Happy Santa_Smex, Nimori!

[reposoir]

To: nimori
From: pixxers

Title: Straight to Number One
Recipient's name: nimori
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Sanada/Kirihara
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.
Warnings: Future timelines, typical Sanada-grouchiness, gratuitous flashbacks.
Author's notes: This just might be the most important countdown of Sanada's life. nimori, I really, really hope you enjoy this story. Happy Smex. :D



Straight to Number One

In just about half an hour, the sun would set. Over the past two, the frenzy of activity on Rikkai's junior high tennis courts had dwindled until only one boy remained. Rigid and white-knuckled with determination, he continued to swing, continued to return each and every serve that came his way.

"The kid's wringing wet," Niou said, though no one was listening. There was only one opinion the captain cared to hear and that opinion did not belong to Niou Masaharu. Without looking away from the rapidfire back-and-forth taking place on the court, Marui offered Niou a stick of Mint Blue. Niou took it without comment.

"He hasn't missed a single one," Yanagi murmured. "Genichirou hasn't gone easy on him."

Yukimura nodded - this was the opinion he sought - but remained silent, watchful.

Several feet away, Sanada swung hard, grunting with the effort he expended in maintaining his faultless control. The kid grunted too, desperate and dismayed when the wild ball only just missed Sanada's left shoulder.

He sank to his knees, racket clattering on the ground beside him.

"Well," Niou said, chomping his gum. "Guess that's that."

"What's his name?" Yukimura wanted to know.

"Kirihara," Jackal answered. "First year. He was here before all the others, warming up."

"Kirihara," Yukimura repeated. Silent for a moment, watching as Sanada's long, purposeful strides ate up the distance between himself and the boy he'd spent the past hour working over. When he stood before him, the boy looked up. Sanada held his hand out, though the expression on his face was anything but pleasant. The boy shook his head, climbed to his feet slowly. His right knee was scraped and bloody.

"I want him," Yukimura said. "He's the one."

"What about the others?" Jackal asked. "We had two slots, I thought."

Yukimura shook his head once. "Just him."

No one offered a dissenting opinion. No one dared.

In the near-distance, backlit by the sun when it sank slowly into the horizon, Sanada watched the boy walk away until he'd disappeared into the clubhouse.

Yukimura smiled then. "Just him," he said again.

When Yukimura left the rest of his team behind to join Sanada at the net, Niou spat gum at the chain-link fence. "This gum sucks," he muttered.

~Ten~

"Hm," Yanagi hummed, staring thoughtfully at his mobile as though it might offer some explanation for Sanada's continued lack of contact. "Still no answer."

Yukimura did not reply, head bowed in concentration as he trimmed the bonsai on the small table before him.

"Do you think he's checking his messages, Seiichi?"

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Seiichi," he tried again.

"Hm?" Yukimura responded finally, distracted though he was.

"I asked if you thought Genichirou was checking his messages."

Yukimura smiled. "Of course he is. Renji, look at this. Is it even?"

Frowning, Yanagi pocketed his phone and peered over his friend's shoulder at the little tree before him. "It looks fine," he said noncommittally.

Now it was Yukimura's turn to frown. "You barely looked at it," he accused.

Yanagi turned away, gazing toward the open window. "I don't need to study it to know that it looks fine."

"That's interesting," Yukimura began lightly. "And here I thought you knew nothing about gardening."

Lowering himself stiffly to the edge of Seiichi's futon, Yanagi folded his hands in his lap and continued to look toward the window. It surprised him that Yukimura owned no window dressings and seemed entirely unmoved by the lack. "What's to know? Why don't you ask your gardening forum?"

Laying the small shears aside, Yukimura turned to gaze dispassionately at Yanagi, who pretended not to notice. "Perhaps I'll do that. Kite-san is always such a help. Particularly when I invite him to view my specimens over the web cam."

Lip curled in obvious distaste, Yanagi rubbed the palms of his hands over his shorts. "I'm sure that he is."

"You're beginning to adversely affect my Chi, Renji. Perhaps you should go make yourself ready for those tutoring sessions you enjoy so much."

"Perhaps I should," Yanagi agreed, getting to his feet and avoiding eye contact with Yukimura. "It feels good to make a difference in someone's life, academically or otherwise."

With a secret little smile, Yukimura turned back to his bonsai.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"Indeed," he murmured.

Summarily dismissed, Yanagi made his way to the door. He'd show himself out, he wouldn't say goodbye. It was their way.

~Nine~

As it turned out, Sanada had not been checking his messages. Truthfully, it had been entirely unnecessary for him to do so since he'd listened to them as they had come in - each and every one. It was seamless, the habit he'd formed over the past few days. The phone would ring, he would freeze - would hover indecisively near the table on which the phone sat - and as the machine picked up, he would push the speaker button and sit back in his second-hand armchair to listen. Sometimes it was Yukimura, sometimes it was Yanagi. Sometimes it was it his mother or his older brother or Atobe Keigo, who had never quite come to terms with the certainty that Sanada was not impressed with his propensity for pomp and circumstance.

Regardless as to whom the caller turned out to be, Sanada was in no mood to answer. Not when he knew what most of the calls were in reference to and didn't care about any of the others.

This time it was Yanagi. Leaning back against the worn chair, Sanada poked at the telephone's base with the tip of one blunt finger and wished - and not for the first time - that the season would hurry up and end.

Beep.

"Genichirou. This is the fifth message I've left. While I do understand your need for solitude I feel as though I should point out that your behavior is..."

There was a brief pause and a heartfelt sigh and Sanada covered his eyes with one hand.

"...well, a bit juvenile. You're really not behaving like any emperor I've ever heard of. It's been nine years already. You have no woman, you let Yukimura get away and your brother has been speculating to Akaya's sister that you must be suffering from some sort of erectile dysfunction."

Head bowed, Sanada made some small wounded sound and wished he had the fortitude to simply unplug the phone. That he didn't and probably wouldn't only made him all the more certain that he'd become a masochist of the most undignified sort.

"I know it's not my business and I know that you've been happy to let things lie, but Seiichi and I are worried about you."

Looking up, Sanada cast a wry glance at the telephone.

"Very well, so I'm probably more worried than Seiichi, but I'm sure he's given you a passing thought at least once this week."

