kirihara placed the picture down on the desk and started going through other things, poking at books, playing with the novelty stress ball, rotating the dial on the decorative clock. In many ways, he hadn’t changed at all. His eyes were still curious, his hands still eager -eager…Yanagi remembered them pawing over his clothes and pushing into his pants.
He swallowed thickly and moved closer to Kirihara. “Why are you here?”
Kirihara’s head turned to glance over his shoulder, the grin falling from his face. “Because… you never called me or anything when you went for college. I waited for a long time, thinking you were busy and stuff with your friends and your new life. Even told Yukimura to invite you to my finals game at Nationals…pretty stupid, huh?”
Yanaga shook his head quickly, trying to find the right words. He’d spent so long convincing himself that he hadn’t run away from this, that this was what he’d wanted all along. Kirihara was the intrusion, something that derailed him. He was the wrong answer to the equation. Kirihara was…
“No, it wasn’t,” Yanagi said suddenly, hands reaching out shakily before landing on Kirihara’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
His fingers pressed into Kirihara’s skin, feeling the body tense up as he moved closer -close enough to smell the scent of his shampoo and the permanent stench of grass and sweat and outdoors that always clung to him. He remembered the smell, having buried his nose into those curls once, twice…
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know why…”
Reality came crashing down around him, forcing him to realize what he’d done -what he had been doing for the past few years. He never wanted this kind of life. He was bored day in and day out. He didn’t love his fiancé. He didn’t love his job. He didn’t love the morning commute. He didn’t love spending hours on the phone with his mother, discussing patterns for the new sheets.
He wanted to play tennis.
He wanted to be with this boy.
He wanted to run his hands through his hair and nuzzle his nose against the back of his neck. He wanted to dig his teeth into his shoulder and slide nails down his stomach. He wanted to touch him and keep him and bind him to himself.
Kirihara suddenly turned his arms and forced a half-hearted grin at him. One hand reached up to ruffle Yanagi’s hair playfully in a manner he would have done several years ago if only to annoy him. “Not a big deal anymore, right? As long as you’re happy. I just wanted to see you again before I left to my next tournament”
Something in Kirihara’s eyes didn’t reach the rest of his face. His smiling mouth said one thing, but the way it looked, the way the corners tugged slightly downwards, Yanagi wanted to force them up. He wanted Kirihara to grin at him as brightly as he did when he’d won his match at the Newcomer’s Tournament so long ago.
“Akaya,” Yanagi whispered before his arms wound around the slightly shorter body, pulling it against his own, remembering the desperation, the lonely nights, the hand on his own cock as he stared down greedily at old magazines, gritty and stained with semen.
Green eyes widened up at him, and he felt Kirihara reluctantly return the hug. There was confusion on his face and perhaps a little hope. Yanagi didn’t know how to interpret it. His keen observation skills was starting to fail him.
It was awkward standing there and hugging someone who had once been his underclassman and junior in tennis, someone he’d once been with intimately, shared something far more deeper than he did with his fiancée and even Yukimura or Sanada. He knew he couldn’t let go again, anchored by the weight of his guilt. He’d thrown it all away for ambitions that were never his own.
“Yanagi,” Kirihara said slowly, breaking the intense silence in the room. “…I liked you a lot.”
“I know,” Yanagi conceded, feeling the guilt twist in his stomach. He’d ignored it for years, even when his cell phone back then would flash Kirihara’s name on it everyday.
Kirihara’s face buried into his shoulder as his fingers slid to the front to curl around his shirt, tugging hard. “No, you don’t,” he protested quietly. “That’s why you’re marrying that stupid girl and not with me because …”
Yanagi’s feet struggled to keep himself upright as he was forcefully pushed away, and Kirihara’s eyes were glaring up at him large and angry and beautiful. “You’re stupid!”
His voice echoed throughout the apartment, and Yanagi fought not to wince, placing a placating hand on Kirihara’s shoulder before it was abruptly knocked away.
“Listen to me!” Kirihara continued. “You’re stupid and an asshole! Why can’t you just-“
A frustrated noise fled Kirihara’s lips, and he looked every bit again like the child he’d seen on the court -the one who threw his racket down and kicked the net when he was losing, the one who threw tantrums when he got bored with swing practice.
Yanagi was the only who changed, who hadn’t stagnated, only he wasn’t certain now if that was a good thing.
Brushing a few strands of Kirihara’s hair out of his face, he stared down at him silently, contemplating his next move. It felt like being across the court from Kirihara again, trying to predict where the wild balls would hit and if he could dodge them. He’d been hit more than once, on the knee, on the calf, even in his elbow. Right now, he could see one heading straight for his head to knock him out, and he only needed to bring himself to artfully dodge the blow.
However, a part of him wanted to get hit by the ball, be numbed by the pain as he fell corpse-like to the court. The more he stared, the more he found himself less likely to move out of its course.
Then the ball hit him hard.
Kirihara’s lips were against his, angry and impulsive. Little teeth gnawed at his mouth and an intense gaze bore into his own. Yanagi felt the breath stolen from his lungs, and his pulse race frantically.
“Renji,” Kirihara mumbled against his mouth, uttered a word he’d never uttered in front of Yanagi before, his fingers twisting tighter into hisshirt.
Yanagi remembered how much he’d given in, how his life had turned out this way because he never reacted, never chose. He wanted to put an abrupt end to his hesitations, dive into something with no assurance.
His hands found purchase in Kirihara’s hair, yanking at the strands as he devoured bruised, puffy lips, driving the younger man back into the wall, pressing against him -pressing into him. It was good like this, hot, hungry, thoughtless and wild. It was good when he could match Kirihara’s intensity, when his lips and body moved without permission from his mind.
He’d imagined it more than once, night after night while stroking himself between heavy sheets. He’d imagined his name being gasped out against his ears and long legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper inside. There would be the burn of nails down his back and teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
Yanagi couldn’t bring himself to stop, hands shoving beneath Kirihara’s shirt, mouth bruised and squished against Kirihara’s as his tongue possessively roamed his mouth. He kissed him like a dying man on his last wish, wanting to taste and savor his last meal. He kissed him like he only had ten seconds to consume as much as he could.
He kissed him like he didn’t know his fiancée was at the door, staring at them, her eyes wide and face pale.
Her purse fell to the floor, scattering all sorts of pens and note pads filled with menial details.
“Renji…,” she said slowly, her voice weak and breathy.
The sound of it made Yanagi back away from Kirihara, shame and guilt filling his expression. He’d known it was a bad idea, letting Kirihara near him again, preemptively letting him back into his life.
His throat wrapped around an apology as he watched his fiancée’s eyes fill with tears, but no sound ever left his mouth. He couldn’t say it. He wasn’t sorry.
This is what he wanted.
