FIC: Bad Romance 2, YanaKiri, NC17, 2/6
Title: Bad Romance 2 (2/6)
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!
This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
Kirihara suggests it. Sasuke claps his hands together with a squeal. The tea Yanagi made for himself sits on the counter, growing cold, as he counts-loud enough to hear throughout the house. Feet scatter across the floors. A drawer opens. A door bangs shut. There is muffled whispering.
Yanagi opens his eyes. "…Ninety-seven…Ninety-eight..." He steps around the main room on the tip-toes of his slippers. No one behind the couch cushions. He peeks under the couch-no one there, either. No one crouching behind the television screen, or underneath the table.
"Ready or not!" he shouts.
There is a thump from the bathroom. Yanagi pads down the hallway. The door to his bedroom is open, too. He frowns and picks the bathroom first. The shower curtain is drawn around the tub. A dark head sticks out, then disappears under the blur of the filmy curtain.
He pulls the shower curtain back. Kirihara lifts his head. Yanagi's heart beat is the only sound between them. Kirihara's chest moves as he breathes. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. His eyes are pink at the edges, and glazed over his pupils. Yanagi's hand grips the edge of the curtain. His palms are sweaty on the plastic.
Kirihara tilts his head back. His lips move, creating words Yanagi doesn't want to think about. But his body does. Blood throbs in his cock. His balls are strained and aching. And his hands shake.
"No," he whispers.
Kirihara growls.
Laughter trickles in from Yanagi's bedroom. It breaks the tension enough for Kirihara to climb out of the tub. He pushes his body past Yanagi. His hand drags across Yanagi's erection. Yanagi hisses. Kirihara smirks.
The laughter comes from behind the closet door. Yanagi stops his hand on the latch. The breathing on the other side of the thin door stops. Kirihara sneaks around the room. His hands hover over everything. Yanagi wants to tell him to put down the novel. Don't touch my day planner, Akaya. Leave the photo album alone.
Kirihara sets a palm down on Yanagi's bed. The cockiness dissolves from Kirihara's expression the longer Yanagi stays by the closet. The soft twist of Kirihara's lips hardens. So does Yanagi's dick, as he stands and listens to the regularity of Sasuke's breathing.
He flings the door open. Sasuke tumbles out on a wave of dirty clothes.
"Found me!" he says. "But I betcha can't catch me!"
Sasuke squeezes between Yanagi's legs. He makes for the main room in a flurry. Yanagi runs after him. Kirihara slides past. All three of them tumble onto the couch. Yanagi goes for Sasuke's stomach and he dissolves into giggles as Yanagi tickles him.
"Okay okay!" Sasuke gasps. Yanagi tickles his sides. Sasuke gasps and twitches. Tears stream down his flushed face. "You win!"
"It's your turn to be it," Yanagi says.
Sasuke covers his eyes with his hands. He starts to count.
"Ne, Sasuke-chan," Kirihara says. "Betcha can't count to 500."
Yanagi looks at Kirihara. So does Sasuke.
"Betcha I can."
"Betcha you can't find us if you even make it," Kirihara says.
A hot coil starts to worm through Yanagi's middle. Sasuke plants his hands over his eyes again. The heat spreads to Yanagi's dick. He swallows. The house seems tiny. The walls seem to close in on him.
Kirihara disappears into the kitchen. Yanagi tip toes to the back room where his parents sleep. As slowly as he can, he slides open the futon closet. He climbs onto the empty shelf in the middle. The wooden slats creek under his body as he folds his knees to his chest. He closes the door and listens to Sasuke counting.
Spiders crabwalk across his back. Dust clings to the corners, stirred up by his breathing. His nose tickles. Yanagi bites back a sneeze. His eyes adjust to the darkness of the closet. He shifts a little to ease the press of the shelf on his hip.
The door opens with a blast of faded light from the hallway. Kirihara stands, silhouetted in front of Yanagi.
"Move over," Kirihara whispers. He climbs in, feet first into Yanagi's arm.
"Akaya!"
Kirihara pushes Yanagi into the wall. He holds a finger to his lips. "Shhh! He might hear." For a beat, Kirihara stills. Sasuke is closing in on 100. Then Kirihara runs his tongue over his top lip. "Move over, senpai."
Yanagi sighs. He presses his body against the wall. Kirihara squeezes onto the shelf and pulls the door shut. The air is stale and musty. Yanagi's head swims from the closeness. Kirihara's hair brushes his arm. Goosepimples break out all over Yanagi's body. All he can make out is the gleam of Kirihara's pupils. Kirihara smells of garlic from dinner, and sweat.
He breathes. "Senpai." On the other side of the door, down the hallway, Sasuke keeps counting. One hundred ten. One hundred eleven. In the closet, Kirihara's hot, clammy hands feel their way up Yanagi's arms, to his neck, and all over his chin. Yanagi swallows. His breathing is laboured. The thick dust makes it hard to concentrate. Kirihara shifting and moving, pressing those fingers into Yanagi's mouth makes it hard to move. Yanagi bites down on a thumb. Kirihara moans.
"Shhh!" Yanagi hisses. "He'll hear."
It was Kirihara who attacked him first.
"One hundred and fifty…One hundred and fifty-one…"
There are hands on his shoulders. Yanagi moves in the tight space. He turns to Kirihara, mouth open. His nose bumps Kirihara's jaw. Yanagi pushes his hands through Kirihara's hair. Kirihara kisses him sharp and hard and fast. His tongue consumes Yanagi's mouth, all garlic supper and wet heat. Yanagi crooks his elbow up and hits the back wall. Kirihara lifts his knee up. Yanagi slides his tongue along Kirihara's. Kirihara pulls back. Their saliva makes a squelching sound. The shelf creaks. Someone says "Fuck!"
"Two hundred and forty-seven…two hundred and forty…eight…"
Yanagi digs his hands into Kirihara's neck. Kirihara snaps his head up. Teeth clatter. Yanagi's brain rattles around in his skull. His body throbs. Dust clouds around them, and Kirihara's hands are wriggling between Yanagi's legs. He fumbles with the fly. The zipper is too loud.
Yanagi's eyes snap open. His fingertips falter on Kirihara's neck, right where beads of sweat gather. No, he thinks. His body arches forward into Kirihara as Kirihara's fingers move through the y-front. Kirihara rubs his thumb under the head of Yanagi's dick. Yanagi gasps. He leans forward, shaking. His calf cramps up, wedged against the side of the closet. Kirihara moves faster, up and down the length of Yanagi's cock. Clothes rustle.
"Three hundred and sixty two…three hundred and sixty three…"
Lips scorch his neck. Kirihara's hands burn through Yanagi's dick. The fire races through his body, inflaming and overwhelming. Yanagi can't breathe. Kirihara's teeth bite his ear. Yanagi tries to stop. He places his hands on Kirihara's stomach to push him away. Instead, Kirihara squeezes his dick harder. Stars burst in his vision-red and yellow flames licking his eyes. With one hand, Kirihara takes Yanagi's and stuffs it into his own pants. Yanagi curls his fingers around a hot, swollen dick not his own. Kirihara mewls. He jerks forward and the shelf creaks.
"Four hundred and five…"
Yanagi freezes. Blood throbs through his body. Kirihara rubs against him. He's panting in Yanagi's ear. The shelf rocks under their bodies. Kirihara groans through his teeth. "Harder…nnngh…harder…"
Then Kirihara digs his nails in. Yanagi falls forward. His body tenses, somewhere between pain and liquefying pleasure. His legs shake. Kirihara presses his fingers a little lower. Sensations explode on Yanagi's nerves. He moans and bucks against Kirihara, who thrusts back. His hand moves once more and Yanagi comes, hard and gasping. He loses himself in Kirihara's hands that are everywhere, all at once.
And Kirihara's hand is on his, rubbing his dick too. Yanagi gasps into Kirihara's collarbone. Kirihara's moans are louder. Yanagi wants to tell him to be quiet. The words won't come. He's boneless. Folded up in the closet like a kimono. Kirihara's pants are coming faster. His body twitches. He swallows hard, and bares his teeth.
"Four hundred and fifty-seven…"
Yanagi claps his hand over Kirihara's mouth. Under Yanagi his body tenses. His back arches into the wall with a loud thump. Yanagi's eyes go wide. Kirihara makes a noise in the back of his throat. He comes on Yanagi's other hand.
The counting stops.
Yanagi squeezes his leg from Kirihara's back. "Akaya!" he whispers.
Kirihara exhales. He shifts around. Yanagi stuffs his dick back into his underpants. The zipper catches. He smacks his head into a shelf slat trying to sit up. Kirihara moves the wrong way. He slams his head into Yanagi's forehead.
"Ow!"
"Shhhh!"
"Four hundred…eighty…five…Four hundred eighty-six. Four hundred eighty-seven."
