FIC: Quicken to Silver, Ohtori/Shishido, NC17 (14/41)
Title: Quicken to Silver (14/41)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: In which time passes and people change and drift, but there is always tennis. Ohtori/Shishido
Senior high school begins with new uniforms, new classes and a new school buildings. Ohtori feels every bit the freshman as he wanders the hallways, searching for his classrooms, and trying- but ultimately failing- to not use the map in his school agenda. It immediately gives him away as a freshman to the upperyears.
It also begins with Ohtori willing himself not to seek out a certain former senpai, a certain former doubles partner and sometimes kissing partner, too. I will join the tennis club, he thinks, and I won’t embarrass myself and I won’t hurt any more than I already have.
His hand is strong and confident when he signs up for tennis club, but the first day of practice, Ohtori feels as nervous as ever. High school is a week in, but the new routine is still strange and Ohtori adjusts to the different classes, the different work, the difference expectations, especially in music class.
He enters the arts stream, and first class of the day is fine arts. Ohtori might be good at the violin and better at piano, but he’s crap at drawing and worse at painting. He wonders if he can fudge his projects with a computer program, maybe, to keep his marks up and his stick figures minimal.
The first person Ohtori recognizes at tennis practice, beside Kabaji, who has physical education class with him last period of the day, is Mukahi-senpai. Mukahi waves Ohtori down on the courts just before this year’s buchou comes out of the changerooms.
Ohtori runs laps beside Hiyoshi and passes Atobe once. Atobe raises an eyebrow at him, as languid as ever. Ohtori searches the crowds of team members for a blue cap, but there are at least as many members at the senior high level as the junior high and he finds nothing and no one resembling Shishido-san.
He doesn’t know whether this is a good thing, or a bad thing.
Freshmen, contrary to what Ohtori had been lead to believe, don’t spend the entire practice picking up balls for their senpais. There aren’t many third years because of university entrance exams, but there are still a good number and they practice on the best courts. They make up most of the regulars. Ohtori knows that Atobe is a regular, and Jiroh, too.
“Why isn’t Oshitari-senpai a regular?” Ohtori asks Mukahi as they practice their swings. The buchou, a third year, is stricter than Atobe was and watches their movements like a hawk, eyes gleaming and omnipotent over the courts.
Mukahi frowns. Oshitari is nearby, practicing his own swings, but far enough that he doesn’t seem to hear Mukahi say, “Because the idiot said he’d only play doubles with me and I’m not good enough for the regulars yet.”
“You’ll make the regulars, Mukahi-senpai,” Ohtori tells him. Mukahi snorts and doesn’t say anything more when Oshitari comes by and they walk off to the courts to practice rallies with other preregular double teams.
“You!” the buchou yells at Ohtori, who looks up in shock for a moment. “Go pick up balls on F court!” Ohtori bows and nods frantically and runs off to F court with three other freshmen.
It feels weird to be over six feet tall and crawling around on his hands and knees picking up balls, but he does it. One of the freshmen with him starts to toss the balls into the basket, and knocks it over. A senpai shouts, “Idiot!” and stomps around and kicks the balls everywhere. Ohtori sighs and picks them up faster. He is determined to stay on the good side of his senpai-tachi. One small fumble and he could be off the regulars if he ever makes it on. Hyoutei senior high school has no room for idiots and errors.
Ohtori reaches for a ball that a senpai toes his way. He says, “Thank you” and looks up and then his words falter when he sees Shishido-san staring down at him, his mouth set in a hard line and his eyes wide and wild.
Everything rushes back to him. The I love you, the silence, the bruises he gave himself, the bruises on his heart, the wallowing in his misery, and then the determination, too. Ohtori tries to frown as best he can and tries to be as cold when he stands and nods once.
If he only uses his height to his advantage once, this is it. Ohtori stares down at Shishido for a long, long moment before Shishido is the one to turn away and return to his court to practice volleys.
Ohtori 15-0.
In the changerooms, the showers are scalding hot, but they feel icy to Ohtori. He takes the bus home, then walks in silence to his house, thinking of everything he could have said to Shishido-san, but everything that he didn’t.