“I suppose you would like an explanation,” Yanagi said instead, his eyes fluttering shut like they used to when he wanted to hide his own emotions on the court. He locked himself away, only gazing out through small slits at the bedraggled face.
She nodded slowly.
---
They were still damp as they hugged, Yanagi’s arms cradling Kirihara to himself as he felt the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest. Kirihara hadn’t opened his eyes or shifted much in a while, and Yanagi suspected he was asleep. Absently, he reached up to turn the water off overhead before pushing Kirihara’s bangs out of his eyes.
“Akaya,” he whispered, giving the shorter boy a shake. “We can’t stay in here.”
“Just a little longer,” Kirihara murmured back, his voice muffled by Yanagi’s skin.
“You should get home before your mother worries. She knows you don’t have practice today.”
“I know, but-“ Kirihara’s eyes slid open and peeked up at him. “This is fun. I like this.”
---
“It’s good to see you again, Renji,” Yukimura said with a smile, clasping his hands before leading him to the seat. “The match is about to start.”
Yanagi nodded and took his place beside Yukimura and Niou. It was hot outside, enough to tan his skin a light gold color even after only a few minutes in the sun. Sweat slid down the back of his neck and collected at his collar, and he fought the urge to wipe at it irritably.
“Heard that Australian guy he’s playing is a hard one,” Niou chimed in before leaning back, draping one arm casually around Yukimura’s chair.
“He’ll win,” Yanagi assured him with certainty.
His sweaty palms rested on his thighs as he watched the first two players walk out onto the court. It was true that the Australian player had several wins under his belt already and was practically a giant on the court, six foot tall and muscular, but he was not Kirihara. Yanagi knew Kirihara. He’d been keeping track of his stats for several months now as his manager, watching him from the sidelines and seeing him improve incredibly over the passed few weeks. He was at a level that even surpassed Yukimura’s in high school.
Yanagi watched as Kirihara strode onto the court with his cocky gait, racket slung over his shoulder. The foreigner sneered at him even as they shook hands, expecting his size and power to easily outdo Kirihara.
A moment of worry drifted through when he noticed Kirihara’s eyes narrow and his lips curl upwards in a dangerous smirk, but he didn’t hurl any insults or threats. He merely walked away, showing a tremendous amount of maturity the boy of thirteen would have never shown. Even just a year ago, Kirihara struggled to keep his temper in check while playing tennis.
Halfway to the baseline, Kirihara turned towards the stands and picked out Yanagi in the crowd before cracking a large smile at him and waving enthusiastically.
Yukimura snickered next to him, covering his mouth politely with his hand. “It’s cute when he does that.”
Yanagi agreed silently and settled in to watch the match.
The End.
Pairing/Characters: Yanagi/Kirihara, slight Yukimura/Niou
Rating: R
Warnings: Sexual situations, bad language. Future fic. Really poorly beta'ed I'm told XD;;
Disclaimer: Not mine. Konomi’s.
Summary: Things don’t always go as planned.
Author's Notes: Written for rikkai_exchange ...possibly the most loathed fic in my collection.
It was another Tuesday afternoon in another traffic jam. Yanagi was sitting in his car, his cell phone ear piece attached to his ear as he waited for the other cars to inch slowly towards their destination. He barely heard the voice speaking to him, making occasional noises of affirmation as he nudged the gas pedal down ever so lightly.
Days like these he couldn’t stand, days when he would spend hours in the office, watching the clock tick by slowly, days when his mother would call him to tell him about his father’s blood pressure. Yanagi would respond with some health tips he’d read off the medical journals in the digest magazines stacked in his bathroom. The conversations were always long and drawn out, enough to moderately entertain him during the hour-long journey home. Though, nowadays the concept of ‘home’ was affable even to him.
Home wasn’t home for him anymore. There was a woman waiting at home for him -a woman who cooked, cleaned, redecorated, and rearranged just like every good son should have. She’s a kind woman, very plain and sweet. She’s also a nursing student. They’d met in college back when she had been a biology major and Yanagi had been undecided.
Sitting in the passenger side were the decorative towels that Yanagi also had to pick up on the way home. Every time he looked at them, he’d notice the turquoise blue color and hear his fiancée’s voice in his head telling him that turquoise went better with the bathroom décor than the plain white towels he once had.
The couch had also been replaced. Yanagi missed the comfortable knitted fabric that had been exchanged with coral-colored leather. The smell of leather sometimes stuck to his palms.
“Are you listening to me?” the voice on the other line questioned.
“Yes, mother,” Yanagi replied, eyeing the towels again before nudging the gas pedal once more.
She continued with her mostly one-sided conversation as Yanagi’s gaze drifted along the cars nearest to him. Even after high school, even after quitting tennis, Yanagi’s senses were still honed to observe all sorts of details.
The man in front of him was smoking the same menthol cigarettes he’d once caught Niou taking a drag from. The little boy screeching in the backseat of the car next to him had a black cap that reminded of Sanada’s favorite companion. The elder woman walking from window to window was trying to sell the same newspaper that Marui wrote restaurant reviews for. Yanagi sometimes found himself buying the paper only to read the one-time volley specialist’s writing. Marui had a good eye for food, and more than once, Yanagi had ended up taking his fiancée to the highly recommended restaurants.
Being that observant about details usually lead to the problem of missing the big picture. Sometimes, Yanagi found himself blind to very obvious things. A part of him still insisted he should have recognized that Inui had been tricking him the first time they had played one another at the Kantou Regionals. Another part of him still wondered whether noticing would have made a difference.
His car inched forward another few feet before jerking to a stop. His mother was already describing in unnecessary detail about the new paint job in her bedroom to match the new curtains, which matched with their new rug.
He was so caught up in staring at the picture of a palm tree on the customized license plate of the man in front of him that he almost missed the giant billboard up ahead and to his left. It was plastered on the side of the building and probably new because Yanagi was sure he would have noticed it before. He took the same route to and from work every single day.
His mother’s voice faded to a soft buzzing in his ear, and the towels were forgotten as he gazed at the billboard. There was Kirihara Akaya, racket casually slung over his shoulder and a soda bottle in hand as he gave everyone in Tokyo who took this route home a very saucy wink. Long, unruly curls clung to his sweaty face, and his lips were dark red from the cherry-flavored soda.
Yanagi just stared, burning the image into his mind where he kept a catalogue of several magazine ads featuring Kirihara. If he stared at it long enough, he could imagine those lips moving, challenging him to another tennis match.
“Senpai, play a match with me! I’m going to crush you today for sure!"
He could also imagine a warm, pink tongue sweeping in between lips as bloodshot eyes leveled at him. That part got to him the most, and he immediately ripped the ear piece out of his ear and tossed the phone to the passenger side. He didn’t need his mother’s voice droning in the background of a memory that kept running further and further away from him.