Sasuke speeds up. Kirihara squirms. He hisses. His arm whacks Yanagi in the nose. Yanagi sucks in a breath. He tries to wipe his hand on his pants. The closet smells now-of sweat and other things, like the sticky patch he sets his hand down into on the shelf.
He curls his lip.
Kirihara shuffles back to the wall. He's too slow. Footsteps are coming down the hall, although Sasuke is still counting. "Four hundred ninety-three. Four hundred ninety-four…"
Yanagi stops breathing. He moves against the side wall, as flat as he can press his body. Kirihara's foot is in his lap. Yanagi looks at him. He can make out the shape of Kirihara's face, and the sound of his broken attempts to stifle his panting. Yanagi reaches across to clamp his hand over Kirihara's mouth a second time. His arm brushes something. Kirihara sobs.
If he were Sanada, he would slap Kirihara across the ear. Kirihara's eyes go wide. He inhales sharply. Their hands meet between Kirihara's legs in a frantic rush. The door to the room opens with a drawn-out squeak.
Kirihara pulls the zip of his pants up. Yanagi's heart pounds against his ribs. Neither of them moves.
Someone is breathing on the other side of the door. The shadows move in the crack of dim lighting into the closet.
Sasuke pushes the door open. Kirihara falls out. He drags Yanagi with him. They end up heaped on the tatami. Sasuke dances, victorious, around them.
"I did it!" he shrieks. "I made it to 500!"
Kirihara laughs a little. Yanagi tries to smile. His heart won't stop racing into his throat. Kirihara gives Sasuke a high-five. He elbows Yanagi in the side. "We should play another round," he says. The tip of his tongue slides out to the side of his mouth. The corners of his eyes are pink.
"No," Yanagi says.
He runs a bath for Sasuke. Kirihara waits with Sasuke, on the couch. A game show is on-all slapstick pies in the face and noodles dumped on heads. Kirihara and Sasuke laugh so hard tears stream from the corners of their eyes. Yanagi cups his hands around the mug of tea left in the kitchen. It's cold, and bitter.
Sasuke streaks through the hallway, buck naked. He jumps into the tub. Water splashes all over the tile floor. Yanagi asks if he needs any help. Sasuke asks if Yanagi is going to come in.
Yanagi glances to the mirror. He can see the top of a red bruise along his collar. He thinks of the other marks on his stomach, his chest, and probably his bum, too. In the corner of the mirror, Kirihara looms. His eyes are distant and unfocused. His hair swirls up at the sides.
Like horns, Yanagi thinks. He shivers.
Kirihara laughs under his breath. Yanagi's blood runs cold. "Senpai, aren't you going in, too?" he asks. His voice is a sing-song, childish like Sasuke's.
A phone rings. Kirihara blinks. Yanagi thanks the gods when Kirihara holds it to his ear and grimaces. "Why are you calling me now, Mom?" he whines.
There is a long beat. Kirihara rolls his eyes. He sighs. He shakes his head and protests. Then he shuts his cellphone. "My mom says I need to go home now."
The tension in Yanagi's shoulders dissolves. Sasuke's shoulders sink. The swirl of his shampooed hair flops over his eyes. "Awww, how come?" he asks.
"My mom sucks," Kirihara says. He offers a sloppy grin. "See ya, kid." He looks at Yanagi.
Yanagi doesn't walk Kirihara to the door.
He pulls out a spare futon for Sasuke, spread out on the floor of the back room. As soon as Yanagi hears the soft sighs of Sasuke sleeping, he closes the bathroom door. The steam is thick and warm and comfortable. He strips down and refuses to look in the mirror. He sinks into the water until his chin rests on the surface. Then he dunks his head under. He stays until his lungs scream for air, pressing into his ribs and aching.
Yanagi surfaces with a gasp. He wonders when he'll surface from Kirihara, too.
***
Kaidoh hangs around the back of the gymnasium. The third years are grouped by class. After the head teacher gives a speech, the students accept their diplomas. Each has a two second moment to shine, and smile for the camera of their parents. This is the last time they'll be at Seigaku.
Kaidoh leans against the cinderblock wall. He hisses under his breath. Class 11 is announced. His throat feels thick. He reaches for the little pack of Kleenex in his pocket.
Inui is the second person in his class to walk across the stage. His glasses shine under the harsh lights. Kaidoh can't see his eyes. Inui probably can't see him, either. Kaidoh thinks this is good because he's got the Kleenex out. His eyes are wet. His hiss comes out as a hiccup.
Dammit!
"Mamushi!"
Kaidoh whips his head around. Momoshiro attacks him with a punch to the arm. Kaidoh glares. His eyes ache.
"There you are-oi! Were you cr-"
"Shut up!" Kaidoh hisses. "And be quiet!"
Momoshiro starts to snicker. Kaidoh shakes. His hands ball into fists. Momoshiro closes the gym door behind himself and Kaidoh follows. Then he launches himself at Momoshiro. "Are you making fun of me?" he yells.
"You were crying!" Momoshiro grins. Kaidoh aims a punch to Momoshiro's mug, but Momoshiro ducks out of the way, clutching his sides as he laughs.
"Hey! There you guys are!" Arai's regulars' uniform is so new, the creases don't move.
Momoshiro looks up. Kaidoh glowers at both of them. Momoshiro, though, doesn't say anything. So Kaidoh can't punch him again, as much as he wants to. His stomach hurts. His breathing shudders as he hisses.
"Aren't we gonna have practice now?" Arai asks.
"That's why I went to get crybaby-I mean, Kaidoh"
Kaidoh tries to kill Momoshiro with a laser glare. Arai doesn't get it. Horio and Katsuo wave them down, too, and ask if they can start a rally, Kaidoh-buchou.
The sound is kinda nice. Kaidoh lets it simmer in his brain. He hiccups again. But the buchou part is still warm in the right places. He hisses and mutters yeah, it's practice. "Get your asses on the court for laps!"
Momoshiro rolls his eyes. Kaidoh grabs him by the collar. "You too, idiot!" he says through his teeth.
"You're not the boss of me!" Momoshiro yells right back.
Kaidoh growls. Momoshiro raises a fist.
"Ah, Kaidoh."
Kaidoh turns. His body slackens. Momoshiro wriggles away and yells about something stupid, and hey, ichinens, why aren't you doing laps already. Inui approaches. In his hands is the rolled-up diploma.
Kaidoh swallows hard. He looks at his feet. "Senpai," he mutters. You've graduated now.
Inui makes a thoughtful noise. He touches his glasses. His hair is a mess. Kaidoh wonders when he'll see Inui again-in a year, if he goes to Seishun High School, too? It's another punch to the gut. Kaidoh can't breathe.
"Kaidoh."
Kaidoh hisses. The tension twists tighter inside. He can't look up.
"Are you still free at 19:00 tonight? We can continue to work on your serve before the season begins…" Inui starts to give statistics and numbers and percentages that Kaidoh doesn't really care about. All he can focus on is the slight smile on Inui's lips when he mutters yes, he's still free, and maybe Inui can come over for dinner before if he's not busy, too.
When Kaidoh walks back to the courts, hands in his pockets and head ducked down, Momoshiro runs by.
"Are you blushing, Mamushi? Oi! Was there a girl around? Hey! Arai! There's some hot chicks around somewhere…"
Momoshiro runs off with Arai. Kaidoh shakes his head and almost smiles.
"Idiots," he mumbles.
***
The street courts open the first day of the holidays. The sakura front has spread from Okinawa, into Kagoshima and southern Kyushu. In Kanagawa, though, the trees barely have a hint of green buds. But the air is sweet and the nets are tight. Fresh white lines have been painted onto the hard courts. Yanagi's sneakers (new Diadoras, bought with Sanada the other day in MM21) have a bounce to the heel not entirely from the air-lock technology.
In theory, the shoes could boost his speed on the court. Yanagi estimates a ten percent. Sadaharu needs to confirm that.
North of the Bunkamura, but still within sight of the red-brick buildings, Yanagi waits. The courts teem with university students, who have nothing better to do with themselves. He's the youngest player here. A couple university students point at him-some gangly high school kid, hey, bet he can hardly hold his racket. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Yanagi narrows his eyes. He watches the lazy serves and the sloppy footwork. He could crush them all, if he wanted to.
At the back of his mind, a voice starts to cackle. Yanagi stiffens. Kirihara whispers Crush them. Yanagi looks up to the courts. His vision flashes red. He squeezes his eyes shut. No! The laughter lingers in his ears. Yanagi hates the way it makes his heart race in his chest. He checks his pulse. Three beats per second. 180 per minute.
He takes a swig of tea from his PET bottle. Yanagi sighs. No one he knows is around. Sanada asked if he wanted to play today. Yanagi said no, he was busy, maybe you should play with Seiichi instead. Sanada didn't say no to that.
Behind him, Sadaharu says his name.
Yanagi says, "You're fourteen minutes late."
