Fanfic snippet - Prince of Tennis [KiriKam]
Just because I wanted to spoil Runya. I will most likely make some slight changes later when the story's complete [and actually named]. You can always resist clicking on the cut, dearest. But it's only the prologue, really. It won't hurt.
Much.
Prologue
Kamio Akira was an exceedingly private person, for someone so gregarious. He liked to surround himself with people, but very few people actually ever got to know him. Or the him beyond the speed demon, anyway. Very often, no one could be bothered to. He had plenty of acquaintances he’d say hi to if he passed them on the streets, but no one he’d bother to stop and talk to for an extended period of time.
That was a privilege extended to a select few.
Kamio kept track of all his acquaintances, but only really made mental notes about those he cared about, and those he hated. The latter list was small, and one name on it had been pushed to the not-too-fond-of-but-tolerable list in his last year in Fudomine, further shrinking it. Kamio wasn’t really the sort of person who could really detest someone else. Everything on that small list had done something to hurt someone he loved, like the person who had mugged his mother, or the bastard from Ginka who’d tried to hit on Ann before Momoshiro had broken his arm - that had moved Momoshiro into the deserves-respect category.
It was one particular name on his lists, the one had he had moved to shall-try-to-tolerate in his third year, that he was thinking about now. He’d never been able to make himself like the other boy, but for Tachibana’s sake, he’d tried. After all, if Tachibana had forgiven him, he should be able to. Even Shinji used to mumble something in his direction sometimes if they met each other. But Kamio had never been able to make himself do anything beyond forcing a small smile. The other boy had at least known his presence was making Kamio uncomfortable, and always excused himself quickly.
He knew the other boy had gone to this university. He hadn’t been too pleased when he’d realised that he was studying the same course that he was interested in. Then Kamio had ruthlessly squashed that unreasonable anger and signed up for the course too.
Same university.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into the other boy. He wouldn’t know what to say.
~*~
It was only a brief, quick glance, but he was sure of it the moment he saw it.
He ducked back, pressing against the wall, completely ignoring the puzzled looks of his classmates around him. Just a swift look, that’s all, and he may have been wrong but -
Kirihara dared another glance out the window and almost groaned. He hadn’t been wrong.
Every time he ran into Kamio, he’d always felt the suppressed loathing that the red-head couldn’t quite disguise. It didn’t make Kirihara feel too comfortable, even with Tachibana shooting warning looks at Kamio and Shinji rambling about nothing at all to him, as if they’d always known each other. Whenever that happened, Kirihara always felt Kamio’s expression turn into a brief glare before smoothening out into a parody of a smile.
It was a good imitation of one, but Kirihara was sure it was fake.
Kirihara knew that he’d been terribly vicious back in Rikkaidai. It was something he’d been trying to change. Ever since that one match with Fuji, when he’d had his own tricks turned on him - he’d been trying to develop a new style of tennis. One which wasn’t quite as violent, and one which would let him find the fun in the game again. That same enjoyment that had made him pick it up.
Somehow he’d lost that feeling, had replaced it instead with the joy of inflicting pain. Now that the latter was gone, he was searching for the former again to replace it. So far, he hadn’t managed to find anything.
Sometimes, Kirihara was afraid that he’d forever damaged his love for the game. That every time he served the ball, he’d see the cold look in Fuji’s eyes again. That every time the ball was returned, he’d see it heading for his knee, even if it wasn’t.
That he wouldn’t be able to stop himself buying the grey grip tape he remembered and binding his racquet handle with it, despite being barely able to touch it afterwards.
Kamio hadn’t made things any easier, with his poorly disguised anger. Kirihara had always felt upset around him, those few times he’d gone over to Fudomine to see how Tachibana was doing. Even the slight happiness he’d felt when Tachibana had gone back onto the courts was tempered by the glare Kamio had shot him from across the court.
But Kirihara knew he deserved it, and that just made everything even worse.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into Kamio. Even if he’d applied to the same university, it wasn’t likely; it wasn’t like they were in the same course, after all.
