Oh. Em. Gee.
Before I do anything else, I have just read the most fabulous fic in the universe and I must rec it to the world. I think it sums up everything I love about fics - future!fic, excellent writing, vivid but not over-the-top descriptions, plausibility, and for the icing on the cake? The OTP is Jason from Foxtrot, and Calvin, from Calvin and Hobbes. *dies*
Geniuses, by Amaretto. Read it. Read it NOW.
I set my kitchen on fire again. ^^ One frying pan filled with hot oil + gas stove top + clumsy mouse = 2 foot flames and scorched tile. ^^;;
.... I am proud to inform you all that there was no irreparable damage done to my walls and/or counters. ^^ After scrubbing with bleach, the scorch marks faded and blended with the others. ^___^
......stop looking at me like that. >.>
Drabbles!
Title: Kirihara Akaya
Author: Stormy1x2 ( traveling_storm )
Challenge: LJ's fanfic100
Prompts: 31 to 40
Pairings: Very, very mild Sana x Yuki, or Platinum Pair. Maybe a hint of Marui x Kirihara but it's miniscule.
Warnings: mild language, mature themes
Notes: The use of several Japanese phrases thus far has been intentional, as English does not have either an appropriate or proper-sounding equivalent. For example, in Canada, teammates do not run around calling each other 'upper classman' or 'underclassman', and I speak from experience as the co-captain of my high-school basketball team that my teammates did not call me by that title. We use names. In Japan, I realize that it's not proper to use given names, and as I refuse to write 'upper/under classman' etc, I have kept the Japanese terms ('sempai/kouhai). Ditto for Buchou and Fukou-buchou. Also, I prefer the term tensai - in this case, I'm referring specifically to tennis genius. It also sounds better. Same for other titles, i.e, san ('cause if I were to write a fic with Ohtori, him saying 'Mr Shishido' all the time would be wrong). Other than that, you will not see any other fan-girl Japanese in my work. I promise.
Kirihara Akaya's BDT is here.
--------------------------------
031. Sunrise
Kirihara-san returned home from a business flight that must have landed at Narita around three in the morning. Akaya was acutely aware of the time when his dad stumbled in the house; his mother met him with shouts and accusations that he was late by two days, that his company either didn't know or wouldn't tell her where he'd been, and that she was demanding to know who he'd been with.
After about an hour of listening to them shout back and forth, Kirihara gave up on sleep and got up. Silently he moved through his room gathering his books, homework and tennis gear. He had an extra pair of sneakers in his room, and he forewent getting his jacket from the hallway in favor of wearing his Rikkai jersey. He had morning practice in a few hours anyway.
Opening the window, Kirihara slipped outside and scaled down the side of his house using the trellis on the side. Scowling blackly at the lights on in the living room, he turned and headed for school. The buses weren't running that early, but he could use a workout anyway. By the time he got to the Rikkai school grounds, the sun was already peaking over the horizon. The clubhouse was still locked of course, but he figured someone would arrive soon. Stretching out on the bench, he tucked his bag under his head and dozed off.
Word Count: 236 / 7948
032. Sunset
It was getting dark by the time afternoon practice came to a end. The Kantou tournament was right around the corner, and while they were sure to defeat Seigaku, Sanada had apparently decided that they might pose a threat anyway, and had subsequently lengthened all of their practices accordingly.
Akaya changed into his street clothes, tucking his school uniform and his jersey into his bag. He left his weights on though, and double-checked to make sure he had a few extra tennis balls. If he was lucky, maybe there'd be people at the street courts. If there weren't, well, a wall would have to do.
“Akaya?”
Kirihara glanced at Yanagi. “'S'up, sempai?”
“I surmise there is an eighty-two percent chance that you are going to the street courts to continue practicing. I recommend that you do not. There is a thirty-one percent chance of you straining or otherwise injuring yourself from overwork, and the tournament is in three days.”
Kirihara snorted. “I ain't gonna hurt myself, sempai. I promise.” He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Akaya!” Yanagi frowned. “Are you that worried about Seigaku's Fuji Syuuske?”
Kirihara whirled around, glaring. “I am not afraid of Seigaku's so-called tensai!” His fists clenched by his side. “I'm gonna mop the court with that guy. You watch and see!”
“Then why do you feel the need for extra practice?” Yanagi remained calm, his head tilted very slightly.
Kirihara averted his eyes and scowled at the ground. Almost absently, he rubbed his arm. “I just feel like it.”
Yanagi was quiet for a minute, staring at him. It made Akaya nervous. He was about to go anyway, when Yanagi suddenly stood up. “Very well. You'll come with me.”
“...huh?”
“You need help with your English, do you not? I have some free time this evening, and you might as well stay for dinner so we can get right to it. You can call your mother from my house and let her know.”
Kirihara swallowed. “Sempai...”
“Though I've seen your marks,” Yanagi continued. “If you are going to receive a passing grade on your next test, we have a great deal of work to do. It might be worthwhile for you to stay over in our guest room so that you don't have to waste time going home.”
Kirihara knew that his teammates were vaguely aware of his home situation. Though he never said a word to anyone about it, some things were hard to hide, and his teammates were anything but stupid. But this was almost too much. “That's not neces--”
“It's a good idea,” Sanada said, striding into the clubhouse. “If your marks slip any lower, they'll put you on academic probation. I don't think I have to tell you how angry I will be, or how disappointed Yukimura will be if you are removed from Singles 2 due to your grades.”
Akaya glowered. “They aren't that bad.”
Yanagi flipped open his notebook. “Would you like me to recite the marks of your last three tests?”
“Hey!”
