Dual Options (Prince of Tennis, Niou/Yagyuu, #2)
Title: Dual Options
Author:
yumehikouki
Pairing: Niou Masaharu/Yagyuu Hiroshi
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Theme: #2- news; letter/ 音沙汰
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and all its fun belongs to Konomi Takeshi!~
A/N : Incredibly long, at least in my POV. Sorry for the rushed ending. I hit about a lot of words and realized I still didn't have a kiss, and trying to get it in time does no favors for a story. D:
-----
Real news arrives hastily - rattling the air as if words really were so breathlessly surreal. Real news alters reality - twisting the mood as if it was all a game to be endorsed. Real news never gives a fair warning - lurking in time as if its only reason for existence was to astound others
But, most of all, real news turns the dependent world, keeping it spinning on its axis..
***
“Yukimura’s in the hospital.” Sanada’s own announcement tempts even his strict demeanor, leaving his voice disgruntled and choppy.
Then, comes the cacophony of worries - Jackal’s, Marui’s, Yanagi’s, Yagyuu’s, Akaya’s, and hey, even mine- disrupting the whistling silence that followed.
“Is Captain alright?”
“How’d he get in the hospital?”
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
“He’s not sick, is he?”
Sanada remains in the same position. He doesn’t answer; he just keeps his head low, refusing to look at any of us. His silence can only lead to two ends: either he doesn’t know any more details, or he doesn’t have the guts to say it.
It must’ve been a strange sight to the rest of the tennis club - all the regulars in that isolated circle; the Vice-Captain stunned to silence, and the others so anxiously worried about those four words previously spoken. But I know the moment wouldn’t last long; Akaya starts blasting off more questions, especially now that Sanada failed to answer any of the previous ones.
“What happened to Yukimura?” The hotheaded 2nd-year demands, probably shouting so loud that he doesn’t consider what’d happen if everyone overhears. “Sanada, tell me now!”
Nope, still no response.
“If Captain’s sick or something, then I’m not gonna’ be able to play him! How am I supposed to be number one at Rikkaidai if he’s not here for me to beat?!”
Nope, still no cease-fire to his idiotically rash statements.
“You have to know more than just where he is! So, tell us Sanada! Or I’m going to-”
“Akaya.” Yanagi intervenes, placing a hand on his heaving shoulder. “Give Genichirou some time to consider.”
The curly-haired brat doesn’t seem to listen at first, and is about to open his mouth again - until he finally catches the glare in Sanada’s eyes.
“Why don’t we pay a visit to Yukimura?” Yagyuu suggests, speaking for the first time since the News arrived. He surveys the rest of his teammates, first glancing at me for approval.
I nod back. It’s a better and calmer plan than Akaya’s, and not to mention much more helpful than what Sanada has offered thus far.
But, still no reply from our Vice-Captain.
Makes me wonder what planet the News must’ve transported his mind to.
“Let’s go visit Yukimura, Sanada.” I then chirp out, seconding Yagyuu’s obvious idea. Jackal, Marui, and Yanagi all reply with swift approval. Kirihara doesn’t make another move, pacified for now.
Nothing happens in the next five minutes. No one speaks, no one moves.
And, after what in reality can be several eternities, Sanada seems to regain his senses.
“Let’s go.”
It’s a command that every regular follows, even Kirihara. Jackal and Marui are the first to sprint after Sanada’s fast-paced steps, ones that seemed to want to loose us behind in its agility. Yanagi, his composure a perfect mask, remains closely behind Kirihara, making sure he doesn’t have another sudden outburst. Yagyuu then moves as well, his face and posture unaltered in every sense.
I don’t follow immediately, overlooking the changes the News has brought. It is an abnormal sight: the regulars trailing after Sanada like baby ducks, the remaining tennis club cluttering in groups, whispering to each other their suspicions.
“Niou-kun.” The rich, matter-of-fact tone can belong only to Yagyuu. That gentleman, does he ever stop looking after others and noticing small details like me even in the face of such a large event? “I assume you are coming.”
There’s a reminiscent look in his eyes, the one that took me days to perfect down. For a short moment, I try to imagine what exactly his thoughts are at the moment, but I guess the two of us haven’t yet covered how to think like the other.
“Puri.” I sharply reply, ambling towards Yagyuu with my hands in my pockets.
“Hey, Yagyuu, you think Sanada’s got a thing for Yukimura?” Attempting to start a conversation with my doubles partner is occasionally one of the most challenging tasks of each day; Wonder how we ever can perfectly and flawlessly pull off our plan.
He doesn’t respond at first, probably considering the risk of replying to my question.
“Now is not the time to joke, Niou-kun.”
I’m starting to get the faintest notion that he’s able to understand me more than I can him. Which, if anything, is completely not fair. We haven’t started practicing that deep into attitudes, have we?
“Who says I was joking? Stop avoiding my question and tell me if you think Sanada’s probably suffered his greatest childhood tragedy.” Flashing my best, honest grin, I nudge Yagyuu jokingly, fully aware that the chances of him answering are ridiculously low.
Again, silence. Did he catch Sanada’s mute disease? Or, maybe he just doesn’t know how to avoid any more delves into any kind of personal opinion. .
“Sanada is most likely worried to death for Yukimura.” He phrases his words carefully, slowly too. “And, Niou-kun, he does not have a ‘thing’ for him. It is simply care.”
“Eh? Why do you have to make everything sound so boring?” We can, maybe, have a conversation of actual worth, but, just like every other time, he chooses to avoid all the right choices. Typical Yagyuu behavior, I make a mental note for later use.
He doesn’t reply or make another sound; a slight shrug of his shoulders silently tell me that talk time was over. I suppose he thinks I won’t be as suspicious of him if he manages to be saved just in time by the approaching hospital in the distance.
It’s a bland hospital, sort of like Yagyuu’s personality. People are coming in and out, but it doesn’t seem like anyone really ever stays, kind of like Yagyuu’s thoughts. The doctors sticking out like a sore thumb from the patients and visitors, just like how Yagyuu doesn’t quite fit anywhere at school.
The whole time we promptly enter the revolving doors, I keep my eyes glued on him, noticing one similarity between him and this building after another. And, even as he and I stand in the elevator, I still can’t focus on anything else but Yagyuu. It’s kind of a strange feeling, knowing I’m staring at some guy that isn’t worth anything real. But as we head up the elevator, cheesy music playing in the background, I know my attention bothers him more than it ever can me.
“What, Niou-kun?” He swiftly states, not even turning his head to face me.
“Oh, nothing.” I crack a slight grin, feeling fully accomplished I’d got him to speak the first words. “Just, you’re a lot like this hospital, ya’know?”
“Me, a lot like this hospital?” I’ve been him for enough times to know that my statement has actually caught his attention. “How so?”
“The hospital saves lives, just like a gentleman, just like you, right?” The tone of my voice is playful, testing as to how much I can say before Yagyuu finally shuts himself off again. To my luck, he nods a slight bit in my direction, permission granted to continue. “Yet, nobody really cares. Come on, does anybody actually want to be at a hospital?”
“You do make a good point,” He turns his head, so that his glaring specs are directed right towards me, a small grin creeping into his lips as he begins to make the exact same connections I do. “But, are you meaning to say I’m just as boring, Niou-kun?”
“Did I say you were boring?”
Yagyuu then lets out a low chuckle, as if he has just accomplished some secret triumph, and swings his head back to its original position. “No, you did not.”
“Do not second guess me like that, Yagyuu.” The tone is prim, precise; my intention for it to sound every bit alike to his own.
Another discrete grin paints itself slowly onto his face; a tiny glint in his eye signals to me that he’s willing to play along. “Just striving for the best, Niou-kun. After all, I’m only as you as I can be.”
The elevator then dings, bringing an end to our brief but curious conversation. It’s as the door opens that both he and I realize that the situation now isn’t about us, isn’t about how well we manage to be dopplegangers, but Yukimura, the team.
“Now is not the time to joke, Hiroshi.” I manage to crack out before Yagyuu opens his mouth to dictate the same to me, and exit the elevator.
***
Real news turns the dependent world, keeping it spinning on its axis - regardless of how much it seems to be knocking it down. The same applies for whatever unexpectancy that’s occurring now. This sickness. This Yukimura, weak enough to barely be able to complete his dwindling sentences. This moment, a gaping hole in the continuous, unremming flow of time.
***
Yagyuu and I enter the room late, to nobody’s obvious surprise. The others are circled around Yukimura’s bed in the tightest circle I’ve ever seen - even more than the ones we form before the most important tennis matches. Confusion, and fear, and grief, and uncertainty snuffs the air, worsening the eerily silence that once again manifests between all of us. All that passes through the air is the squeak of Yagyuu and my shoes trudging to join the circle and the ominously reassuring beeps of the pulse monitor.
No one speaks, no one moves, no one even seems to be breathing. The same scene from the tennis court seems to follow us into the hospital room.
A swift regard at everyone’s faces, and I know nobody wants to be here - even Yukimura himself. The great captain’s tucked into his confinements of hospital sheets, fluttering eyes barely open. His right hand man, Sanada, seems to be the one most frozen, stuck there in place, a look of conflict - should he look after Yukimura for care, or look away for alarm - canvasses his whole expression. Yanagi remains amazingly calm; however, if there’s ever the impossible miracle for him to panic even slightly, there’s no likelier time than now. Marui has a pained look on his face, the same one he always gets when Kirihara steals his best gum, or candy - except much, much worse. Jackal stands stiffly beside Marui, disbelief and defeat never so admittingly clear in his eyes. The only second year, Kirihara - the same idiot who spoke out earlier -, is fazed, dazed; he doesn’t seem to accept that this is not a dream, that his captain ever had or would have a scene like now.