It is a good week of practices before Mukahi-senpai says something. Ohtori has finished his laps and has paired with Kabaji for stretches. Kabaji spots him as he reaches for his toes. His calves strain and the back of his knees ache. His legs have always been too long. At least Kabaji understands this.
Mukahi leans against the chain-link fence surrounding the courts. “Why are you on the singles courts, Ohtori?” he asks. “The tryouts for doubles are on C court this week.”
“I’m not trying out for doubles,” Ohtori tells him.
“So you play singles now?” Oshitari-senpai asks. “Hn. I thought you’d be trying out with Shishido. That was all he talked about last season.” Oshitari smiles at Ohtori in his lazy, laid-back way.
Ohtori’s right eye twitches.
Mukahi-senpai notices. He cocks his head to the side. “You know, for someone who was attached to Shishido’s hip whenever I saw you last year, you haven’t said one word to him yet at practice.”
Oshitari hums in agreement. He glances around and says, “Aa, there’s Shishido.”
Ohtori’s left eye twitches.
“Ah- that’s okay, Oshitari-senpai,” he says quickly. “I’m fine.” He starts to walk off quickly, but Mukahi grabs his sleeve and hauls him back. Ohtori struggles and Mukahi digs his nails into Ohtori’s forearm.
“Are you two fighting?” he hisses.
Ohtori shakes his head. “It’s- it’s nothing like that,” he insists.
But his stomach plummets when he sees Oshitari-senpai walk up to Shishido-san, and then it twists painfully when the words exchanged between the two of them start to grow louder and angrier.
“What the hell is going on?” Mukahi asks. “What the hell are you and Shishido fighting about?”
“We’re not-”
“Fuck that!” Mukahi stamps his foot. “You know, now that I think about it, Shishido has seemed pissier than usual lately. What did he say to you?”
Ohtori says nothing. Mukahi stares him down. Ohtori sighs, finally saying, “Nothing- that’s what.”
“-fuck you, Oshitari!” is the last thing Ohtori hears Shishido-san yell before a group of third years, including the buchou, as well as Atobe, pry Shishido and Oshitari from each other. Shishido struggles, his fists still flying and Oshitari spits blood onto the courts.
Mukahi sees this and rushes over to Oshitari. Ohtori refuses to look at Shishido, guilty and angry at him. He listens to the captain shout at them, “Seventy laps! You morons ought to know better than to fight on the courts!”
“You should be expelled from the team,” Atobe drawls. Ohtori looks over at them when he hears this. Shishido’s eyes are huge and dark and glowering at Atobe.
“You don’t understand, asshole,” he hisses through his teeth.
“I understand enough,” Atobe says. “Better start your laps, Shishido,” he says as Oshitari starts his own.
Mukahi-senpai pokes Ohtori in the side as he finally resumes picking up balls for the rest of practice. “After practice. By the school gates. Yuushi’s challenged Shishido to a duel.”
Ohtori blinks. “A duel…?” he asks lamely.
Mukahi rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, “they’re gonna try to beat the shit out of each other then, that’s what. You wanna watch or not?”
Ohtori’s guts flip violently. He can hear the slap of Shishido and Oshitari’s runners with each lap they run, growing slower and slower as the sun hovers low in the horizon. He doesn’t want to see Shishido-san and Oshitari-senpai fight. And he doesn’t understand why they need to fight, then, either. Mukahi bounces around on the courts, catching Ohtori’s eye and winking for the rest of practice, pleased with this stand off. It only makes Ohtori feel worse and worse.
He’s still angry with Shishido, but he doesn’t want to see Shishido hurt. Oshitari-senpai is bigger and heavier, and although Shishido can be nasty sometimes, Ohtori has an awful suspicion that Oshitari can be even worse if need be.
He showers and Mukahi corners him as he emerges from the changing rooms. Two figures still run around the courts, then come to a grinding halt and collapse to the ground.
“Yes! They’re finished- now the real fun begins,” Mukahi says. When Oshitari stands shakily and grabs his tennis bag, Mukahi claps him on the back. “Kick his ass, Yuushi!” he says with a grin.