~tsuzuku?
>D
Much.
Prologue
Kamio Akira was an exceedingly private person, for someone so gregarious. He liked to surround himself with people, but very few people actually ever got to know him. Or the him beyond the speed demon, anyway. Very often, no one could be bothered to. He had plenty of acquaintances he’d say hi to if he passed them on the streets, but no one he’d bother to stop and talk to for an extended period of time.
That was a privilege extended to a select few.
Kamio kept track of all his acquaintances, but only really made mental notes about those he cared about, and those he hated. The latter list was small, and one name on it had been pushed to the not-too-fond-of-but-tolerable list in his last year in Fudomine, further shrinking it. Kamio wasn’t really the sort of person who could really detest someone else. Everything on that small list had done something to hurt someone he loved, like the person who had mugged his mother, or the bastard from Ginka who’d tried to hit on Ann before Momoshiro had broken his arm - that had moved Momoshiro into the deserves-respect category.
It was one particular name on his lists, the one had he had moved to shall-try-to-tolerate in his third year, that he was thinking about now. He’d never been able to make himself like the other boy, but for Tachibana’s sake, he’d tried. After all, if Tachibana had forgiven him, he should be able to. Even Shinji used to mumble something in his direction sometimes if they met each other. But Kamio had never been able to make himself do anything beyond forcing a small smile. The other boy had at least known his presence was making Kamio uncomfortable, and always excused himself quickly.
He knew the other boy had gone to this university. He hadn’t been too pleased when he’d realised that he was studying the same course that he was interested in. Then Kamio had ruthlessly squashed that unreasonable anger and signed up for the course too.
Same university.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into the other boy. He wouldn’t know what to say.
~*~
It was only a brief, quick glance, but he was sure of it the moment he saw it.
He ducked back, pressing against the wall, completely ignoring the puzzled looks of his classmates around him. Just a swift look, that’s all, and he may have been wrong but -
Kirihara dared another glance out the window and almost groaned. He hadn’t been wrong.
Every time he ran into Kamio, he’d always felt the suppressed loathing that the red-head couldn’t quite disguise. It didn’t make Kirihara feel too comfortable, even with Tachibana shooting warning looks at Kamio and Shinji rambling about nothing at all to him, as if they’d always known each other. Whenever that happened, Kirihara always felt Kamio’s expression turn into a brief glare before smoothening out into a parody of a smile.
It was a good imitation of one, but Kirihara was sure it was fake.
Kirihara knew that he’d been terribly vicious back in Rikkaidai. It was something he’d been trying to change. Ever since that one match with Fuji, when he’d had his own tricks turned on him - he’d been trying to develop a new style of tennis. One which wasn’t quite as violent, and one which would let him find the fun in the game again. That same enjoyment that had made him pick it up.
Somehow he’d lost that feeling, had replaced it instead with the joy of inflicting pain. Now that the latter was gone, he was searching for the former again to replace it. So far, he hadn’t managed to find anything.
Sometimes, Kirihara was afraid that he’d forever damaged his love for the game. That every time he served the ball, he’d see the cold look in Fuji’s eyes again. That every time the ball was returned, he’d see it heading for his knee, even if it wasn’t.
That he wouldn’t be able to stop himself buying the grey grip tape he remembered and binding his racquet handle with it, despite being barely able to touch it afterwards.
Kamio hadn’t made things any easier, with his poorly disguised anger. Kirihara had always felt upset around him, those few times he’d gone over to Fudomine to see how Tachibana was doing. Even the slight happiness he’d felt when Tachibana had gone back onto the courts was tempered by the glare Kamio had shot him from across the court.
But Kirihara knew he deserved it, and that just made everything even worse.
He hoped he wouldn’t run into Kamio. Even if he’d applied to the same university, it wasn’t likely; it wasn’t like they were in the same course, after all.
~tsuzuku?
>D