“Go,” Sanada ordered. “And do not practice anymore tonight. If you pull a muscle before the tournament, I will personally ensure you do not stop running laps until you graduate high school.”
“....Yes, fukou-buchou.” Kirihara turned to Yanagi and raised his eyebrow. “Guess you got your way. We going or what?”
Yanagi smiled.
Word Count: 567 / 8515
033. Too Much
Seigaku was just so easy to rile. Kirihara made a poor attempt to muffle his giggles, even as Jackal propelled him down the hallway of the hospital. At the elevator, Jackal let go of his collar and pushed the button.
“One day you're gonna go too far,” Jackal sighed. “There was no need for you to taunt them like that. Other then the fact that it's bad sportsmanship, you were also outnumbered.”
“You wouldn't have let them hurt me,” Kirihara said confidently. “And I knew Fuji would keep that dumb ape from touching me. If Seigaku's monkey boy hurt me before the tournament, it would look like they were too afraid to face me officially.”
Jackal rolled his eyes and pushed him onto the elevator, hitting the button for Yukimura's floor. “You still shouldn't have done that.”
“You're a nice guy, Jackal-sempai,” Kirihara told him genuinely. “I'm not. See the difference?” He shrugged. “Besides, what did I do? I didn't touch any of them, and well, if they're so sensitive...” he tisked. “I'd hate to hurt my opponents feelings before the game, you know.”
“I'm sure.” Jackal led the way to Yukimura's room when the doors opened. He paused a few feet away, looking at Akaya with a resigned smile. “And because I'm so nice, I won't tell Sanada what you did.”
Kirihara grinned, and pounced on the Brazillian. “Thanks Jackal-sempai!” He rubbed Jackal's bald head and then jumped down, sprinting for Yukimura's room. “Buchou! I'm here! Are you glad to see me?”
Jackal gave an exasperated chuckle before following his younger teammate in.
Word Count: 266 / 8781
034. Not Enough
He had failed.
Kirihara was still on his hands and knees. He couldn't get up, no matter how much he told himself to. His limbs weren't listening to him.
Get up, he told himself frantically. Get up!
He could hear the crowd cheering, could hear the shrieks of joy coming from the Seigaku team as they celebrated Fuji's win, but he couldn't hear anything from his team.
Tennis must not be used to breed hatred.
Kirihara squeezed his eyes shut as Fuji's voice echoed mockingly inside his head. Fuji's voice... and his face. Suddenly he could see himself behind closed lids, pointing his racquet and laughing mercilessly. He snapped his eyes open instead. He'd rather face the disappointment of his teammates than see that mocking visage anymore than he already had.
He'd lost. He'd not only lost, he'd been beaten. Beaten as he had beaten so many others, in spirit if not in body - though the throbbing in his leg was telling him otherwise. He was so confused. He'd been facing Fuji... who had turned into him, using his methods against him... and then had turned back into Fuji... and he had lost...
What would Fukou-buchou say? What would Yukimura-buchou say? Fear raced through him, mixing with anger and helplessness and damn it, he needed to get up but he couldn't get his body to listen to him.
“Akaya, you're hyperventilating. Calm down.”
Yanagi. Yanagi was there. Kirihara turned his head and saw his sempai's concerned face looking at him.
“Come on, kiddo. Get up.”
Marui on his other side. Kirihara sucked in deep gulps of air and let his sempai help him up, though he automatically shrugged their hands off as he made his way to the bench. His leg hurt a bit, but he didn't limp.
His feet slowly led him to the bench where he sat down hard, his legs giving out again at the last second. He tried to turn his head to look over at Sanada, but it weighed a thousand pounds. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see the anger he knew had to be there. He'd lost, he'd failed them...
“Akaya.”
He flinched. He couldn't help it. Dimly, he was aware that he was shaking. He'd failed, and now they were going to miss Buchou's operation, and everyone was going to be so mad--
A hand fell on his shoulder. He gasped and snapped his head up.
“Have you seen your limits?”
Limits?
“Limits are there to be overcome.”
Overcome... Kirihara breathed in and out. Had he seen his limit? What had he seen? He cringed as he remembered. That... that was how his opponents had felt. That was where they had stopped, where they had fallen back in fear of the boy with the red eyes. That was where he was now. But...
...he was better then that. Right? Was Sanada saying he could overcome... He blinked.
Sanada's hand left his shoulder and silently, Akaya mourned the loss. It had been a rare comforting gesture on the part of Fukou-buchou. Still a bit dazed, he watched as Sanada discussed something with Yanagi, and then strode off towards the Seigaku bench. Where...?
“Hey, Aka-chan,” Marui said, crouching in front of him. “We're going to head to the hospital. Sanada's gone to tell Seigaku what's going on.”
He had lost... which meant Sanada had to play that mini-brat Echizen Ryoma in the final game. Because of him, Fukou-Buchou wasn't going to be there for... for.. Akaya squeezed his hands into fists, ignoring the way his nails dug into his palms.
“Hey, hey, none of that.” Marui tapped him on the head. “It's alright. Fukou-buchou's gonna win his match quick and easy, right? He'll just be a little late.” He dragged Kirihara up and draped his jersey over him. Jackal brought over his track pants. “Come on, zip up. Your muscles are gonna cool off too quickly.”
Kirihara obeyed. They were right. Sanada-fukou-buchou would win and everything would be okay. He would be okay, Buchou would be okay, everything would be okay. He grabbed his bag and looked up. The others were waiting for him. A very small smile curved his lips and he quickly joined them.
A shout caught their attention. Kirihara watched as Jackal caught Sanada's jersey. Even though he wouldn't be there in person, he'd be there in spirit. Of course. He should have known.