Oshitari-senpai exhales heavily and grins back. Ohtori walks behind them to the school gates. Shishido-san is three steps behind, and behind him further is Hiyoshi.
“What’s going on?” Hiyoshi asks when Shishido and Oshitari set their tennis bags down and Shishido-san rolls up his sleeves to his shoulders. “Are they going to fight?” he asks.
Ohtori flushes and turns away. When he opens his mouth to say something that won’t embarrass himself any further to Hiyoshi, Oshitari steps closer and says, “Nothing that concerns you, Hiyoshi. Go home.”
“I want to see-”
“Go home, Hiyoshi,” Ohtori echoes. Hiyoshi’s jaw hangs open and he gapes at Ohtori for a long moment, before he walks off slowly, glaring the whole while.
Ohtori stands under a shady tree, his stomach in knots, his hands twisting the hem of his t-shirt. Mukahi bounces around Oshitari, saying “Kick his ass! Teach him a lesson!” until Oshitari waves him off.
Ohtori has never seen a fight like this before. Oshitari and Shishido circle each other, spitting like cats for a few moments. Shishido glances over, for the briefest moment, to Ohtori and his eyes are black and blank and hollow right before Oshitari says, “You’re a fucking moron” and punches Shishido-san in the jaw.
Ohtori cringes at the crunch of bone and cartilage meeting Oshitari’s fist. Shishido has always been fast and dodges the next blow, managing to punch Oshitari in the stomach and shout, “Fuck you!” before they both tumble to the ground, Oshitari on top- “You don’t take I love yous lightly!” he seethes, punching Shishido’s face.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shishido grits through his teeth, his own punch sending Oshitari-senpai’s glasses off his face.
“Yuushi!” Mukahi shouts, running to pick them up, but he keeps back. Ohtori stops breathing as he watches, each punch agonizing to see. He didn’t want Oshitari and Shishido fighting like this over what he said. He didn’t want to see Oshitari kick and flail and smash Shishido’s head against the ground. He didn’t want to see Shishido punch Oshitari’s face again and again until a blow to the ribs knocks him over and winds him.
Shishido ends up curled on his side, wheezing and spitting blood. Oshitari stands up and looms over him, taking his broken glasses from Mukahi and wiping his bleeding cheek with a tennis towel.
“If you don’t love someone,” Oshitari says, his voice cold and filled with saliva and blood. He spits a wad to the ground, then continues, “then you tell them that you don’t. And if you do love someone, and they tell you they do, then you don’t act like an asshole, asshole.”
Mukahi puts an arm around Oshitari and steadies him as they walk past Ohtori towards the bus stop.
Ohtori doesn’t feel like anyone won the fight. He doesn’t turn around to look at Shishido-san, instead he picks up his tennis bag, remembering to breathe, remembering to put his feet in front of the other to move, and he walks to his own bus stop to go home.
Shishido-san is gone from tennis practice for two days. On the third day, it is Sunday. On Monday, Shishido returns with a split lip, bisected with a line of scab and dried blood. He takes off his sunglasses when the captain tells him they aren’t allowed at practice. Ohtori can see his vivid purpley-yellow eye easily across the court.
Oshitari-senpai only had a few dark bruises along his jaw and cheek. Ohtori doesn’t think they are all from Shishido, either, not with the way Mukahi looks up at Oshitari and touches his fingers gently to Oshitari’s face when he thinks no one can see.
Ohtori has emerged from the showers after practice when something catches him out of the corner of his eye. He pads up to his locker and his heart stops beating for a moment when Shishido peers out from behind another open locker close by. “Can I talk with you?” he asks, his voice quiet and strained and pained-sounding. Ohtori winces at the sound of it, the way Shishido’s lip has started to bleed again from simply talking.
He was supposed to be determined. And confident. But he falters when Shishido so much as looks at him, speaks to him.
“I-” he takes a deep breath to calm himself, and regains his composure, “I have nothing to say to you, Shishido-senpai,” he says, trying to be as cold and collected as he can. Ohtori opens his locker and reaches for his underpants to dress.
A hand grabs his bicep. “Please, Choutarou,” Shishido hisses. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just- hear me out, okay? Behind the tennis clubhouse.”
