speaking with silence [i11]
Title: speaking with silence
Author: riouu
Length: 2162 words.
Fandom: Inazuma Eleven.
Pairing: Kidou Yuuto/Fudou Akio.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sometimes silence can speak volumes, and there are more words than may be expected hiding in those soundless moments. Over time, Fudou has seen Kidou Yuuto from many angles, and slowly begins to realise that he does not necessarily need to say anything out loud to be understood.
speaking with silence;
.: back to back :.
Fudou is not really sure who these kids are -- highschoolers if their uniform and towering height advantage is anything to go by -- but whether they're high school bullies, or junior brats, or merely incompetent adults, Fudou does not care. These factors do not matter at all to him, because he's going to take them down regardless.
The largest one by far, the one Kidou accidentally smacked in the face with a wayward soccer ball that flew off-course and the one who seems utterly deaf to his sincere apologies, leans to stare at them both in the appraising manner one uses when sizing up a meal. He's fatter than the two of them combined, with an altogether piggish sort of face, and the painful red mark of the ball's impact spreading across his left cheek and big, fat nose does not make him look any better. Fudou does not think he has much going for him, really, but he feels no sympathy.
"I don't believe you mean it," the bully spits out to Kidou in particular. "Show me you're really sorry by licking my damn boots!"
He lifts a massive leg, then, faster than to be expected of a boy his size - his plan was presumably to kick Kidou in the stomach and send him to the ground, except it does not quite work out that way as he did not take into account the fact that Fudou is as swift as the bully is heavy. A well-placed foot to the raised knee and a subsequent shove is more than enough to topple his balance, and he falls with an indignant squeal, his own spherical shape making it impossible for him to recover.
"Maybe if you weren't the size of a building, the ball would've missed you," taunts Fudou, coupling jagged and venomous words with the most irritating smirk he can possibly muster right now. It's a remark that is meant to enrage the boy and nothing more, because Fudou has been raring for a fight ever since one of these idiots flicked Kidou in the forehead and called him a kid.
As was intended, the proverbial carrot he dangled is taken, snapped up greedily in a frustrated roar; and then he and Kidou are standing back to back, facing off against four leering idiots commanded by a screaming, red-faced pig. Kidou ducks off to the right and Fudou swings round, kneeing the unguarded boy who'd thrown a fist for his team mate in the groin. He takes a sharp punch to the jaw shortly after and when he stumbles back from the force of it, Kidou catches his weight without question, without words. That's how they do it - wordlessly, each covers for the other, moving instinctively and in tandem, and every time one of them finds themselves falling, there are fingers curling in the material of their jerseys to haul them back to their feet.
By the end of it all, they're gasping, bruised, and Fudou can taste the distinct tang of copper and iron in his mouth. He still considers this a win on their part, though, for the bullies have hightailed it away from the field after taking a worse beating than they gave. Fudou had enjoyed counting the many sickly colours blooming on the fat boy's face after he punched him several times. His shoulder blades are still pressed to Kidou's and in unison they finally sink to their knees on the grass, leaning into one another, silent for a few minutes as their breathing slowly evens out.
Fudou smiles despite it all, dropping his head back to rest it on Kidou's shoulder. "I think he looked better with the black eye," he says, and then they're both laughing, the sound crisp and clear like winter air; a pleasant melody to soothe the ache of bruised bodies and sore muscles. Fudou has never heard Kidou laugh so lightheartedly and with so much honesty before, and he quietly decides he likes the sound of it.
.: side by side :.
Team moral is high for this match and all Fudou knows for sure is that the opposing team is about to be swept under by their electric wave. However, things do not go according to plan - their plays are continually interrupted and messed up, tactics failing, shoots blocked, and the enemy seems stronger by the second. Just once, when the others are crumbling all around him and Endou can't seem to find the right words for a cheer to snap them all out of it, Fudou is shaken by the creeping thought that they might lose this match, that victory will be stolen away from them all. The cold fingers of imminent failure drift up his spine in an agonisingly languid glide and tighten about his throat, and suddenly he finds it very hard to breathe.