Sanada squeezed his eyes closed and contemplated - and not for the first time - a change in locale.

"In any event, I'm sure you're aware that Akaya is going to be in town for two days after the Japan Open. Maybe you guys could talk or something. I'm sure he'd want to see you after so long."

After another brief pause, Yanagi cleared his throat and what might have passed for passion only a moment ago seemed to dissipate. "Call me when you have a moment. Goodbye, Genichirou."

For long moments after, Sanada remained where he was. In his father's old armchair and with his head resting heavily against the palms of his hands, he wondered how it was possible to feel this way after all the time that had passed. And all it had taken was the mere mention of Kirihara Akaya. Just his name and Sanada was right back where the whole thing had begun: his last year of Junior High. A year of self-discovery, of self-recrimination. A year of shameful, secret obsession that had not faded in the years that had followed. It was true, what his grandfather had always tried to teach him. When a warrior allows himself to fall, he loses some vital part of himself. His dignity, his resolve, his pride. Though he'd spent years attempting to salvage something of what he'd lost, his shame lingered. Reliving that particular series of events was definitely not in Sanada's best interests but, as he'd already begun to suspect, his masochistic streak seemed to stretch on for miles. He simply could not help himself.

It had all started with a pink panda bear. A stupid, pink plushy charm that no self-respecting man would own and that no other self-respecting man would ever notice. But Kirihara owned one. And Sanada had absolutely noticed. Despite Yukimura's unspoken warnings to lay off of Kirihara and his pink panda, Sanada found himself unable to ignore it. Every day, there it was - bouncing against Kirihara's tennis bag and not remotely small enough as to be overlooked. After a while, Sanada began to wonder why it seemed that he was the only one who had a problem with it. Yukimura seemed to have no feelings one way or another, Yagyuu seemed not to have noticed, Niou clearly wanted one for his own, Marui liked to tease Kirihara by threatening to steal it, Jackal thought it was cute and Yanagi - traitorous bastard that he was - smiled blandly whenever he saw it. It was only Sanada who saw red whenever the other team members teased Kirihara about his pink panda. That it wasn't quite anger he was feeling would not be realized until much, much later.

"Akaya! You're late!" Yanagi called out as Kirihara rushed past. Shoulders hunched, impish expression firmly in place, blasted pink panda bouncing against his hip, Kirihara waved in Jackal and Marui's general direction and pretended not to notice Sanada's forbidding scowl.

"Sorry, Senpai! I had detention!" He called back, tossing his bag on the floor beneath his locker and hurriedly toeing off his sneakers. Yagyuu stood idly by, swinging his racket in fluid, repetitive motions. His head was cocked and he pushed his glasses up along the bridge of his nose without disrupting his rhythm. Just behind him, Niou hovered nonchalantly. Though he appeared merely to be waiting for his teammates, Sanada did not miss the flicker in his eyes, the one that said he was watching, waiting, for any opportunity to get under Sanada's skin.

"You get in a fight over that little bear, Akaya?" he asked, smarmy for Sanada and not for Kirihara.

"Pfft," Akaya dismissed. "You wish."

"What happened?" Yukimura wanted to know, brows drawn in impending reproach. He adjusted his wristbands, frowning to realize just how loose they continued to be.

Kirihara ducked his head, evading Yukimura's stare and shucking his uniform with no hint of humility. "Some dumb girl passed me a note in class and Sensei took it from me."

Marui laughed, clasping both hands beneath his chin and fluttering his eyelashes dramatically when he pretended to swoon against Jackal. "Akaya's got a giiiiirlfriend," he cooed, unperturbed when Jackal elbowed him aside.

Glaring, Kirihara jerked his practice jersey over his head, making that much more a bird's nest of his sweaty, messy curls. "Shut up, I do not."

"So what'd the note say?" Niou asked, one hand on Yagyuu's shoulder to halt his idle swinging.

Kirihara shrugged, flopping down on the bench to change his socks and slip his sneakers on again. "Nothing much. The whole thing was stupid and I was the one who got in trouble."

"The girl didn't get detention?" Yukimura demanded.

"Nope," Kirihara said, back on his feet and digging through his tennis bag. "Guess Sensei felt sorry for her on account of she was all embarrassed and stuff."

"And you weren't embarrassed?" Yanagi asked.

"Not really," Kirihara said. "It was just dumb and I was mad that I got in trouble."

"She probably wanted to know where you got that cute little panda bear," Niou said, giggling despite the look of censure Yagyuu shot him.

"Enough," Sanada grunted. "Get your things and let's go. We've wasted enough time."

He felt Yukimura's eyes on him, but didn't look his way. "Kirihara. Ten extra laps."

Instead of the objection he'd been anticipating, Kirihara only nodded. "Yes, Sanada-fukubuchou," he muttered, dragging his feet as he followed the others out onto the courts. Yukimura hung back, an enigmatic expression on his face.

"Ten laps?" he asked, one brow arched.

Sanada frowned, muttered under his breath. "Ten is enough."

Yukimura smiled, let his arm brush Sanada's as they made their way out together.

~Eight~

And that was how it went, for a time. Yukimura worked hard to regain the strength he'd lost and the team followed him blindly, loyally - none more so than Sanada. In return, Yukimura deferred to him more often and the trust Sanada felt he'd lost when he'd failed to deliver Yukimura the victory he'd wanted so badly seemed to return in small but vital increments. Unfortunately, the panda bear remained a fixture in Sanada's periphery and though he resented it more than ever, Kirihara's dedication to tennis and to Yukimura seemed to hold more sway. Until that afternoon when it all came apart.

Once again, they were gathered together in the clubroom, winding down after a particularly grueling practice. There was nothing of the sweet-natured Yukimura in the demon who led them, day after day - sometimes twice a day - towards Nationals. Towards the victory that he had often decreed would finally be theirs.

Once again, they were working hard to be the best. Hungry and desperate and so determined to accomplish with Yukimura what they hadn't without him. The pressure and the expectation gave them an edge the other teams lacked. They were leaner, harder, less forgiving of the mistakes that might cost them the title. Sanada supposed he should have known, even as young as he'd been, that all that energy and tireless determination had to go someplace. He should have suspected that it would turn them inside out and pit them against one another in ways that none of them had ever intended. He should have known that his irritation with Kirihara's reluctance to grow up and leave his more childish pursuits behind was nothing more than his own self-loathing searching for a suitable outlet. That afternoon, it became glaringly obvious. And not just to Sanada.