Kirihara breathed a little easier.
Word Count: 749 / 9530
035. Sixth Sense
The odds were very good that Yukimura's operation would be both successful and uneventful. Yanagi had done his research of course; this hospital was the best in Tokyo, and Yukimura's doctors and the specialist doing the surgery were at the top of their field. There was always a risk, but Yanagi had faith in his data, and his data was telling him that somehow, someway, everything would turn out in the end.
As for the rest... Yanagi glanced over at Kirihara who was drumming his fingers restlessly on the tennis magazine Marui had given him in an attempt to keep him occupied. Apparently it wasn't working. Yanagi had a good idea of what thoughts were running through the mind of his youngest teammate, and he made a mental note to speak to Kirihara later. Turning his head the other way, he looked at Jackal, sitting on the floor, listening to Sanada's match on the radio.
That Sanada was still playing did not bode well. Yanagi had expected Sanada to finish his match quite some time ago - clearly, his data was lacking in some respects. But honestly, after Sanada had discussed with him at length his easy victory over Echizen the week before, he had not expected such a rapid turnaround in so little time. He glanced back down at his notebook with a faint frown. He would definitely have to rectify that error before the Nationals.
Then he heard a click as Jackal turned the radio off. It echoed in the hospital corridor, and he looked at Jackal sharply. Suddenly he knew. Even before he could ask, Yanagi felt the wave of dread sweep over him, and he knew that Sanada, that Rikkai, had lost.
Word Count: 285 / 9815
036. Smell
Sanada hated the smell of the hospital. Like bleach and disinfectants, medicine and sickness. Still, as always, he never once hesitated as he walked through the door.
He had lost. Sanada had no excuse for doing so. He had played the best he could, under stressful circumstances, and it just happened that Echizen played better. It had been a good game, and he had no true regrets.
Mostly no regrets, he amended as he walked around the corner and came face to face with his team.
“Fukou-buchou!”
The cry went up and Sanada raised his hand, calling for silence. “How's Yukimura?” he asked Yanagi calmly. Yanagi indicated to the light still on over the operating wing sign.
“We're not sure yet,” Yanagi replied. “His parents are in the operating amphitheater. They promised to inform us as soon as they know anything.”
Sanada nodded, and looked over his entire team. Marui and Jackal were looking back at him, a little apprehensively. He could understand why - he would have to go over his match with them, explain what happened. Niou and Yagyuu sat side by side. Niou's legs were outstretched in such a manner that anyone not looking where they were walking would be sure to trip over them. He raised an eyebrow, and Niou chuckled, sliding his feet back. Yagyuu had a textbook in his lap and seemed to be doing homework. And Kirihara...
...was staring at him. If Sanada didn't know better, he would have thought his singles 2 player was about to cry.
“Akaya?”
“I'm sorry!” Akaya burst out suddenly. “Fukou-buchou, I'm sorry I lost. I really am.” He lowered his head.
Sanada looked at him for a minute, and nodded. “I know you are, Akaya. And I am too.”
Kirihara's head jerked up. “Fukou-buchou...”
“I lost as well, Akaya. But, I have seen my limit.” Sanada gave him a serious look and Akaya remembered what he'd said to him on the court.
Akaya nodded slowly as he realized what Sanada was asking. “Me too, Sanada fukou-buchou.”
“Good.”
The end doors opened and Yukimura's mother came out. She had a smile on her face, and Sanada suddenly knew everything would be all right.
Word Count: 367 / 10181
037. Sound
Yagyuu adjusted his glasses and made sure he stayed close to the wall next Yukimura-Buchou's bed. It was the best way to ensure that he kept out of range. It had been two days since Yukimura's operation, and the team had finally been allowed to visit properly. Yukimura already looked much better then he had in the days before his surgery. He was still too thin and pale but Yanagi had assured them all that a few days back on the court building up muscle and taking in the sun would help a lot.
Until then, the team seem determined to make sure their Buchou felt better by creating pure havoc in his hospital room. How this would help was beyond Yagyuu, but at least it made Yukimura laugh, particularly when Niou scooped up Kirihara, threw him over his shoulder, and headed out the door, commenting that Kirihara should not have gotten to his age without experiencing the joy that was a swirlie. Jackal was trying to talk him out of it, Marui was cheering him on, Kirihara was screaming death threats, and Yanagi was scribbling in his notebook, muttering about how the apparent ease in which Niou had picked up Kirihara was an indicator of increased upper body strength. Sanada seemed to be about two minutes away from exploding and/or kicking them all out for making too much noise, and Yagyuu had a feeling that any minute now, a nurse was going to come and do the latter.
Still, he thought as he watched their Buchou giggle, his eyes sparkling, he was sure everyone would agree that it was worth it.
Word Count: 274 / 10455
038. Touch
It might shock some people to know, but Kirihara did have a functioning brain. Even more shocking, was that he did know how to use it at times. Particularly when it involved tennis.
He'd had a lot of time to think, in the days since his defeat at the hands of Fuji Syuuske. He'd also had a lot of nightmares; some so bad that he woke up screaming and couldn't go back to sleep at all. His mother hadn't been too thrilled with that, but thankfully his father was gone on another trip. Waking him up in the middle of the night would have been much worse.
Kirihara knew his recent nightmares had a lot to do with his last match. He'd been given a taste of his own medicine - he'd seen, for the first time, what he truly was. And he'd been surprised to find, when all was said and done...that he didn't really like how it felt.
He needed to find a new way to overcome his limits. Limits that had been set by his destructive play. If he wanted to overcome them, if he truly wanted to be the best, he'd have to change. Change and adapt, like all great players did.