But then he looks to his right and he sees Kidou, his cape billowing out behind him like a red banner of resolute determination and fighting spirit manifested in physical form. He sees Kidou as others do; as a genius playmaker enshrouded in red, masked as ever with those goggles of his, the cogs and wheels of his brilliant young mind turning and swiftly working out the weak points in the enemy's formation. He sees something else, too, as Kidou offers him a hand and helps him back to his feet, and murmurs with confidence in his ear as he passes by, "We'll be fine."
From the goal, Endou's voice finally rings out.
And, somehow, Kidou is right.
In the changing rooms afterwards, with everyone running on a high following their hard-earned victory (it always tastes sweetest like that), Fudou slips away from the rest of the team. He knows his presence likely won't be missed amidst all the enthusiastic celebration and he's glad of that.
The showers are empty, quieter, and dark. Fudou does not switch on any lights, instead heading straight into one of the nearest stalls. Leaving the door open, and without removing his uniform, he slumps to the floor under the chilled spray of water and exhales shakily, breathing long and deep and slow, and pressing his forehead against the cool tiles as his clothes are quickly soaked through. Just for a brief instant on the field, he had floundered, faced with a crushing image of loss and failure and momentarily cast into an abyss of fear. He still remembers clearly the tight grip of that terror squeezing round his heart - it's been a long time since he felt as scared as he was right then.
Somewhere above him, the lights flick on then off just as abruptly, and a second later Fudou hears Kidou call out to him, not quite able to mask the concern tinting the edges of his voice. He turns, watches the other boy standing silhouetted in the doorway through the fall of his wet hair, but he cannot quite summon the words for a response.
Kidou does not speak either after his single utterance of Fudou's name - he does not ask questions, nor does he try to coax him into joining the others again. He simply walks to his side and kneels down with him, under the spray, and reaches up to brush Fudou's hair out of his eyes. Fudou flinches back unconsciously and the dreadlocked boy pauses, his fingertips inches from his face. They watch each other a moment before Fudou makes a near imperceptible twitch of the head and initiates the contact himself in wordless acceptance, and Kidou rubs the pad of his thumb over his wet skin.
"You were screaming," he tells him quietly as he pushes back his hair, and Fudou stares at him in surprise, because he's sure that he never screamed anywhere outside of his own head.
He does not shift away when Kidou throws an arm over his shoulders and draws him closer, into a warmth that Fudou finds incredibly comforting somehow, though he'll never admit to it. Nothing further is said but the silence speaks volumes - the touch and heat of Kidou's body pressed to his, the weight of his arm across his shoulders, and the way he massages idly at the skin where his hand lies are reassurances far more telling than words, and just what he needs right now.
For a long time they sit there drenched in mist and water droplets, their backs against the tiled wall, Fudou's head resting against Kidou's collarbone as he leans into him; and he only allows him to pull away when Fudou has shaken off the last remnants of that residual fear and built his wall back up, brick by silent brick.
.: face to face :.
They're in Kidou's room this one evening, and were going over various tactics and plays - something they have started doing together every few days, when the need or the urge is there, bouncing ideas off each other and working out the kinks in more awkward plays in attempt to perfect them. Now they're lying on their stomachs on the bedroom floor with a white board between them and pens in hand, Fudou scribbling doodles over the outline of a soccer pitch as Kidou's hand hovers, the pen tip not quite touching the board and his focus clearly elsewhere.
Fudou glances up at his zombiefied expression. "You look half dead," he comments with a sigh, plucking up the cap for the other boy's pen. It's not difficult to get the pen out of his lax grip and it's only as he's popping the cap back on and shoving the white board under the bed that Kidou blinks and seems to revive somewhat.
"Mmh?" is his late response, exhaustion heavy in his voice.
"I said you look half dead," Fudou tells him again.
"Ah, yeah, I'm pretty tired." Kidou gives a wide yawn and reaches to untie his hair as he sits up then slowly stands, if only to fall into bed a moment later and bury under the duvet. He murmurs a, "Good night," as Fudou rises as well and turns to the door, before pausing.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he squints at what he can see of Kidou's head and spies that telltale blue band amidst the mass of dreads. He makes a face. "Kidou-chan."
"Mmh?"
"Your goggles."