"Sorry, that's my fault."
Fuji smiles at Yanagi. "It's all right if I play with you guys?" he asks.
Yanagi says its fine. The smile sharpens on Fuji's face. Fuji has played two Rikkai players, and won-in tournaments. Yanagi thinks, His data won't be accurate today.
"Is Tezuka busy?" Yanagi asks.
"He is fishing with his grandfather," Sadaharu says. "He will return no later than seven o'clock tonight."
Yanagi raises his eyebrows.
"Tezuka eats dinner at seven," Sadaharu says.
"You know this for a fact?"
Sadaharu touches his glasses. It doesn't hide the smile on his lips. Yanagi doesn’t ask. Fuji says they can play first, if they'd like. He sits down on the bench Yanagi took over. It's piled with tennis bags, and draped with sweat towels. Fuji leans forward onto his knees. His eyes follow Yanagi. Yanagi ignores the sensation at the back of his neck. He loosens his arms with a few circles, and jumps on the spot five times. Then he leans down low. His eyes flick to Fuji. Yanagi twirls his racket around in his hand. Fuji's gaze doesn't waver.
"For points, Renji?" Sadaharu calls.
"If you want," Yanagi says. "Give me an eighty percent waterfall, Sadaharu."
Sadaharu throws the ball. He whips his long body into the shot. The ball whizzes across the net. Yanagi runs for it. His hands struggle on his racket handle-sweaty palms, and he needs new grip tape. He clenches his jaw and slugs the ball back to Sadaharu.
"That was 110 percent," he says. "Sadaharu."
"You weren't ready for that," Sadaharu says. He lobs a return. Yanagi pushes back the urge to smile. Perfect. He runs to the net. Sadaharu runs for the net, too. He's expecting a drop shot.
Yanagi swings wide and hard. The shot is angled hard for the left baseline.
"You weren't ready for that," Yanagi says. He smiles.
"Aa," Sadaharu says. "We'll play for points."
They volley back and forth. Sadaharu takes the second point-Yanagi returns another waterfall, just barely. The ball is dangerously wide, maybe one hundred and fifty degrees. He purses his lips on a curse. Sadaharu lets the ball bounce out of bounds for a fault. Fuji calls the point.
But Yanagi takes the game. They cross paths at court change. More than Fuji's eyes follow them now. The university students point and whisper, but their eyes are wide. "Did you see…?" "Man, what a serve!" "But that straight shot…wow."
Pride warms Yanagi's insides. He keeps his eyes on the court. The ball is light in his hand. He squeezes it, just a little. Sadaharu adjusts his glasses as Yanagi throws the ball. He snaps his body into the shot. The ball veers straight to the net. Then, suddenly, as Sadaharu reaches for it, the ball shoots to the left.
Sadaharu hisses. The ball bounces to the back of the court. Sadaharu looks up. There is a red flush across his cheek. His glasses are cock-eyed.
"You saw that coming," Yanagi says. His voice sounds hard in his ears.
Sadaharu makes a noise. He mutters something under his breath. The numbers are too low for Yanagi to catch. Frisson prickles up his spine. Sadaharu looks at him, straight in the eye so hard that Yanagi feels himself stripped down to the muscle.
His hands shake on his racket, just a fraction more than they should. He glares back at Sadaharu. Do not take my data, Yanagi thinks. Sadaharu throws the ball up for a serve. His back arches into the waterfall. The ball cracks against his racket.
Yanagi jumps forward in a split-step.
His racket contacts the ball early. His muscles strain to return the shot. The tendons in his wrists tighten as he digs his hands into the grip tape. Yanagi bares his teeth. With a loud grunt, he slugs the ball back to Sadaharu's court.
The ball arcs up above their heads. Yanagi sucks in a breath as he watches the trajectory change with the breeze. The ball lands two inches outside the line.
"Out!" Fuji says. "Point, Inui."
Tied after five games, they look at each at the same time. Sadaharu breathes hard. His face is flushed. His glasses slip down his nose. Yanagi reaches around the back of his neck-his hand is wet with sweat. Yanagi lifts his chin. Sadaharu finishes the nod. He wanders off the courts with his hand in his pocket where he keeps his wallet.
On the bench, Fuji smiles at Yanagi. "That was some interesting tennis," he says. Yanagi wipes the sweat towel across his forehead. He narrows his eyes at Fuji.
"Learning tricks from Kirihara?" Fuji asks.
Yanagi stares at him. He says nothing.
Fuji continues, "After all, you two know each other well enough now." The smile doesn't reach the cold glint in his eyes.
"Akaya is in junior high school," Yanagi says. "I don't play on the same team as him anymore. His technique is erratic and unpredictable."
Fuji is quiet for a moment. Then he says, smoothly, "Who said I was talking about tennis?" He laughs to himself. Yanagi freezes to the spot. His mind flashes with images, all fragmented: Kirihara on the court, scraped and bleeding and laughing. Kirihara against a wall, shirtless and panting and shaking. Kirihara at the school festival, devil red and screaming. Yanagi's knees tremble.
Sadaharu returns from the vending machine with a Pocari Sweat. He unzips the side pocket of his tennis bag and adds the contents of a small bag to the bottle before he drinks it. "Renji?"
Yanagi breathes through his nose. Slowly, he turns to Fuji and says, "Why don't you two play a game now?" he asks.
Fuji grabs his racket and strokes the rim. "That sounds like fun, Inui," he says. He looks back at Yanagi as he sits down on the bench. "After all, we don't want Yanagi working himself to a red zone by playing too hard."
Sadaharu agrees with a distant hum. He doesn't get it. Yanagi sits stiffly on the bench as Fuji starts to play. His game is lazy. He's not trying. Something buzzes under Yanagi's feet. His cellphone has come out of the side pocket of his tennis bag. He picks it up and scrolls through the messages. Four from Kirihara, all read, all sent within the past hour.
He looks up to Fuji and the phone falls from his hands.
***
do u want to play some tennis today??? i can show u my new serve
maybe u can cum over to my house l8er my parents rnt home >:)
ok r u busy 2morrow maybe we can go 2 ur house instead hee hee
senpai?? dont u like me nymore??? :((
***
He sits in a tatami room. The paper windows filter the light to a soft haze that catches dust. Yanagi breathes in the sweet smell of the matting. He is alone. There is nothing but the sound of his breathing. He sets his palms on his thighs, his legs tucked under himself. Yanagi closes his eyes as he exhales.
In the corner, a scroll hangs in the tokonoma alcove. Underneath is a pot of bamboo. Yanagi counts the stalks. The scroll taps against the wall, the air having stirred movement into the thin paper. On the bottom of the scroll is a wavering painting of thin lines and dark pigments. Yanagi leans closer as the colours swirl to form a face.
The mask is painted red, with glowing eyes and wild black hair. Sharp teeth throw back into a laughing grimace and Kirihara jumps out from the scroll. Yanagi backs up against the wall. Kirihara screams and laughs and his claws are sharp arcs in the air. Yanagi can’t move. Something slices into his chest. He looks down to see streams of blood pouring from his body. Kirihara keeps laughing-the demon possesses him. He breathes hard through his nose, steaming and wet like a bull. His lips pull back. He leans back, and his claws strike again.
Yanagi stumbles to the floor. Wake up! Wake up! He tries to yell at himself, but his body is glued to the spot. Kirihara's pupil-less eyes nail Yanagi down. His laughter paralyses, high-pitched shrieks of delight as he crouches down. The fangs sink into Yanagi's chest. He arches back. Kirihara's tongue licks the blood streaming through Yanagi's torn shirt. His teeth pierce the raw flesh. Yanagi opens his mouth in a silent scream. The agony stabs every nerve of his body. He can feel everything, including Kirihara's naked, burning skin pushing him down, leaving welts where he pins Yanagi through the razors of his claws.
Kirihara lifts his head. Blood oozes from the sides of his mouth. He licks it away with a grin. His tongue is forked-it slips over his lips, tasting the air. His hair hisses and slithers across his red skin.
"You like this?" Kirihara snarls. His voice is thick with blood. He spits it onto Yanagi's face. Yanagi flinches. He digs his claws into Yanagi's thigh. His eyes roll around his head as he starts to laugh. "You do! You do!" The snakes in his hair twist. Kirihara cackles and cackles. Yanagi can't move. He can't breathe.
Kirihara leans close. His breath is rancid and bloody. He licks Yanagi's ear, from the lobe all the way up into the shell. Yanagi's spine goes rigid.
The shrieks fill the room. Kirihara lifts his hand. The claws are raised. The light bounces off the needle-sharp tips. His eyes are on fire at the edges, and dead pools in the middle. His face twists and his mouth widens from ear to ear, filled with rows of shark's teeth.
"I'll drag you to HELL WITH ME!" he screams.
The claws flash, blinding bright.
And everything goes black.