The Senbatsu Camp was coming up. He was going to be a part of it, but at the moment, he doubted any of the coaches, particularly ones that knew him, would let him join a team for a goodwill tournament when they all had an impression of him in their minds that didn't really reflect the attitude of the games.
Kirihara clenched his fists. He would be a part of that team. He would show them all that he was worthy of it. He would redeem himself, for his loss at the Nationals. But to do that...
----
Niou was slumped on the bench in the clubhouse, yawning irritably. Practice had gone later than usual - a direct result, he knew, of their second-place finish at the Nationals. He stretched one last time, listening to his back crack and pop, and then blinked his eyes open as someone touched him on the shoulder.
“... Niou-sempai?”
Kirihara was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. It looked like determination, or resolution, mixed with... something. Niou cocked his head to the side, interested. “What's up, brat?”
“....I need your help.” Kirihara met his eyes evenly. “Please.”
Oh yes, Niou was definitely interested. He liked the team baby about as much as anyone else on the team, but that didn't mean they were in the habit of asking each other for favors. The potential for blackmail was too high. “Help with what?”
“I'm working on something,” Kirihara admitted slowly. “A new serve. I have a... theory, or something, but I need to practice it. Will you help me?
Niou watched the kid silently. Something was different. The cockiness was...not gone, really, but was tempered with a calmness that Akaya rarely showed. And that look of determination was still there. Besides, he still owed the kid for helping him out against the wrestling team.
He nodded. “Sure, brat. Today is pretty much shot for me, but I'm free tomorrow. And this weekend. Will that help?”
“Yeah.” Kirihara nodded, a small smile on his face. “It will. Thank you, Niou-sempai.”
He waved it off, and Akaya headed over to his locker to get changed. Niou eyed him for a minute longer, and smirked. Looked like it was going to be an interesting couple of days.
Word Count: 593 / 11048
039. Taste
“Stop that!”
Niou blinked and looked back at Akaya. “Stop what?”
Kirihara was scowling at him. “You! Staring at Yagyuu-sempai! You're supposed to be helping me! What's he doing here anyway?”
“He's waiting for me,” Niou replied. “He's coming to my place to do... homework.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I'll bet,” Akaya muttered, and stomped back to the line. “Incoming!”
Niou watched Akaya's serve carefully. He could kinda see what he was trying to do, but whatever the end result was supposed to be, it wasn't quite there yet. He returned it lightly.
“Damn it!”
Niou watched Kirihara pick at his racquet strings and mutter to himself. Since the kid was preoccupied... he glanced back over at Yagyuu with a sly grin.
“Niou-sempai!”
“Would you give it a rest?” He growled. “Fuck, what's your problem?”
“You're my problem!” Kirihara waved his racquet threateningly. “Stop staring at Yagyuu-sempai like you wanna eat him or something, and help me figure this out!”
Niou rolled his eyes but obediently stepped back onto the line. He figured another day or two of this and he'd have paid the kid back for the whole wrestler thing. Then this would turn into a favor for him, and he'd be able to have more fun. He nodded cheerily.
“Let's do it.”
Word Count: 217 / 11265
040. Sight
Niou yawned. It was getting late, and the setting sun was casting long shadows over everything. Soon, the court lights would kick on. Glancing at his watch, he whistled at the time.
“Hey brat, think we can wrap this up for tonight?” He looked over to where Akaya was bent over, gasping for breath. The kid was working himself nearly to death over this new serve, and it was coming along nicely. He hadn't perfected it yet, but Niou had no doubt he would. And when he did... Niou whistled again, this time in a rare admission of admiration. It would be a hell of a shot, if he could manage to hit it properly.
“One more time,” Kirihara panted. “Let me try it again.”
Niou shrugged, and took up his stance at the baseline. “Go for it.”
Kirihara paused, staring down at the ball in his hand. Niou couldn't see his face, but he figured the kid had to be focusing all his attention, all his determination. He was so desperate to make this shot his own, to perfect it, and he'd been working damn hard for it. Tell the truth, if he didn't do it soon, Niou was gonna be disappointed on his behalf.
Suddenly his eyes narrowed. Something was different. A tiny difference, sure, unnoticeable by probably anyone else, but Niou was trained in picking out minute habits in others, and something was different in Kirihara's stance, the angle he held his wrist.
Then the shot came at him. Niou swung - and hit dead air. The ball seemingly materialized on the other side of him; Niou angled his head to look around, staring confoundedly at the the tennis ball rolling along the ground. What the...
“I did it,” Kirihara breathed.
Niou grinned.
Word Count: 295 / 11560
_______________________________
End notes: For these particular drabbles, I took a few liberties. Example:
- In drabble 31, I do not know what the Kirihara residence looks like, but from what we've seen of other characters (Momo, Eiji, Fuji, Ryoma etc) they all have single homes with two or more floors. I've given Kirihara essentially the same thing.
- In drabble 36, I made mention of an operating amphitheater. I know they have these in teaching hospitals in Canada and America. I do not know if they have them in Tokyo. For the purposes of this fic, they do. And no, I don't care if they really don't.
- I tried to keep to the anime dialogue as best I could but I was working from memory. If it's not completely accurate, that's where the AU part comes in. :)
- In drabble 38, I mention that Akaya came face to face with how he really was on the court. Someone told me that in the manga, he was aware of how he was, enjoyed himself as he was, and that others encourage him. Well, not here. Besides, if he truly did enjoy what he did, then what Fuji did wouldn't have given him those demon-head hallucinations, and tormented him about being a monster. My interpretation, my fic.