Then again, the days of chasing those memories hand long since passed.
The car behind him snapped him out of his thoughts with loud, obnoxious beeping, and he barely registered that traffic started moving again. He didn’t know how long he had remained stagnant. All he could concentrate was on the way his heart kept pounding furiously as if he had just run fifty laps.
One hand clutched his chest when he stopped again just to feel his heart racing. From his vintage point, he couldn’t see the billboard ad anymore, but his mind summoned a precise imitation of Kirihara’s expression. The younger man looked positively cocky and every bit the paramour of the Kirihara in Yanagi’s head. Even his youthful looks had followed him in adulthood.
His cell phone started buzzing frantically again, but he ignored this time. He could call his mother back when he got home and give her an excuse about losing service. Cell phones were prone to being erratic and inconsistent.
The rest of the drive was lost in large, green eyes and a tennis racket pointed inches from his nose.
“I want a match,” Kirihara’s voice repeated in his head.
---
“I want a match, senpai!” Kirihara’s voice whined as he followed Yanagi. “Come on!”
Yanagi stopped in his tracks and turned around to give the younger boy a placating smile. Kirihara was always impatient.
“But Seiichi said you had to play Niou today.”
“I don’t want to play Niou-senpai! He sucks! I already beat him twice last week. I want to play you!”
Yanagi placed a hand on Kirihara’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You always want to play one of the three of us, but you are going to have to listen to Seiichi. He knows what’s best for you.”
Kirihara’s lower lip stuck out slightly like a scolded child, and Yanagi half expected him to start protesting again. He knew the other boy wanted to.
“Fine! But next time we play, I’ll show you!”
Yanagi couldn’t hold back another smile. “I look forward to it.”
---
The next morning, Yanagi found himself staring dully at his reflection as he brushed his teeth. The bowl-like hair cut had remained for the most part, though he could hear Niou in the back of his head teasing him about how boring he looked.
He spent most of his days with his eyes completely open now, having nothing more to shield from the world. It had been difficult getting used to it, but his fiancée had told him once that he had very smart-looking eyes.
Now, they simply look tired. Perhaps because his body felt tired, waking up on a Saturday morning at 9 a.m. so he and his fiancée could go to the mall bright and early to pick out new upholstery for the dinning room chairs.
After rinsing his mouth, he picked up one of the medical journals on the toilet lid and browsed through it. Yagyuu had gone into sports medicine he remembered. He absently wondered if Kirihara ever visited Yagyuu after injuring his knee a year ago.
The medical journals had also been one of many additions to his apartment. There used to be a different novel every week on Yanagi’s toilet lid, but he hardly had time for recreational reading. He was lucky if he could even get through the daily newspaper.
Beneath the medical journals, Yanagi hid the few sports magazines he picked up from time to time. His favorite was the July issue from a year ago. There was an in-depth interview with Kirihara he could quote word for word. Kirihara had recently won the Australian open then, and there was a two page spread with him laid out in the beaches of Sydney, wearing a French cut bathing suit that revealed too much of his stream-lined athletic built. His hip bones were jutting out nicely, and there was a small patch of hair that ran down from his toned abdominal muscles, disappearing underneath the dark blue strip of spandex that tried to pass itself off as a bathing suit.
There was also a picture of him with his dog, a mixed-breed he took with him everywhere. Yanagi could tell Kirihara loved the dog. They appeared together in most of the pictures -at least the ones where Kirihara wasn’t play tennis or didn’t have his arm linked with some Australian model. Tabloids were always matching him up to different women, and Yanagi knew better to believe any of those accounts.
“Renji, are you ready to go?” his fiancée called out from the kitchen.
“Yes,” he replied shortly before drying his face on the new turquoise towels.
---
“Senpai, play a match with me!” Kirihara called out, closing his hand around the back of Yanagi’s shirt.
Yanagi stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Kirihara who was now only just a few centimeters shorter than he was.
“Akaya, the third years have retired from the club, already.”
“I know, but you’ll be going off to college soon! And I have exams coming up and stuff! This could be our last chance!”
“If you couldn’t beat me three weeks ago, you won’t be able to-“ Yanagi began, but Kirihara shook his head stubbornly.
“I can do it this time!”
“What do you want to prove by beating me?”
Kirihara grew quiet, hands toying with hem of his shirt as he looked to be deep in thought.
“This could be my last chance,” he repeated, voice sounding more numb and hollow and nothing like the cheerful Kirihara Yanagi had known for almost five years now. It must have been a sign that Kirihara was starting to mature.
“Okay.”
---
It was already late in the afternoon when Yanagi returned, hauling two large bags of their reupholstered pillows. The cat ran up to greet them, weaving between his fiancée’s legs and ignoring him completely as usual. The cat had also been her idea. Yanagi despised it and the way it liked to sit on his bathroom rug and watch him use the bathroom in the morning just to make him nervous.
“Do you mind tying them on to the chairs? I’m going to visit Keiko down the hall for a moment,” his fiancée called out as she fed the cat.
“Not at all.”
Dropping the bags by the kitchen table, Yanagi noticed his cell phone lying precariously on the dining room table. He must have left it by accident that morning. The small screen told him he had five missed calls.
Flipping it open, he scrolled through his missed call list, noting that four of them were from his mother and the last one had been from an unknown number. It was a Tokyo phone number, so it had to be from someone who lived nearby. He’d moved away from Kanagawa to go to college and had settled down in a nice house in the outer suburbs of Tokyo with his fiancée just a year ago.
It wouldn’t hurt to call back and confirm whether or not the number was from an acquaintance. He pressed the ‘call back’ option on his phone and waited patiently for another voice to come on the line.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?” Yanagi asked before mentally wincing at his own rudeness. “Forgive me. Someone called me from this number earlier-“
“Renji?”
Yanagi froze. He recognized the voice.
“…Yes?”
“It is me …Seiichi.”
“I know. It occurred to me just now.” He didn’t know why his heart was beating quickly again. He hadn’t spoken to Yukimura, either, in years. They’d all gone their separate ways after high school.
“I didn’t know you moved to Tokyo,” Yukimura continued, completely nonplussed.
“Ah.”
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“It has.”
Yanagi absently unbuttoned the top buttons of his collared and sat down before realizing the chairs still didn’t have cushions. His butt was squished uncomfortably, and he was glad his fiancée had already left so she couldn’t see him ambling to stand up again and remove the chair from his posterior.
“If you don’t mind me asking, Seiichi, how did you get this number?”
“Masaharu.”
That made sense. Yanagi remembered running into him a few months ago in a bar. Niou had been unemployed then, but he had claimed to be ‘in between jobs.’ Their conversation was short and awkward before Niou had left, telling him he had somewhere to go but they should stay in touch.