Ohtori wants to refuse, but his body nods for him and he whispers “Yes”.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: In which time passes and people change and drift, but there is always tennis. Ohtori/Shishido
Senior high school begins with new uniforms, new classes and a new school buildings. Ohtori feels every bit the freshman as he wanders the hallways, searching for his classrooms, and trying- but ultimately failing- to not use the map in his school agenda. It immediately gives him away as a freshman to the upperyears.
It also begins with Ohtori willing himself not to seek out a certain former senpai, a certain former doubles partner and sometimes kissing partner, too. I will join the tennis club, he thinks, and I won’t embarrass myself and I won’t hurt any more than I already have.
His hand is strong and confident when he signs up for tennis club, but the first day of practice, Ohtori feels as nervous as ever. High school is a week in, but the new routine is still strange and Ohtori adjusts to the different classes, the different work, the difference expectations, especially in music class.
He enters the arts stream, and first class of the day is fine arts. Ohtori might be good at the violin and better at piano, but he’s crap at drawing and worse at painting. He wonders if he can fudge his projects with a computer program, maybe, to keep his marks up and his stick figures minimal.
The first person Ohtori recognizes at tennis practice, beside Kabaji, who has physical education class with him last period of the day, is Mukahi-senpai. Mukahi waves Ohtori down on the courts just before this year’s buchou comes out of the changerooms.
Ohtori runs laps beside Hiyoshi and passes Atobe once. Atobe raises an eyebrow at him, as languid as ever. Ohtori searches the crowds of team members for a blue cap, but there are at least as many members at the senior high level as the junior high and he finds nothing and no one resembling Shishido-san.
He doesn’t know whether this is a good thing, or a bad thing.
Freshmen, contrary to what Ohtori had been lead to believe, don’t spend the entire practice picking up balls for their senpais. There aren’t many third years because of university entrance exams, but there are still a good number and they practice on the best courts. They make up most of the regulars. Ohtori knows that Atobe is a regular, and Jiroh, too.
“Why isn’t Oshitari-senpai a regular?” Ohtori asks Mukahi as they practice their swings. The buchou, a third year, is stricter than Atobe was and watches their movements like a hawk, eyes gleaming and omnipotent over the courts.
Mukahi frowns. Oshitari is nearby, practicing his own swings, but far enough that he doesn’t seem to hear Mukahi say, “Because the idiot said he’d only play doubles with me and I’m not good enough for the regulars yet.”
“You’ll make the regulars, Mukahi-senpai,” Ohtori tells him. Mukahi snorts and doesn’t say anything more when Oshitari comes by and they walk off to the courts to practice rallies with other preregular double teams.
“You!” the buchou yells at Ohtori, who looks up in shock for a moment. “Go pick up balls on F court!” Ohtori bows and nods frantically and runs off to F court with three other freshmen.
It feels weird to be over six feet tall and crawling around on his hands and knees picking up balls, but he does it. One of the freshmen with him starts to toss the balls into the basket, and knocks it over. A senpai shouts, “Idiot!” and stomps around and kicks the balls everywhere. Ohtori sighs and picks them up faster. He is determined to stay on the good side of his senpai-tachi. One small fumble and he could be off the regulars if he ever makes it on. Hyoutei senior high school has no room for idiots and errors.
Ohtori reaches for a ball that a senpai toes his way. He says, “Thank you” and looks up and then his words falter when he sees Shishido-san staring down at him, his mouth set in a hard line and his eyes wide and wild.
Everything rushes back to him. The I love you, the silence, the bruises he gave himself, the bruises on his heart, the wallowing in his misery, and then the determination, too. Ohtori tries to frown as best he can and tries to be as cold when he stands and nods once.
If he only uses his height to his advantage once, this is it. Ohtori stares down at Shishido for a long, long moment before Shishido is the one to turn away and return to his court to practice volleys.
Ohtori 15-0.
In the changerooms, the showers are scalding hot, but they feel icy to Ohtori. He takes the bus home, then walks in silence to his house, thinking of everything he could have said to Shishido-san, but everything that he didn’t.