- Lastly, a swirlie (drabble 37) is something a bullying student will do to a younger one. They stick them headfirst in the toilet and flush it, making the water swirl. Hence, a 'swirlie'.
Geniuses, by Amaretto. Read it. Read it NOW.
I set my kitchen on fire again. ^^ One frying pan filled with hot oil + gas stove top + clumsy mouse = 2 foot flames and scorched tile. ^^;;
.... I am proud to inform you all that there was no irreparable damage done to my walls and/or counters. ^^ After scrubbing with bleach, the scorch marks faded and blended with the others. ^___^
......stop looking at me like that. >.>
Drabbles!
Title: Kirihara Akaya
Author: Stormy1x2 ( traveling_storm )
Challenge: LJ's fanfic100
Prompts: 31 to 40
Pairings: Very, very mild Sana x Yuki, or Platinum Pair. Maybe a hint of Marui x Kirihara but it's miniscule.
Warnings: mild language, mature themes
Notes: The use of several Japanese phrases thus far has been intentional, as English does not have either an appropriate or proper-sounding equivalent. For example, in Canada, teammates do not run around calling each other 'upper classman' or 'underclassman', and I speak from experience as the co-captain of my high-school basketball team that my teammates did not call me by that title. We use names. In Japan, I realize that it's not proper to use given names, and as I refuse to write 'upper/under classman' etc, I have kept the Japanese terms ('sempai/kouhai). Ditto for Buchou and Fukou-buchou. Also, I prefer the term tensai - in this case, I'm referring specifically to tennis genius. It also sounds better. Same for other titles, i.e, san ('cause if I were to write a fic with Ohtori, him saying 'Mr Shishido' all the time would be wrong). Other than that, you will not see any other fan-girl Japanese in my work. I promise.
Kirihara Akaya's BDT is here.
--------------------------------
031. Sunrise
Kirihara-san returned home from a business flight that must have landed at Narita around three in the morning. Akaya was acutely aware of the time when his dad stumbled in the house; his mother met him with shouts and accusations that he was late by two days, that his company either didn't know or wouldn't tell her where he'd been, and that she was demanding to know who he'd been with.
After about an hour of listening to them shout back and forth, Kirihara gave up on sleep and got up. Silently he moved through his room gathering his books, homework and tennis gear. He had an extra pair of sneakers in his room, and he forewent getting his jacket from the hallway in favor of wearing his Rikkai jersey. He had morning practice in a few hours anyway.
Opening the window, Kirihara slipped outside and scaled down the side of his house using the trellis on the side. Scowling blackly at the lights on in the living room, he turned and headed for school. The buses weren't running that early, but he could use a workout anyway. By the time he got to the Rikkai school grounds, the sun was already peaking over the horizon. The clubhouse was still locked of course, but he figured someone would arrive soon. Stretching out on the bench, he tucked his bag under his head and dozed off.
Word Count: 236 / 7948
032. Sunset
It was getting dark by the time afternoon practice came to a end. The Kantou tournament was right around the corner, and while they were sure to defeat Seigaku, Sanada had apparently decided that they might pose a threat anyway, and had subsequently lengthened all of their practices accordingly.
Akaya changed into his street clothes, tucking his school uniform and his jersey into his bag. He left his weights on though, and double-checked to make sure he had a few extra tennis balls. If he was lucky, maybe there'd be people at the street courts. If there weren't, well, a wall would have to do.
“Akaya?”
Kirihara glanced at Yanagi. “'S'up, sempai?”
“I surmise there is an eighty-two percent chance that you are going to the street courts to continue practicing. I recommend that you do not. There is a thirty-one percent chance of you straining or otherwise injuring yourself from overwork, and the tournament is in three days.”
Kirihara snorted. “I ain't gonna hurt myself, sempai. I promise.” He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Akaya!” Yanagi frowned. “Are you that worried about Seigaku's Fuji Syuuske?”
Kirihara whirled around, glaring. “I am not afraid of Seigaku's so-called tensai!” His fists clenched by his side. “I'm gonna mop the court with that guy. You watch and see!”
“Then why do you feel the need for extra practice?” Yanagi remained calm, his head tilted very slightly.
Kirihara averted his eyes and scowled at the ground. Almost absently, he rubbed his arm. “I just feel like it.”
Yanagi was quiet for a minute, staring at him. It made Akaya nervous. He was about to go anyway, when Yanagi suddenly stood up. “Very well. You'll come with me.”
“...huh?”
“You need help with your English, do you not? I have some free time this evening, and you might as well stay for dinner so we can get right to it. You can call your mother from my house and let her know.”
Kirihara swallowed. “Sempai...”
“Though I've seen your marks,” Yanagi continued. “If you are going to receive a passing grade on your next test, we have a great deal of work to do. It might be worthwhile for you to stay over in our guest room so that you don't have to waste time going home.”
Kirihara knew that his teammates were vaguely aware of his home situation. Though he never said a word to anyone about it, some things were hard to hide, and his teammates were anything but stupid. But this was almost too much. “That's not neces--”
“It's a good idea,” Sanada said, striding into the clubhouse. “If your marks slip any lower, they'll put you on academic probation. I don't think I have to tell you how angry I will be, or how disappointed Yukimura will be if you are removed from Singles 2 due to your grades.”
Akaya glowered. “They aren't that bad.”
Yanagi flipped open his notebook. “Would you like me to recite the marks of your last three tests?”
“Hey!”
“Go,” Sanada ordered. “And do not practice anymore tonight. If you pull a muscle before the tournament, I will personally ensure you do not stop running laps until you graduate high school.”