One phone number exchange later and here was Yukimura calling him out of nowhere.
“I didn’t realize you two were so close,” Yanagi said slowly.
“Our former data master doesn’t see everything.”
He could almost hear the smile in Yukimura’s voice.
“Would you like to meet up tonight?” Yukimura suddenly asked.
“Tonight?”
Did Yanagi have anything to do that night? He racked his brain, trying to sift through his wife’s recent conversations. Lately, he’d been forgetting things like dinner parties and friendly gatherings that his fiancée claimed to have informed him about previously. Perhaps he’d become too good at tuning her out, as well.
“It should not be a problem.”
“Good. I’ll text you with a meeting place and time later. I must go now.”
“Goodbye,” Yanagi murmured quickly before the line was cut off.
For a long time, all he could do was stare at the phone in mild shock. Yukimura had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth after they had finished high school. He thought even Sanada would keep in-touch with him, but Sanada had never gotten a single phone call back from the millions he had left on Yukimura’s phone.
In fact, Sanada was the only person on his former team Yanagi kept in regular touch with. He was even going to be the best man at Yanagi’s wedding.
The only other people he’d had contact with since high school was that aforementioned meeting with Niou and a letter he’d received from Kirihara, containing the first published article about him in a major nation-wide newspaper. Yanagi kept the letter in his night stand beneath an old team photo.
---
Yukimura was one of the few seniors still practicing daily on the court even after all the other third years stopped entirely and focused on entrance exams. Yanagi and Sanada often came along with him to play a few matches.
As Yanagi followed Kirihara onto the court, he absently spied Yukimura practicing on the ball machines. He wondered if the former Rikkai captain would continue on with tennis in college -if he would go on to become a professional. He remembered Yukimura claiming to live, breathe, eat, and sleep tennis.
“Are you two playing a game?” Yukimura asked, still focused on returning balls.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to referee?”
“That would be good.”
“Sanada, turn off the machine,” Yukimura called out, and Yanagi hadn’t even noticed the older boy standing next to the machine. He supposed it was harder to recognize Sanada without the hat sometimes -at least when he was on a tennis court.
“I’m surprised you two aren’t playing a match,” Yanagi remarked absently, standing next to the net where Kirihara was waiting for him.
“Yeah!” Kirihara interjected. “Yukimura-senpai always jumps on every chance to kick Sanada-senpai’s ass.”
Sanada gave the younger a boy a glare before shrugging and muttering, “Didn’t feel like playing today.”
It was strange. Yanagi couldn’t remember a time where Sanada didn’t want to play tennis, especially against Yukimura. There was something Sanada wasn’t telling them, and he eyed his friend for a moment before returning his attention to Kirihara.
“Smooth or rough?” Kirihara asked with a grin.
---
The bar Yukimura had Yanagi meet him at was moderately crowded, mostly with local college students. He didn’t picture Yukimura as the type to even hang around in bars, but he supposed Yukimura probably had changed a lot since high school.
Yanagi took a table close to the entrance and already ordered a bottle of Kirin light to occupy himself with since he’d arrived twenty minutes earlier than the proposed meeting time. He absently stared at the distant TV screen, displaying highlights from the latest World Cup soccer game.
Yukimura’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“Renji?”
Yanagi swiveled around in his seat before standing up and bowing his head slightly.
Yukimura didn’t look any different than Yanagi had anticipated. His hair was a bit longer in the back and kept in a low pony tail, and two wavy strands fell on either side of his face. He also had on a sweater that looked more at home on someone’s grandfather than on a boy in his twenties.
“It’s good to see you,” Yukimura greeted with a smile before they both took their seats.
“How have you been?” Yukimura continued, hands clasped in front of him. Yanagi couldn’t help staring at the familiar thin, pale wrists that stuck out of the sweater. Yukimura had always had a somewhat delicate, frail appearance especially after his illness.
“I’ve been good. You?”
“Good, as well.”
A waitress came by to take their drink orders, and Yanagi asked for another beer. The taste was usually too acrid and bitter for him, but he didn’t mind the effect it had on calming him down. Tennis used to be the most calming experience for him, but he supposed beer was a decent enough substitute.
“Masaharu tells me you’re engaged.”
Yanagi nodded slowly.
“When’s the wedding?”
“In three months.”
Yukimura’s face looked thoughtful for a moment before taking the drink that was set down in front of him. He didn’t know why, but he would have suspected Yukimura to favor fruitier drinks and not cold, hard liquor.
“This place has the best scotch,” Yukimura remarked with another smile as if reading Yanagi’s thoughts.
“Ah.”
“I never thought you would be the first of us to get married. We’re all still so young.”
Yanagi never thought so either, but his mother really wanted grand children and pointed out on more than one occasion that Mizuho would make such a lovely bride for him.
“What are you doing now?” Yukimura asked, plucking an ice cube from the glass after he finished it off and tossing it into his mouth.
“I’m an accountant.”
“But you hate accounting.”
“I know.” Yanagi’s father was the one to push him into a math degree when he had been already taking a few core courses for a degree in Japanese literature. In the end, he’d done what a good son would do.
“What about you?” Yanagi asked, changing the subject quickly.
“I own my own flower shop. It’s small, but I get good business.”
“I always wondered why you didn’t go on to play professional tennis.”
“It’s a long story,” Yukimura said softly, tracing the rim of his empty glass. His face looked solemn, and Yanagi got the impression that it was a delicate subject.
“You don’t have to-“
“No, no. It’s okay.” Yukimura feigned a short laugh. “I just…lost all passion for it. Tennis in college and in the pro leagues was nothing like tennis in junior high and high school. There, it’s all about money and image. Probably something Atobe would appreciate. I wanted to play to win. Not for money or fame.”
Yanagi didn’t know what to say. His own reasons for giving up tennis was just a matter of needing to grow up. He suddenly hadn’t been interested in games anymore.
“It seems like only someone with Akaya’s spirit could go as far as he has,” Yukimura continued before ordering another glass of scotch.
Yanagi’s fingers froze around his own bottle. It felt strange hearing Yukimura say Kirihara’s name out loud. He himself hadn’t spoken it out loud since the last time they saw each other. It was always a forbidden echo in his head.
Yukimura gave him that mysterious smile -the same smile he gave his opponents when he knew he was about to win.
“He’s here in Tokyo, you know.”
The alcohol seemed to burn and sting deeper as it slid down his throat. “How do you know?”
“He still calls me all the time.”
Of course. Yukimura was the person Kirihara looked up to the most. He was Kirihara’s goal and idol. He was the one Kirihara always strived to defeat.
“Ah.”
“He asks about you, too.”
His stomach was turning quickly, making all the alcohol he just ingested start to crawl its way back up his throat. Outwardly, he nodded as calm as ever.