I avoid my glance at Yagyuu, considering first for a moment what his expression might be; if he lets himself have a couple of guesses at me secretly, I deserve the exact same privilege.
A swift survey, again, in Yukimura’s direction decides my final answer. Yagyuu must be worried, but he doesn’t choose to do anything as of yet because he sees it to be disruptive to Yukimura’s current state. Soon, once the atmosphere loosens (if it ever will), the gentleman will be quick to rush to the captain’s side, always with that tending desire to never do wrong, to assist but not to bother.
Taking a deep breath, I avert my attention at Yagyuu himself, attempting to figure out if my prediction fits the picture. His face is that same shade of prim, feelings repressed for now. There’s a striking similarity between his expression and that of Yanagi’s, but that’s old news; both are always at peace, but while Yanagi’s façade is not the kind to keep secrets, Yagyuu’s is quite the opposite. It’s the kind of opposite that bystanders often don’t realize, the kind that only after hours and days of observing his publicly mundane expression can his own doubles partner even begin to guess.
And, again, I find myself staring at Yagyuu’s expression - that horribly bland statue of a student - and unable to look away. Even now, when Yukimura’s here in this hosptial, close to the verge of death, at worst. Even now, when not even the noisiest troublemaker dares to make a sound, or the strictest leader to breath a small command. I’m not sure, not even remotely, of why a goody-two shoes like Yagyuu Hiroshi ever manages to become my doubles partner, let alone a close friend.
Yet, as I continue to gaze at him without end, he turns his head towards me. His eyes then meet mine, our stares practically overlapping each other. Then, briskly, fleetingly, he grins a smile even worthy of my approval, and returns his attention to Yukimura.
That prick, he knows exactly what I’m thinking, doesn‘t he? I may not be able to guess his every move, like he apparently can mine, but I do notice when Yagyuu is hiding something from me - especially when that something is rightfully about me. Whatever the case, I make a mental note to myself maybe to treat Yagyuu to an extra prank or two once we get back to school; him annoying me is a totally warped up cycle, and I can’t deny that I want to ignore it happens.
And, ignore I do. The situation now is about our Captain, not my paranoia with Yagyuu.
Thinking of which, Yukimura still hasn’t whispered a single word. Nor has anyone else or anything, for that matter. The clock above his bed reads a couple of minutes past six-thirty in the evening, a precise measurement of just how long all of us has been standing here, of how numbing the News is. Minutes - dozens and dozens of minutes, maybe - pass away, my eyes all during that time focused only on Yukimura.
The flat tone of silence doesn’t break; it wavers in the air, alerting and dulling our senses simultaneously. The News seems to have halted the world.
Never one for boring (or in this case, immobile) moments - regardless of whether a serious moment like now really needs excitement or not -, I shift around slightly, scuffling my sneakers in semicircles and raising a hand to ruffle my hair. The small, but apparently sudden, movement seems to snap some of the others out of their trance; whether by chance, or a ‘follow-the-leader’ sense, I have no idea.
Yanagi is the first to speak.
“Shall we leave you in peace for now, Seiichi?” Only Yanagi’s confidence in his calculations would dare to bother Yukimura now.
The currently oh-so-fragile teen remains in the same position, eyes barely open, mouth lightly closed. I half expect Yanagi to finally make a mistake for once, until the faintest twitch of Yukimura’s lips prove me otherwise.
“I am sorry,” His voice is a quiver, slow and barely audible. “sorry, for causing everyone so much trouble.”
The unexpected, weakened down rendition of our Captain’s voice astounds everyone for a moment, letting pass another minute or two. What’s more, even in a situation like this, when Yukimura clearly isn’t the bother here, when the rest of the team is obviously the truly helpless ones, he still manages to push all the important faults onto himself.
Yukimura isn’t the one at fault here - Kirihara, or me, maybe, but never him. Have this been any other mess-up - for example, one of hilariously cruel proportions -, Sanada’s towering voice would be looming over the rest of the team, performing another one of his infamous, hour-long lectures.
I can hear Sanada’s voice resounding in my ears, that usual pushover of any misled mistake Yukimura confesses himself to, the rather frequent “it’s not your fault, Yukimura.” Yet, as if proof for the rarity of the situation, he is mute, hands and jaw tightly clenched.
“How can you say it’s your fault?” An unexpected voice trembles as it slowly increases in volume. “Even now, how?”
Yukimura is about to open his mouth to speak, but the voice beats him to it.
“You know that we’re the ones always bothering you, always getting in your way. I know it, and you can’t deny it; I know it from the way you glare straight at me every time I mess something up!”
This time, Yukimura doesn’t try to reply, or defend himself. He listens intently, as if now, he has all the time in the world to waste.
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Captain. You should realize it’s never your fault, and always ours. We can’t do anything to help you on the court, and neither can we help you now.”
By the end of his words, Sanada shifts his head up, to glance between the two, vexation clouding his eyes.
“So, don’t say you’re sorry.” The voice calms, a small remainder of heavy breathing still evident from the sudden mass of ranting speech. Then, noticing the crowd of confused eyes (with the exception of Yukimura’s, of course), the speaker averts his eyes down, and remains that way. It seems the outburst surprises him just as much as it has the rest of us.
Although sometimes, I got to hand it to the kid. Kirihara really has guts that even I admire. A rash, sort of idiotic, unthoughtful comment, released by chance, is exactly the sort of wake-up call we need to overcome the News.
“Maybe now is not the best time, Seiichi.” As Kirihara is now completely silent, probably just realizing what he’d said, Yanagi takes the honor of translating what the 2nd year did mean - if, he actually hae the decency to say it with manners. “The team can come back tomorrow, or, anytime you ask for us, if you’d like.”
“Rest is probably the best option as of now, Yukimura.” Yagyuu reaffirms Yanagi’s point, then, with a swift transition of tone, turns to face Sanada. “And, Sanada-kun,”
Sanada doesn’t bother to look back at Yagyuu, but instead, seems to be focusing on how wonderfully eye-catching the combination of the floor tiles and his shoes is.
“Niou-kun and I will be leaving now,”
It’s interesting to me how he includes my name, especially without my consent. I immediately pout my face with annoyance, but can’t help but admit that I was planning on leaving Yukimura to peace. Can it be, that Yagyuu’s been constantly guessing at me all this time with such an ample amount of confidence that he dares to test me even in front of the others?
“However, Sanada, I suggest you stay with Yukimura.” He continues, still facing Sanada regardless of whether our vice-captain is replying back or not. “While I don’t agree that a large group of people crowding around Yukimura’s bed is a great idea, I do think he needs someone to watch over him for now. At least, until his family arrives.”
He then exchanges a couple of sentences with Yanagi, who nods in response, and says his “goodbye”s and “take care”s. Probably by intention, Yagyuu doesn’t repeat any sort of farewell to me and exits the room.
As if to defy his confidence, his sure guess that I’d follow right behind him, I refuse to budge immediately. In the current situation, not following Yagyuu’s command -well, not going along with it is more of the right words - wouldn’t have incited anyone’s attention; it’s all on Yukimura, anyways.
“Shouldn’t you be going, Niou?”
Darn, Yagyuu must’ve said some last words to Yanagi, to make sure I’d eventually have to do just what he said.
“No, not really.” I respond, taking care in my words to not disrupt Yukimura too much. Even if the guy isn’t talking and seems to be barely breathing, doesn’t mean I should disrespect him; who knows when Sanada will get his senses back and punish the sanity out of me?
Yanagi replies with a firm, yet calm look at me, and says to our rigid statue, “Then, Genichirou, I’ll be excusing myself, if you don’t mind. It seems best that Seiichi does not have any more disruptions.” Without waiting for Sanada’s response (because, you know, that might take several days), he promptly leaves as well, in much the same manner as Yagyuu.
“Hey, Sanada?” Marui’s the next to speak, probably asking for the same permission, and not expecting an answer back. “Jackal and I are going to go now, you want us to bring you back some food or something? You know, in case you’re staying here overnight.”
If Sanada isn’t in some bottomless pit of a trance right now, he probably would have made a comment on Marui’s rudeness in the situation, and then proceed to reject the offer of food. But, after about two minutes of waiting for a reply, the pair with plans to leave figures that if Sanada didn’t speak now, later wouldn’t be any more likely.
“Then, um, we’ll just be going, Sanada.” Jackal awkwardly says, continuing from Marui’s last words. “Take care, especially of Yukimura.” The doubles pair then walk out simultaneously, opening and closing the door lightly.
Only Yukimura, Sanada, and I remain.
For a while, I wonder as to what I should do. Start a conversation with Sanada? With Yukimura? Or, just finally give in to Yagyuu and leave? There’s not much consensus that my mind decides to, and I find myself, for the third time of the day, reliving that state of stopped time. I sit myself down on a seat across from Yukimura’s bed, and repose in my casual, slouchy position; all the while not noticing just how fast - or, how slow - time is passing.
“Niou-kun,” It’s a small whisper, and, at first, I perceive it as a mere delusional sound of my mind, somehow once again plagued with Yagyuu. But, the meek voice repeats itself, and I slowly begin to realize that Yukimura finally has something to say to me.
“You should go, it’s getting late.”
“Nah, it’s alright, Yukimura. I can help watch over you with Sanada. Not like my parents will be too worried, I come home late all the time.” As surprised as I am that Yukimura decides to speak to me one on one, especially acting like Sanada isn’t even in the room, I’m more astonished that Sanada himself isn’t the one to tell me those words.