"Kirihara, pick up your feet," Sanada instructed, hot and exhausted and fairly vibrating with tension.

"Come on, Fukubuchou, lay off, will ya? I can barely walk."

Sanada scowled, preparing to fire back when Yukimura lay a hand on his arm to quiet him. As always, his touch produced the desired effect and Sanada fell silent.

"Good work today, team. Clean up and go home; tomorrow we start at six a.m."

Already out of the shower, Yanagi dressed in record time. He'd been burning the candle at both ends with exams and tennis practice and while he never uttered a word in complaint, the strain on his body was beginning to show. That Yukimura did not offer to cut him any slack or seek to otherwise acknowledge his exhaustion was proof to Sanada that he was working himself just as hard. As hard-nosed and determined as he was, Yukimura did not enjoy seeing his team suffer.

Following his partner into the shower area, Niou kept his head down. Yagyuu's posture was ramrod-straight and Niou was killing himself to follow suit. Even as he slouched, he sought to emulate. Only Jackal and Marui seemed not to bend under the pressure and Sanada suspected the depth of their friendship and their propensity to help one another shoulder the burden kept them from becoming too caught up in the moment.

"Kirihara," Yukimura murmured tiredly. "You'll miss your bus."

Legs shaking, Kirihara still breathed heavily when he sat down on the bench. Sanada had pushed him hard today. Had driven the boy to limits to which he'd been certain would break him. Instead, and perhaps not so surprising, Kirihara had not only held his own, he'd broken those limits in the doing of it. Grudgingly, Sanada had nodded his approval even as the restlessness within him threatened to usurp whatever reason he still possessed. "I'll call my mom," he panted, shoving a hand through wet tangles of his hair.

"You should shower anyway," Sanada said gruffly, even as he'd made no move toward stripping off his practice uniform. It had become a game he liked to play - testing Kirihara's boundaries. In some odd, convoluted way, by testing Kirihara, he also tested himself. Things like telling the boy to shower or goading him about classroom transgressions he'd heard about. Pushing to find out how far he could go and how badly it would make him feel - how unlike himself it would make him feel.

Kirihara did not answer and seemed to only move that much slower. Yanagi left with Marui and Jackal and Yukimura slipped off to shower - slow and languid as he was when he found himself so close to exceeding his physical limitations. It didn't matter, really. Sanada's awareness didn't extend to any of the other boys - even Yukimura whom he respected and cared for more than any other. Or so he'd always thought. No, these days, it was only Kirihara who seemed able to rouse Sanada's temper, to make him want to exert his authority in such unreasonable, ignoble ways.

"Kirihara," Sanada said sharply. "You can't afford to slack off now."

It was ridiculous and undeserved and Sanada knew it. All the same, he couldn't seem to help himself. Not when Kirihara carried that damnable toy around so pridefully. Not when he obeyed each and every one of Sanada's commands even as he glared spitefully in the completion of them. Not when he passed notes with girls and played tennis with such passion and increasing precision and skill and made it so impossible for Sanada to find peace when he lay down to sleep at night.

"Look at me," he demanded, angrier than before. Restless and hungry and wanting to force a confrontation in which he knew Kirihara could not best him.

Standing then, quick and reactive despite his fatigue, Kirihara shoved his bag aside on the bench and took a step toward Sanada. "What do you want from me?" he yelled, more and more the hotheaded boy Sanada had been so afraid of losing in the inevitability of graduation and unrequited emotions. He knew it in that moment, what he'd been feeling. Fear. Insecurity and uncertainty and just plain fear.

"I want you to stand on your own and be victorious without needing to lean on Yanagi or Yukimura or..." he trailed off, sick to realize how much he might give away in the release of so much pent-up emotion. "I want you to be a man."

"A man? Is that all?" Kirihara did not back down when Sanada advanced and such tenacity, such strength of will was as much a temptation as was his eagerness to please on the court. "What's a man to you, Sanada-fukubuchou? Someone who bullies others? Someone who takes his frustrations out on his team because he can't win the whole fucking thing by himself? What do you want me to do that I'm not doing already?"

He didn't want to look away, didn't want to let on that he was already regretting this confrontation he'd initiated. Invariably, he found his gaze drawn to the pink panda clipped to the o-ring of Kirihara's tennis bag. It smiled stupidly, taunting Sanada, reminding him of what he was and of what he wanted.

"I want," he began, sweating and shaking, himself, though not for the same reasons Kirihara had been. It was not mere exertion that drained him so completely. "I want you to..."

Eyes big and dark - such a boy he still was - Kirihara stared up at Sanada. It was there in his eyes, his desire to please, but beyond that lurked a young man's anger and refusal to tolerate the sort of injustice Sanada seemed so intent on inflicting. "Just tell me," he implored. "Please, Sanada-fukubuchou."

"You're careless," he spat. "You don't care what others think or how you might be perceived. Carrying around that ridiculous toy..."

"My aunt gave that to me! What's your problem? I never see her, she came to visit-"

It was surreal, the argument they were having. The accusations and the explanations and the absurdity of it all. The pink panda was no longer the issue that it once had been and Sanada hated it all the more because of the turn his anger had taken.

"Shutup!" he demanded. "You have to be stronger, have to be serious, committed."

"I'm here every day! I haven't been to the arcade in weeks; how much more committed can I be?"

"Getting detention, passing notes with girls," Sanada went on, with no idea of the direction his lecture should take merely in order to validate itself.

"That note was about you!" Kirihara yelled, face flushed in anger, fists clenched at his sides. "That girl was interested in you, Sanada-fukubuchou!"

Sanada blinked, surprised. "Me?"

Angry still, but lowering his gaze in hesitation, Kirihara scuffed his shoe on the floor. His voice was considerably softer when he spoke again. "The note was embarrassing. She said things about you, wanted to know things about you."

Staring, feeling his anger subsiding as his heart seemed to turn over in his chest, Sanada stepped closer so as not to miss a single word. He gripped Kirihara's bicep so as to prevent his escape, careful though he was. It was not a caress. Was not a kindness. He stepped closer still, the fingers of his other hand curling around Kirihara's thin arm.