“I think he misses you,” Yukimura continued, his smile growing sharper.
Yanagi took a large sip before ordering another bottle.
“I think he wonders why you’ve never kept in touch with him.”
The more alcohol he consumed, the more heavy his head felt. He could picture Kirihara in his mind with a bottle of beer in his hand instead of soda, grinning cockily at him.
“Why don’t you call me?” he kept asking.
Yanagi shook his head to clear it and drank another large sip.
“He doesn’t know about your engagement.”
That was relieving to hear, though he couldn’t quite comprehend why.
“I think he wants to see you.”
“I think you’re sleeping with Niou,” Yanagi blurted out, blaming that statment on the fact that he was well on his way to being drunk and surprisingly terrible at holding his liquor.
Yukimura’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Well played, Data Master.”
Yanagi muttered a quick apology. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.” His reasoning was always far too sharp for his own good.
Quickly standing up, he reached his wallet and tugged out a few paper bills. “It was nice seeing you again, Seiichi, but I have to go before Mizuho worries.”
“You didn’t tell her where you were going?” Yukimura questioned, making no move to get up himself.
“I told her I was going out to get eggs.”
The other man let out a short laugh. “I’ll keep in touch. I have your number. Akaya does, too, now.”
Yanagi didn’t say another word, walking out of the bar quickly, hoping the stench of alcohol hasn’t followed him. His fiancée always despised drinkers, and the smell of alcohol would probably clash with the rosemary aroma that permanently wafted throughout his apartment.
---
The ball whizzed passed Yanagi’s ear before he could even register it. He swore he could feel the tennis fuzz clipping his ear.
“That’s my game,” Kirihara said with a sneer, his body hunched over as he stayed all the way by the baseline.
Kirihara’s hands were resting on his knees, but he didn’t look anywhere near as tired as Yanagi felt. His eyes were already blood shot, making his irises appear a sickly green, and when he licked his lips slowly before bouncing the ball to serve, Yanagi felt his heart smash into his rib cage with enough force that he imagined cracks were appearing on his rib bones.
---
Yanagi woke up covered in sweat and shoved the flower-patterned comforter off of himself. His body was damp, his pajamas sticking to him awkwardly as he rose from bed and padded into the bathroom.
Shutting and locking the door, he frantically dug through the magazines, shoving aside the medical journals until he grabbed the right one. There it was. The July issue.
Yanagi flipped the pages open before landing on the spread. Kirihara stared up at him from where he was sprawled on the sand, fingers teasingly grazing his stomach muscles. The image had also been burned in his mind since he had first laid eyes on it. He could see tan lines, little stripes of white where the bathing suit was cut too short, little strips of white beneath the dark hair that trailed down, down, far too down.
Yanagi’s hand was already moving, digging into his own pajama bottoms, sinking beneath his boxers. He grabbed his straining erection and just stroked harshly, jerking himself with enough force and speed to make his own body curl forward.
He tried to keep shut, lips pressing tightly together as all the air spilled out of his nose. His free hand was clutching the magazine, crumpling the glossy pages under his fingers as his knees threatened to give out from the building pressure.
It didn’t take him long to find release, and he collapsed on the floor with a loud exhalation. The tiles beneath his face felt nice and cool as he absently tugged at the toilet paper to clean himself off.
After tossing his soiled boxers in the hamper, he neatly rearranged the magazines and fixed the skewed rug. His reflection in the mirror stopped him before he could step back into the bedroom. His eyes looked wild, pupils full and large. His hair was disheveled even more than his morning hair, and there were streaks of sweat above his brow and along his cheeks.
It only took a few seconds to smooth the wayward strands down before he crawled back into bed. His fiancée immediately pressed against his back and slipped an arm around his stomach, and he felt the earlier alcohol resurfacing and nudging thickly at the back of his throat.
In just a few seconds, he was up again, running into the bathroom to throw up.
---
Kirihara collapsed first. The younger boy was leaking sweat all over his body as he fell on fours, still clutching his racket. He was grinning triumphantly as his hair hung around his face, looking even more like seaweed when it was soaked through.
“I won,” he wheezed, glancing across the net at Yanagi.
Yanagi watched with disbelief, standing motionlessly as his own racket hit the ground with a clatter. His palms were wet, and he swiped them against his tennis shorts before his knees abruptly gave out.
The tennis court was rough and warm against his cheek, and he could almost feel his skin burning against it.
“I won,” Kirihara repeated, laughing loudly as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Either that or the heat was making him hysterical.
Yukimura was clapping on the sidelines before uncapping his water bottle and pouring it over Kirihara’s head. The younger boy raised his head and lapped eagerly at the liquid like a dog.
It was Sanada who helped Yanagi up, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him to the bench.
“You played a good game, Renji.”
“I know.”
Kirihara’s body plunked down next to him with Yukimura’s help. Kirihara was still panting and leaning over, unable to hold his body up any longer. Instead, he opted to rest against Yanagi’s side, head lolling heavily onto Yanagi’s shoulder.
“Yanagi-senpai, you’ll still talk to me when you go to college, right?” he asked suddenly, his eyes wide and staring up at Yanagi.
Yanagi noted there were still faint webs of pink around his irises. “Yes.”
Kirihara smiled.
---
Yanagi’s cell phone ringer woke up. He absently glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand, noting it was the middle of the afternoon, and he was apparently in bed with a hangover.
His fiancée must have taken off at some point. He vaguely remembered her bringing him water and aspirin and telling him she was going to go pick out bride’s maids dresses. Yanagi was still appalled by the idea of large western weddings. He thought they were wasteful and irritating, but he smiled and handed over his bank card because it meant a lot to her.
The ringing went off again, and Yanagi groaned as he slid out of bed, scratching his stomach as he yawned and walked towards his phone. It was still on the dinning room table, and the battery was nearly empty.
The phone screen had another mysterious Tokyo phone number. Yanagi frowned and contemplated ignoring it, but his curiosity started itching.
“Hello?” he greeted once he flipped open his phone.
“Yanagi-senpai!?”
Yanagi’s eyes widened, and he shut the phone immediately.
The ringer went off just a few seconds after. Kirihara was always persistent, but Yanagi wouldn’t give in. He quickly turned the phone off and chucked it across the room at the cat.
There was a loud hiss from the corner, but he ignored it, walking to the bathroom for a shower.
---
Several kids shuffled through the halls, nudging against each other in the early morning as they dragged unwilling limbs to class.
“Tomorrow’s really your last day?” Kirihara asked as he followed Yanagi down the halls, his back pack slung over his shoulder.
“It is.”
There was a shuffling sound as Kirihara jogged a bit to catch up to Yanagi’s long strides. His hands gripped Yanagi’s sleeve, giving it a harsh tug.