“Genichirou can take care of me by himself; I’m not that much of a hassle.”
My lips curve slightly at Yukimura’s joke, but, immediately fall flat once again as a dangerous round of coughs immediately follow.
“More importantly,” He continues, voice perhaps even weaker now. “Not leaving, doesn‘t that make you more like Yagyuu?”
“More like him?” The question from Yukimura is typical, but still manages to shock me a bit. Suffering in a state like now, and still able to pay such close attention and understand, Yukimura really is Yukimura. “He left, but I didn’t. That makes us completely different.”
A knowing, patriarchic grin, albeit a small one, shows from his face, and, before coughing a bit more, he replies, “You’re right, Niou-kun. I’m probably wrong.” He then proceeds to carefully and slowly pull his covers up and around him, a readable sign that our conversation ends there.
I’m not sure what to say, but I can’t tell if it’s because Yagyuu somehow manages to bother me without even being physically present, or if it’s due to Yukimura’s obvious, towering dominance even when he’s currently so picturesquely weak. He doesn’t make any sense, that Yukimura, and yet, the more intelligent part of me completely agrees that I’m the one that is wrong, not him. He’s the kind of guy that no matter under what circumstance, will always bring out the doubting voice in the back of your head, amplifying its low hum to a hollering scream.
And, as rushingly as it came, the voice in the back of my head shouts out, revealing the simple enigma that is my answer. Without much but a brisk “get better” at Yukimura and a slight wave, I zip out the door, my fast-paced footsteps racing down the hallway.
That Yagyuu, he’s in for a hell of a time when I find him.
***
It’s not outside the front doors of the hospital, nor the school courts, nor the library, but my house where I find Yagyuu. I doubt he intended for me to find him at first; the adrenaline rushing through my veins, powered by my half-anger, half-confusion, slowly beginning to weaken after one empty place and another. I had given up completely, almost. Before I arrive at my doorstep, and, my window is glowing with light, half-opened.
Sore from the over-realistic drama of today, disappointment stiffening my limbs, it seems totally feasible at first to believe all I see as a lie. For once, not to tire myself out with endless observations, my eyes open every waking second, my mind scrambling and clawing at any bit of information about Yagyuu, trying to figure out whatever he just may be.
Yet, as if by habit, or by some force I can’t discern, I can’t ignore the obvious shadow painted against my window from the inside. I can’t ignore the unlocked gate of my house, almost to the careless angle I would always leave it. Releasing a fog of warm steam, I take a deep breath, and place my hand on the first jutted out block. Times and times of sneaking home late (for reasons strictly classified) has easily engrained the steps up my wall, pipes and all. Within moments, the window is leveled to me, my eyes first glancing into the dim, familiar room for a sign of anything unfamiliar. I climb through with a stumble here and there, and take a swift but careful survey around.
No signs of movement are visible; but signs that someone has been here, or is still here, clatter the room. The Shounen Jump opened half way and left in disregard on my bed, an unfinished bag of chips, along with pieces that somehow fell out, littered across my desk, and the door to my shower shining a crack of light, the sound of fast, streaming water barely audible.
Someone’s made themselves feel at home.
What‘s surprising isn‘t the fact that Yagyuu‘s here, but why he did it, or why he made it so obvious - does he intend to do all this for the mere satisfaction of proving me wrong? It’s a question I know won’t reveal its answers easily; and with another frustrated sigh, I land face up on my bed, the impact somewhat painful but nevertheless refreshing.
He’s been acting strange lately, or maybe he always has been, and it’s me that’s finally starting to notice. For one thing, a gentleman like Yagyuu doesn’t break into someone’s house without calling first (in which, it wouldn’t be a break in) nor command others nor mess around with someone like me. Yagyuu shouldn’t have left Yukimura at the hospital by himself, or rather, wouldn’t have left just Sanada to watch him. The Yagyuu I used to know, the one I’d made fun of through all of our first years together, the one I’d always pray to not get partnered with - for tennis or a school project- because I had thought he’d be absolutely boring, is not the Yagyuu that’s in the shower right now.
There’s an intention to what he’s doing. There always is. Among the million of mysteries I have yet to solve about Yagyuu, one I’ve managed to discover is that the gentleman never acts without a reason; whether it be of obvious incentives, or a more opaque dictation of his morals, Yagyuu acts with reason, lives with reason. And, as the shower starts to weaken in volume, the water turned off, I’m not sure how to begin our conversation, or even begin our exchange of glances when he comes out.
Or, maybe, today has all just been a dream?
The chances of Yukimura ailed by some randomly rare sickness is one in a million; adding the chances of Yagyuu doing something like this being one in a billion, I have every reason to believe today is just a fleeting nightmare.
But, not quite so.
“Masaharu?” My mom calls my name from downstairs - which, is strange and all, because she hasn’t seen me yet; I snuck in through the window. “The food’s done, come downstairs.”
I’m about to reply with my usual grunt of agreement, loud enough just so she can barely hear me, before the bathroom door opens, letting out a sound strangely and eerily similar to my own yet to be said response.
Yagyuu. It’s Yagyuu I’m supposed to be seeing. But, the loose blue pajamas, and the t-shirt my sister had given me as a late present last year, and the strands of silvery hair, still droopy from the water, and the mole on that face, and the emerald-blue eyes, and the smirk, stretching itself from one side of his face to the other all tell me I‘m staring at my reflection. It gives me an expression of surprise, a slight raise of its eyebrow, and ambles over to the chair across my bed. With a plop, it lands in my chair, back slouched and limbs loose.
“Didn’t know you were one for breaking into houses,” It says, a familiarly playful tone coloring its voice.
“It’s my house, Yagyuu.” I drawl out, not sure what to say to it - to myself.
“Didn’t know you were one to lie, too, Yagyuu.” The way it recites that name sends shivers down my spine, each syllable and sound exact to my own once again.
“Take that ridiculous wig of yours off,” It continues, grabbing the bag of chips from my table, and leisurely throwing a piece into its mouth with a crunch. “I’m gonna’ go grab my dinner, I’m starving!”
And with that, it stands up from the chair, walks out of the room, and disappears into the light of the hallway, almost as senselessly as it had come.
***
Trying to make sense of that strange confrontation with myself, the list of everything wrong with this situation expands and lengthens. Yagyuu should not have ordered me to leave with him in that hospital. Yagyuu should not have shown up at my house, especially, as myself. And, Yagyuu should not be playing these games with me.
Or, maybe that’s the point.
He’s not doing any of this, I am. At least the one that’s in the kitchen now, wolfing down my food. From the moment I snuck in through the window - or, maybe, since that order at the hospital -, Yagyuu isn’t the one being Yagyuu.
We’ve talked this over before, mapped over each step in our heads and double-checked with one another. The switch is going to be a perfect trick; a perfect act, because the two of us will be an exact copy of the other. It’s a plan that keeps Yagyuu and me chattering into the night, over the phone, during a sleepover, or even through moments when I wonder why he ever agreed in the first place. He would learn all there is about me - my sleeping and eating habits, my accent and tone, my decisions, my mind, everything that makes me me - and I would him.
The switch is some sort of a magnificent, elaborate trick to me, the grandest of the grand. Nothing more than a useful waste of my time and another weapon for doubles.
But to Yagyuu, what does the switch mean?
He must see it more than just silly horseplay, more than what I deem it. Yagyuu’s a gentleman, not a trickster, and there’s not a chance he’s tagging along with me just for the heck of it. Every ‘lesson’ we’ve had together, whether to practice our gaits or our dialogue, he never once tells me why he’s doing all this. All Yagyuu ever does is nod his head at my critical suggestions, fix his faults, and then enact a perfect me; either he’s forgotten to tell me his reasons, or I’ve crucially missed a quirk of Yagyuu’s.
Out of the two likely options of finding out what he’s been hiding from me these past few months, I can’t help but feel that no matter which one I choose, Yagyuu’ll be expecting it. He’s obviously planned this night for awhile, and maybe it’s just by coincidence that it falls to the exact same date as the News about Yukimura.
“What is this, a test?” I whisper to myself, considering the situation.
Minutes of no solution pass, convincing me that maybe there’s no way out of what’s happening now. I’ve gone through every action I can possible carry out, and each one of them wouldn’t persuade Yagyuu - the messed-up one currently dressed up as me, of course- to pull off the act. Besides, if it had been the actual Yagyuu, he wouldn’t even bother to be playing tricks and games. Let alone allow trickery to continue had any been carried out.
“That’s it!” I triumphantly whisper to myself. Raising up to my feet and striding over to the remote back of my closet (where the costumes and wigs are stored), I pull out the no-prescription glasses and the itchy but relatively realistic brown wig. “Yagyuu wouldn’t be playing tricks.”
I’ve already fallen for the game once today, a point already deducted from the secret scoreboard between him and me. At the hospital, as he ordered me, I’d been tricked - can you believe it, by Yagyuu?- into staying by Yukimura’s side. Staying, which is exactly what Yagyuu would have done.
The wig fits itself snuggly on my head, but my clothes aren’t yet suited for the occasion. Swiftly browsing through the back again, there’s a nice and proper pair of pants and a neatly folded polo, Yagyuu style. A glance in the mirror tells me that the transformation is nearly complete, and some cover up on my lower chin and tidying of the wig nearly perfects my appearance. With a stretch, my back bends itself away from its usual slouchy position and straightens into one of a firm, proper gentleman. A cough to clear my throat, and I know that I’m ready for whatever snide remark of mine that Yagyuu’s going to throw at me.