"Sensei wanted the note, but I said no. I couldn't let him read it, couldn't let anyone know."

His breathlessness was catching; Sanada's chest seemed to constrict.

"I didn't want them laughing about you, Sanada-fukubuchou," Kirihara murmured, voice trembling with the emotion he held back so firmly. "I wouldn't give the note up. That's why I got in trouble."

Sanada's grip on Kirihara tightened, the anger he'd felt paling in comparison to the need, the desire that was suddenly his. He brought him close, Kirihara's smaller body pressing indecently against his own. He wasn't thinking of the state of his uniform, how sweaty he was and how disgusted Kirihara must be. He didn't think about what might happen if Yukimura came back, or Niou or Yagyuu. He didn't think about the honesty that he owed Kirihara or even the honesty he owed himself. All that was in his mind was the feel of Kirihara's heartbeat trapped against his chest and the way he didn't seek to resist and how much smaller he truly was. In the wake of Sanada's self-discovery came nothing more than a powerful teenaged lust. And it was not something that Sanada was prepared to confront or acknowledge. Not even when Kirihara stared up at him with those dark, dark eyes, wanting a forgiveness that he should not have sought. He wasn't the one who needed to be sorry.

Something in Sanada's expression shifted and they were immediately aware of the closeness they shared and the almost-admission that had led them to that moment. Sanada's grip tightened even as Kirihara began to pull away.

"Let go," he whispered, bending to grab his bag. His eyes were wide, his face pale.

Sanada shook his head, though he had no idea precisely what he was preparing to refuse. Whether to deny his feelings or to disallow Kirihara his freedom, the result was the same. "Kirihara," he began. His voice sounded odd, even to his own ears. "Wait."

It was Kirihara's turn to shake his head, pulling hard on his bag when Sanada grabbed the strap. "Let go, Fukubuchou."

Grip slipping, Sanada grabbed the pink panda. He wanted to tear it apart, scatter the stuffing to the wind, grind the pink fur beneath his shoes. Kirihara was, however, stronger than he looked and when he finally pulled free of Sanada's grasp, he turned to run without a single backward glance. Sanada heard the soles of his shoes echoing across the pavement, imagined that he could hear him breathing hard with the effort to get as far away from Sanada as he possibly could.

But the breathing that he'd imagined he'd heard was only Niou's soft laughter.

"I thought you hated that thing," he said, nodding at the stuffed toy clenched so tightly in Sanada's hand.

The look on his face gave nothing away, though Sanada's stomach knotted to imagine what Niou might have witnessed. Yagyuu appeared behind him, frowning and insisting that he move.

"Careful," Niou said to his partner. "Tile's slippery."

But then he was smiling at Sanada again. "Better put that thing away before Yukimura-buchou gets back," he said. teasing and almost smug. "Big guy like you, playing with stuffed toys. Kinda weird, fukubuchou."

For the first time in his life, Sanada did as Niou suggested. Stuffing the toy deep into the bottom of his duffel, Sanada packed up his things and headed out into the same near-darkness that Kirihara had fled. His pride and his sense of self were as the toy he'd taken from Kirihara. Buried way down deep, someplace not so readily accessible. Someplace no one else could see. It was, Sanada knew, nothing less than he deserved.

~Seven~

Sanada dozed. Lounging in his father's chair - as his father had done years before him - he'd tucked in with his humiliation and regret and cursed Yanagi's fondness for nostalgia. Sanada would, he knew, eventually get around to calling him, though he had no idea what he might say. He'd grumble a little, that was for certain, but one did not simply evade Yanagi Renji when he had a goal.

As he came awake, groggy and stiff for the position he'd held in sleep, Sanada rotated his shoulder and shut his eyes tight as remnants of the past retreated to the far corners of Sanada's mind. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still remember the way Kirihara had felt, smelled - the way he'd looked at Sanada with those big, earnest eyes.

But Sanada didn't want to remember those things and so he rubbed his face and stood to stretch his arms high over his head. His mother had asked him to dinner later that night, so he knew he had someplace to go if he were so inclined. Whether or not he actually went would depend on the tolerance he possessed regarding his brother's asinine tendency to taunt Sanada when neither of their parents were within earshot. The fact of the matter was that he was almost twenty-four years old and had no prospects in the relationship department. His brother would be a father in less than six months and Sanada couldn't even imagine what it was like to ask a woman for a date. When they were younger, it didn't bother him so much. Things had changed - Sanada had changed. There was a very significant difference between a boy's failure and that of a man's.

Padding over to the ancient computer that he refused to replace or upgrade, Sanada sat down heavily in the desk chair and thought that perhaps he should think about getting a new cell phone. When he'd dropped his in a puddle and been subsequently sprayed with muddy water by a passing car, he'd been aggravated enough to think they were more trouble then they were worth. Sitting idle at his desk for five minutes while he waited for his browser to load made him think perhaps he'd been wrong.

He didn't have to type in the web address as it was there in a list of websites he visited regularly, but he typed it all out anyway. The Japan Open schedule was the same as it had been when Sanada had checked it last week. He did not, as it happened, need Yanagi to tell him where and when Kirihara would be someplace; Sanada already knew his every move.

The kid was a paradox.

Off the court, he was your average thirteen-year-old: obsessed with video games and professional wrestling and fascinated by bugs and roadkill and most anything that made girls squeal. On the court, however, he was a little devil: taking over any space he occupied and making it his very own by any means necessary.

Yukimura called him a wild card and Yanagi agreed. Sanada thought he just needed some firm discipline. At the end of the day, however, no other player could fire Sanada's blood the way Kirihara could. He tried Sanada's patience sorely and despite every challenge, insult and ultimatum Sanada threw at him, he showed no hint of fear. Marui said he was an idiot. Niou said he was a genius.

Five days into his first week of practice, he mouthed off to Sanada and got the shit knocked out of him for his trouble. Instead of crying or running to Yukimura the way other first-years had done in the past, he chuckled under his breath, wiped the spit off his lip and jogged away to complete the fifty laps Sanada had ordered him to run. He kept his head up and finished all fifty, even though he knew he was going to miss his bus.

Afterward, when he dragged himself out of the showers, it was dark out and the clubhouse was deserted. Just outside, Sanada waited, jingling the clubhouse keys impatiently. They didn't say a word to one another, but Sanada walked Kirihara all the way home before catching his own bus.