***
He sips tea in the kitchen. He sits in the dark. His heart won't slow down.
The LCD screen of his cellphone glows in the pre-dawn darkness. Yanagi pads to the sliding glass door onto the balcony. His mother has a line of white shirts out. Above the laundry, the lights of the city glow yellow-white until they disappear into the blue-black of the harbour.
The messages are gone. Yanagi can't remember deleting them. He thinks about responding to Kirihara. Every time, he shakes his head. No. He won't. And it's four in the morning. The world is asleep, except for him.
He takes another sip of tea. His body aches for sleep. His mind-and his heart-race. He checks the messages again, but there is no trace of anything from today. Except the thin little smile Fuji gave him, and the words echoing in his mind.
You two know each other well enough now…
Yanagi scrolls through the messages. Then he presses delete all.
Okay?
He sucks in a breath. Then he presses yes.
***
Yukimura phones. He asks if Yanagi wants to go to the new exhibition at the greenhouses east of MM21. "Genichirou's busy," he says.
"I see," Yanagi says.
"But you'd like it more anyway. We can go shopping after. I need a new pair of sneakers."
They meet by the Uniqlo at Queens Square. Sun streams through the skylights above the escalator. Yukimura has a bottle cola in one hand. With the other, he waves to Yanagi.
Yanagi gives him a little nod.
"Wanna get something to eat, first?" Yukimura asks. "Sanada and I go to the Taco Derio a lot."
The cashier recognizes Yukimura. She smiles and asks if he wants the double combo 6. Yukimura smiles back. He hands over two thousand yen notes. The food joint-Yanagi can't think of it as a restaurant with the plastic tables-smells of cheese. His stomach cramps up.
"Would you like cheese on your potato wedges?" the cashier asks. Behind her, a worker pumps gluey orange glop onto Yukimura's order.
Yanagi swallows a lump of acrid bile. "No," he says. The tray slides across the counter to him. Yukimura weaves through the tables to a spot at the bar along the window. They sit beside each other. Yukimura tosses hot sauce all over his tacos and his potatoes. He pushes it to Yanagi, who holds up his hands.
"So we're all trying out for the tennis team next week. Try-outs are Thursday." Yukimura stuffs the cheesiest potato into his mouth. Orange goo drips onto his tray. Yanagi swallows another wave of bile. He looks at the little dish of deep-fried potatoes on his tray, and pushes them to the back. He sips on the soft drink instead.
"Nishiki will be on the team again," Yanagi says.
"Yeah," Yukimura says. "And Watanabe and Kato, since they'll be third years now."
"We'll push out…" Yanagi pushes his straw deeper into the cup. "Yamaguchi, he's the weakest player."
"It's because he relies only on his volleys."
"Mn. And Saitoh. His serve is strong, but the statistics in Tennis Weekly didn't improve over last season by more than ten points."
Yukimura nods behind a mouthful of taco. Lettuce and guacamole stream through his fingers. He moans a little, and leans back on his stool. "Do you think Yagyuu will get in, too?"
"If they don't try him out against Nishiki first," Yanagi says. "He's as strong as Genichirou."
"He'll wipe the court with Yagyuu," Yukimura says. His eyes gleam in the grey light across the harbour. The Cosmoworld Ferris wheel spins slowly across the street. "But Yagyuu will improve and Nishiki won't. His heart's not there. He was always chasing girls."
"Like Marui."
Yukimura laughs. "And Jackal. And Niou."
Yanagi blinks. "Niou pays more attention to Yagyuu than to girls."
Yukimura looks at him. "Really?" He takes another bite of taco-half the tortilla in one go. "I never noticed."
Yanagi purses his lips. He thinks of a tactful approach, and ends up with, "You were gone a lot this year."
Silence hangs. Yukimura's chewing stops. The Taco Derio kitchen bangs and hisses with the sounds of cooking, and orange cheese pumping. Yanagi sets his taco down. His shoulders sink a little, but Yukimura is the one who slouches and stares out the window. Pedestrians move across his pupils. His skin drains of colour, taking on the grey of the pavement.
"Yeah," Yukimura murmurs. He turns his head. His thin lips are set in a line. His eyes are hard as he lifts his chin to Yanagi's level. "But I'm fine now."
Yanagi doesn't disagree. "Do you want this?" He nudges his tray toward Yukimura. Yukimura licks his lips and doesn't disagree with that, either.
The food sits in Yanagi's stomach as they walk north. He nods at Yukimura when he talks about tennis and Andy Roddick, the doctor's appointment that pissed him off, and how the Familymart by his house was out of his favourite gummies. The greenhouses teem with people. Water drips from the ceiling, rolling off the ends of Yanagi's hair. Yukimura sucks in his breath as they meander through the lush displays of rainforest vegetation. He stops at one of the shrubs to crouch down. His fingers trail along the petals of an orchid growing out of the trunk of a cypress tree. Yanagi glances around. The signs are big and white and say Please do not touch the plants. He says nothing. Yukimura flushes. "This is a ghost orchid. It only blooms for two weeks a year. It's endangered."
Yanagi tries to appreciate the orchid. It looks like most other white orchids he has seen-and never paid much attention to-at supermarkets and floral displays at department stores. He smiles and says, "Aa, yes."
Yukimura beams.
Genichirou should be here, Yanagi thinks. Sanada wouldn't say much. He wouldn't be able to do more than read the botanical names on the placards. He would hate the crowds of people breathing on his back. But he would be the one to listen to Yukimura gush over orchids, voodoo lilies and colvillea racemosa, too. He would be the one to see Yukimura's eyes fill with moisture, and the one to offer Yukimura his handkerchief to wipe the condensation falling from above from his cheek.
"Where is Genichirou?" Yanagi asks.
Yukimura turns around from the Fan Palm. He blinks. "Oh, he had to take Sasuke to kendo class today because his mom's in Kobe visiting her sister." He walks ahead. Yanagi matches him step for step. Past the palm is a small pond in the middle of the greenhouse. The surface of the water is glass-calm. Underneath, koi fish swirl and thrash. Gold scales on their backs flash in the weak sunlight as they fight for the flotsam of food along the bed.
"And my sister is working?" Yanagi asks.
Yukimura shrugs. "Dunno. Genichirou said she was busy. Doctor's appointment or university exams or something." He pokes Yanagi in the side. "Don't you keep tabs on her?"
"Not really."
They share a little smile.
"I saw Akaya yesterday," Yukimura says.
The words on the sign Yanagi was reading start to blur. He turns around. Yukimura is on to the next plant. A butterfly skitters across the feathery frond. It flutters through the air above Yukimura, who reaches out to touch it.
"He's making training schedules," Yanagi says.
"No, not really," Yukimura says. "He needs to find a team first."
"That won't be a problem," Yanagi says.
"He was asking about you."
Yanagi's head swims in the air. It closes in on his neck. He touches his collar and pulls out a fan. He takes a long breath. "Oh?"
"He was talking about some new tennis move. And he wants your help with some paperwork, he said."
"Genichirou was fukubuchou," Yanagi says. "Akaya can ask him."
"You're better at paperwork and training schedules," Yukimura says. He looks around the bend in the pathway, past the papery bark of a tree. "Ooooh!" Yukimura claps his hands together. "Look at this, Yanagi!" He goes on about a plant Yanagi has never heard of and never will remember. Yanagi thinks about Kirihara. Kirihara claws at his mind, and his chest. His heart thumps hard against his ribs. Yanagi stops. Yukimura asks if he's all right.
"I'm fine," Yanagi says.
His phone vibrates in his pocket.
***
hey maybe we can play tennis 2morrow?? i played some losers today and creamed them lol
Yanagi frowns.
He dials the number from memory. He may not answer. He may be busy. He could even be playing tennis now. It rings twice.
On the third, a voice picks up. "Aa, Renji."
"Sadaharu."
"You are calling me to discuss tennis."
Yanagi laughs. It comes out as a snort. "I would prefer to discuss it in person. Your graphs are difficult to interpret aurally."
"Aa…" Inui concedes. "We can meet tomorrow at four."
"Two."
"I have training with Kaidoh until three."
Yanagi doesn't move for a moment. He keeps his voice level. "Four is fine."
He messages Kirihara back: I have homework to do tomorrow. Something dull presses against his insides when he receives the response: a row of sad-faced emoticons. Yanagi can hear the whine in Kirihara's voice. He pulls on his pajamas and slides into bed.
When he closes his eyes, he can hear the moans from Kirihara, too. Yanagi's eyes snap open. He stares at the pendant light hanging from the ceiling. A spider weaves a web along the inside.
Yanagi closes his eyes. His hand touches the hot skin under his waistband. The moans aren't from memory-they escape his own mouth now.