Encroaching footsteps sound themselves behind my door, and as the shadow outside lingers patronizingly, the door creaks open and close. The adrenaline once again heats my veins, proving - or warning - to me that I’ve been waiting for a real practice of our Switch for a long time.
He may have caught me off guard, but the real Act One of our play starts now.
***
Real news isn’t always as one expects. In fact, sometimes, it may not even seem like news, but rather, so well disguised that most just disregard it completely as it passes.
But, a couple months back, when I first caught that smirk of Yagyuu’s as he watches Sanada chase Kirihara around the court, I knew real news was there. Then, another couple of weeks back, when I noticed the eager glance hidden in his eyes as I first showed him the wigs, I knew real news was there, too.
Each one of those times, I never bothered to point out to Yagyuu how well I’d spotted the solecism of his personality, those tiny flaws of his true self. I would keep it secretly to myself, beholding the same sort of enjoyment a child receives in knowing he knows something his superiors do not; I would tell myself to wait patiently, to keep those pieces of the puzzle until I finally find the big piece to make it all fit together.
I am guilty of allowing real news to pass me by - at least in the sense of saving up my opportunities. But, when Yagyuu, bleached hair donned upon his head and my familiar grimace painted onto his face, appears before me this time, I know that real news is here.
Real news, to which I will not hold back. To which I will not allow to pass by.
***
“I thought you’d stay with Yukimura at the hospital all night,” he sneers at me, taking a seat on the bed across from the chair where I sat. “did Sanada tell you to leave?”
“There was nothing of the sort, Niou-kun.” I reply, glaring a look of disapproval to the unmade bed and messy ground. “I had a feeling you meant to tell me something tonight.”
“Eh? Something to tell you?” He waddles back and forth playfully for a moment, enjoying the situation. His eyes are averted up to the ceiling in thought, but soon travels back to me, accompanied by a full smirk. “What sort of something?”
“That is for you to decide. I am not quite sure what is or could ever be on your mind.”
Niou smirks a little at what I say, and continues, “Yet, you know this is the sort of something that makes you leave Yukimura, and then sneak into my house?”
“I believe it’s the sort of something that requires the overcoming of obstacles, yes.”
“You mean overcoming of morals, right?”
“Complications occurred, Niou-kun.” I emphasize just a tinge of annoyance in my voice. “Now, please inform me that my trouble was not all for nothing.”
“A bit demanding than usual, aren’t you, Yagyuu?” He drawls out the name, accentuating his sentence carefully.
“Perhaps I should just leave.” I’m not fully entitled to play his games, and, if at anytime it becomes too dominant in his control, I can turn and abandon him at anytime; the two of us are not yet certain of who needs who.
“Aw, but you’re no fun,” He releases another smile, an apologetic one which erases my intentions of leaving. “fine, I do have something to say.”
I raise a dubious eyebrow at his pause, not sure if I can at all trust his next few words.
“Ever wonder why you’re such a mischievous, plotting, sinister, monster?” Niou says without a pause, the accusation rolling off his lips.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Niou-kun.”
“Oh, yes you do. Very much so. Don’t think for one moment that I fail to see those evil beady eyes attempting to plot against me, or for another moment that firmly closed mouth curl into a swift grin.” He continues to tease; his tone is not yet distinguishable from folly or sincerity.
“You mean to say I am an evil being?” I respond, keen on surviving past another one of his tricks.
“Now you’re catching the drift, Yagyuu.”
“I doubt that, Niou-kun.” I claim, at once faced with his questioning and defying expression. “At any rate, you have been much more deceitful than me. And, a much more mischievous, plotting, and sinister monster - as you call it- , as well.”
“Again, don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about,” He seems to be on a rant now, nearly, his eyes rolling and voice playfully bitter. “I’ve seen you practice the Switch without me. I’ve seen you sneak in snide hints of your superiority over me. I’ve heard your flawless monologue of me.”
A flash of surprise strikes me and I hide it quickly. Not expecting for Niou to be referring to the Switch, I stutter slightly, almost unnoticeably (had it been anyone but Niou), and lack in my response.
“What are you trying to prove, Niou?”
“That you’re not as great at being me as you think.” He replies, as bluntly and instinctively as me.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite get it,” The same pretext as before is used as my response; and, without a doubt, Niou catches my excuse as quickly as I manage to dish out the words.
“Pretend you’re me, and kiss me.” He firmly, swiftly, orders.
Glaring at him in disbelief, the stare between his eyes and mine seem to not end for minutes. His nearly unexpected topic leading to an even more randomly conceived request seem to freeze me in my seat, stopping my correct train of mental thought.
“Excuse me, Niou-kun?” I slowly say, controlling my feelings to flatten the tone as much as possible.
“What, you didn’t hear me the first time?” He rolls his eyes once more, apparently irked by my feigned, oblivious answer. “I told you to kiss me, Yagyuu. Pretend you’re me, and kiss me. It’s not that hard, really.”
“I don’t see how kissing you would prove anything.” My voice is still slightly restricted by his suggestion. This isn’t some walk we’d be practicing, or some eating of pizza; we’d be crossing personal boundaries: his and mine.
“That’s where you’re a bit lacking in thought; if you can’t kiss me the way I’d kiss someone else, than you can’t pull off the Switch. Simple, right?”
Simple? By what insane definition of his is ‘simple?’ Niou cannot possibly conclude that kissing someone, especially a guy like him, is a simple task. Maybe for him, someone that indulges in debauchery all night, but for me, a kiss is not so easy.
I don’t reply. I just stare at the dirty carpet of his floor, afraid that if my eyes again met his, something incredibly stupid would happen by itself.
“It’s easy, Yagyuu.” He stands up from the bed with a creak; his feet ambling nonchalantly towards me. “Need me to prove to you just how easy it is?”
He can’t be serious - is what I repeat to myself over and over again as Niou stands there before me. I do not care to confront him, or perhaps I am too afraid to do so, but had I to look up, I know I can trace the exact smirk stretching across his face, the piercing gaze of his eyes invading straight into mine.
I release a slight breath (for anything bigger and more calming would no doubt incite the notice of Niou), slowly raise my head to face him, and finally reply, “Stop this foolish-”
No such luck. For me, at least.
The mistake of deciding to respond so late to his statement seemed to make him even more eager to defy me, and before I manage to even finish my sentence, my order, he grasps me firmly in his arms, placing his lips directly on top of mine.
Although a bit reluctant at first, his tongue soon trails slowly, enjoyingly, over my closed lips; I half expected him to force them open (this is Niou, after all), but, luckily, he does no such thing. The remainder of our moment consists of the same, soft feeling of his kisses. I do not dare to respond with my own.
And, in time that seems all too short compared to the previous hours of today, he pulls away.
The aftermath of the moment is immediate, simple. Two wigs lay on the ground, one silver, one brown. A pair of glasses equally rests beside them. I look across from me, at the person who previously held me in his embrace.
A trickster is not what I see - Niou is not what I see. No enormous, disdainful grimace glued onto his face. All that’s there is the familiar brown-headed gentleman of earlier today, glaring glasses worn over his eyes, lips closed tightly, discontent and anger coloring his expression.
I am right - Yagyuu is a mischievous, plotting, sinister monster.
***
Real news is annoying sometimes, frustrating even. It’s sort of like that old saying about how you can’t live with girls, but you can’t live without them, either. In the same way, real news functions equally; it keeps the world continuing, restoring tension and excitement; it stops the world, like a heart attack to all sense.
This time, when I find myself facing Yagyuu, and him facing me, I’m not sure what to do. Feeling the still warm heat from his own lips on mine, I’m not sure what to do. And, given the chance now to either continue our world, or stop it, I’m not sure what to do.
***
“As I was saying, stop this foolishness immediately, Niou-kun.”
Examining Yagyuu in disbelief, eyes darting between him and the items on the floor, I can’t really tell whether the last hour has been a dream or not. The climb through the window, the double me that walked out of the shower, the ‘kiss’ between the two of us, and most importantly, the roles we’re in now- is it all real?
Giving him another dubious glance of surprise, I open my previously, firmly, closed mouth and reply with a half-guessed confidence, “Now, was that really so hard?”
A small smile escapes him, swift and fleeting. A smile different than the last few ones I’d been able to catch - this one is almost like a reward, accomplished and proud. But, he doesn’t waste a single second to put back his mask of anger at my previous act.
“Whether that was difficult or easy is not the question,” He answers. Two dark eyes glare back at me through his glasses, another facet of his current act. “but rather on whether you should rethink what you just did: a violation of my personal space, among other things.”
“You let me do it, you know? You didn’t try to stop me, or anything.”
“Really, Niou-kun?” Impatience increases in his tone. “I’m not the one to blame. You could have stopped yourself, if you really saw fit.”
“You could’ve stopped me, too. If you really saw fit.”
“Wrong.” His words are coarse, harsh. “I had no options to stop your actions.”
Yagyuu turns away from me, and heads towards the still open window, inspecting the path down. He seems to have full intention of leaving now, before anything else out-of-control happens to him.
“But, you’ve got to admit, Yagyuu,” I chirp out, before he’s about to lower himself out through the window. “I’ve got your kiss down perfectly, don’t I?”
He pauses, lingers there for a moment, considering his choices.
“Which reminds me,” He turns around towards me, voice dangerously playful. “You never gave me the chance to fulfill your request.”
In the course of a flash, Yagyuu is swept towards me, the distance between us even less than moments before. He bends his face down, and before I can enjoy that moment of temptation between us, the familiar heat of lips, same as before, push against my own. Different than before - more demanding, more playful, more daring.