“....Yes, fukou-buchou.” Kirihara turned to Yanagi and raised his eyebrow. “Guess you got your way. We going or what?”
Yanagi smiled.
Word Count: 567 / 8515
033. Too Much
Seigaku was just so easy to rile. Kirihara made a poor attempt to muffle his giggles, even as Jackal propelled him down the hallway of the hospital. At the elevator, Jackal let go of his collar and pushed the button.
“One day you're gonna go too far,” Jackal sighed. “There was no need for you to taunt them like that. Other then the fact that it's bad sportsmanship, you were also outnumbered.”
“You wouldn't have let them hurt me,” Kirihara said confidently. “And I knew Fuji would keep that dumb ape from touching me. If Seigaku's monkey boy hurt me before the tournament, it would look like they were too afraid to face me officially.”
Jackal rolled his eyes and pushed him onto the elevator, hitting the button for Yukimura's floor. “You still shouldn't have done that.”
“You're a nice guy, Jackal-sempai,” Kirihara told him genuinely. “I'm not. See the difference?” He shrugged. “Besides, what did I do? I didn't touch any of them, and well, if they're so sensitive...” he tisked. “I'd hate to hurt my opponents feelings before the game, you know.”
“I'm sure.” Jackal led the way to Yukimura's room when the doors opened. He paused a few feet away, looking at Akaya with a resigned smile. “And because I'm so nice, I won't tell Sanada what you did.”
Kirihara grinned, and pounced on the Brazillian. “Thanks Jackal-sempai!” He rubbed Jackal's bald head and then jumped down, sprinting for Yukimura's room. “Buchou! I'm here! Are you glad to see me?”
Jackal gave an exasperated chuckle before following his younger teammate in.
Word Count: 266 / 8781
034. Not Enough
He had failed.
Kirihara was still on his hands and knees. He couldn't get up, no matter how much he told himself to. His limbs weren't listening to him.
Get up, he told himself frantically. Get up!
He could hear the crowd cheering, could hear the shrieks of joy coming from the Seigaku team as they celebrated Fuji's win, but he couldn't hear anything from his team.
Tennis must not be used to breed hatred.
Kirihara squeezed his eyes shut as Fuji's voice echoed mockingly inside his head. Fuji's voice... and his face. Suddenly he could see himself behind closed lids, pointing his racquet and laughing mercilessly. He snapped his eyes open instead. He'd rather face the disappointment of his teammates than see that mocking visage anymore than he already had.
He'd lost. He'd not only lost, he'd been beaten. Beaten as he had beaten so many others, in spirit if not in body - though the throbbing in his leg was telling him otherwise. He was so confused. He'd been facing Fuji... who had turned into him, using his methods against him... and then had turned back into Fuji... and he had lost...
What would Fukou-buchou say? What would Yukimura-buchou say? Fear raced through him, mixing with anger and helplessness and damn it, he needed to get up but he couldn't get his body to listen to him.
“Akaya, you're hyperventilating. Calm down.”
Yanagi. Yanagi was there. Kirihara turned his head and saw his sempai's concerned face looking at him.
“Come on, kiddo. Get up.”
Marui on his other side. Kirihara sucked in deep gulps of air and let his sempai help him up, though he automatically shrugged their hands off as he made his way to the bench. His leg hurt a bit, but he didn't limp.
His feet slowly led him to the bench where he sat down hard, his legs giving out again at the last second. He tried to turn his head to look over at Sanada, but it weighed a thousand pounds. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see the anger he knew had to be there. He'd lost, he'd failed them...
“Akaya.”
He flinched. He couldn't help it. Dimly, he was aware that he was shaking. He'd failed, and now they were going to miss Buchou's operation, and everyone was going to be so mad--
A hand fell on his shoulder. He gasped and snapped his head up.
“Have you seen your limits?”
Limits?
“Limits are there to be overcome.”
Overcome... Kirihara breathed in and out. Had he seen his limit? What had he seen? He cringed as he remembered. That... that was how his opponents had felt. That was where they had stopped, where they had fallen back in fear of the boy with the red eyes. That was where he was now. But...
...he was better then that. Right? Was Sanada saying he could overcome... He blinked.
Sanada's hand left his shoulder and silently, Akaya mourned the loss. It had been a rare comforting gesture on the part of Fukou-buchou. Still a bit dazed, he watched as Sanada discussed something with Yanagi, and then strode off towards the Seigaku bench. Where...?
“Hey, Aka-chan,” Marui said, crouching in front of him. “We're going to head to the hospital. Sanada's gone to tell Seigaku what's going on.”
He had lost... which meant Sanada had to play that mini-brat Echizen Ryoma in the final game. Because of him, Fukou-Buchou wasn't going to be there for... for.. Akaya squeezed his hands into fists, ignoring the way his nails dug into his palms.
“Hey, hey, none of that.” Marui tapped him on the head. “It's alright. Fukou-buchou's gonna win his match quick and easy, right? He'll just be a little late.” He dragged Kirihara up and draped his jersey over him. Jackal brought over his track pants. “Come on, zip up. Your muscles are gonna cool off too quickly.”
Kirihara obeyed. They were right. Sanada-fukou-buchou would win and everything would be okay. He would be okay, Buchou would be okay, everything would be okay. He grabbed his bag and looked up. The others were waiting for him. A very small smile curved his lips and he quickly joined them.
A shout caught their attention. Kirihara watched as Jackal caught Sanada's jersey. Even though he wouldn't be there in person, he'd be there in spirit. Of course. He should have known.
Kirihara breathed a little easier.