***
Author: Ociwen
Summary: Defeat at Nationals does not subdue the demon.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 41 000
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for the 2010 Tenipuri Big Bang. Big thanks to our team's beta, venivincere, for all the wonderful help and suggestions, and to our artist, aioyuzu for fantastic visuals. Also thanks to inarikami for translating the songs from The Final Match musical that helped inspire this. Happy Birthday, Yanagi!
This is the accompanying piece to Bad Romance 1
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]
Kirihara suggests it. Sasuke claps his hands together with a squeal. The tea Yanagi made for himself sits on the counter, growing cold, as he counts-loud enough to hear throughout the house. Feet scatter across the floors. A drawer opens. A door bangs shut. There is muffled whispering.
Yanagi opens his eyes. "…Ninety-seven…Ninety-eight..." He steps around the main room on the tip-toes of his slippers. No one behind the couch cushions. He peeks under the couch-no one there, either. No one crouching behind the television screen, or underneath the table.
"Ready or not!" he shouts.
There is a thump from the bathroom. Yanagi pads down the hallway. The door to his bedroom is open, too. He frowns and picks the bathroom first. The shower curtain is drawn around the tub. A dark head sticks out, then disappears under the blur of the filmy curtain.
He pulls the shower curtain back. Kirihara lifts his head. Yanagi's heart beat is the only sound between them. Kirihara's chest moves as he breathes. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. His eyes are pink at the edges, and glazed over his pupils. Yanagi's hand grips the edge of the curtain. His palms are sweaty on the plastic.
Kirihara tilts his head back. His lips move, creating words Yanagi doesn't want to think about. But his body does. Blood throbs in his cock. His balls are strained and aching. And his hands shake.
"No," he whispers.
Kirihara growls.
Laughter trickles in from Yanagi's bedroom. It breaks the tension enough for Kirihara to climb out of the tub. He pushes his body past Yanagi. His hand drags across Yanagi's erection. Yanagi hisses. Kirihara smirks.
The laughter comes from behind the closet door. Yanagi stops his hand on the latch. The breathing on the other side of the thin door stops. Kirihara sneaks around the room. His hands hover over everything. Yanagi wants to tell him to put down the novel. Don't touch my day planner, Akaya. Leave the photo album alone.
Kirihara sets a palm down on Yanagi's bed. The cockiness dissolves from Kirihara's expression the longer Yanagi stays by the closet. The soft twist of Kirihara's lips hardens. So does Yanagi's dick, as he stands and listens to the regularity of Sasuke's breathing.
He flings the door open. Sasuke tumbles out on a wave of dirty clothes.
"Found me!" he says. "But I betcha can't catch me!"
Sasuke squeezes between Yanagi's legs. He makes for the main room in a flurry. Yanagi runs after him. Kirihara slides past. All three of them tumble onto the couch. Yanagi goes for Sasuke's stomach and he dissolves into giggles as Yanagi tickles him.
"Okay okay!" Sasuke gasps. Yanagi tickles his sides. Sasuke gasps and twitches. Tears stream down his flushed face. "You win!"
"It's your turn to be it," Yanagi says.
Sasuke covers his eyes with his hands. He starts to count.
"Ne, Sasuke-chan," Kirihara says. "Betcha can't count to 500."
Yanagi looks at Kirihara. So does Sasuke.
"Betcha I can."
"Betcha you can't find us if you even make it," Kirihara says.
A hot coil starts to worm through Yanagi's middle. Sasuke plants his hands over his eyes again. The heat spreads to Yanagi's dick. He swallows. The house seems tiny. The walls seem to close in on him.
Kirihara disappears into the kitchen. Yanagi tip toes to the back room where his parents sleep. As slowly as he can, he slides open the futon closet. He climbs onto the empty shelf in the middle. The wooden slats creek under his body as he folds his knees to his chest. He closes the door and listens to Sasuke counting.
Spiders crabwalk across his back. Dust clings to the corners, stirred up by his breathing. His nose tickles. Yanagi bites back a sneeze. His eyes adjust to the darkness of the closet. He shifts a little to ease the press of the shelf on his hip.
The door opens with a blast of faded light from the hallway. Kirihara stands, silhouetted in front of Yanagi.
"Move over," Kirihara whispers. He climbs in, feet first into Yanagi's arm.
"Akaya!"
Kirihara pushes Yanagi into the wall. He holds a finger to his lips. "Shhh! He might hear." For a beat, Kirihara stills. Sasuke is closing in on 100. Then Kirihara runs his tongue over his top lip. "Move over, senpai."
Yanagi sighs. He presses his body against the wall. Kirihara squeezes onto the shelf and pulls the door shut. The air is stale and musty. Yanagi's head swims from the closeness. Kirihara's hair brushes his arm. Goosepimples break out all over Yanagi's body. All he can make out is the gleam of Kirihara's pupils. Kirihara smells of garlic from dinner, and sweat.
He breathes. "Senpai." On the other side of the door, down the hallway, Sasuke keeps counting. One hundred ten. One hundred eleven. In the closet, Kirihara's hot, clammy hands feel their way up Yanagi's arms, to his neck, and all over his chin. Yanagi swallows. His breathing is laboured. The thick dust makes it hard to concentrate. Kirihara shifting and moving, pressing those fingers into Yanagi's mouth makes it hard to move. Yanagi bites down on a thumb. Kirihara moans.
"Shhh!" Yanagi hisses. "He'll hear."
It was Kirihara who attacked him first.
"One hundred and fifty…One hundred and fifty-one…"
There are hands on his shoulders. Yanagi moves in the tight space. He turns to Kirihara, mouth open. His nose bumps Kirihara's jaw. Yanagi pushes his hands through Kirihara's hair. Kirihara kisses him sharp and hard and fast. His tongue consumes Yanagi's mouth, all garlic supper and wet heat. Yanagi crooks his elbow up and hits the back wall. Kirihara lifts his knee up. Yanagi slides his tongue along Kirihara's. Kirihara pulls back. Their saliva makes a squelching sound. The shelf creaks. Someone says "Fuck!"
"Two hundred and forty-seven…two hundred and forty…eight…"
Yanagi digs his hands into Kirihara's neck. Kirihara snaps his head up. Teeth clatter. Yanagi's brain rattles around in his skull. His body throbs. Dust clouds around them, and Kirihara's hands are wriggling between Yanagi's legs. He fumbles with the fly. The zipper is too loud.
Yanagi's eyes snap open. His fingertips falter on Kirihara's neck, right where beads of sweat gather. No, he thinks. His body arches forward into Kirihara as Kirihara's fingers move through the y-front. Kirihara rubs his thumb under the head of Yanagi's dick. Yanagi gasps. He leans forward, shaking. His calf cramps up, wedged against the side of the closet. Kirihara moves faster, up and down the length of Yanagi's cock. Clothes rustle.
"Three hundred and sixty two…three hundred and sixty three…"
Lips scorch his neck. Kirihara's hands burn through Yanagi's dick. The fire races through his body, inflaming and overwhelming. Yanagi can't breathe. Kirihara's teeth bite his ear. Yanagi tries to stop. He places his hands on Kirihara's stomach to push him away. Instead, Kirihara squeezes his dick harder. Stars burst in his vision-red and yellow flames licking his eyes. With one hand, Kirihara takes Yanagi's and stuffs it into his own pants. Yanagi curls his fingers around a hot, swollen dick not his own. Kirihara mewls. He jerks forward and the shelf creaks.
"Four hundred and five…"
Yanagi freezes. Blood throbs through his body. Kirihara rubs against him. He's panting in Yanagi's ear. The shelf rocks under their bodies. Kirihara groans through his teeth. "Harder…nnngh…harder…"
Then Kirihara digs his nails in. Yanagi falls forward. His body tenses, somewhere between pain and liquefying pleasure. His legs shake. Kirihara presses his fingers a little lower. Sensations explode on Yanagi's nerves. He moans and bucks against Kirihara, who thrusts back. His hand moves once more and Yanagi comes, hard and gasping. He loses himself in Kirihara's hands that are everywhere, all at once.
And Kirihara's hand is on his, rubbing his dick too. Yanagi gasps into Kirihara's collarbone. Kirihara's moans are louder. Yanagi wants to tell him to be quiet. The words won't come. He's boneless. Folded up in the closet like a kimono. Kirihara's pants are coming faster. His body twitches. He swallows hard, and bares his teeth.
"Four hundred and fifty-seven…"
Yanagi claps his hand over Kirihara's mouth. Under Yanagi his body tenses. His back arches into the wall with a loud thump. Yanagi's eyes go wide. Kirihara makes a noise in the back of his throat. He comes on Yanagi's other hand.
The counting stops.
Yanagi squeezes his leg from Kirihara's back. "Akaya!" he whispers.
Kirihara exhales. He shifts around. Yanagi stuffs his dick back into his underpants. The zipper catches. He smacks his head into a shelf slat trying to sit up. Kirihara moves the wrong way. He slams his head into Yanagi's forehead.
"Ow!"