“Can you play with me once more this afternoon?”
Yanagi actually paused and glanced down at Kirihara, eyes fluttering open in curiosity.
“But you already beat me, Akaya?”
“I know,” Kirihara replied, eyes darting quickly to the floor. “It’s not about beating you.”
“Then what is it about?”
“Just come.” Kirihara gave him a beseeching look this time before taking off to class.
Yanagi didn’t know what to make of it as he followed Kirihara’s disappearing bright yellow back pack down the hall with his gaze.
---
“Do you think we should go with zinnias for the center pieces or orange blossoms?”
“Either is fine,” Yanagi replied almost robotically as he headed down the route towards their apartment.
His fiancée was holding a notepad and absently going through notes. In another lifetime, he was sure he’d be impressed by her organization skills. Instead, he was rather annoyed that she had an entire notepad dedicated to their wedding plans.
“Renji? I think you should have more input. This is really important,” she told him.
The words flew over his head as he stopped at a red light. Over to his left, there was the billboard, Kirihara still on it -Kirihara’s eyes now staring down at him rather than looking up at him. Red-stained lips were beckoning him.
“Renji-kun? Renji-kun!”
“Yanagi-senpai! Yanagi-senpai!”
Yanagi remembered the thrill of tennis and the thrill of playing against Kirihara. He remembered tennis balls erratically flying towards him and being able to predict exactly where they’d land. He remembered the way Kirihara looked after victory, smirking triumphantly, his face sharp and hungry as if he wanted to play longer. He remembered the way Kirihara looked in defeat as if the weight of the world crushed down on his shoulders, head down and eyes dull. He remembered-
“Renji!! Hit the gas! The cars are beeping at you.”
Yanagi blinked before calmly accelerating.
“What’s with you?” his fiancée interrogated, “You completely spaced out. Is something wrong with you lately? You’ve been…I don’t know… out of it.”
“My apologies.”
The rest of the car ride home was silent save for the sound of his fiancée’s pencil scratching against the notepad.
---
The locker room was empty after school except for Kirihara who was sitting on the bench. His lower lip was caught in between his teeth in apprehension, and he absently stared down at his outstretched legs.
“Akaya,” Yanagi said loud enough to get the boy’s attention.
Kirihara tensed up before glancing over his shoulder at him and scratching the back of his head.
“Didn’t know you were there.”
Yanagi walked further inside, staring at where his locker used to be. It wasn’t his locker anymore and now bore the name of some other regular that finally got to be promoted.
“I didn’t bring my tennis equipment, I’m afraid.”
Kirihara rose from the bench, lips twitching as he toyed with the end of his tie. “That’s okay,” he murmured hastily. “I didn’t really want to play tennis, anyway.”
The strange behavior didn’t go unnoticed. Kirihara was definitely up to something. The way his gaze landed on everywhere but Yanagi’s face supported this assumption.
“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yeah.” Kirihara paused, looking uncertain again and gnawing at his bottom lip as he inched closer to Yanagi. He didn’t stop until he was close enough to Yanagi that he could feel the body heat radiating from the younger boy.
When they had been in junior high, Yanagi had been able to look over Kirihara’s head. Now, Kirihara’s head blocked his view. His body hadn’t quite filled out like Sanada’s, maintaining a very slender physique, but his face was all cheek bones, supple lips, and slim, cat-like eyes.
“I know you’re leaving tomorrow,” Kirihara continued, and his hands were now fidgeting with Yanagi’s tie. “So I don’t feel as bad telling you this now because …if you think it’s stupid then you don’t have to do anything about it. You can just leave, and we won’t see each other again, right?”
Yanagi couldn’t get passed Kirihara’s tennis-worn fingers rolling the bottom of Yanagi’s tie then unrolling it. He tried to absorb what Kirihara was telling him, knowing it was probably a very good idea to listen, but his mind wasn’t functioning. There was no data that could account for fingers on his tie or how wet Kirihara’s lips looked after he licked them.
“Don’t hate me, please,” Kirihara whispered several times as if in prayer until his lips were moving against Yanagi’s mouth.
They were kissing.
They were kissing, and Yanagi couldn’t process it. They were kissing, and Yanagi’s rib cage was about to explode against the weight of his frantically beating heart.
---
When Yanagi turned his phone back on, there were thirty-eight missed calls on it. A good chunk were from his mother, and the rest were from Kirihara.
He slowly scrolled down the call list, deleting each of them one by one. It was an arduous task, one that absorbed thirty minutes of his life while his fiancée had left him alone to do some shopping with her sister -today they were picking out place settings and napkin holders.
His hand paused on the button when he reached the last number, unable to bring himself to erase it from his phone, despite all inclination to do so. If his finger hit the button, the number would be gone forever and who knew if Kirihara would call again. The younger man’s patience could only stretch so far, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if he had given up on Yanagi.
Yanagi almost hoped he would, so he could move on. He didn’t even know what he was still holding on to. High school had been over long ago, and so had been tennis, literature, Kirihara, everything…
With new resolve, he applied pressure to the button and watched as the confirmation popped up.
Yes.
The number was erased.
He set the phone down and breathed out a sigh as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. It was another release, another shift of focus. His life was accounting and making sure his fiancée had the western wedding she dreamed of. She’d told him on more than one occasion how she loved watching the marriages of European princesses on TV and dreamt of long, white trains as she walked down ‘the virgin road.’
The sound of someone knocking on the door snapped him out of his thoughts, and he set the phone down to move from the chair to answer the front door. Figuring it was either his neighbor visiting or his fiancée had left her keys, he didn’t even bother looking through the peep hole before opening the door.
His eyes snapped open wide as they dragged down the messy mop of curly hair, lower along a smooth boyish face, far more tanned than he last remembered. Two green eyes peered up at him in between bangs, though Yanagi was surprised to note that they were both a lot closer in height now.
“Yanagi-sen-! Uh, I mean, hey Yanagi…”
Yanagi’s throat dried up as he stared down at Kirihara, pushing out thoughts of the last time they had spoken to each other. It seemed like years ago -a faded memory left to replay itself like a damaged record in the back of his mind.
No, he didn’t run away. He never ran away from anything. Other circumstances forced him to move. It was pure, simple physics. Objects in motion remain in motion until an equal or greater force acts upon it, and objects at rest remain at rest until an equal or greater force acts upon it. He’d been heading down a stable path until Kirihara had happened, and he was enough of a force to knock all the air out of Yanagi.
---
The heat of the water spray slammed into his hair, weighing his bangs down over his face. His eyes were clenched tightly as he pushed Kirihara against the tiled wall, skin warm and hot against his own. He slipped his arms tighter around Kirihara and ground against the squirming body that just couldn’t stay still.