~Six~

The day before the Japan Open was set to commence, Yukimura called to invite Sanada to dinner. A 'social gathering', as Yukimura had insisted. 'For old time's sake.'

"Who's coming?" Sanada wanted to know, stomach uneasy at the thought of a possible pre-arranged meeting between himself and Kirihara. Sanada knew better than to underestimate the machinations of Yanagi and Yukimura.

"Bunta and his girlfriend, probably Jackal, you, Renji and me."

"What about Niou and Yagyuu?"

"They're in Bali," he told Sanada, crunching a celery stick. Sanada knew that Yukimura was hardly attentive; he could hear his favorite J-drama playing in the background.

"Bali? Why?"

"Niou wanted to take pictures of some beach. Yagyuu didn't have anything else better to do, I guess," Yukimura said, muting the volume when the music swelled suddenly.

Sanada frowned. Since middle school, Niou and Yagyuu had been inseparable. They'd graduated together, attended the same college, remained roommates afterwards and yet had never hinted one way or another at the true nature of their relationship. Yanagi said that of course they were sleeping together though Yukimura insisted that men were capable of the deepest, truest sorts of friendship that had nothing to do with romantic interest. Sanada personally felt that Yukimura only liked saying that to irritate Yanagi, but theirs was a dysfunctional relationship that he absolutely wanted no part of. And so he kept his own counsel in the way he'd become accustomed over the years.

"So will you come, Genichirou?" Yukimura asked, clearly ready to end the conversation.

"I suppose," he said grudgingly, unable to bring himself to ask if Kirihara would be there, too. If Yukimura were up to something, that information would remain secret regardless of Sanada's carefully worded questions.

"Great. Meet us at the Italian place we used to go to. Six p.m."

"The one your mom likes?" Sanada asked.

"Yes, that one. Or did you want to meet someplace and just go there together?"

That was the last thing Sanada wanted to do. "No, I'll just meet you there."

Yukimura hung up after that and Sanada fumbled with the phone as he placed it on the base. He hated making plans on short-notice, but Yukimura didn't seem to be able to plan any other way. The night ahead stretched out long and busy before him. He didn't have much time to waste.

The incident in the locker room had proved to be even more detrimental to Sanada's relationship with Kirihara than a real confession might have. As a result of Sanada's misplaced anger and the shameful way he'd handled himself, Kirihara barely looked at him. They spoke about tennis - about strategy and performance and planning - but seemed to have nothing else to say to one another. Under Yanagi's guidance, Kirihara excelled and while they didn't win the Nationals as they'd planned, Kirihara had come into his own. Without Sanada.

Kirihara moved in different circles - an entirely separate orbit from that which Sanada cleaved to so desperately - and was quick and practiced enough that his avoidance of Sanada could have easily been misinterpreted as timing and scheduling issues. No one asked any questions. No one, except for Sanada, knew the truth.

After the Nationals, Sanada, Yanagi and Yukimura were busy with exams, graduation and a lingering defeat. None of them were sad to leave those junior high years behind and Sanada had begun to tell himself that the distance between himself and Kirihara was the wisest course of action. While he hadn't actually convinced himself that he was over the whole affair and should forget about looking back in the interests of moving forward, he knew it was only a matter of time. Eventually, he would move on. Eventually, it wouldn't hurt so much.

He saw Kirihara on graduation day and for once, neither sought an immediate escape. It was chilly out. Kirihara wore his uniform and overcoat and his cheeks were wind-chapped. Without his hat to hide beneath, Sanada's bangs swept across his forehead to tangle in his eyelashes. While he wanted to brush his hair aside, he wasn't certain he wanted such an unobstructed view of Kirihara.

"Fukubuchou."

Glancing sideways at him, Sanada nodded acknowledgment. "Thank you for coming," he said, as though all the students had not attended and Kirihara had made a special trip. But he knew Kirihara would not quibble. Those days were over.

"I'll be captain next year," he said. Cocky without expending much effort. "We're going to be number one.

"I know," Sanada said, hands deep in his pockets to rub bits of lint between his fingertips.

"You think I can do it?" Kirihara asked, something of the boy Sanada loved audible in the waver of his voice.

"I know you can do it," Sanada said, already turning away.

It wasn't like Kirihara, Sanada thought, to let him walk away and get the last word in the process. But then, he remembered, Kirihara hated him now. Watching Sanada walk away was probably the most welcome sight he could have imagined. Knowing this, Sanada hurried his steps. It was the only apology he could offer.

~Five~

The train had been stuffed to capacity. Plenty of people were in town for the Japan Open and it soothed Sanada, somewhat. With so many people around, Kirihara would never have to know that he was there.

He checked his watch, frowned to realize that he was running a bit late and snapped his collar up around his ears as he hurried along the sidewalk. Yukimura would not be angry and had probably only just begun to get comfortable. Marui would order an overpriced, pretentious wine and Yanagi's phone would vibrate all night but he would ignore it. So predictable everything was. So predictable was Sanada's life.

When he reached the restaurant, he paused. The exterior was nice - all soft lighting and greenery - and the lights that glowed from within were welcoming through the large glass windows. After a moment, he noticed Yukimura holding court at one of the center tables. His cheeks were flushed and he looked happy - Sanada's heart warmed to see him there. But then he noticed who occupied the seat directly to his left and all the warmth in Sanada seemed to drain directly into his feet.

Kirihara Akaya, tall and vibrant and even more stunning than any of the professional photos Sanada had found on the Internet and saved to his computer. For a moment, he considered turning around and heading right back home, despite the distance they'd traveled for this evening together. He knew, though, that he could not. As avoidant as he'd been, Yukimura and Yanagi had always managed to stay one step ahead and if he didn't go inside the restaurant and make some attempt at normalcy - such as it was - they would know what a coward he really was. It angered him to think of it, really. Because the truth of the matter was that Sanada was no coward. He was a great many things - more than a few of which were entirely unfavorable - but he was no coward.