It is a good week of practices before Mukahi-senpai says something. Ohtori has finished his laps and has paired with Kabaji for stretches. Kabaji spots him as he reaches for his toes. His calves strain and the back of his knees ache. His legs have always been too long. At least Kabaji understands this.
Mukahi leans against the chain-link fence surrounding the courts. “Why are you on the singles courts, Ohtori?” he asks. “The tryouts for doubles are on C court this week.”
“I’m not trying out for doubles,” Ohtori tells him.
“So you play singles now?” Oshitari-senpai asks. “Hn. I thought you’d be trying out with Shishido. That was all he talked about last season.” Oshitari smiles at Ohtori in his lazy, laid-back way.
Ohtori’s right eye twitches.
Mukahi-senpai notices. He cocks his head to the side. “You know, for someone who was attached to Shishido’s hip whenever I saw you last year, you haven’t said one word to him yet at practice.”
Oshitari hums in agreement. He glances around and says, “Aa, there’s Shishido.”
Ohtori’s left eye twitches.
“Ah- that’s okay, Oshitari-senpai,” he says quickly. “I’m fine.” He starts to walk off quickly, but Mukahi grabs his sleeve and hauls him back. Ohtori struggles and Mukahi digs his nails into Ohtori’s forearm.
“Are you two fighting?” he hisses.
Ohtori shakes his head. “It’s- it’s nothing like that,” he insists.
But his stomach plummets when he sees Oshitari-senpai walk up to Shishido-san, and then it twists painfully when the words exchanged between the two of them start to grow louder and angrier.
“What the hell is going on?” Mukahi asks. “What the hell are you and Shishido fighting about?”
“We’re not-”
“Fuck that!” Mukahi stamps his foot. “You know, now that I think about it, Shishido has seemed pissier than usual lately. What did he say to you?”
Ohtori says nothing. Mukahi stares him down. Ohtori sighs, finally saying, “Nothing- that’s what.”
“-fuck you, Oshitari!” is the last thing Ohtori hears Shishido-san yell before a group of third years, including the buchou, as well as Atobe, pry Shishido and Oshitari from each other. Shishido struggles, his fists still flying and Oshitari spits blood onto the courts.
Mukahi sees this and rushes over to Oshitari. Ohtori refuses to look at Shishido, guilty and angry at him. He listens to the captain shout at them, “Seventy laps! You morons ought to know better than to fight on the courts!”
“You should be expelled from the team,” Atobe drawls. Ohtori looks over at them when he hears this. Shishido’s eyes are huge and dark and glowering at Atobe.
“You don’t understand, asshole,” he hisses through his teeth.
“I understand enough,” Atobe says. “Better start your laps, Shishido,” he says as Oshitari starts his own.
Mukahi-senpai pokes Ohtori in the side as he finally resumes picking up balls for the rest of practice. “After practice. By the school gates. Yuushi’s challenged Shishido to a duel.”
Ohtori blinks. “A duel…?” he asks lamely.
Mukahi rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, “they’re gonna try to beat the shit out of each other then, that’s what. You wanna watch or not?”
Ohtori’s guts flip violently. He can hear the slap of Shishido and Oshitari’s runners with each lap they run, growing slower and slower as the sun hovers low in the horizon. He doesn’t want to see Shishido-san and Oshitari-senpai fight. And he doesn’t understand why they need to fight, then, either. Mukahi bounces around on the courts, catching Ohtori’s eye and winking for the rest of practice, pleased with this stand off. It only makes Ohtori feel worse and worse.
He’s still angry with Shishido, but he doesn’t want to see Shishido hurt. Oshitari-senpai is bigger and heavier, and although Shishido can be nasty sometimes, Ohtori has an awful suspicion that Oshitari can be even worse if need be.
He showers and Mukahi corners him as he emerges from the changing rooms. Two figures still run around the courts, then come to a grinding halt and collapse to the ground.
“Yes! They’re finished- now the real fun begins,” Mukahi says. When Oshitari stands shakily and grabs his tennis bag, Mukahi claps him on the back. “Kick his ass, Yuushi!” he says with a grin.
Oshitari-senpai exhales heavily and grins back. Ohtori walks behind them to the school gates. Shishido-san is three steps behind, and behind him further is Hiyoshi.