“Yanagi,” Kirihara whispered, digging blunt nails into his biceps as he rocked against him fervently. “I want to …I want to…”
Yanagi could feel the twitch of muscles as they strained and tightened around him. Warm breath slid across his jaw muscles which were clenched so tightly with restraint that was quickly breaking. His thighs tremored as he pressed his cock into sharp hip bones, thrusting, pushing, shoving Kirihara back harder.
“Yanagi,” Kirihara whined again and dragged his fingers down his arms, leaving red trails in their wake.
The younger boy gasped and suddenly grabbed Yanagi by the hair, fisting greedy hands into the wet strands to pull their faces closer as he locked one of his long, gangly legs around Yanagi’s waist. Yanagi felt the warm weight of Kirihara’s arousal as it pushed against his abdomen while Kirihara gracelessly humped him.
His own hands found purchase on the other boy’s back, clutching at naked flesh as he captured his mouth in a messy kiss to muffle both of their voices. He knew the locker room would be empty with all sports practices cancelled for exams and graduation, but he didn’t want to take his chances.
It was bad enough his heart was pounding frantically in his chest in panic and urgency. He didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like it when the outcomes were variable, like being thrown over the edge with only 50% chance that he’ll actually meet his death. The problems turned themselves in his mind, math equations he tried to solve in his leisure, only now there weren’t any logical answers.
He’d always been told he thought too much -spent too much time thinking and not enough acting. When he did act, though, he acted with precision and assuredness.
The only time he’d failed to do so was playing against Inui in the Kantou regionals.
…and now. This instance. It was a page torn out of the wrong text book and re-sewn into the data book he kept in his head. All rational abandoned for a few seconds of irresponsible behavior. He was supposed to be a mentor to Kirihara, but instead he was grinding into him, visions floating through his mind of how it would feel like to fuck him, what Kirihara would sound like if he moved inside of him -would those tiny gasps and whimpers turn into screams? How tight could he make that body curl? How hard would those nails brand his flesh?
He moved faster, holding onto Kirihara as they kissed open-mouthed beneath the water spray, saliva mingling with the drops pouring down on them. His body tensed all too quickly like a wave bearing down at him as he bit down hard on Kirihara’s lower lip. He could feel the tightening on his groin, the surge of pressure that overtook him. A loud noise bubbled in the back of his throat as he spilt out his release. The intensity stabbed through him with a knife, leaving him weak and trying not to slip as he held onto Kirihara who quivered noticeably in his arms.
All he had to do was wrap his fingers around Kirihara’s erection, and the younger boy was thrusting forward and staining Yanagi’s stomach. Kirihara’s breath hitched, and his eyes cracked open as he gazed up at Yanagi, looking dazed. Red stretched out across his eyes like blood-stained spider webs, burning painfully and poignantly itself into Yanagi’s memory.
“…Yanagi-senpai…”
---
Kirihara shifted weight from one leg to the other, stuffing his fingers into his pockets and looking far younger than his age dictated. The awkwardness had never left him. Neither did that boyish exuberance that had always clung to him.
He licked the dryness from his lips before glancing up at Yanagi. “Can I come in?”
‘No.’
“Yes,” Yanagi answered and stepped aside and held the cat from escaping with his sock-covered foot.
Kirihara stepped inside and removed his shoes before glancing down at the cat, eyes widening a bit.
“You have a pet! Oh man, I didn’t think you liked cats that much.”
‘I don’t.’
“…he was a gift,” Yanagi replied slowly, watching the Rikkai’s former junior ace crouch down to pet the cat.
The cat hissed at him and tried to dig its claw in Kirihara’s arm before Yanagi pushed it away with his foot.
“Would you like something to-“ Yanagi paused as his glance followed Kirihara who had suddenly crossed to the other side of the room.
The younger man was holding a picture frame in his hands, studying it with furrowed eyebrows. His eyes shifted from Yanagi to the woman his arm was casually draped around.
“…old girlfriend?” Kirihara’s voice sounded dry and cracked as he formed the question, his lips curling into a wavering smile.
“Fiancée.”
“Oh.”
The silence hung thickly in the air as Kirihara placed the picture down on the desk and started going through other things, poking at books, playing with the novelty stress ball, rotating the dial on the decorative clock. In many ways, he hadn’t changed at all. His eyes were still curious, his hands still eager -eager…Yanagi remembered them pawing over his clothes and pushing into his pants.
He swallowed thickly and moved closer to Kirihara. “Why are you here?”
Kirihara’s head turned to glance over his shoulder, the grin falling from his face. “Because… you never called me or anything when you went for college. I waited for a long time, thinking you were busy and stuff with your friends and your new life. Even told Yukimura to invite you to my finals game at Nationals…pretty stupid, huh?”
Yanaga shook his head quickly, trying to find the right words. He’d spent so long convincing himself that he hadn’t run away from this, that this was what he’d wanted all along. Kirihara was the intrusion, something that derailed him. He was the wrong answer to the equation. Kirihara was…
“No, it wasn’t,” Yanagi said suddenly, hands reaching out shakily before landing on Kirihara’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
His fingers pressed into Kirihara’s skin, feeling the body tense up as he moved closer -close enough to smell the scent of his shampoo and the permanent stench of grass and sweat and outdoors that always clung to him. He remembered the smell, having buried his nose into those curls once, twice…
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know why…”
Reality came crashing down around him, forcing him to realize what he’d done -what he had been doing for the past few years. He never wanted this kind of life. He was bored day in and day out. He didn’t love his fiancé. He didn’t love his job. He didn’t love the morning commute. He didn’t love spending hours on the phone with his mother, discussing patterns for the new sheets.
He wanted to play tennis.
He wanted to be with this boy.
He wanted to run his hands through his hair and nuzzle his nose against the back of his neck. He wanted to dig his teeth into his shoulder and slide nails down his stomach. He wanted to touch him and keep him and bind him to himself.
Kirihara suddenly turned his arms and forced a half-hearted grin at him. One hand reached up to ruffle Yanagi’s hair playfully in a manner he would have done several years ago if only to annoy him. “Not a big deal anymore, right? As long as you’re happy. I just wanted to see you again before I left to my next tournament”
Something in Kirihara’s eyes didn’t reach the rest of his face. His smiling mouth said one thing, but the way it looked, the way the corners tugged slightly downwards, Yanagi wanted to force them up. He wanted Kirihara to grin at him as brightly as he did when he’d won his match at the Newcomer’s Tournament so long ago.
“Akaya,” Yanagi whispered before his arms wound around the slightly shorter body, pulling it against his own, remembering the desperation, the lonely nights, the hand on his own cock as he stared down greedily at old magazines, gritty and stained with semen.