"Shhhh!"
"Four hundred…eighty…five…Four hundred eighty-six. Four hundred eighty-seven."
Sasuke speeds up. Kirihara squirms. He hisses. His arm whacks Yanagi in the nose. Yanagi sucks in a breath. He tries to wipe his hand on his pants. The closet smells now-of sweat and other things, like the sticky patch he sets his hand down into on the shelf.
He curls his lip.
Kirihara shuffles back to the wall. He's too slow. Footsteps are coming down the hall, although Sasuke is still counting. "Four hundred ninety-three. Four hundred ninety-four…"
Yanagi stops breathing. He moves against the side wall, as flat as he can press his body. Kirihara's foot is in his lap. Yanagi looks at him. He can make out the shape of Kirihara's face, and the sound of his broken attempts to stifle his panting. Yanagi reaches across to clamp his hand over Kirihara's mouth a second time. His arm brushes something. Kirihara sobs.
If he were Sanada, he would slap Kirihara across the ear. Kirihara's eyes go wide. He inhales sharply. Their hands meet between Kirihara's legs in a frantic rush. The door to the room opens with a drawn-out squeak.
Kirihara pulls the zip of his pants up. Yanagi's heart pounds against his ribs. Neither of them moves.
Someone is breathing on the other side of the door. The shadows move in the crack of dim lighting into the closet.
Sasuke pushes the door open. Kirihara falls out. He drags Yanagi with him. They end up heaped on the tatami. Sasuke dances, victorious, around them.
"I did it!" he shrieks. "I made it to 500!"
Kirihara laughs a little. Yanagi tries to smile. His heart won't stop racing into his throat. Kirihara gives Sasuke a high-five. He elbows Yanagi in the side. "We should play another round," he says. The tip of his tongue slides out to the side of his mouth. The corners of his eyes are pink.
"No," Yanagi says.
He runs a bath for Sasuke. Kirihara waits with Sasuke, on the couch. A game show is on-all slapstick pies in the face and noodles dumped on heads. Kirihara and Sasuke laugh so hard tears stream from the corners of their eyes. Yanagi cups his hands around the mug of tea left in the kitchen. It's cold, and bitter.
Sasuke streaks through the hallway, buck naked. He jumps into the tub. Water splashes all over the tile floor. Yanagi asks if he needs any help. Sasuke asks if Yanagi is going to come in.
Yanagi glances to the mirror. He can see the top of a red bruise along his collar. He thinks of the other marks on his stomach, his chest, and probably his bum, too. In the corner of the mirror, Kirihara looms. His eyes are distant and unfocused. His hair swirls up at the sides.
Like horns, Yanagi thinks. He shivers.
Kirihara laughs under his breath. Yanagi's blood runs cold. "Senpai, aren't you going in, too?" he asks. His voice is a sing-song, childish like Sasuke's.
A phone rings. Kirihara blinks. Yanagi thanks the gods when Kirihara holds it to his ear and grimaces. "Why are you calling me now, Mom?" he whines.
There is a long beat. Kirihara rolls his eyes. He sighs. He shakes his head and protests. Then he shuts his cellphone. "My mom says I need to go home now."
The tension in Yanagi's shoulders dissolves. Sasuke's shoulders sink. The swirl of his shampooed hair flops over his eyes. "Awww, how come?" he asks.
"My mom sucks," Kirihara says. He offers a sloppy grin. "See ya, kid." He looks at Yanagi.
Yanagi doesn't walk Kirihara to the door.
He pulls out a spare futon for Sasuke, spread out on the floor of the back room. As soon as Yanagi hears the soft sighs of Sasuke sleeping, he closes the bathroom door. The steam is thick and warm and comfortable. He strips down and refuses to look in the mirror. He sinks into the water until his chin rests on the surface. Then he dunks his head under. He stays until his lungs scream for air, pressing into his ribs and aching.
Yanagi surfaces with a gasp. He wonders when he'll surface from Kirihara, too.
***
Kaidoh hangs around the back of the gymnasium. The third years are grouped by class. After the head teacher gives a speech, the students accept their diplomas. Each has a two second moment to shine, and smile for the camera of their parents. This is the last time they'll be at Seigaku.
Kaidoh leans against the cinderblock wall. He hisses under his breath. Class 11 is announced. His throat feels thick. He reaches for the little pack of Kleenex in his pocket.
Inui is the second person in his class to walk across the stage. His glasses shine under the harsh lights. Kaidoh can't see his eyes. Inui probably can't see him, either. Kaidoh thinks this is good because he's got the Kleenex out. His eyes are wet. His hiss comes out as a hiccup.
Dammit!
"Mamushi!"
Kaidoh whips his head around. Momoshiro attacks him with a punch to the arm. Kaidoh glares. His eyes ache.
"There you are-oi! Were you cr-"
"Shut up!" Kaidoh hisses. "And be quiet!"
Momoshiro starts to snicker. Kaidoh shakes. His hands ball into fists. Momoshiro closes the gym door behind himself and Kaidoh follows. Then he launches himself at Momoshiro. "Are you making fun of me?" he yells.
"You were crying!" Momoshiro grins. Kaidoh aims a punch to Momoshiro's mug, but Momoshiro ducks out of the way, clutching his sides as he laughs.
"Hey! There you guys are!" Arai's regulars' uniform is so new, the creases don't move.
Momoshiro looks up. Kaidoh glowers at both of them. Momoshiro, though, doesn't say anything. So Kaidoh can't punch him again, as much as he wants to. His stomach hurts. His breathing shudders as he hisses.
"Aren't we gonna have practice now?" Arai asks.
"That's why I went to get crybaby-I mean, Kaidoh"
Kaidoh tries to kill Momoshiro with a laser glare. Arai doesn't get it. Horio and Katsuo wave them down, too, and ask if they can start a rally, Kaidoh-buchou.
The sound is kinda nice. Kaidoh lets it simmer in his brain. He hiccups again. But the buchou part is still warm in the right places. He hisses and mutters yeah, it's practice. "Get your asses on the court for laps!"
Momoshiro rolls his eyes. Kaidoh grabs him by the collar. "You too, idiot!" he says through his teeth.
"You're not the boss of me!" Momoshiro yells right back.
Kaidoh growls. Momoshiro raises a fist.
"Ah, Kaidoh."
Kaidoh turns. His body slackens. Momoshiro wriggles away and yells about something stupid, and hey, ichinens, why aren't you doing laps already. Inui approaches. In his hands is the rolled-up diploma.
Kaidoh swallows hard. He looks at his feet. "Senpai," he mutters. You've graduated now.
Inui makes a thoughtful noise. He touches his glasses. His hair is a mess. Kaidoh wonders when he'll see Inui again-in a year, if he goes to Seishun High School, too? It's another punch to the gut. Kaidoh can't breathe.
"Kaidoh."
Kaidoh hisses. The tension twists tighter inside. He can't look up.
"Are you still free at 19:00 tonight? We can continue to work on your serve before the season begins…" Inui starts to give statistics and numbers and percentages that Kaidoh doesn't really care about. All he can focus on is the slight smile on Inui's lips when he mutters yes, he's still free, and maybe Inui can come over for dinner before if he's not busy, too.
When Kaidoh walks back to the courts, hands in his pockets and head ducked down, Momoshiro runs by.
"Are you blushing, Mamushi? Oi! Was there a girl around? Hey! Arai! There's some hot chicks around somewhere…"
Momoshiro runs off with Arai. Kaidoh shakes his head and almost smiles.
"Idiots," he mumbles.
***
The street courts open the first day of the holidays. The sakura front has spread from Okinawa, into Kagoshima and southern Kyushu. In Kanagawa, though, the trees barely have a hint of green buds. But the air is sweet and the nets are tight. Fresh white lines have been painted onto the hard courts. Yanagi's sneakers (new Diadoras, bought with Sanada the other day in MM21) have a bounce to the heel not entirely from the air-lock technology.
In theory, the shoes could boost his speed on the court. Yanagi estimates a ten percent. Sadaharu needs to confirm that.
North of the Bunkamura, but still within sight of the red-brick buildings, Yanagi waits. The courts teem with university students, who have nothing better to do with themselves. He's the youngest player here. A couple university students point at him-some gangly high school kid, hey, bet he can hardly hold his racket. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Yanagi narrows his eyes. He watches the lazy serves and the sloppy footwork. He could crush them all, if he wanted to.
At the back of his mind, a voice starts to cackle. Yanagi stiffens. Kirihara whispers Crush them. Yanagi looks up to the courts. His vision flashes red. He squeezes his eyes shut. No! The laughter lingers in his ears. Yanagi hates the way it makes his heart race in his chest. He checks his pulse. Three beats per second. 180 per minute.
He takes a swig of tea from his PET bottle. Yanagi sighs. No one he knows is around. Sanada asked if he wanted to play today. Yanagi said no, he was busy, maybe you should play with Seiichi instead. Sanada didn't say no to that.