Word Count: 749 / 9530
035. Sixth Sense
The odds were very good that Yukimura's operation would be both successful and uneventful. Yanagi had done his research of course; this hospital was the best in Tokyo, and Yukimura's doctors and the specialist doing the surgery were at the top of their field. There was always a risk, but Yanagi had faith in his data, and his data was telling him that somehow, someway, everything would turn out in the end.
As for the rest... Yanagi glanced over at Kirihara who was drumming his fingers restlessly on the tennis magazine Marui had given him in an attempt to keep him occupied. Apparently it wasn't working. Yanagi had a good idea of what thoughts were running through the mind of his youngest teammate, and he made a mental note to speak to Kirihara later. Turning his head the other way, he looked at Jackal, sitting on the floor, listening to Sanada's match on the radio.
That Sanada was still playing did not bode well. Yanagi had expected Sanada to finish his match quite some time ago - clearly, his data was lacking in some respects. But honestly, after Sanada had discussed with him at length his easy victory over Echizen the week before, he had not expected such a rapid turnaround in so little time. He glanced back down at his notebook with a faint frown. He would definitely have to rectify that error before the Nationals.
Then he heard a click as Jackal turned the radio off. It echoed in the hospital corridor, and he looked at Jackal sharply. Suddenly he knew. Even before he could ask, Yanagi felt the wave of dread sweep over him, and he knew that Sanada, that Rikkai, had lost.
Word Count: 285 / 9815
036. Smell
Sanada hated the smell of the hospital. Like bleach and disinfectants, medicine and sickness. Still, as always, he never once hesitated as he walked through the door.
He had lost. Sanada had no excuse for doing so. He had played the best he could, under stressful circumstances, and it just happened that Echizen played better. It had been a good game, and he had no true regrets.
Mostly no regrets, he amended as he walked around the corner and came face to face with his team.
“Fukou-buchou!”
The cry went up and Sanada raised his hand, calling for silence. “How's Yukimura?” he asked Yanagi calmly. Yanagi indicated to the light still on over the operating wing sign.
“We're not sure yet,” Yanagi replied. “His parents are in the operating amphitheater. They promised to inform us as soon as they know anything.”
Sanada nodded, and looked over his entire team. Marui and Jackal were looking back at him, a little apprehensively. He could understand why - he would have to go over his match with them, explain what happened. Niou and Yagyuu sat side by side. Niou's legs were outstretched in such a manner that anyone not looking where they were walking would be sure to trip over them. He raised an eyebrow, and Niou chuckled, sliding his feet back. Yagyuu had a textbook in his lap and seemed to be doing homework. And Kirihara...
...was staring at him. If Sanada didn't know better, he would have thought his singles 2 player was about to cry.
“Akaya?”
“I'm sorry!” Akaya burst out suddenly. “Fukou-buchou, I'm sorry I lost. I really am.” He lowered his head.
Sanada looked at him for a minute, and nodded. “I know you are, Akaya. And I am too.”
Kirihara's head jerked up. “Fukou-buchou...”
“I lost as well, Akaya. But, I have seen my limit.” Sanada gave him a serious look and Akaya remembered what he'd said to him on the court.
Akaya nodded slowly as he realized what Sanada was asking. “Me too, Sanada fukou-buchou.”
“Good.”
The end doors opened and Yukimura's mother came out. She had a smile on her face, and Sanada suddenly knew everything would be all right.
Word Count: 367 / 10181
037. Sound
Yagyuu adjusted his glasses and made sure he stayed close to the wall next Yukimura-Buchou's bed. It was the best way to ensure that he kept out of range. It had been two days since Yukimura's operation, and the team had finally been allowed to visit properly. Yukimura already looked much better then he had in the days before his surgery. He was still too thin and pale but Yanagi had assured them all that a few days back on the court building up muscle and taking in the sun would help a lot.
Until then, the team seem determined to make sure their Buchou felt better by creating pure havoc in his hospital room. How this would help was beyond Yagyuu, but at least it made Yukimura laugh, particularly when Niou scooped up Kirihara, threw him over his shoulder, and headed out the door, commenting that Kirihara should not have gotten to his age without experiencing the joy that was a swirlie. Jackal was trying to talk him out of it, Marui was cheering him on, Kirihara was screaming death threats, and Yanagi was scribbling in his notebook, muttering about how the apparent ease in which Niou had picked up Kirihara was an indicator of increased upper body strength. Sanada seemed to be about two minutes away from exploding and/or kicking them all out for making too much noise, and Yagyuu had a feeling that any minute now, a nurse was going to come and do the latter.
Still, he thought as he watched their Buchou giggle, his eyes sparkling, he was sure everyone would agree that it was worth it.
Word Count: 274 / 10455
038. Touch
It might shock some people to know, but Kirihara did have a functioning brain. Even more shocking, was that he did know how to use it at times. Particularly when it involved tennis.
He'd had a lot of time to think, in the days since his defeat at the hands of Fuji Syuuske. He'd also had a lot of nightmares; some so bad that he woke up screaming and couldn't go back to sleep at all. His mother hadn't been too thrilled with that, but thankfully his father was gone on another trip. Waking him up in the middle of the night would have been much worse.
Kirihara knew his recent nightmares had a lot to do with his last match. He'd been given a taste of his own medicine - he'd seen, for the first time, what he truly was. And he'd been surprised to find, when all was said and done...that he didn't really like how it felt.
He needed to find a new way to overcome his limits. Limits that had been set by his destructive play. If he wanted to overcome them, if he truly wanted to be the best, he'd have to change. Change and adapt, like all great players did.
