Happy Spring tikaima!
Title: Reaching the Peak (And Back Again.)
Recipient's name: tikaima
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Shishido/Ohtori
Warnings: Sexual elements but not explicit.
Author's notes: Thank you to
for all your help and handholding throughout writing this. And thank you
for supporting me when I first began writing and looking over the first draft.
I tried my very best, Tikaima, and found your request to be perfect for me and I hope it meets your approval. :)
Reaching the Peak (And Back Again.)
-
Sweat slowly but steadily drips down Ohtori's face, dropping off his chin and falling to the ground, evaporating quickly on the hot surface of the court. The sun burns harshly against his neck, turning it a deep red, but that doesn't stop him, doesn't make him pack his racket and ball away and go home.
Instead he grunts as he throws the ball in the air once more, his arm fast as his racket connects smoothly and he watches as the green blur arches through the air and hits the net. Again.
Ohtori closes his eyes, clenching his jaw shut as his shoulders tense and he grips his racket tightly, breathing heavily through his nose. If he can't get this right, if he can't get it over and in - can't get it perfect…
No, he refuses to think about that. Somehow he will make this work. If not for him then for the team. For Shishido-san. It has to work. Even if he has to practice for hours in the summer heat every single day after practice.
He rolls his shoulders back, gradually easing away the tension and he sighs as his muscles protest and contract. Ohtori has been there for hours already, hitting the same ball over and over, making the same movements, striving to reach the same goal with each hit and failing every time.
It's frustrating but he cannot give up yet. Licking his lips that are dry from thirst, he walks over to the ball, bending over and picking it up, walking back to the same spot to start over again.
Ohtori bounces the ball once, twice and with a groan, he repeats the exact same movements and gets the same results.
-
The shower spray is cool on his tender skin; the first signs of blisters from sun damage sting as soap suds wash over them. The cracked calluses on his palms sting as well. Ohtori tries to ignore these discomforts -- they just add to the dull throb of overworked muscles. It's nothing he can't handle or can’t live with.
His mother will no doubt tend to them when he walks in through the front door. She'll fuss over him, clucking her tongue as she rushes around the house in search of the right aids to help sunburnt, blistered and cracked skin. It's certainly not the first time he has gone home like this and it definitely won't be the last. Another lecture and he'll reply like he does every other time. It's no use telling her not to worry; his words fall on deaf ears and it's easier just to let her mother him.
Ohtori rubs his face, closing his eyes against the hard spray as he washes the sweat and grime from his body, wincing as his jagged nails scrap over inflamed and flushed skin.
Some days it doesn't feel like he is making any difference, that he is hitting a wall repeatedly and no matter how hard he tries to break through -- he’ll never quite get there. Today was no better than yesterday, or the day before that, or even the day before that. Ohtori wants to feel the thrill of getting the ball in again, getting it over the net and having elation and pride rush throughout his body at his success.
Weeks have past and he is still no closer to obtaining that one perfect serve. One without fault or error but it is still slipping through his fingers. Still elusive and Ohtori's frustration continues to grow.
When Ohtori notices that the water is running cold, he hurriedly turns off the spray, shivering as he reaches for his towel just outside the stall and wraps it tightly around his waist.
It is still strange to be in the changing rooms alone, to be getting dressed and not rushing, or being embarrassed or suffering from his team mates stares and teasing. It's not his fault he flushes easily and stammers awkwardly when there is so much naked flesh surrounding him. It's distracting for him and they know it.
Ohtori leaves the changing room quickly and takes the late afternoon bus home. He is right. As soon as he walks through the door, his mother is onto him quick as lightning and he only manages to smile faintly in greeting before being pushed into a chair as stinging ointments are dabbed over his skin.
-
"Choutarou, you're drifting!" Shishido yells over the net, his racket tapping against his thigh as he watches and waits for Ohtori to regain his focus. Ohtori flushes, coughing as he bounces the ball.
What just happened? he asks himself, grimacing as he serves.
"Sorry, Shishido-san," he murmurs, in apology for tuning out during practice and for hitting the net again.
Shishido sighs, shaking his head as he walks toward the net and he gestures for Ohtori to come forward. Ohtori complies immediately, trying not to let his feet shuffle or drag.
It's Shishido-san!
But he has been falling behind recently and its affecting games. Shishido has definitely noticed and his patience is wearing thin.
Ohtori sighs as well.
"What's gotten into you, Choutarou?" Shishido asks with a raised brow. Ohtori knows that tone. He feels his entire body tense and he looks to the side, not able to meet Shishido's enquiring gaze.
"I'll try harder, Shishido-san," Ohtori states, clenching his fists by his side, feeling his racket thick between his fingers, slippery from sweat. He gives a tiny, sheepish grin.
But Shishido doesn't reply, his lips become tight and he gives a sharp nod, a quick inclination of his head, and moves back into place.
Ohtori carefully searches Shishido's face as he takes a few steps back, looking for reassurance or encouragement but only finding determination to win. Ohtori gulps.