Behind him, Sadaharu says his name.
Yanagi says, "You're fourteen minutes late."
"Sorry, that's my fault."
Fuji smiles at Yanagi. "It's all right if I play with you guys?" he asks.
Yanagi says its fine. The smile sharpens on Fuji's face. Fuji has played two Rikkai players, and won-in tournaments. Yanagi thinks, His data won't be accurate today.
"Is Tezuka busy?" Yanagi asks.
"He is fishing with his grandfather," Sadaharu says. "He will return no later than seven o'clock tonight."
Yanagi raises his eyebrows.
"Tezuka eats dinner at seven," Sadaharu says.
"You know this for a fact?"
Sadaharu touches his glasses. It doesn't hide the smile on his lips. Yanagi doesn’t ask. Fuji says they can play first, if they'd like. He sits down on the bench Yanagi took over. It's piled with tennis bags, and draped with sweat towels. Fuji leans forward onto his knees. His eyes follow Yanagi. Yanagi ignores the sensation at the back of his neck. He loosens his arms with a few circles, and jumps on the spot five times. Then he leans down low. His eyes flick to Fuji. Yanagi twirls his racket around in his hand. Fuji's gaze doesn't waver.
"For points, Renji?" Sadaharu calls.
"If you want," Yanagi says. "Give me an eighty percent waterfall, Sadaharu."
Sadaharu throws the ball. He whips his long body into the shot. The ball whizzes across the net. Yanagi runs for it. His hands struggle on his racket handle-sweaty palms, and he needs new grip tape. He clenches his jaw and slugs the ball back to Sadaharu.
"That was 110 percent," he says. "Sadaharu."
"You weren't ready for that," Sadaharu says. He lobs a return. Yanagi pushes back the urge to smile. Perfect. He runs to the net. Sadaharu runs for the net, too. He's expecting a drop shot.
Yanagi swings wide and hard. The shot is angled hard for the left baseline.
"You weren't ready for that," Yanagi says. He smiles.
"Aa," Sadaharu says. "We'll play for points."
They volley back and forth. Sadaharu takes the second point-Yanagi returns another waterfall, just barely. The ball is dangerously wide, maybe one hundred and fifty degrees. He purses his lips on a curse. Sadaharu lets the ball bounce out of bounds for a fault. Fuji calls the point.
But Yanagi takes the game. They cross paths at court change. More than Fuji's eyes follow them now. The university students point and whisper, but their eyes are wide. "Did you see…?" "Man, what a serve!" "But that straight shot…wow."
Pride warms Yanagi's insides. He keeps his eyes on the court. The ball is light in his hand. He squeezes it, just a little. Sadaharu adjusts his glasses as Yanagi throws the ball. He snaps his body into the shot. The ball veers straight to the net. Then, suddenly, as Sadaharu reaches for it, the ball shoots to the left.
Sadaharu hisses. The ball bounces to the back of the court. Sadaharu looks up. There is a red flush across his cheek. His glasses are cock-eyed.
"You saw that coming," Yanagi says. His voice sounds hard in his ears.
Sadaharu makes a noise. He mutters something under his breath. The numbers are too low for Yanagi to catch. Frisson prickles up his spine. Sadaharu looks at him, straight in the eye so hard that Yanagi feels himself stripped down to the muscle.
His hands shake on his racket, just a fraction more than they should. He glares back at Sadaharu. Do not take my data, Yanagi thinks. Sadaharu throws the ball up for a serve. His back arches into the waterfall. The ball cracks against his racket.
Yanagi jumps forward in a split-step.
His racket contacts the ball early. His muscles strain to return the shot. The tendons in his wrists tighten as he digs his hands into the grip tape. Yanagi bares his teeth. With a loud grunt, he slugs the ball back to Sadaharu's court.
The ball arcs up above their heads. Yanagi sucks in a breath as he watches the trajectory change with the breeze. The ball lands two inches outside the line.
"Out!" Fuji says. "Point, Inui."
Tied after five games, they look at each at the same time. Sadaharu breathes hard. His face is flushed. His glasses slip down his nose. Yanagi reaches around the back of his neck-his hand is wet with sweat. Yanagi lifts his chin. Sadaharu finishes the nod. He wanders off the courts with his hand in his pocket where he keeps his wallet.
On the bench, Fuji smiles at Yanagi. "That was some interesting tennis," he says. Yanagi wipes the sweat towel across his forehead. He narrows his eyes at Fuji.
"Learning tricks from Kirihara?" Fuji asks.
Yanagi stares at him. He says nothing.
Fuji continues, "After all, you two know each other well enough now." The smile doesn't reach the cold glint in his eyes.
"Akaya is in junior high school," Yanagi says. "I don't play on the same team as him anymore. His technique is erratic and unpredictable."
Fuji is quiet for a moment. Then he says, smoothly, "Who said I was talking about tennis?" He laughs to himself. Yanagi freezes to the spot. His mind flashes with images, all fragmented: Kirihara on the court, scraped and bleeding and laughing. Kirihara against a wall, shirtless and panting and shaking. Kirihara at the school festival, devil red and screaming. Yanagi's knees tremble.
Sadaharu returns from the vending machine with a Pocari Sweat. He unzips the side pocket of his tennis bag and adds the contents of a small bag to the bottle before he drinks it. "Renji?"
Yanagi breathes through his nose. Slowly, he turns to Fuji and says, "Why don't you two play a game now?" he asks.
Fuji grabs his racket and strokes the rim. "That sounds like fun, Inui," he says. He looks back at Yanagi as he sits down on the bench. "After all, we don't want Yanagi working himself to a red zone by playing too hard."
Sadaharu agrees with a distant hum. He doesn't get it. Yanagi sits stiffly on the bench as Fuji starts to play. His game is lazy. He's not trying. Something buzzes under Yanagi's feet. His cellphone has come out of the side pocket of his tennis bag. He picks it up and scrolls through the messages. Four from Kirihara, all read, all sent within the past hour.
He looks up to Fuji and the phone falls from his hands.
***
do u want to play some tennis today??? i can show u my new serve
maybe u can cum over to my house l8er my parents rnt home >:)
ok r u busy 2morrow maybe we can go 2 ur house instead hee hee
senpai?? dont u like me nymore??? :((
***
He sits in a tatami room. The paper windows filter the light to a soft haze that catches dust. Yanagi breathes in the sweet smell of the matting. He is alone. There is nothing but the sound of his breathing. He sets his palms on his thighs, his legs tucked under himself. Yanagi closes his eyes as he exhales.
In the corner, a scroll hangs in the tokonoma alcove. Underneath is a pot of bamboo. Yanagi counts the stalks. The scroll taps against the wall, the air having stirred movement into the thin paper. On the bottom of the scroll is a wavering painting of thin lines and dark pigments. Yanagi leans closer as the colours swirl to form a face.
The mask is painted red, with glowing eyes and wild black hair. Sharp teeth throw back into a laughing grimace and Kirihara jumps out from the scroll. Yanagi backs up against the wall. Kirihara screams and laughs and his claws are sharp arcs in the air. Yanagi can’t move. Something slices into his chest. He looks down to see streams of blood pouring from his body. Kirihara keeps laughing-the demon possesses him. He breathes hard through his nose, steaming and wet like a bull. His lips pull back. He leans back, and his claws strike again.
Yanagi stumbles to the floor. Wake up! Wake up! He tries to yell at himself, but his body is glued to the spot. Kirihara's pupil-less eyes nail Yanagi down. His laughter paralyses, high-pitched shrieks of delight as he crouches down. The fangs sink into Yanagi's chest. He arches back. Kirihara's tongue licks the blood streaming through Yanagi's torn shirt. His teeth pierce the raw flesh. Yanagi opens his mouth in a silent scream. The agony stabs every nerve of his body. He can feel everything, including Kirihara's naked, burning skin pushing him down, leaving welts where he pins Yanagi through the razors of his claws.
Kirihara lifts his head. Blood oozes from the sides of his mouth. He licks it away with a grin. His tongue is forked-it slips over his lips, tasting the air. His hair hisses and slithers across his red skin.
"You like this?" Kirihara snarls. His voice is thick with blood. He spits it onto Yanagi's face. Yanagi flinches. He digs his claws into Yanagi's thigh. His eyes roll around his head as he starts to laugh. "You do! You do!" The snakes in his hair twist. Kirihara cackles and cackles. Yanagi can't move. He can't breathe.
Kirihara leans close. His breath is rancid and bloody. He licks Yanagi's ear, from the lobe all the way up into the shell. Yanagi's spine goes rigid.
The shrieks fill the room. Kirihara lifts his hand. The claws are raised. The light bounces off the needle-sharp tips. His eyes are on fire at the edges, and dead pools in the middle. His face twists and his mouth widens from ear to ear, filled with rows of shark's teeth.