The Senbatsu Camp was coming up. He was going to be a part of it, but at the moment, he doubted any of the coaches, particularly ones that knew him, would let him join a team for a goodwill tournament when they all had an impression of him in their minds that didn't really reflect the attitude of the games.
Kirihara clenched his fists. He would be a part of that team. He would show them all that he was worthy of it. He would redeem himself, for his loss at the Nationals. But to do that...
----
Niou was slumped on the bench in the clubhouse, yawning irritably. Practice had gone later than usual - a direct result, he knew, of their second-place finish at the Nationals. He stretched one last time, listening to his back crack and pop, and then blinked his eyes open as someone touched him on the shoulder.
“... Niou-sempai?”
Kirihara was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. It looked like determination, or resolution, mixed with... something. Niou cocked his head to the side, interested. “What's up, brat?”
“....I need your help.” Kirihara met his eyes evenly. “Please.”
Oh yes, Niou was definitely interested. He liked the team baby about as much as anyone else on the team, but that didn't mean they were in the habit of asking each other for favors. The potential for blackmail was too high. “Help with what?”
“I'm working on something,” Kirihara admitted slowly. “A new serve. I have a... theory, or something, but I need to practice it. Will you help me?
Niou watched the kid silently. Something was different. The cockiness was...not gone, really, but was tempered with a calmness that Akaya rarely showed. And that look of determination was still there. Besides, he still owed the kid for helping him out against the wrestling team.
He nodded. “Sure, brat. Today is pretty much shot for me, but I'm free tomorrow. And this weekend. Will that help?”
“Yeah.” Kirihara nodded, a small smile on his face. “It will. Thank you, Niou-sempai.”
He waved it off, and Akaya headed over to his locker to get changed. Niou eyed him for a minute longer, and smirked. Looked like it was going to be an interesting couple of days.
Word Count: 593 / 11048
039. Taste
“Stop that!”
Niou blinked and looked back at Akaya. “Stop what?”
Kirihara was scowling at him. “You! Staring at Yagyuu-sempai! You're supposed to be helping me! What's he doing here anyway?”
“He's waiting for me,” Niou replied. “He's coming to my place to do... homework.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I'll bet,” Akaya muttered, and stomped back to the line. “Incoming!”
Niou watched Akaya's serve carefully. He could kinda see what he was trying to do, but whatever the end result was supposed to be, it wasn't quite there yet. He returned it lightly.
“Damn it!”
Niou watched Kirihara pick at his racquet strings and mutter to himself. Since the kid was preoccupied... he glanced back over at Yagyuu with a sly grin.
“Niou-sempai!”
“Would you give it a rest?” He growled. “Fuck, what's your problem?”
“You're my problem!” Kirihara waved his racquet threateningly. “Stop staring at Yagyuu-sempai like you wanna eat him or something, and help me figure this out!”
Niou rolled his eyes but obediently stepped back onto the line. He figured another day or two of this and he'd have paid the kid back for the whole wrestler thing. Then this would turn into a favor for him, and he'd be able to have more fun. He nodded cheerily.
“Let's do it.”
Word Count: 217 / 11265
040. Sight
Niou yawned. It was getting late, and the setting sun was casting long shadows over everything. Soon, the court lights would kick on. Glancing at his watch, he whistled at the time.
“Hey brat, think we can wrap this up for tonight?” He looked over to where Akaya was bent over, gasping for breath. The kid was working himself nearly to death over this new serve, and it was coming along nicely. He hadn't perfected it yet, but Niou had no doubt he would. And when he did... Niou whistled again, this time in a rare admission of admiration. It would be a hell of a shot, if he could manage to hit it properly.
“One more time,” Kirihara panted. “Let me try it again.”
Niou shrugged, and took up his stance at the baseline. “Go for it.”
Kirihara paused, staring down at the ball in his hand. Niou couldn't see his face, but he figured the kid had to be focusing all his attention, all his determination. He was so desperate to make this shot his own, to perfect it, and he'd been working damn hard for it. Tell the truth, if he didn't do it soon, Niou was gonna be disappointed on his behalf.
Suddenly his eyes narrowed. Something was different. A tiny difference, sure, unnoticeable by probably anyone else, but Niou was trained in picking out minute habits in others, and something was different in Kirihara's stance, the angle he held his wrist.
Then the shot came at him. Niou swung - and hit dead air. The ball seemingly materialized on the other side of him; Niou angled his head to look around, staring confoundedly at the the tennis ball rolling along the ground. What the...
“I did it,” Kirihara breathed.
Niou grinned.
Word Count: 295 / 11560
_______________________________
End notes: For these particular drabbles, I took a few liberties. Example:
- In drabble 31, I do not know what the Kirihara residence looks like, but from what we've seen of other characters (Momo, Eiji, Fuji, Ryoma etc) they all have single homes with two or more floors. I've given Kirihara essentially the same thing.
- In drabble 36, I made mention of an operating amphitheater. I know they have these in teaching hospitals in Canada and America. I do not know if they have them in Tokyo. For the purposes of this fic, they do. And no, I don't care if they really don't.
- I tried to keep to the anime dialogue as best I could but I was working from memory. If it's not completely accurate, that's where the AU part comes in. :)
- In drabble 38, I mention that Akaya came face to face with how he really was on the court. Someone told me that in the manga, he was aware of how he was, enjoyed himself as he was, and that others encourage him. Well, not here. Besides, if he truly did enjoy what he did, then what Fuji did wouldn't have given him those demon-head hallucinations, and tormented him about being a monster. My interpretation, my fic.
- Lastly, a swirlie (drabble 37) is something a bullying student will do to a younger one. They stick them headfirst in the toilet and flush it, making the water swirl. Hence, a 'swirlie'.