Beside him, blocking his immediate path, was a tall man with heavy, black-framed glasses who appeared to be skulking about as Sanada had been a moment ago. When he noticed Sanada staring at him, head cocked and trying to place him, he hunched his shoulders into his oversized coat and walked briskly in the opposite direction. A particularly strong breeze lifted the bowler hat he wore and though the man grabbed it quickly and stuffed it firmly atop his head again, Sanada noticed the familiar spiky black hair. He shook his head, laughing to himself as he pushed the door open to enjoy the blast of warm air inside. Yanagi and his old friends - still playing the same games they played as children. Predictable, he thought again. And it wasn't just him, it seemed. That realization alone gave him the confidence he needed to step inside, feign disorientation for a few moments - just enough time to allow Yukimura to notice him - and offer a little smile to the people seated at the table. All of them.

"You could call him, you know," Yukimura said, looking up from the biology text he'd been poring over for the past two hours.

Sanada grunted, made a note in his statistics notebook. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Silent for a just a moment, Yukimura chewed the tip of his pencil thoughtfully and finally shrugged. "Fine."

Sanada looked up, glaring at the top of Yukimura's head. It didn't work; Yukimura didn't look up again. It was the only time they'd ever spoken of Kirihara. Or not spoken of him, as it happened.

"Niou's having a party in his room tonight. Are you coming?"

Sanada frowned. Yukimura knew he wouldn't go. But he liked giving Sanada something troubling to think about and then striking up meaningless conversation to confuse him.

"Maybe," he said, knowing that Yukimura was smiling even though he couldn't see his face.

He didn't go to the party, but sometime during the course of the evening when he wasn't certain he could feel any more conflicted and wound up than he already did, he called Kirihara's house. His mother answered the phone. Sanada hung up without saying a word and had gone to bed shortly thereafter. It was the first night - the only night - he'd spent alone where he'd been unable to keep hot tears from wetting his pillow.

~Four~

That Kirihara's expression registered no surprise at Sanada's arrival spoke clearly of his involvement in Yanagi and Yukimura's little subterfuge, transparent though it was. Sanada could not be upset with them - any of them - when Kirihara offered him so small and so hesitant a smile.

"We thought you weren't coming," Yanagi said, filling his guest's wine glass nearly to the rim. The boy was dark, serious-looking and, as far as Sanada could tell, barely legal.

"There are more people in the area than I thought there would be," Sanada said, taking the seat across from Kirihara and next to Bunta's pretty girlfriend. He bowed politely to her and she smiled, lowering her head in return.

"You remember Ritsuki-san," Yukimura said, motioning to Marui's girlfriend.

"And this is Hazue," Yanagi spoke up, motioning to the boy at his side with no small amount of pride. "The young man I've been...tutoring."

Sanada cleared his throat in discomfort.

"Uh, of course. Good to see you again, Ritsuki-san. It's good to meet you, Hazue-kun."

The boy swallowed nervously but smiled all the same. "And you, Sanada-san."

Sanada arched a brow in question and Yanagi smiled blandly. "I'm afraid I've told him a few stories about Rikkai. Glory days and such."

Sanada didn't mention Seigaku's data man spying outside the restaurant. He was certain that Yanagi was already well aware.

"Glory days," Sanada murmured, unable to keep from sneaking a glance at Kirihara, who was staring intently at him. Sanada blushed a little. "Where's Bunta?"

"Bathroom," his girlfriend said. "He'll be back soon."

"Isn't it nice that Akaya could join us, Genichirou?" Yukimura asked innocently, lifting his glass for a tiny sip.

"Yes," Sanada said, unable to look away from Kirihara. The look they shared was completely devoid of any misgivings and for the first time in nine long years, Sanada wondered if perhaps the bad blood between them had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

"I couldn't pass up an invitation from the best buchou in the world," Kirihara said slyly. Sanada noticed that he was drinking cola and not wine, as the others were.

"Taught you everything you know," Yukimura agreed, patting Kirihara's leg fondly.

But Kirihara looked only at Sanada when he said, "Well. Almost everything."

Sanada's heartbeat tripped and he fumbled with his napkin. Marui laughed, approaching the table. "Look what the cat dragged in!" he said, loud as he always was. "Genichirou, I'm surprised. What's the occasion?"

With his tongue suddenly too thick to speak and his face as red as it had ever been, Sanada stroked the stem of his wineglass nervously. Yukimura leaned forward then, pouring the last of the wine into Sanada's glass and offering him that familiar sweet smile - the one that always seem to herald impending doom.

But Kirihara lifted his glass high. "Old times, Bunta," he said, his voice so deep and soft and grown up. "Isn't that occasion enough?"

Fortunately, Marui never needed much of an excuse for celebration and he raised his glass as he took a seat next to his girl. "Too bad the others couldn't make it," he said. "Damn Jackal, anyway. What's so great about Brazil?"

"Hot beaches? Hot women?" Yukimura offered, though he'd never appeared to be interested in either.

"Well, okay, so there's that," Marui grudgingly admitted. "But what about Masaharu and Hiroshi? What's their excuse?"

Kirihara laughed. "It's more fun to frolic on the beach than hide in the closet?"

Yukimura and Yanagi were silent. Ritsuki's eyes widened. Hazue coughed. Marui giggled. Sanada gulped his wine as though it were water.

Kirihara glanced around nervously. "Er...I didn't just out them, did I?"

The waiter approached the table then, smiling brightly despite the uncomfortable silence at the table. "So who's ready to order?" he asked.

After glancing around once or twice, Kirihara smiled back. "I guess I'll start. You guys have strawberry milkshakes?"

"Akaya dropped out of college," Yanagi told him. It was beautiful and bright out. Cherry blossoms sailed on the breeze and the spring sun warmed Sanada's back through his suit. After running numbers all day long, the beef bowl and the cold beer were a welcome respite.

"It's his last year! Why?" Sanada wanted to know, shocked and dreading Yanagi's answer.

But Yanagi only smiled. "He's going pro."

"That's no reason to give up an education," Sanada mumbled, swiping his mouth with the thin paper napkin. It ripped, smearing sauce across his cheek.

"By the time he's thirty, he won't need an education. He'll be rich," Yanagi said, picking pickled ginger out of his bowl with a frown of distaste.

"It's irresponsible," Sanada said.

"But you'll cheer for him anyway, won't you, Genichirou?"

Sanada only grunted, unable to ignore the small prickling of pride he felt.

"Yes," Yanagi agreed, signaling the waitress for another beer. "I will, too."