“What’s going on?” Hiyoshi asks when Shishido and Oshitari set their tennis bags down and Shishido-san rolls up his sleeves to his shoulders. “Are they going to fight?” he asks.
Ohtori flushes and turns away. When he opens his mouth to say something that won’t embarrass himself any further to Hiyoshi, Oshitari steps closer and says, “Nothing that concerns you, Hiyoshi. Go home.”
“I want to see-”
“Go home, Hiyoshi,” Ohtori echoes. Hiyoshi’s jaw hangs open and he gapes at Ohtori for a long moment, before he walks off slowly, glaring the whole while.
Ohtori stands under a shady tree, his stomach in knots, his hands twisting the hem of his t-shirt. Mukahi bounces around Oshitari, saying “Kick his ass! Teach him a lesson!” until Oshitari waves him off.
Ohtori has never seen a fight like this before. Oshitari and Shishido circle each other, spitting like cats for a few moments. Shishido glances over, for the briefest moment, to Ohtori and his eyes are black and blank and hollow right before Oshitari says, “You’re a fucking moron” and punches Shishido-san in the jaw.
Ohtori cringes at the crunch of bone and cartilage meeting Oshitari’s fist. Shishido has always been fast and dodges the next blow, managing to punch Oshitari in the stomach and shout, “Fuck you!” before they both tumble to the ground, Oshitari on top- “You don’t take I love yous lightly!” he seethes, punching Shishido’s face.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shishido grits through his teeth, his own punch sending Oshitari-senpai’s glasses off his face.
“Yuushi!” Mukahi shouts, running to pick them up, but he keeps back. Ohtori stops breathing as he watches, each punch agonizing to see. He didn’t want Oshitari and Shishido fighting like this over what he said. He didn’t want to see Oshitari kick and flail and smash Shishido’s head against the ground. He didn’t want to see Shishido punch Oshitari’s face again and again until a blow to the ribs knocks him over and winds him.
Shishido ends up curled on his side, wheezing and spitting blood. Oshitari stands up and looms over him, taking his broken glasses from Mukahi and wiping his bleeding cheek with a tennis towel.
“If you don’t love someone,” Oshitari says, his voice cold and filled with saliva and blood. He spits a wad to the ground, then continues, “then you tell them that you don’t. And if you do love someone, and they tell you they do, then you don’t act like an asshole, asshole.”
Mukahi puts an arm around Oshitari and steadies him as they walk past Ohtori towards the bus stop.
Ohtori doesn’t feel like anyone won the fight. He doesn’t turn around to look at Shishido-san, instead he picks up his tennis bag, remembering to breathe, remembering to put his feet in front of the other to move, and he walks to his own bus stop to go home.
Shishido-san is gone from tennis practice for two days. On the third day, it is Sunday. On Monday, Shishido returns with a split lip, bisected with a line of scab and dried blood. He takes off his sunglasses when the captain tells him they aren’t allowed at practice. Ohtori can see his vivid purpley-yellow eye easily across the court.
Oshitari-senpai only had a few dark bruises along his jaw and cheek. Ohtori doesn’t think they are all from Shishido, either, not with the way Mukahi looks up at Oshitari and touches his fingers gently to Oshitari’s face when he thinks no one can see.
Ohtori has emerged from the showers after practice when something catches him out of the corner of his eye. He pads up to his locker and his heart stops beating for a moment when Shishido peers out from behind another open locker close by. “Can I talk with you?” he asks, his voice quiet and strained and pained-sounding. Ohtori winces at the sound of it, the way Shishido’s lip has started to bleed again from simply talking.
He was supposed to be determined. And confident. But he falters when Shishido so much as looks at him, speaks to him.
“I-” he takes a deep breath to calm himself, and regains his composure, “I have nothing to say to you, Shishido-senpai,” he says, trying to be as cold and collected as he can. Ohtori opens his locker and reaches for his underpants to dress.
A hand grabs his bicep. “Please, Choutarou,” Shishido hisses. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just- hear me out, okay? Behind the tennis clubhouse.”
Ohtori wants to refuse, but his body nods for him and he whispers “Yes”.