"Yeah..." He obviously did not hear him properly or register his words at all, as he makes no move to take off the goggles. Fudou rolls his eyes at him, for all the difference it makes. Turning away from the door, he moves back over to the bed and tries to pull them off of him before he hurts himself in his sleep. He's a bit surprised when Kidou winds his fingers round his wrist and yanks him onto the bed - or tries to, but Fudou automatically resists, throwing himself backwards with enough force that he frees himself and ends up falling to the floor again. Kidou, now facing him, is still wearing his goggles but Fudou is sure he blinked at him, even if he can't really see it.
A question tries to claw its way up his throat, a bewildered, "What the hell are you doing?!" but it never makes it past his lips. Instead he picks himself back up, shimmying forward on his knees with some measure of caution, until he's sitting right in front of the bed once more. Carefully he reaches up and slides his fingers beneath the band of Kidou's goggles, lifting them off and then setting them to one side. Kidou's eyes are open behind the tinted glass and for some minutes they watch each other in silence, and secretly, Fudou is enchanted.
"I don't know," Kidou says and Fudou finds himself blinking again, bemused for a second before he comes to the realisation that his friend is trying to answer the question he never even asked, as though he heard it all the same. He purses his lips, frowning.
"I just didn't expect it, is all," he mutters, huffing but not breaking their eye contact.
It seems to be taking a lot of effort for Kidou to stay awake, even as he keeps watching, and Fudou wonders if there is some reason why he's still resisting the overwhelming urge to sleep. Then, finally, he thinks he hears words despite the fact that Kidou never moves his mouth; a quiet request, feather-light in his ears. Still a bit confused but not questioning anything at all, he snorts. If this is how they function together then so be it. "Shove over, idiot." The other boy listens, shifting further back, and Fudou crawls up onto the bed with him, drawing the duvet up over both their heads. They're close, closer than they've ever been, and Fudou absently nudges their noses together as he settles down. "Good night, he whispers, even if it does not need to be said out loud.
.: end :.
notes:
i finished this at exactly 04:04.
i love you a lot if you read it despite the weird summary. i'm bad at summaries.
your secret admirer,
riou. ♥
also posted up over at ff.net.
Author: riouu
Length: 2162 words.
Fandom: Inazuma Eleven.
Pairing: Kidou Yuuto/Fudou Akio.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sometimes silence can speak volumes, and there are more words than may be expected hiding in those soundless moments. Over time, Fudou has seen Kidou Yuuto from many angles, and slowly begins to realise that he does not necessarily need to say anything out loud to be understood.
speaking with silence;
.: back to back :.
Fudou is not really sure who these kids are -- highschoolers if their uniform and towering height advantage is anything to go by -- but whether they're high school bullies, or junior brats, or merely incompetent adults, Fudou does not care. These factors do not matter at all to him, because he's going to take them down regardless.
The largest one by far, the one Kidou accidentally smacked in the face with a wayward soccer ball that flew off-course and the one who seems utterly deaf to his sincere apologies, leans to stare at them both in the appraising manner one uses when sizing up a meal. He's fatter than the two of them combined, with an altogether piggish sort of face, and the painful red mark of the ball's impact spreading across his left cheek and big, fat nose does not make him look any better. Fudou does not think he has much going for him, really, but he feels no sympathy.
"I don't believe you mean it," the bully spits out to Kidou in particular. "Show me you're really sorry by licking my damn boots!"
He lifts a massive leg, then, faster than to be expected of a boy his size - his plan was presumably to kick Kidou in the stomach and send him to the ground, except it does not quite work out that way as he did not take into account the fact that Fudou is as swift as the bully is heavy. A well-placed foot to the raised knee and a subsequent shove is more than enough to topple his balance, and he falls with an indignant squeal, his own spherical shape making it impossible for him to recover.
"Maybe if you weren't the size of a building, the ball would've missed you," taunts Fudou, coupling jagged and venomous words with the most irritating smirk he can possibly muster right now. It's a remark that is meant to enrage the boy and nothing more, because Fudou has been raring for a fight ever since one of these idiots flicked Kidou in the forehead and called him a kid.