~Three~

It was too early in the season for snow, though it certainly didn't feel that way when they walked outside together. With his arm tight around his girlfriend, Marui leaned in to give Kirihara the kind of one-armed, brief hug that was acceptable between men.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Akaya. Get lots of sleep - you've got lots of ass to kick!"

Kirihara smiled. "Don't worry. It's in the bag."

Bowing their heads a little - nearly in unison - Yanagi and Hazue made their own excuses for an early evening. "Tomorrow it is. Make us proud, Akaya."

Yukimura hugged Kirihara tight. "I'm going to follow them home," he said, punching Sanada playfully on the arm. "You girls don't stay out too late."

They watched him walk away, long-limbed and graceful and still more beautiful than any woman. He slipped his arm through Hazue's and laughed when Yanagi glared at him. He turned once to wave at Sanada and Kirihara - just a casual little salute that meant so much more than it might have appeared to other people on the street.

It was only then that Kirihara turned to face Sanada. "I thought you'd be the first to leave," he said, more serious and straightforward than he'd been all evening.

"I saw you through the window," Sanada said. In the cold night air, he could still taste the rich red wine on his tongue. "I almost didn't go in."

"It's been a long time," Kirihara said, standing far, far closer to Sanada than was necessary. "Does it make sense to talk about it now, Sanada?"

Sanada shrugged. It was back - his indecision. "I wish I knew."

"I thought you hated me," Kirihara said, voice low with memory that neither of them wanted to relive.

"I never did," was all that Sanada could bring himself to say.

Despite Yanagi's hints that Kirihara might not be averse to seeing Sanada again or that Kirihara wasn't involved with anyone or - worse, straight - Sanada had no idea how to make that first, vital move. He couldn't allow himself to imagine that it might turn out well when he'd been rejected once. Strong as he'd always considered himself to be, Sanada didn't think he could recover if he were rejected a second time. But with his very next words, Kirihara took the next step for him.

"Come with me?" Kirihara asked, mittened hands grasping Sanada's bare, cold ones. "You owe me that much, at least."

Sanada didn't deny it, wouldn't have even if he'd wanted to. After all these years, they'd come full circle to offer one another the explanations they'd been unable to offer when they were younger. Sanada would tell the truth, at last, and it wouldn't matter what came of it. They'd make their peace and Sanada would move forward with no apologies and, hopefully, very little regret.

He nodded finally and Kirihara led him along the sidewalk. They didn't speak, dried leaves skittered about the ground beneath them and as they pressed on ahead, the years seemed to slip away. Now, though, Kirihara's hand was as big as Sanada's. Stranger still, Kirihara didn't let go. It was as Sanada had said long ago - Kirihara did not care how others perceived him. How interesting to realize that Sanada admired that about him and probably always had.

The hotel loomed before them and still Kirihara didn't hesitate. Sanada marveled at the lights, the crowds, his own complacency.

"You're here alone?" Sanada murmured once in the lobby.

Kirihara winked at the pretty girl standing at the front desk. "Not tonight."

'And that's it! Kirihara Akaya, 7-6, 6-3 for a comfortable victory over Nishikawa Satoshi!"

The crowd was cheering, Kirihara's coach was yelling into the microphone, Kirihara stood by - panting and sweating and beaming that bright, impish smile to the whole world.

Sanada sat in his armchair, pants around his knees, eyes boring holes into the television screen when he came hard in his own hand.

~Two~

Kirihara was on him before Sanada had even had an opportunity to shed his jacket. With his back to the door, Kirihara fumbling with the lock even as he pressed his mouth hard to Sanada's, he could no sooner have pushed Kirihara away than he could have initiated the kiss they shared.

"Senpai," Kirihara breathed, tugging his jacket down over his arms, kissing his mouth again. "Sanada."

Sanada moaned. He couldn't help it. "Akaya," he answered, arms tight around Kirihara's chest when he buried his face in Kirihara's neck. "Why are you-"

"Why aren't you?" Kirihara interrupted. "Why did you come? Do you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you at all," he insisted. "Why do you keep saying that?"

Frustrated, Kirihara pulled away, turning to kick his shoes off and tug off his jacket. His back was so lean and straight. He made Sanada feel so many emotions - all at the same time.

"I asked Yukimura to bring you tonight," he said, back turned. Sanada watched him from his place at the door, watched him turn his head in profile, pinch the bridge of his nose. "I set it up."

Sanada said nothing. He was surprised, but Kirihara's kiss had been a hundred times more surprising.

"I wanted to talk to you. So many times after that day. But I was so damned confused and you were already so angry."

"I wasn't angry at you," Sanada finally managed. Nine years had passed. Why had it taken nine years to say those words?

Kirihara turned to face him then. He looked the way he'd looked on graduation day. So confused and so young, but already worlds ahead of Sanada in all the ways that mattered. "Who then? If it wasn't me, Sanada, who were you mad at?"

Me, he wanted to say. I hated myself for blaming you because I wanted you so much.

Hours seemed to pass before Sanada made his way across the floor, bridging the distance between Kirihara and himself. But then he was there and Kirihara wasn't pulling away, wasn't asking him to 'let go'.

He put his arms around Kirihara slowly, pulled him close with the gentleness he'd never been able to show him when they were younger. He nosed into Kirihara's curls, clean and dry for once, and he closed his eyes. His chest was tight - this love was still so painful - but for reasons much different than times past.

"It was the bear," he murmured. "I hated that damned pink panda bear."

By the time his words registered with Kirihara, Sanada's shoulders trembled with silent laughter. Kirihara shoved him hard, expression one of total disbelief. But then he was laughing, too, and when he reached for Sanada again, there was no recrimination between them.

It felt good to laugh, Sanada realized. It had been too long.

They didn't shower before they went to bed. Sanada had shed his clothing the way he'd shed his embarrassment and it was the most natural thing in the world to lie back amidst rented pillows and bedcovers and allow Kirihara's weight to settle over him.

That Kirihara was no stranger to sex was as obvious to Sanada as his own inexperience seemed to be. Possessive as he was, though, Sanada refused to allow his jealousy to intrude.

How ridiculous, Sanada thought, that so many misunderstandings could be put aside merely through the simple act of sharing one's body. Only here, only in this moment, could Sanada explain himself and have Kirihara accept him with just his touch.