And, just like that, our world continues on.
Author:
yumehikouki
Pairing: Niou Masaharu/Yagyuu Hiroshi
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Theme: #2- news; letter/ 音沙汰
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and all its fun belongs to Konomi Takeshi!~
A/N : Incredibly long, at least in my POV. Sorry for the rushed ending. I hit about a lot of words and realized I still didn't have a kiss, and trying to get it in time does no favors for a story. D:
-----
Real news arrives hastily - rattling the air as if words really were so breathlessly surreal. Real news alters reality - twisting the mood as if it was all a game to be endorsed. Real news never gives a fair warning - lurking in time as if its only reason for existence was to astound others
But, most of all, real news turns the dependent world, keeping it spinning on its axis..
***
“Yukimura’s in the hospital.” Sanada’s own announcement tempts even his strict demeanor, leaving his voice disgruntled and choppy.
Then, comes the cacophony of worries - Jackal’s, Marui’s, Yanagi’s, Yagyuu’s, Akaya’s, and hey, even mine- disrupting the whistling silence that followed.
“Is Captain alright?”
“How’d he get in the hospital?”
“Is there anything we can do for him?”
“He’s not sick, is he?”
Sanada remains in the same position. He doesn’t answer; he just keeps his head low, refusing to look at any of us. His silence can only lead to two ends: either he doesn’t know any more details, or he doesn’t have the guts to say it.
It must’ve been a strange sight to the rest of the tennis club - all the regulars in that isolated circle; the Vice-Captain stunned to silence, and the others so anxiously worried about those four words previously spoken. But I know the moment wouldn’t last long; Akaya starts blasting off more questions, especially now that Sanada failed to answer any of the previous ones.
“What happened to Yukimura?” The hotheaded 2nd-year demands, probably shouting so loud that he doesn’t consider what’d happen if everyone overhears. “Sanada, tell me now!”
Nope, still no response.
“If Captain’s sick or something, then I’m not gonna’ be able to play him! How am I supposed to be number one at Rikkaidai if he’s not here for me to beat?!”
Nope, still no cease-fire to his idiotically rash statements.
“You have to know more than just where he is! So, tell us Sanada! Or I’m going to-”
“Akaya.” Yanagi intervenes, placing a hand on his heaving shoulder. “Give Genichirou some time to consider.”
The curly-haired brat doesn’t seem to listen at first, and is about to open his mouth again - until he finally catches the glare in Sanada’s eyes.
“Why don’t we pay a visit to Yukimura?” Yagyuu suggests, speaking for the first time since the News arrived. He surveys the rest of his teammates, first glancing at me for approval.
I nod back. It’s a better and calmer plan than Akaya’s, and not to mention much more helpful than what Sanada has offered thus far.
But, still no reply from our Vice-Captain.
Makes me wonder what planet the News must’ve transported his mind to.
“Let’s go visit Yukimura, Sanada.” I then chirp out, seconding Yagyuu’s obvious idea. Jackal, Marui, and Yanagi all reply with swift approval. Kirihara doesn’t make another move, pacified for now.
Nothing happens in the next five minutes. No one speaks, no one moves.
And, after what in reality can be several eternities, Sanada seems to regain his senses.
“Let’s go.”
It’s a command that every regular follows, even Kirihara. Jackal and Marui are the first to sprint after Sanada’s fast-paced steps, ones that seemed to want to loose us behind in its agility. Yanagi, his composure a perfect mask, remains closely behind Kirihara, making sure he doesn’t have another sudden outburst. Yagyuu then moves as well, his face and posture unaltered in every sense.
I don’t follow immediately, overlooking the changes the News has brought. It is an abnormal sight: the regulars trailing after Sanada like baby ducks, the remaining tennis club cluttering in groups, whispering to each other their suspicions.
“Niou-kun.” The rich, matter-of-fact tone can belong only to Yagyuu. That gentleman, does he ever stop looking after others and noticing small details like me even in the face of such a large event? “I assume you are coming.”
There’s a reminiscent look in his eyes, the one that took me days to perfect down. For a short moment, I try to imagine what exactly his thoughts are at the moment, but I guess the two of us haven’t yet covered how to think like the other.
“Puri.” I sharply reply, ambling towards Yagyuu with my hands in my pockets.
“Hey, Yagyuu, you think Sanada’s got a thing for Yukimura?” Attempting to start a conversation with my doubles partner is occasionally one of the most challenging tasks of each day; Wonder how we ever can perfectly and flawlessly pull off our plan.
He doesn’t respond at first, probably considering the risk of replying to my question.
“Now is not the time to joke, Niou-kun.”
I’m starting to get the faintest notion that he’s able to understand me more than I can him. Which, if anything, is completely not fair. We haven’t started practicing that deep into attitudes, have we?
“Who says I was joking? Stop avoiding my question and tell me if you think Sanada’s probably suffered his greatest childhood tragedy.” Flashing my best, honest grin, I nudge Yagyuu jokingly, fully aware that the chances of him answering are ridiculously low.
Again, silence. Did he catch Sanada’s mute disease? Or, maybe he just doesn’t know how to avoid any more delves into any kind of personal opinion. .
“Sanada is most likely worried to death for Yukimura.” He phrases his words carefully, slowly too. “And, Niou-kun, he does not have a ‘thing’ for him. It is simply care.”
“Eh? Why do you have to make everything sound so boring?” We can, maybe, have a conversation of actual worth, but, just like every other time, he chooses to avoid all the right choices. Typical Yagyuu behavior, I make a mental note for later use.
He doesn’t reply or make another sound; a slight shrug of his shoulders silently tell me that talk time was over. I suppose he thinks I won’t be as suspicious of him if he manages to be saved just in time by the approaching hospital in the distance.
It’s a bland hospital, sort of like Yagyuu’s personality. People are coming in and out, but it doesn’t seem like anyone really ever stays, kind of like Yagyuu’s thoughts. The doctors sticking out like a sore thumb from the patients and visitors, just like how Yagyuu doesn’t quite fit anywhere at school.
The whole time we promptly enter the revolving doors, I keep my eyes glued on him, noticing one similarity between him and this building after another. And, even as he and I stand in the elevator, I still can’t focus on anything else but Yagyuu. It’s kind of a strange feeling, knowing I’m staring at some guy that isn’t worth anything real. But as we head up the elevator, cheesy music playing in the background, I know my attention bothers him more than it ever can me.
“What, Niou-kun?” He swiftly states, not even turning his head to face me.
“Oh, nothing.” I crack a slight grin, feeling fully accomplished I’d got him to speak the first words. “Just, you’re a lot like this hospital, ya’know?”
“Me, a lot like this hospital?” I’ve been him for enough times to know that my statement has actually caught his attention. “How so?”
“The hospital saves lives, just like a gentleman, just like you, right?” The tone of my voice is playful, testing as to how much I can say before Yagyuu finally shuts himself off again. To my luck, he nods a slight bit in my direction, permission granted to continue. “Yet, nobody really cares. Come on, does anybody actually want to be at a hospital?”
“You do make a good point,” He turns his head, so that his glaring specs are directed right towards me, a small grin creeping into his lips as he begins to make the exact same connections I do. “But, are you meaning to say I’m just as boring, Niou-kun?”
“Did I say you were boring?”
Yagyuu then lets out a low chuckle, as if he has just accomplished some secret triumph, and swings his head back to its original position. “No, you did not.”
“Do not second guess me like that, Yagyuu.” The tone is prim, precise; my intention for it to sound every bit alike to his own.
Another discrete grin paints itself slowly onto his face; a tiny glint in his eye signals to me that he’s willing to play along. “Just striving for the best, Niou-kun. After all, I’m only as you as I can be.”
The elevator then dings, bringing an end to our brief but curious conversation. It’s as the door opens that both he and I realize that the situation now isn’t about us, isn’t about how well we manage to be dopplegangers, but Yukimura, the team.
“Now is not the time to joke, Hiroshi.” I manage to crack out before Yagyuu opens his mouth to dictate the same to me, and exit the elevator.
***
Real news turns the dependent world, keeping it spinning on its axis - regardless of how much it seems to be knocking it down. The same applies for whatever unexpectancy that’s occurring now. This sickness. This Yukimura, weak enough to barely be able to complete his dwindling sentences. This moment, a gaping hole in the continuous, unremming flow of time.
***
Yagyuu and I enter the room late, to nobody’s obvious surprise. The others are circled around Yukimura’s bed in the tightest circle I’ve ever seen - even more than the ones we form before the most important tennis matches. Confusion, and fear, and grief, and uncertainty snuffs the air, worsening the eerily silence that once again manifests between all of us. All that passes through the air is the squeak of Yagyuu and my shoes trudging to join the circle and the ominously reassuring beeps of the pulse monitor.
No one speaks, no one moves, no one even seems to be breathing. The same scene from the tennis court seems to follow us into the hospital room.
A swift regard at everyone’s faces, and I know nobody wants to be here - even Yukimura himself. The great captain’s tucked into his confinements of hospital sheets, fluttering eyes barely open. His right hand man, Sanada, seems to be the one most frozen, stuck there in place, a look of conflict - should he look after Yukimura for care, or look away for alarm - canvasses his whole expression. Yanagi remains amazingly calm; however, if there’s ever the impossible miracle for him to panic even slightly, there’s no likelier time than now. Marui has a pained look on his face, the same one he always gets when Kirihara steals his best gum, or candy - except much, much worse. Jackal stands stiffly beside Marui, disbelief and defeat never so admittingly clear in his eyes. The only second year, Kirihara - the same idiot who spoke out earlier -, is fazed, dazed; he doesn’t seem to accept that this is not a dream, that his captain ever had or would have a scene like now.