Green eyes widened up at him, and he felt Kirihara reluctantly return the hug. There was confusion on his face and perhaps a little hope. Yanagi didn’t know how to interpret it. His keen observation skills was starting to fail him.
It was awkward standing there and hugging someone who had once been his underclassman and junior in tennis, someone he’d once been with intimately, shared something far more deeper than he did with his fiancée and even Yukimura or Sanada. He knew he couldn’t let go again, anchored by the weight of his guilt. He’d thrown it all away for ambitions that were never his own.
“Yanagi,” Kirihara said slowly, breaking the intense silence in the room. “…I liked you a lot.”
“I know,” Yanagi conceded, feeling the guilt twist in his stomach. He’d ignored it for years, even when his cell phone back then would flash Kirihara’s name on it everyday.
Kirihara’s face buried into his shoulder as his fingers slid to the front to curl around his shirt, tugging hard. “No, you don’t,” he protested quietly. “That’s why you’re marrying that stupid girl and not with me because …”
Yanagi’s feet struggled to keep himself upright as he was forcefully pushed away, and Kirihara’s eyes were glaring up at him large and angry and beautiful. “You’re stupid!”
His voice echoed throughout the apartment, and Yanagi fought not to wince, placing a placating hand on Kirihara’s shoulder before it was abruptly knocked away.
“Listen to me!” Kirihara continued. “You’re stupid and an asshole! Why can’t you just-“
A frustrated noise fled Kirihara’s lips, and he looked every bit again like the child he’d seen on the court -the one who threw his racket down and kicked the net when he was losing, the one who threw tantrums when he got bored with swing practice.
Yanagi was the only who changed, who hadn’t stagnated, only he wasn’t certain now if that was a good thing.
Brushing a few strands of Kirihara’s hair out of his face, he stared down at him silently, contemplating his next move. It felt like being across the court from Kirihara again, trying to predict where the wild balls would hit and if he could dodge them. He’d been hit more than once, on the knee, on the calf, even in his elbow. Right now, he could see one heading straight for his head to knock him out, and he only needed to bring himself to artfully dodge the blow.
However, a part of him wanted to get hit by the ball, be numbed by the pain as he fell corpse-like to the court. The more he stared, the more he found himself less likely to move out of its course.
Then the ball hit him hard.
Kirihara’s lips were against his, angry and impulsive. Little teeth gnawed at his mouth and an intense gaze bore into his own. Yanagi felt the breath stolen from his lungs, and his pulse race frantically.
“Renji,” Kirihara mumbled against his mouth, uttered a word he’d never uttered in front of Yanagi before, his fingers twisting tighter into hisshirt.
Yanagi remembered how much he’d given in, how his life had turned out this way because he never reacted, never chose. He wanted to put an abrupt end to his hesitations, dive into something with no assurance.
His hands found purchase in Kirihara’s hair, yanking at the strands as he devoured bruised, puffy lips, driving the younger man back into the wall, pressing against him -pressing into him. It was good like this, hot, hungry, thoughtless and wild. It was good when he could match Kirihara’s intensity, when his lips and body moved without permission from his mind.
He’d imagined it more than once, night after night while stroking himself between heavy sheets. He’d imagined his name being gasped out against his ears and long legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper inside. There would be the burn of nails down his back and teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
Yanagi couldn’t bring himself to stop, hands shoving beneath Kirihara’s shirt, mouth bruised and squished against Kirihara’s as his tongue possessively roamed his mouth. He kissed him like a dying man on his last wish, wanting to taste and savor his last meal. He kissed him like he only had ten seconds to consume as much as he could.
He kissed him like he didn’t know his fiancée was at the door, staring at them, her eyes wide and face pale.
Her purse fell to the floor, scattering all sorts of pens and note pads filled with menial details.
“Renji…,” she said slowly, her voice weak and breathy.
The sound of it made Yanagi back away from Kirihara, shame and guilt filling his expression. He’d known it was a bad idea, letting Kirihara near him again, preemptively letting him back into his life.
His throat wrapped around an apology as he watched his fiancée’s eyes fill with tears, but no sound ever left his mouth. He couldn’t say it. He wasn’t sorry.
This is what he wanted.
“I suppose you would like an explanation,” Yanagi said instead, his eyes fluttering shut like they used to when he wanted to hide his own emotions on the court. He locked himself away, only gazing out through small slits at the bedraggled face.
She nodded slowly.
---
They were still damp as they hugged, Yanagi’s arms cradling Kirihara to himself as he felt the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest. Kirihara hadn’t opened his eyes or shifted much in a while, and Yanagi suspected he was asleep. Absently, he reached up to turn the water off overhead before pushing Kirihara’s bangs out of his eyes.
“Akaya,” he whispered, giving the shorter boy a shake. “We can’t stay in here.”
“Just a little longer,” Kirihara murmured back, his voice muffled by Yanagi’s skin.
“You should get home before your mother worries. She knows you don’t have practice today.”
“I know, but-“ Kirihara’s eyes slid open and peeked up at him. “This is fun. I like this.”
---
“It’s good to see you again, Renji,” Yukimura said with a smile, clasping his hands before leading him to the seat. “The match is about to start.”
Yanagi nodded and took his place beside Yukimura and Niou. It was hot outside, enough to tan his skin a light gold color even after only a few minutes in the sun. Sweat slid down the back of his neck and collected at his collar, and he fought the urge to wipe at it irritably.
“Heard that Australian guy he’s playing is a hard one,” Niou chimed in before leaning back, draping one arm casually around Yukimura’s chair.
“He’ll win,” Yanagi assured him with certainty.
His sweaty palms rested on his thighs as he watched the first two players walk out onto the court. It was true that the Australian player had several wins under his belt already and was practically a giant on the court, six foot tall and muscular, but he was not Kirihara. Yanagi knew Kirihara. He’d been keeping track of his stats for several months now as his manager, watching him from the sidelines and seeing him improve incredibly over the passed few weeks. He was at a level that even surpassed Yukimura’s in high school.
Yanagi watched as Kirihara strode onto the court with his cocky gait, racket slung over his shoulder. The foreigner sneered at him even as they shook hands, expecting his size and power to easily outdo Kirihara.
A moment of worry drifted through when he noticed Kirihara’s eyes narrow and his lips curl upwards in a dangerous smirk, but he didn’t hurl any insults or threats. He merely walked away, showing a tremendous amount of maturity the boy of thirteen would have never shown. Even just a year ago, Kirihara struggled to keep his temper in check while playing tennis.
Halfway to the baseline, Kirihara turned towards the stands and picked out Yanagi in the crowd before cracking a large smile at him and waving enthusiastically.
Yukimura snickered next to him, covering his mouth politely with his hand. “It’s cute when he does that.”
Yanagi agreed silently and settled in to watch the match.
The End.