He pinned Sanada's wrists to the bed, kissed and sucked his neck and rubbed his dick on Sanada's belly. He murmured Sanada's name, moaned and gasped for breath against Sanada's ear and held on so tightly that Sanada found himself gasping, too. Kirihara's kisses - deep and hot but still so sweet - were intimate enough that Sanada wondered if perhaps Yanagi had counseled Kirihara the way he hadn't quite dared counsel Sanada. They were tentative at times, as though Kirihara still sought permission. 'Is this okay, senpai? Do you like me too, senpai?' Sanada knew, when Kirihara pressed his face to the curve of Sanada's neck, that this long-secret affair had not been a secret to anyone.

They rolled, vying for dominance when neither of them had any real aversion to surrender. In the end, Kirihara had won, palms easing up along the insides of Sanada's thighs to settle between them, lowering his head to Sanada even as he silently dared him to look away. Sanada's fingers slid through Kirihara's hair, guiding him, encouraging him. It didn't take long to push Sanada to his limit - he'd waited so long - and even as he writhed against the bed, he was aware of Kirihara's fist between his own legs, jerking himself furiously as he choked back pleasure around Sanada's dick.

They didn't speak, after. Kirihara had come to him, still trembling, seeking warmth and comfort and solace and now, this time, Sanada could give it to him without needing to pretend it was something else. He held him for hours, until the dawn intruded. Kirihara slept, Sanada didn't.

It was perfect.

~One~

"Genichirou, are you listening to me?"

Sanada looked up, sheepish to find Yukimura standing on the stepladder and stretching toward the top of the tree.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Hand that me the star. I want to put that up first."

Though he moved to do Yukimura's bidding, Sanada frowned. "You're supposed to save that until last," he said.

"That's stupid. If we do it first, we can bend the tree down and reach it easier without messing up the lights."

"You can't bend the tree!" Sanada objected, clearly bothered by the prospect.

With one hand on his hip, Yukimura gave Sanada a long-suffering look. "Do you want me to help or not? I mean, I don't see anyone else over here helping to decorate this joint."

"I'm helping," Sanada reminded, pointing to the green felt spread out beneath the tree.

"You put down some felt and put that stupid rock on it. Don't hurt yourself, Genichirou."

Sighing heavily, Sanada sat down again, passing his fingers over the rough surface of the silver star. The truth was, he wanted to save the star for Kirihara. He'd promised.

Taking pity on him, Yukimura climbed down to kneel beside the beat up hassock Sanada sat on. When Sanada didn't look up, Yukimura tugged on one of the partially sewn antlers of the reindeer sweater Yukimura had given him last year. The google eyes rattled. Yukimura smiled sympathetically.

"Have you talked to Akaya?"

Sanada blushed. "Not since last week. He was in Mexico for some endorsement he got recently."

"Don't worry, Gen-chan," Yukimura said, patting Sanada's knee reassuringly. "He'll make it."

"It's Christmas Eve," Sanada said, forlorn and hating the sound of his own voice. If his grandfather could see him now, he'd rise from his ashes and die all over again. It was pathetic, how mopey and lovesick he'd been acting.

"Where's your Christmas spirit?" Yukimura asked, getting back on the ladder to hang the rainbow-striped candy canes he liked so much.

"It's hiding behind my self-loathing," Sanada muttered, moving to stack a few gifts on the end table near the tree. This year, he'd got Yukimura a Chia Pet. He was into gardening and growing things, Sanada was certain he'd love it.

He looked up then, startled by the sound of the doorknocker banging against his cheap door. "Hey!" he called out. "You'll break the door, knock it off!"

"Let me in," Yanagi called back. "It's cold."

He opened the door, scowl quickly fading to surprise when Kirihara peeked at him over Yanagi's shoulder.

"Akaya," he said, for want of anything better to say.

"Inspired as always, Genichirou," Yanagi interrupted. "Aren't you sorry you yelled at me just now?"

"No," Sanada said, but Yanagi was already inside, shedding his boots and his jacket and getting snow all over the floor. Sanada didn't care. Not when Kirihara was standing before him.

He smiled, holding out a festive red Starbucks cup. "Your favorite," he said, stepping inside and brushing against Sanada, leaning against him and seeking a cuddle.

"Original hot chocolate?" Sanada asked, shrinking back but unable to keep from smiling when Kirihara pressed his cold nose against Sanada's neck.

"Without a doubt," Kirihara confirmed. "But it's probably cold now. I couldn't help that."

"I'll warm it up," Yukimura said, leaning over Sanada's shoulder to pluck the cup out of Sanada's hand. "Come in and get comfy, Akaya. We were just decorating the tree."

"Little late for that, don't you think?" Kirihara asked, setting his bag down and peeling off his gloves.

"It took us this long to talk him into getting a tree at all," Yanagi said. "Scrooge."

Frowning, Sanada prepared what would inevitably turn out to be a lame comeback, thereby providing Yukimura an opportunity to interject one of his well-placed, stinging, accurate barbs. But then Kirihara took his hand and he lost all train of thought.

"So what'd you get me?" he asked, grinning when he moved in closer.

Sanada didn't look around to see if his friends were watching, but he really wanted to. The tips of his ears reddened.

"No one's looking," Kirihara whispered. "So? What is it?"

He wanted some handheld gaming gadget that he could play while he was traveling. Yanagi had written it down for him. Of course, Sanada had gone right out to buy one for him, handing the sales clerk the scrap of paper with Yanagi's precise script. But that wasn't the real gift. Not the important one.

"Genichirou, where are the mugs?" Yukimura called out from the tiny kitchen.

"They're in the cabinet near the fridge," Yanagi told him, leaning in the doorway and sipping his own hot chocolate. "He moved them again last week."

Sanada barely heard their exchange, so wrapped up in Kirihara's undivided attention. He squeezed his hand, felt his heart swell just after.

"You'll see," he said, glancing at the pile of gifts on the table. There, in one of Sanada's mother's old hat boxes, nestled carefully in pink tissue paper and wrapped in festive red foil, was an old pink panda. If Kirihara was glad to see it, and didn't yell at Sanada for giving him such a stupid present, Sanada figured he'd ask Kirihara to move in with him.

Real men didn't waste time.

~the end~

Art by unknown fanartist- if you know the artist, please let me know so I can credit properly!