I avoid my glance at Yagyuu, considering first for a moment what his expression might be; if he lets himself have a couple of guesses at me secretly, I deserve the exact same privilege.
A swift survey, again, in Yukimura’s direction decides my final answer. Yagyuu must be worried, but he doesn’t choose to do anything as of yet because he sees it to be disruptive to Yukimura’s current state. Soon, once the atmosphere loosens (if it ever will), the gentleman will be quick to rush to the captain’s side, always with that tending desire to never do wrong, to assist but not to bother.
Taking a deep breath, I avert my attention at Yagyuu himself, attempting to figure out if my prediction fits the picture. His face is that same shade of prim, feelings repressed for now. There’s a striking similarity between his expression and that of Yanagi’s, but that’s old news; both are always at peace, but while Yanagi’s façade is not the kind to keep secrets, Yagyuu’s is quite the opposite. It’s the kind of opposite that bystanders often don’t realize, the kind that only after hours and days of observing his publicly mundane expression can his own doubles partner even begin to guess.
And, again, I find myself staring at Yagyuu’s expression - that horribly bland statue of a student - and unable to look away. Even now, when Yukimura’s here in this hosptial, close to the verge of death, at worst. Even now, when not even the noisiest troublemaker dares to make a sound, or the strictest leader to breath a small command. I’m not sure, not even remotely, of why a goody-two shoes like Yagyuu Hiroshi ever manages to become my doubles partner, let alone a close friend.
Yet, as I continue to gaze at him without end, he turns his head towards me. His eyes then meet mine, our stares practically overlapping each other. Then, briskly, fleetingly, he grins a smile even worthy of my approval, and returns his attention to Yukimura.
That prick, he knows exactly what I’m thinking, doesn‘t he? I may not be able to guess his every move, like he apparently can mine, but I do notice when Yagyuu is hiding something from me - especially when that something is rightfully about me. Whatever the case, I make a mental note to myself maybe to treat Yagyuu to an extra prank or two once we get back to school; him annoying me is a totally warped up cycle, and I can’t deny that I want to ignore it happens.
And, ignore I do. The situation now is about our Captain, not my paranoia with Yagyuu.
Thinking of which, Yukimura still hasn’t whispered a single word. Nor has anyone else or anything, for that matter. The clock above his bed reads a couple of minutes past six-thirty in the evening, a precise measurement of just how long all of us has been standing here, of how numbing the News is. Minutes - dozens and dozens of minutes, maybe - pass away, my eyes all during that time focused only on Yukimura.
The flat tone of silence doesn’t break; it wavers in the air, alerting and dulling our senses simultaneously. The News seems to have halted the world.
Never one for boring (or in this case, immobile) moments - regardless of whether a serious moment like now really needs excitement or not -, I shift around slightly, scuffling my sneakers in semicircles and raising a hand to ruffle my hair. The small, but apparently sudden, movement seems to snap some of the others out of their trance; whether by chance, or a ‘follow-the-leader’ sense, I have no idea.
Yanagi is the first to speak.
“Shall we leave you in peace for now, Seiichi?” Only Yanagi’s confidence in his calculations would dare to bother Yukimura now.
The currently oh-so-fragile teen remains in the same position, eyes barely open, mouth lightly closed. I half expect Yanagi to finally make a mistake for once, until the faintest twitch of Yukimura’s lips prove me otherwise.
“I am sorry,” His voice is a quiver, slow and barely audible. “sorry, for causing everyone so much trouble.”
The unexpected, weakened down rendition of our Captain’s voice astounds everyone for a moment, letting pass another minute or two. What’s more, even in a situation like this, when Yukimura clearly isn’t the bother here, when the rest of the team is obviously the truly helpless ones, he still manages to push all the important faults onto himself.
Yukimura isn’t the one at fault here - Kirihara, or me, maybe, but never him. Have this been any other mess-up - for example, one of hilariously cruel proportions -, Sanada’s towering voice would be looming over the rest of the team, performing another one of his infamous, hour-long lectures.
I can hear Sanada’s voice resounding in my ears, that usual pushover of any misled mistake Yukimura confesses himself to, the rather frequent “it’s not your fault, Yukimura.” Yet, as if proof for the rarity of the situation, he is mute, hands and jaw tightly clenched.
“How can you say it’s your fault?” An unexpected voice trembles as it slowly increases in volume. “Even now, how?”
Yukimura is about to open his mouth to speak, but the voice beats him to it.
“You know that we’re the ones always bothering you, always getting in your way. I know it, and you can’t deny it; I know it from the way you glare straight at me every time I mess something up!”
This time, Yukimura doesn’t try to reply, or defend himself. He listens intently, as if now, he has all the time in the world to waste.
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Captain. You should realize it’s never your fault, and always ours. We can’t do anything to help you on the court, and neither can we help you now.”
By the end of his words, Sanada shifts his head up, to glance between the two, vexation clouding his eyes.
“So, don’t say you’re sorry.” The voice calms, a small remainder of heavy breathing still evident from the sudden mass of ranting speech. Then, noticing the crowd of confused eyes (with the exception of Yukimura’s, of course), the speaker averts his eyes down, and remains that way. It seems the outburst surprises him just as much as it has the rest of us.
Although sometimes, I got to hand it to the kid. Kirihara really has guts that even I admire. A rash, sort of idiotic, unthoughtful comment, released by chance, is exactly the sort of wake-up call we need to overcome the News.
“Maybe now is not the best time, Seiichi.” As Kirihara is now completely silent, probably just realizing what he’d said, Yanagi takes the honor of translating what the 2nd year did mean - if, he actually hae the decency to say it with manners. “The team can come back tomorrow, or, anytime you ask for us, if you’d like.”
“Rest is probably the best option as of now, Yukimura.” Yagyuu reaffirms Yanagi’s point, then, with a swift transition of tone, turns to face Sanada. “And, Sanada-kun,”
Sanada doesn’t bother to look back at Yagyuu, but instead, seems to be focusing on how wonderfully eye-catching the combination of the floor tiles and his shoes is.
“Niou-kun and I will be leaving now,”
It’s interesting to me how he includes my name, especially without my consent. I immediately pout my face with annoyance, but can’t help but admit that I was planning on leaving Yukimura to peace. Can it be, that Yagyuu’s been constantly guessing at me all this time with such an ample amount of confidence that he dares to test me even in front of the others?
“However, Sanada, I suggest you stay with Yukimura.” He continues, still facing Sanada regardless of whether our vice-captain is replying back or not. “While I don’t agree that a large group of people crowding around Yukimura’s bed is a great idea, I do think he needs someone to watch over him for now. At least, until his family arrives.”
He then exchanges a couple of sentences with Yanagi, who nods in response, and says his “goodbye”s and “take care”s. Probably by intention, Yagyuu doesn’t repeat any sort of farewell to me and exits the room.
As if to defy his confidence, his sure guess that I’d follow right behind him, I refuse to budge immediately. In the current situation, not following Yagyuu’s command -well, not going along with it is more of the right words - wouldn’t have incited anyone’s attention; it’s all on Yukimura, anyways.
“Shouldn’t you be going, Niou?”
Darn, Yagyuu must’ve said some last words to Yanagi, to make sure I’d eventually have to do just what he said.
“No, not really.” I respond, taking care in my words to not disrupt Yukimura too much. Even if the guy isn’t talking and seems to be barely breathing, doesn’t mean I should disrespect him; who knows when Sanada will get his senses back and punish the sanity out of me?
Yanagi replies with a firm, yet calm look at me, and says to our rigid statue, “Then, Genichirou, I’ll be excusing myself, if you don’t mind. It seems best that Seiichi does not have any more disruptions.” Without waiting for Sanada’s response (because, you know, that might take several days), he promptly leaves as well, in much the same manner as Yagyuu.
“Hey, Sanada?” Marui’s the next to speak, probably asking for the same permission, and not expecting an answer back. “Jackal and I are going to go now, you want us to bring you back some food or something? You know, in case you’re staying here overnight.”
If Sanada isn’t in some bottomless pit of a trance right now, he probably would have made a comment on Marui’s rudeness in the situation, and then proceed to reject the offer of food. But, after about two minutes of waiting for a reply, the pair with plans to leave figures that if Sanada didn’t speak now, later wouldn’t be any more likely.
“Then, um, we’ll just be going, Sanada.” Jackal awkwardly says, continuing from Marui’s last words. “Take care, especially of Yukimura.” The doubles pair then walk out simultaneously, opening and closing the door lightly.
Only Yukimura, Sanada, and I remain.
For a while, I wonder as to what I should do. Start a conversation with Sanada? With Yukimura? Or, just finally give in to Yagyuu and leave? There’s not much consensus that my mind decides to, and I find myself, for the third time of the day, reliving that state of stopped time. I sit myself down on a seat across from Yukimura’s bed, and repose in my casual, slouchy position; all the while not noticing just how fast - or, how slow - time is passing.
“Niou-kun,” It’s a small whisper, and, at first, I perceive it as a mere delusional sound of my mind, somehow once again plagued with Yagyuu. But, the meek voice repeats itself, and I slowly begin to realize that Yukimura finally has something to say to me.
“You should go, it’s getting late.”
“Nah, it’s alright, Yukimura. I can help watch over you with Sanada. Not like my parents will be too worried, I come home late all the time.” As surprised as I am that Yukimura decides to speak to me one on one, especially acting like Sanada isn’t even in the room, I’m more astonished that Sanada himself isn’t the one to tell me those words.