As was intended, the proverbial carrot he dangled is taken, snapped up greedily in a frustrated roar; and then he and Kidou are standing back to back, facing off against four leering idiots commanded by a screaming, red-faced pig. Kidou ducks off to the right and Fudou swings round, kneeing the unguarded boy who'd thrown a fist for his team mate in the groin. He takes a sharp punch to the jaw shortly after and when he stumbles back from the force of it, Kidou catches his weight without question, without words. That's how they do it - wordlessly, each covers for the other, moving instinctively and in tandem, and every time one of them finds themselves falling, there are fingers curling in the material of their jerseys to haul them back to their feet.
By the end of it all, they're gasping, bruised, and Fudou can taste the distinct tang of copper and iron in his mouth. He still considers this a win on their part, though, for the bullies have hightailed it away from the field after taking a worse beating than they gave. Fudou had enjoyed counting the many sickly colours blooming on the fat boy's face after he punched him several times. His shoulder blades are still pressed to Kidou's and in unison they finally sink to their knees on the grass, leaning into one another, silent for a few minutes as their breathing slowly evens out.
Fudou smiles despite it all, dropping his head back to rest it on Kidou's shoulder. "I think he looked better with the black eye," he says, and then they're both laughing, the sound crisp and clear like winter air; a pleasant melody to soothe the ache of bruised bodies and sore muscles. Fudou has never heard Kidou laugh so lightheartedly and with so much honesty before, and he quietly decides he likes the sound of it.
.: side by side :.
Team moral is high for this match and all Fudou knows for sure is that the opposing team is about to be swept under by their electric wave. However, things do not go according to plan - their plays are continually interrupted and messed up, tactics failing, shoots blocked, and the enemy seems stronger by the second. Just once, when the others are crumbling all around him and Endou can't seem to find the right words for a cheer to snap them all out of it, Fudou is shaken by the creeping thought that they might lose this match, that victory will be stolen away from them all. The cold fingers of imminent failure drift up his spine in an agonisingly languid glide and tighten about his throat, and suddenly he finds it very hard to breathe.
But then he looks to his right and he sees Kidou, his cape billowing out behind him like a red banner of resolute determination and fighting spirit manifested in physical form. He sees Kidou as others do; as a genius playmaker enshrouded in red, masked as ever with those goggles of his, the cogs and wheels of his brilliant young mind turning and swiftly working out the weak points in the enemy's formation. He sees something else, too, as Kidou offers him a hand and helps him back to his feet, and murmurs with confidence in his ear as he passes by, "We'll be fine."
From the goal, Endou's voice finally rings out.
And, somehow, Kidou is right.
In the changing rooms afterwards, with everyone running on a high following their hard-earned victory (it always tastes sweetest like that), Fudou slips away from the rest of the team. He knows his presence likely won't be missed amidst all the enthusiastic celebration and he's glad of that.
The showers are empty, quieter, and dark. Fudou does not switch on any lights, instead heading straight into one of the nearest stalls. Leaving the door open, and without removing his uniform, he slumps to the floor under the chilled spray of water and exhales shakily, breathing long and deep and slow, and pressing his forehead against the cool tiles as his clothes are quickly soaked through. Just for a brief instant on the field, he had floundered, faced with a crushing image of loss and failure and momentarily cast into an abyss of fear. He still remembers clearly the tight grip of that terror squeezing round his heart - it's been a long time since he felt as scared as he was right then.
Somewhere above him, the lights flick on then off just as abruptly, and a second later Fudou hears Kidou call out to him, not quite able to mask the concern tinting the edges of his voice. He turns, watches the other boy standing silhouetted in the doorway through the fall of his wet hair, but he cannot quite summon the words for a response.
Kidou does not speak either after his single utterance of Fudou's name - he does not ask questions, nor does he try to coax him into joining the others again. He simply walks to his side and kneels down with him, under the spray, and reaches up to brush Fudou's hair out of his eyes. Fudou flinches back unconsciously and the dreadlocked boy pauses, his fingertips inches from his face. They watch each other a moment before Fudou makes a near imperceptible twitch of the head and initiates the contact himself in wordless acceptance, and Kidou rubs the pad of his thumb over his wet skin.
"You were screaming," he tells him quietly as he pushes back his hair, and Fudou stares at him in surprise, because he's sure that he never screamed anywhere outside of his own head.