"I'll drag you to HELL WITH ME!" he screams.
The claws flash, blinding bright.
And everything goes black.
***
He sips tea in the kitchen. He sits in the dark. His heart won't slow down.
The LCD screen of his cellphone glows in the pre-dawn darkness. Yanagi pads to the sliding glass door onto the balcony. His mother has a line of white shirts out. Above the laundry, the lights of the city glow yellow-white until they disappear into the blue-black of the harbour.
The messages are gone. Yanagi can't remember deleting them. He thinks about responding to Kirihara. Every time, he shakes his head. No. He won't. And it's four in the morning. The world is asleep, except for him.
He takes another sip of tea. His body aches for sleep. His mind-and his heart-race. He checks the messages again, but there is no trace of anything from today. Except the thin little smile Fuji gave him, and the words echoing in his mind.
You two know each other well enough now…
Yanagi scrolls through the messages. Then he presses delete all.
Okay?
He sucks in a breath. Then he presses yes.
***
Yukimura phones. He asks if Yanagi wants to go to the new exhibition at the greenhouses east of MM21. "Genichirou's busy," he says.
"I see," Yanagi says.
"But you'd like it more anyway. We can go shopping after. I need a new pair of sneakers."
They meet by the Uniqlo at Queens Square. Sun streams through the skylights above the escalator. Yukimura has a bottle cola in one hand. With the other, he waves to Yanagi.
Yanagi gives him a little nod.
"Wanna get something to eat, first?" Yukimura asks. "Sanada and I go to the Taco Derio a lot."
The cashier recognizes Yukimura. She smiles and asks if he wants the double combo 6. Yukimura smiles back. He hands over two thousand yen notes. The food joint-Yanagi can't think of it as a restaurant with the plastic tables-smells of cheese. His stomach cramps up.
"Would you like cheese on your potato wedges?" the cashier asks. Behind her, a worker pumps gluey orange glop onto Yukimura's order.
Yanagi swallows a lump of acrid bile. "No," he says. The tray slides across the counter to him. Yukimura weaves through the tables to a spot at the bar along the window. They sit beside each other. Yukimura tosses hot sauce all over his tacos and his potatoes. He pushes it to Yanagi, who holds up his hands.
"So we're all trying out for the tennis team next week. Try-outs are Thursday." Yukimura stuffs the cheesiest potato into his mouth. Orange goo drips onto his tray. Yanagi swallows another wave of bile. He looks at the little dish of deep-fried potatoes on his tray, and pushes them to the back. He sips on the soft drink instead.
"Nishiki will be on the team again," Yanagi says.
"Yeah," Yukimura says. "And Watanabe and Kato, since they'll be third years now."
"We'll push out…" Yanagi pushes his straw deeper into the cup. "Yamaguchi, he's the weakest player."
"It's because he relies only on his volleys."
"Mn. And Saitoh. His serve is strong, but the statistics in Tennis Weekly didn't improve over last season by more than ten points."
Yukimura nods behind a mouthful of taco. Lettuce and guacamole stream through his fingers. He moans a little, and leans back on his stool. "Do you think Yagyuu will get in, too?"
"If they don't try him out against Nishiki first," Yanagi says. "He's as strong as Genichirou."
"He'll wipe the court with Yagyuu," Yukimura says. His eyes gleam in the grey light across the harbour. The Cosmoworld Ferris wheel spins slowly across the street. "But Yagyuu will improve and Nishiki won't. His heart's not there. He was always chasing girls."
"Like Marui."
Yukimura laughs. "And Jackal. And Niou."
Yanagi blinks. "Niou pays more attention to Yagyuu than to girls."
Yukimura looks at him. "Really?" He takes another bite of taco-half the tortilla in one go. "I never noticed."
Yanagi purses his lips. He thinks of a tactful approach, and ends up with, "You were gone a lot this year."
Silence hangs. Yukimura's chewing stops. The Taco Derio kitchen bangs and hisses with the sounds of cooking, and orange cheese pumping. Yanagi sets his taco down. His shoulders sink a little, but Yukimura is the one who slouches and stares out the window. Pedestrians move across his pupils. His skin drains of colour, taking on the grey of the pavement.
"Yeah," Yukimura murmurs. He turns his head. His thin lips are set in a line. His eyes are hard as he lifts his chin to Yanagi's level. "But I'm fine now."
Yanagi doesn't disagree. "Do you want this?" He nudges his tray toward Yukimura. Yukimura licks his lips and doesn't disagree with that, either.
The food sits in Yanagi's stomach as they walk north. He nods at Yukimura when he talks about tennis and Andy Roddick, the doctor's appointment that pissed him off, and how the Familymart by his house was out of his favourite gummies. The greenhouses teem with people. Water drips from the ceiling, rolling off the ends of Yanagi's hair. Yukimura sucks in his breath as they meander through the lush displays of rainforest vegetation. He stops at one of the shrubs to crouch down. His fingers trail along the petals of an orchid growing out of the trunk of a cypress tree. Yanagi glances around. The signs are big and white and say Please do not touch the plants. He says nothing. Yukimura flushes. "This is a ghost orchid. It only blooms for two weeks a year. It's endangered."
Yanagi tries to appreciate the orchid. It looks like most other white orchids he has seen-and never paid much attention to-at supermarkets and floral displays at department stores. He smiles and says, "Aa, yes."
Yukimura beams.
Genichirou should be here, Yanagi thinks. Sanada wouldn't say much. He wouldn't be able to do more than read the botanical names on the placards. He would hate the crowds of people breathing on his back. But he would be the one to listen to Yukimura gush over orchids, voodoo lilies and colvillea racemosa, too. He would be the one to see Yukimura's eyes fill with moisture, and the one to offer Yukimura his handkerchief to wipe the condensation falling from above from his cheek.
"Where is Genichirou?" Yanagi asks.
Yukimura turns around from the Fan Palm. He blinks. "Oh, he had to take Sasuke to kendo class today because his mom's in Kobe visiting her sister." He walks ahead. Yanagi matches him step for step. Past the palm is a small pond in the middle of the greenhouse. The surface of the water is glass-calm. Underneath, koi fish swirl and thrash. Gold scales on their backs flash in the weak sunlight as they fight for the flotsam of food along the bed.
"And my sister is working?" Yanagi asks.
Yukimura shrugs. "Dunno. Genichirou said she was busy. Doctor's appointment or university exams or something." He pokes Yanagi in the side. "Don't you keep tabs on her?"
"Not really."
They share a little smile.
"I saw Akaya yesterday," Yukimura says.
The words on the sign Yanagi was reading start to blur. He turns around. Yukimura is on to the next plant. A butterfly skitters across the feathery frond. It flutters through the air above Yukimura, who reaches out to touch it.
"He's making training schedules," Yanagi says.
"No, not really," Yukimura says. "He needs to find a team first."
"That won't be a problem," Yanagi says.
"He was asking about you."
Yanagi's head swims in the air. It closes in on his neck. He touches his collar and pulls out a fan. He takes a long breath. "Oh?"
"He was talking about some new tennis move. And he wants your help with some paperwork, he said."
"Genichirou was fukubuchou," Yanagi says. "Akaya can ask him."
"You're better at paperwork and training schedules," Yukimura says. He looks around the bend in the pathway, past the papery bark of a tree. "Ooooh!" Yukimura claps his hands together. "Look at this, Yanagi!" He goes on about a plant Yanagi has never heard of and never will remember. Yanagi thinks about Kirihara. Kirihara claws at his mind, and his chest. His heart thumps hard against his ribs. Yanagi stops. Yukimura asks if he's all right.
"I'm fine," Yanagi says.
His phone vibrates in his pocket.
***
hey maybe we can play tennis 2morrow?? i played some losers today and creamed them lol
Yanagi frowns.
He dials the number from memory. He may not answer. He may be busy. He could even be playing tennis now. It rings twice.
On the third, a voice picks up. "Aa, Renji."
"Sadaharu."
"You are calling me to discuss tennis."
Yanagi laughs. It comes out as a snort. "I would prefer to discuss it in person. Your graphs are difficult to interpret aurally."
"Aa…" Inui concedes. "We can meet tomorrow at four."
"Two."
"I have training with Kaidoh until three."
Yanagi doesn't move for a moment. He keeps his voice level. "Four is fine."
He messages Kirihara back: I have homework to do tomorrow. Something dull presses against his insides when he receives the response: a row of sad-faced emoticons. Yanagi can hear the whine in Kirihara's voice. He pulls on his pajamas and slides into bed.
When he closes his eyes, he can hear the moans from Kirihara, too. Yanagi's eyes snap open. He stares at the pendant light hanging from the ceiling. A spider weaves a web along the inside.
Yanagi closes his eyes. His hand touches the hot skin under his waistband. The moans aren't from memory-they escape his own mouth now.
***