“Genichirou can take care of me by himself; I’m not that much of a hassle.”
My lips curve slightly at Yukimura’s joke, but, immediately fall flat once again as a dangerous round of coughs immediately follow.
“More importantly,” He continues, voice perhaps even weaker now. “Not leaving, doesn‘t that make you more like Yagyuu?”
“More like him?” The question from Yukimura is typical, but still manages to shock me a bit. Suffering in a state like now, and still able to pay such close attention and understand, Yukimura really is Yukimura. “He left, but I didn’t. That makes us completely different.”
A knowing, patriarchic grin, albeit a small one, shows from his face, and, before coughing a bit more, he replies, “You’re right, Niou-kun. I’m probably wrong.” He then proceeds to carefully and slowly pull his covers up and around him, a readable sign that our conversation ends there.
I’m not sure what to say, but I can’t tell if it’s because Yagyuu somehow manages to bother me without even being physically present, or if it’s due to Yukimura’s obvious, towering dominance even when he’s currently so picturesquely weak. He doesn’t make any sense, that Yukimura, and yet, the more intelligent part of me completely agrees that I’m the one that is wrong, not him. He’s the kind of guy that no matter under what circumstance, will always bring out the doubting voice in the back of your head, amplifying its low hum to a hollering scream.
And, as rushingly as it came, the voice in the back of my head shouts out, revealing the simple enigma that is my answer. Without much but a brisk “get better” at Yukimura and a slight wave, I zip out the door, my fast-paced footsteps racing down the hallway.
That Yagyuu, he’s in for a hell of a time when I find him.
***
It’s not outside the front doors of the hospital, nor the school courts, nor the library, but my house where I find Yagyuu. I doubt he intended for me to find him at first; the adrenaline rushing through my veins, powered by my half-anger, half-confusion, slowly beginning to weaken after one empty place and another. I had given up completely, almost. Before I arrive at my doorstep, and, my window is glowing with light, half-opened.
Sore from the over-realistic drama of today, disappointment stiffening my limbs, it seems totally feasible at first to believe all I see as a lie. For once, not to tire myself out with endless observations, my eyes open every waking second, my mind scrambling and clawing at any bit of information about Yagyuu, trying to figure out whatever he just may be.
Yet, as if by habit, or by some force I can’t discern, I can’t ignore the obvious shadow painted against my window from the inside. I can’t ignore the unlocked gate of my house, almost to the careless angle I would always leave it. Releasing a fog of warm steam, I take a deep breath, and place my hand on the first jutted out block. Times and times of sneaking home late (for reasons strictly classified) has easily engrained the steps up my wall, pipes and all. Within moments, the window is leveled to me, my eyes first glancing into the dim, familiar room for a sign of anything unfamiliar. I climb through with a stumble here and there, and take a swift but careful survey around.
No signs of movement are visible; but signs that someone has been here, or is still here, clatter the room. The Shounen Jump opened half way and left in disregard on my bed, an unfinished bag of chips, along with pieces that somehow fell out, littered across my desk, and the door to my shower shining a crack of light, the sound of fast, streaming water barely audible.
Someone’s made themselves feel at home.
What‘s surprising isn‘t the fact that Yagyuu‘s here, but why he did it, or why he made it so obvious - does he intend to do all this for the mere satisfaction of proving me wrong? It’s a question I know won’t reveal its answers easily; and with another frustrated sigh, I land face up on my bed, the impact somewhat painful but nevertheless refreshing.
He’s been acting strange lately, or maybe he always has been, and it’s me that’s finally starting to notice. For one thing, a gentleman like Yagyuu doesn’t break into someone’s house without calling first (in which, it wouldn’t be a break in) nor command others nor mess around with someone like me. Yagyuu shouldn’t have left Yukimura at the hospital by himself, or rather, wouldn’t have left just Sanada to watch him. The Yagyuu I used to know, the one I’d made fun of through all of our first years together, the one I’d always pray to not get partnered with - for tennis or a school project- because I had thought he’d be absolutely boring, is not the Yagyuu that’s in the shower right now.
There’s an intention to what he’s doing. There always is. Among the million of mysteries I have yet to solve about Yagyuu, one I’ve managed to discover is that the gentleman never acts without a reason; whether it be of obvious incentives, or a more opaque dictation of his morals, Yagyuu acts with reason, lives with reason. And, as the shower starts to weaken in volume, the water turned off, I’m not sure how to begin our conversation, or even begin our exchange of glances when he comes out.
Or, maybe, today has all just been a dream?
The chances of Yukimura ailed by some randomly rare sickness is one in a million; adding the chances of Yagyuu doing something like this being one in a billion, I have every reason to believe today is just a fleeting nightmare.
But, not quite so.
“Masaharu?” My mom calls my name from downstairs - which, is strange and all, because she hasn’t seen me yet; I snuck in through the window. “The food’s done, come downstairs.”
I’m about to reply with my usual grunt of agreement, loud enough just so she can barely hear me, before the bathroom door opens, letting out a sound strangely and eerily similar to my own yet to be said response.
Yagyuu. It’s Yagyuu I’m supposed to be seeing. But, the loose blue pajamas, and the t-shirt my sister had given me as a late present last year, and the strands of silvery hair, still droopy from the water, and the mole on that face, and the emerald-blue eyes, and the smirk, stretching itself from one side of his face to the other all tell me I‘m staring at my reflection. It gives me an expression of surprise, a slight raise of its eyebrow, and ambles over to the chair across my bed. With a plop, it lands in my chair, back slouched and limbs loose.
“Didn’t know you were one for breaking into houses,” It says, a familiarly playful tone coloring its voice.
“It’s my house, Yagyuu.” I drawl out, not sure what to say to it - to myself.
“Didn’t know you were one to lie, too, Yagyuu.” The way it recites that name sends shivers down my spine, each syllable and sound exact to my own once again.
“Take that ridiculous wig of yours off,” It continues, grabbing the bag of chips from my table, and leisurely throwing a piece into its mouth with a crunch. “I’m gonna’ go grab my dinner, I’m starving!”
And with that, it stands up from the chair, walks out of the room, and disappears into the light of the hallway, almost as senselessly as it had come.
***
Trying to make sense of that strange confrontation with myself, the list of everything wrong with this situation expands and lengthens. Yagyuu should not have ordered me to leave with him in that hospital. Yagyuu should not have shown up at my house, especially, as myself. And, Yagyuu should not be playing these games with me.
Or, maybe that’s the point.
He’s not doing any of this, I am. At least the one that’s in the kitchen now, wolfing down my food. From the moment I snuck in through the window - or, maybe, since that order at the hospital -, Yagyuu isn’t the one being Yagyuu.
We’ve talked this over before, mapped over each step in our heads and double-checked with one another. The switch is going to be a perfect trick; a perfect act, because the two of us will be an exact copy of the other. It’s a plan that keeps Yagyuu and me chattering into the night, over the phone, during a sleepover, or even through moments when I wonder why he ever agreed in the first place. He would learn all there is about me - my sleeping and eating habits, my accent and tone, my decisions, my mind, everything that makes me me - and I would him.
The switch is some sort of a magnificent, elaborate trick to me, the grandest of the grand. Nothing more than a useful waste of my time and another weapon for doubles.
But to Yagyuu, what does the switch mean?
He must see it more than just silly horseplay, more than what I deem it. Yagyuu’s a gentleman, not a trickster, and there’s not a chance he’s tagging along with me just for the heck of it. Every ‘lesson’ we’ve had together, whether to practice our gaits or our dialogue, he never once tells me why he’s doing all this. All Yagyuu ever does is nod his head at my critical suggestions, fix his faults, and then enact a perfect me; either he’s forgotten to tell me his reasons, or I’ve crucially missed a quirk of Yagyuu’s.
Out of the two likely options of finding out what he’s been hiding from me these past few months, I can’t help but feel that no matter which one I choose, Yagyuu’ll be expecting it. He’s obviously planned this night for awhile, and maybe it’s just by coincidence that it falls to the exact same date as the News about Yukimura.
“What is this, a test?” I whisper to myself, considering the situation.
Minutes of no solution pass, convincing me that maybe there’s no way out of what’s happening now. I’ve gone through every action I can possible carry out, and each one of them wouldn’t persuade Yagyuu - the messed-up one currently dressed up as me, of course- to pull off the act. Besides, if it had been the actual Yagyuu, he wouldn’t even bother to be playing tricks and games. Let alone allow trickery to continue had any been carried out.
“That’s it!” I triumphantly whisper to myself. Raising up to my feet and striding over to the remote back of my closet (where the costumes and wigs are stored), I pull out the no-prescription glasses and the itchy but relatively realistic brown wig. “Yagyuu wouldn’t be playing tricks.”
I’ve already fallen for the game once today, a point already deducted from the secret scoreboard between him and me. At the hospital, as he ordered me, I’d been tricked - can you believe it, by Yagyuu?- into staying by Yukimura’s side. Staying, which is exactly what Yagyuu would have done.
The wig fits itself snuggly on my head, but my clothes aren’t yet suited for the occasion. Swiftly browsing through the back again, there’s a nice and proper pair of pants and a neatly folded polo, Yagyuu style. A glance in the mirror tells me that the transformation is nearly complete, and some cover up on my lower chin and tidying of the wig nearly perfects my appearance. With a stretch, my back bends itself away from its usual slouchy position and straightens into one of a firm, proper gentleman. A cough to clear my throat, and I know that I’m ready for whatever snide remark of mine that Yagyuu’s going to throw at me.