He does not shift away when Kidou throws an arm over his shoulders and draws him closer, into a warmth that Fudou finds incredibly comforting somehow, though he'll never admit to it. Nothing further is said but the silence speaks volumes - the touch and heat of Kidou's body pressed to his, the weight of his arm across his shoulders, and the way he massages idly at the skin where his hand lies are reassurances far more telling than words, and just what he needs right now.
For a long time they sit there drenched in mist and water droplets, their backs against the tiled wall, Fudou's head resting against Kidou's collarbone as he leans into him; and he only allows him to pull away when Fudou has shaken off the last remnants of that residual fear and built his wall back up, brick by silent brick.
.: face to face :.
They're in Kidou's room this one evening, and were going over various tactics and plays - something they have started doing together every few days, when the need or the urge is there, bouncing ideas off each other and working out the kinks in more awkward plays in attempt to perfect them. Now they're lying on their stomachs on the bedroom floor with a white board between them and pens in hand, Fudou scribbling doodles over the outline of a soccer pitch as Kidou's hand hovers, the pen tip not quite touching the board and his focus clearly elsewhere.
Fudou glances up at his zombiefied expression. "You look half dead," he comments with a sigh, plucking up the cap for the other boy's pen. It's not difficult to get the pen out of his lax grip and it's only as he's popping the cap back on and shoving the white board under the bed that Kidou blinks and seems to revive somewhat.
"Mmh?" is his late response, exhaustion heavy in his voice.
"I said you look half dead," Fudou tells him again.
"Ah, yeah, I'm pretty tired." Kidou gives a wide yawn and reaches to untie his hair as he sits up then slowly stands, if only to fall into bed a moment later and bury under the duvet. He murmurs a, "Good night," as Fudou rises as well and turns to the door, before pausing.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he squints at what he can see of Kidou's head and spies that telltale blue band amidst the mass of dreads. He makes a face. "Kidou-chan."
"Mmh?"
"Your goggles."
"Yeah..." He obviously did not hear him properly or register his words at all, as he makes no move to take off the goggles. Fudou rolls his eyes at him, for all the difference it makes. Turning away from the door, he moves back over to the bed and tries to pull them off of him before he hurts himself in his sleep. He's a bit surprised when Kidou winds his fingers round his wrist and yanks him onto the bed - or tries to, but Fudou automatically resists, throwing himself backwards with enough force that he frees himself and ends up falling to the floor again. Kidou, now facing him, is still wearing his goggles but Fudou is sure he blinked at him, even if he can't really see it.
A question tries to claw its way up his throat, a bewildered, "What the hell are you doing?!" but it never makes it past his lips. Instead he picks himself back up, shimmying forward on his knees with some measure of caution, until he's sitting right in front of the bed once more. Carefully he reaches up and slides his fingers beneath the band of Kidou's goggles, lifting them off and then setting them to one side. Kidou's eyes are open behind the tinted glass and for some minutes they watch each other in silence, and secretly, Fudou is enchanted.
"I don't know," Kidou says and Fudou finds himself blinking again, bemused for a second before he comes to the realisation that his friend is trying to answer the question he never even asked, as though he heard it all the same. He purses his lips, frowning.
"I just didn't expect it, is all," he mutters, huffing but not breaking their eye contact.
It seems to be taking a lot of effort for Kidou to stay awake, even as he keeps watching, and Fudou wonders if there is some reason why he's still resisting the overwhelming urge to sleep. Then, finally, he thinks he hears words despite the fact that Kidou never moves his mouth; a quiet request, feather-light in his ears. Still a bit confused but not questioning anything at all, he snorts. If this is how they function together then so be it. "Shove over, idiot." The other boy listens, shifting further back, and Fudou crawls up onto the bed with him, drawing the duvet up over both their heads. They're close, closer than they've ever been, and Fudou absently nudges their noses together as he settles down. "Good night, he whispers, even if it does not need to be said out loud.
.: end :.
notes:
i finished this at exactly 04:04.
i love you a lot if you read it despite the weird summary. i'm bad at summaries.
your secret admirer,
riou. ♥
also posted up over at ff.net.