[Eyeshield 21] Bringing Down the Sober
I interpreted the theme Kittu gave me as ‘when there’s a chance of losing, winning matters even more.’ I hope you like! :) Sorry for the lateness.
Title: Bringing Down the Sober
Series: Eyeshield 21
Rating: T (Hiruma’s potty mouth, ‘F***’)
Characters: Hiruma/Mamori
Word Count: 680; Short short
[Written for kittu9; when the fall is all there is, it matters]
“Fucking shrimps,” Hiruma said as a token of compliment, grinning as widely as ever. “We killed ‘em. Kicked their sorry asses.”
“Yeah!!!” The whole team followed with a shout of victory, and she watched them smiling, holding her clipboard tightly and her eyes filled with something like happiness water.
By the time they were in a big circle and singing to an old tune provided by Doburoku, he came to her side, his sharp teeth exposed in a triumphant smile.
“Told ya we’d win, fucking manager.” He said. You’re a dumbass for not believing it.
She hastily wiped her tears and tried to look unfazed. “It’s not that I never trusted you,” she replied, attempting to defend herself, “I was just concerned about their stamina. You were the one who didn’t gave me a reason for overworking-”
He passed by her, shoulders brushing. When she was almost out of earshot (almost, but he knew she could hear him, he always knew the right moments), he told her, “There was no reason but the obvious-that we needed to win, and hell, that was the only way to do that.”
She blinked, and then laughed a split second later. He walked away and into the locker room to change, the post-game smirk and pride evident in his posture.
.
It was two weeks ago when Hiruma came up with a new tactic of torture and like they all expected the training routine from then redefined ‘fun,’ as the team captain managed to do so regularly.
“Hey!” She called, not saying his name. She refused to, if only for the unpleasant moment. “They’re- some of them are on the verge of fainting,” she said, pointing toward the field where the usual practices were held. The rain soaked her hair and he wouldn’t have known even if she was crying, that inconsiderate, driven moron.
“Are they? Tell ‘em to suck it up and fuckin’ practice.” His hands busily tied the last of his shoelaces. A moment ago he had been yelling at the team members to push themselves even harder; now he was joining them (like a leader would, a captain).
“Just how far are you willing to go?” She asked, her voice splitting into five different kinds of desperate.
His back was to her. “Until I’m sure it’s enough to make us win.”
“And how much more is that?”
He did nothing (gave her no answer, no expression she could detect, no gestures) but silently walked by. She wondered if it was an I don’t know.
.
Victory was sweet, but even more so with comrades. Mamori learned the fact, many times through books, articles, news and such, when she watched a team of any kind succeed in its efforts. Reading about it, even watching it with mild indifference moved her (and made her decide, say I’m the manager of the Deimon Devilbats).
Experiencing it, however, was a complete sensation. She could describe the moment-“you take in a deep breath at the last second of the game and when it all ends, your heart leaps so high your body jumps with you; you don’t care about your clothes getting dirty, your face becoming tainted with the sweetest tears, or anything else.”
Mamori usually gave a hug of appreciation to Suzuna, and then had the tendency to run to meet the team, congratulating Sena and Monta, smiling for the linemen, laughing with Taki.
She checked with Hiruma last and made sure to patch up the overworked muscles of his arms and legs so stubbornly that he sometimes looked at her in disbelief.
He had a habit of grinning then. “You’re drunk with victory, fucking manager.”
She shrugged and didn’t answer (only grinned back).
.
“The next game’s on Saturday.”
“I know. I’m not dumb like you.”
“…You’re not going to make them suffer like last time, are you?”
“We fucking won and they got through it. An altogether victory is all that matters.”
“But why? We all know what victory feels like-”
“’Cause I’m fucking addicted to winning, that’s why.”
Title: Bringing Down the Sober
Series: Eyeshield 21
Rating: T (Hiruma’s potty mouth, ‘F***’)
Characters: Hiruma/Mamori
Word Count: 680; Short short
[Written for kittu9; when the fall is all there is, it matters]
“Fucking shrimps,” Hiruma said as a token of compliment, grinning as widely as ever. “We killed ‘em. Kicked their sorry asses.”
“Yeah!!!” The whole team followed with a shout of victory, and she watched them smiling, holding her clipboard tightly and her eyes filled with something like happiness water.
By the time they were in a big circle and singing to an old tune provided by Doburoku, he came to her side, his sharp teeth exposed in a triumphant smile.
“Told ya we’d win, fucking manager.” He said. You’re a dumbass for not believing it.
She hastily wiped her tears and tried to look unfazed. “It’s not that I never trusted you,” she replied, attempting to defend herself, “I was just concerned about their stamina. You were the one who didn’t gave me a reason for overworking-”
He passed by her, shoulders brushing. When she was almost out of earshot (almost, but he knew she could hear him, he always knew the right moments), he told her, “There was no reason but the obvious-that we needed to win, and hell, that was the only way to do that.”
She blinked, and then laughed a split second later. He walked away and into the locker room to change, the post-game smirk and pride evident in his posture.
.
It was two weeks ago when Hiruma came up with a new tactic of torture and like they all expected the training routine from then redefined ‘fun,’ as the team captain managed to do so regularly.
“Hey!” She called, not saying his name. She refused to, if only for the unpleasant moment. “They’re- some of them are on the verge of fainting,” she said, pointing toward the field where the usual practices were held. The rain soaked her hair and he wouldn’t have known even if she was crying, that inconsiderate, driven moron.
“Are they? Tell ‘em to suck it up and fuckin’ practice.” His hands busily tied the last of his shoelaces. A moment ago he had been yelling at the team members to push themselves even harder; now he was joining them (like a leader would, a captain).
“Just how far are you willing to go?” She asked, her voice splitting into five different kinds of desperate.
His back was to her. “Until I’m sure it’s enough to make us win.”
“And how much more is that?”
He did nothing (gave her no answer, no expression she could detect, no gestures) but silently walked by. She wondered if it was an I don’t know.
.
Victory was sweet, but even more so with comrades. Mamori learned the fact, many times through books, articles, news and such, when she watched a team of any kind succeed in its efforts. Reading about it, even watching it with mild indifference moved her (and made her decide, say I’m the manager of the Deimon Devilbats).
Experiencing it, however, was a complete sensation. She could describe the moment-“you take in a deep breath at the last second of the game and when it all ends, your heart leaps so high your body jumps with you; you don’t care about your clothes getting dirty, your face becoming tainted with the sweetest tears, or anything else.”
Mamori usually gave a hug of appreciation to Suzuna, and then had the tendency to run to meet the team, congratulating Sena and Monta, smiling for the linemen, laughing with Taki.
She checked with Hiruma last and made sure to patch up the overworked muscles of his arms and legs so stubbornly that he sometimes looked at her in disbelief.
He had a habit of grinning then. “You’re drunk with victory, fucking manager.”
She shrugged and didn’t answer (only grinned back).
.
“The next game’s on Saturday.”
“I know. I’m not dumb like you.”
“…You’re not going to make them suffer like last time, are you?”
“We fucking won and they got through it. An altogether victory is all that matters.”
“But why? We all know what victory feels like-”
“’Cause I’m fucking addicted to winning, that’s why.”