Encroaching footsteps sound themselves behind my door, and as the shadow outside lingers patronizingly, the door creaks open and close. The adrenaline once again heats my veins, proving - or warning - to me that I’ve been waiting for a real practice of our Switch for a long time.
He may have caught me off guard, but the real Act One of our play starts now.
***
Real news isn’t always as one expects. In fact, sometimes, it may not even seem like news, but rather, so well disguised that most just disregard it completely as it passes.
But, a couple months back, when I first caught that smirk of Yagyuu’s as he watches Sanada chase Kirihara around the court, I knew real news was there. Then, another couple of weeks back, when I noticed the eager glance hidden in his eyes as I first showed him the wigs, I knew real news was there, too.
Each one of those times, I never bothered to point out to Yagyuu how well I’d spotted the solecism of his personality, those tiny flaws of his true self. I would keep it secretly to myself, beholding the same sort of enjoyment a child receives in knowing he knows something his superiors do not; I would tell myself to wait patiently, to keep those pieces of the puzzle until I finally find the big piece to make it all fit together.
I am guilty of allowing real news to pass me by - at least in the sense of saving up my opportunities. But, when Yagyuu, bleached hair donned upon his head and my familiar grimace painted onto his face, appears before me this time, I know that real news is here.
Real news, to which I will not hold back. To which I will not allow to pass by.
***
“I thought you’d stay with Yukimura at the hospital all night,” he sneers at me, taking a seat on the bed across from the chair where I sat. “did Sanada tell you to leave?”
“There was nothing of the sort, Niou-kun.” I reply, glaring a look of disapproval to the unmade bed and messy ground. “I had a feeling you meant to tell me something tonight.”
“Eh? Something to tell you?” He waddles back and forth playfully for a moment, enjoying the situation. His eyes are averted up to the ceiling in thought, but soon travels back to me, accompanied by a full smirk. “What sort of something?”
“That is for you to decide. I am not quite sure what is or could ever be on your mind.”
Niou smirks a little at what I say, and continues, “Yet, you know this is the sort of something that makes you leave Yukimura, and then sneak into my house?”
“I believe it’s the sort of something that requires the overcoming of obstacles, yes.”
“You mean overcoming of morals, right?”
“Complications occurred, Niou-kun.” I emphasize just a tinge of annoyance in my voice. “Now, please inform me that my trouble was not all for nothing.”
“A bit demanding than usual, aren’t you, Yagyuu?” He drawls out the name, accentuating his sentence carefully.
“Perhaps I should just leave.” I’m not fully entitled to play his games, and, if at anytime it becomes too dominant in his control, I can turn and abandon him at anytime; the two of us are not yet certain of who needs who.
“Aw, but you’re no fun,” He releases another smile, an apologetic one which erases my intentions of leaving. “fine, I do have something to say.”
I raise a dubious eyebrow at his pause, not sure if I can at all trust his next few words.
“Ever wonder why you’re such a mischievous, plotting, sinister, monster?” Niou says without a pause, the accusation rolling off his lips.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Niou-kun.”
“Oh, yes you do. Very much so. Don’t think for one moment that I fail to see those evil beady eyes attempting to plot against me, or for another moment that firmly closed mouth curl into a swift grin.” He continues to tease; his tone is not yet distinguishable from folly or sincerity.
“You mean to say I am an evil being?” I respond, keen on surviving past another one of his tricks.
“Now you’re catching the drift, Yagyuu.”
“I doubt that, Niou-kun.” I claim, at once faced with his questioning and defying expression. “At any rate, you have been much more deceitful than me. And, a much more mischievous, plotting, and sinister monster - as you call it- , as well.”
“Again, don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about,” He seems to be on a rant now, nearly, his eyes rolling and voice playfully bitter. “I’ve seen you practice the Switch without me. I’ve seen you sneak in snide hints of your superiority over me. I’ve heard your flawless monologue of me.”
A flash of surprise strikes me and I hide it quickly. Not expecting for Niou to be referring to the Switch, I stutter slightly, almost unnoticeably (had it been anyone but Niou), and lack in my response.
“What are you trying to prove, Niou?”
“That you’re not as great at being me as you think.” He replies, as bluntly and instinctively as me.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite get it,” The same pretext as before is used as my response; and, without a doubt, Niou catches my excuse as quickly as I manage to dish out the words.
“Pretend you’re me, and kiss me.” He firmly, swiftly, orders.
Glaring at him in disbelief, the stare between his eyes and mine seem to not end for minutes. His nearly unexpected topic leading to an even more randomly conceived request seem to freeze me in my seat, stopping my correct train of mental thought.
“Excuse me, Niou-kun?” I slowly say, controlling my feelings to flatten the tone as much as possible.
“What, you didn’t hear me the first time?” He rolls his eyes once more, apparently irked by my feigned, oblivious answer. “I told you to kiss me, Yagyuu. Pretend you’re me, and kiss me. It’s not that hard, really.”
“I don’t see how kissing you would prove anything.” My voice is still slightly restricted by his suggestion. This isn’t some walk we’d be practicing, or some eating of pizza; we’d be crossing personal boundaries: his and mine.
“That’s where you’re a bit lacking in thought; if you can’t kiss me the way I’d kiss someone else, than you can’t pull off the Switch. Simple, right?”
Simple? By what insane definition of his is ‘simple?’ Niou cannot possibly conclude that kissing someone, especially a guy like him, is a simple task. Maybe for him, someone that indulges in debauchery all night, but for me, a kiss is not so easy.
I don’t reply. I just stare at the dirty carpet of his floor, afraid that if my eyes again met his, something incredibly stupid would happen by itself.
“It’s easy, Yagyuu.” He stands up from the bed with a creak; his feet ambling nonchalantly towards me. “Need me to prove to you just how easy it is?”
He can’t be serious - is what I repeat to myself over and over again as Niou stands there before me. I do not care to confront him, or perhaps I am too afraid to do so, but had I to look up, I know I can trace the exact smirk stretching across his face, the piercing gaze of his eyes invading straight into mine.
I release a slight breath (for anything bigger and more calming would no doubt incite the notice of Niou), slowly raise my head to face him, and finally reply, “Stop this foolish-”
No such luck. For me, at least.
The mistake of deciding to respond so late to his statement seemed to make him even more eager to defy me, and before I manage to even finish my sentence, my order, he grasps me firmly in his arms, placing his lips directly on top of mine.
Although a bit reluctant at first, his tongue soon trails slowly, enjoyingly, over my closed lips; I half expected him to force them open (this is Niou, after all), but, luckily, he does no such thing. The remainder of our moment consists of the same, soft feeling of his kisses. I do not dare to respond with my own.
And, in time that seems all too short compared to the previous hours of today, he pulls away.
The aftermath of the moment is immediate, simple. Two wigs lay on the ground, one silver, one brown. A pair of glasses equally rests beside them. I look across from me, at the person who previously held me in his embrace.
A trickster is not what I see - Niou is not what I see. No enormous, disdainful grimace glued onto his face. All that’s there is the familiar brown-headed gentleman of earlier today, glaring glasses worn over his eyes, lips closed tightly, discontent and anger coloring his expression.
I am right - Yagyuu is a mischievous, plotting, sinister monster.
***
Real news is annoying sometimes, frustrating even. It’s sort of like that old saying about how you can’t live with girls, but you can’t live without them, either. In the same way, real news functions equally; it keeps the world continuing, restoring tension and excitement; it stops the world, like a heart attack to all sense.
This time, when I find myself facing Yagyuu, and him facing me, I’m not sure what to do. Feeling the still warm heat from his own lips on mine, I’m not sure what to do. And, given the chance now to either continue our world, or stop it, I’m not sure what to do.
***
“As I was saying, stop this foolishness immediately, Niou-kun.”
Examining Yagyuu in disbelief, eyes darting between him and the items on the floor, I can’t really tell whether the last hour has been a dream or not. The climb through the window, the double me that walked out of the shower, the ‘kiss’ between the two of us, and most importantly, the roles we’re in now- is it all real?
Giving him another dubious glance of surprise, I open my previously, firmly, closed mouth and reply with a half-guessed confidence, “Now, was that really so hard?”
A small smile escapes him, swift and fleeting. A smile different than the last few ones I’d been able to catch - this one is almost like a reward, accomplished and proud. But, he doesn’t waste a single second to put back his mask of anger at my previous act.
“Whether that was difficult or easy is not the question,” He answers. Two dark eyes glare back at me through his glasses, another facet of his current act. “but rather on whether you should rethink what you just did: a violation of my personal space, among other things.”
“You let me do it, you know? You didn’t try to stop me, or anything.”
“Really, Niou-kun?” Impatience increases in his tone. “I’m not the one to blame. You could have stopped yourself, if you really saw fit.”
“You could’ve stopped me, too. If you really saw fit.”
“Wrong.” His words are coarse, harsh. “I had no options to stop your actions.”
Yagyuu turns away from me, and heads towards the still open window, inspecting the path down. He seems to have full intention of leaving now, before anything else out-of-control happens to him.
“But, you’ve got to admit, Yagyuu,” I chirp out, before he’s about to lower himself out through the window. “I’ve got your kiss down perfectly, don’t I?”
He pauses, lingers there for a moment, considering his choices.
“Which reminds me,” He turns around towards me, voice dangerously playful. “You never gave me the chance to fulfill your request.”
In the course of a flash, Yagyuu is swept towards me, the distance between us even less than moments before. He bends his face down, and before I can enjoy that moment of temptation between us, the familiar heat of lips, same as before, push against my own. Different than before - more demanding, more playful, more daring.
And, just like that, our world continues on.