Ohtori ducks his head, focusing first on the heavy racket in his hand and the ball as he throws it into the air, hitting it perfectly with a muted thwacking sound and then watching as it sails into the net.
The drop of Shishido’s head, his disappointment, is worse than his own for disappointing Shishido.
-
The shower is freezing. Goosebumps develop all over his body but he doesn't notice. He rests his forehead against the tiled wall, breathing deeply with his eyes squeezed shut.
-
When Atobe talks with him privately after practice, Ohtori knows that he needs to shape up or risk losing his place on the team.
-
It had started off with him trying to get control over his new, improved serve but turned into something more complicated. Now its effecting everything; his tennis, his serve, his friendship with Shishido, his relationship with team members and his sleep - mostly his dreams.
It's all enough to keep him preoccupied and distracted. Trying so hard to remain focused and in control, he ends up losing it more often. It's so unlike him. It makes no sense and it frustrates him more than anything else has, or so he thinks because he doesn't recall anything else that compares.
What is worse is that Shishido distances himself. At first he tries to help, to assist him like he has in the past but this time Ohtori is so wound up that nothing helps and only makes him screw up worse. Shishido has given up on him, finally admitted to himself that his friend just can’t keep up anymore and is failing under the strain. It hurts.
-
“Finally reached your peak, Ohtori-kun?” Oshitari drawls as he walks pass Ohtori towards his locker, his towel slung over his shoulder and a smirk on his lips.
Ohtori almost drops his bag, stooping quickly to grab it and he adjusts it onto his back, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, Oshitari-san?”
The sounds of Jiroh’s muffled snores seem louder as he waits for Oshitari to reply. It crosses his mind that he has no real reason to be nervous but he doesn’t know how to take what Oshitari says anymore. Ever since they entered high school with older boys and girls, almost every second word or phrase out of Oshitari’s mouth is filled with sexual innuendoes. The one year that they were in different parts of the school changed Oshitari.
It changed them all.
“I’m sure you heard me,” Oshitari replies, a quirk to his brow and a twist to his lips. Ohtori watches him silently as he packs his stuff into his locker, fingers combing through his hair and their eyes meet through the mirror mounted to his locker door.
“No,” Ohtori finally responds. “No, I haven’t.”
“I see,” Oshitari murmurs but Ohtori doesn’t hear him. He’s already walking out the door.
-
The following weeks are no different, no changes and it only serves to spread tension throughout the tennis team. No one else is lagging or holding the team back.
Ohtori watches them all, watches Gakuto train for hours with Oshitari; long drawn out practices that make him sweat and curse but he never gives up. Not even when his hair sticks to his skin and his shoulders shake from strain and exhaustion.
They’re all improving, leaving him behind and a tight knot develops in his stomach.
-
Out of the blue, Shishido invites him out to see a movie and Ohtori accepts eagerly, wanting to spend time with Shishido like they used to. The movie doesn’t interest Ohtori but Shishido is enthralled by it, his face attentive towards the large, bright screen and it’s only after the movie ends that he realizes he noted every single expression Shishido made.
Instead of watching the hour and a half long movie, he watched Shishido’s face for all that time. When that thought occurs to him, he doesn’t understand why he did that or why his cheeks heat with embarrassment at the realization.
Thankfully, Shishido didn’t notice and as they walk down the busy streets, dodging salarymen on their way home from work, Shishido retells the movie in detail, hands waving as he gestures about in excitement. It makes Ohtori smile, forgetting about the unsettling feelings in his stomach and he watches how Shishido’s face lights up in pleasure when he remembers scenes he particularly enjoyed.
It feels like how it used to be. Before things became complicated and confusing. Before tennis became hard for Ohtori. Before Shishido was disappointed in him.
-
It catches him off guard when Shishido asks him to join his family for dinner. It's nothing special or all that exciting.
If Shishido was disappointed in him, why is he asking him to do things with him? It makes no sense to Ohtori but he doesn’t question it aloud.
-
“Have you sorted out your problem, Ohtori?” Atobe calmly enquires as they walk side by side in the school corridor between classes -- not intentionally but just crossing paths.
It takes a few moments for the question to sink in and process, long enough that Atobe is pointedly glaring at his watch and sighing in irritation. Finally tired of Ohtori’s weak replies, which include nothing but false reassurances, Atobe silences him with a hand in his face.
“Enough.” Atobe gives him an appraising look. “Fix it,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, turning away. “I’d rather not find out you are nothing but a disappointment, Ohtori.”
Ohtori watches Atobe walk away, people parting so that he can move pass them easily. He feels something inside of him break. He misses his last two classes but makes sure he is early for practice.
-
It’s a fluke.
-
As he is leaving the school grounds, lost in thought, someone walks up besides him and slings their arm over his back. Ohtori blinks, suddenly remembering where he is and he looks out the corner of his eye.
“Sorry if I startled you.”
Attempting to shrug, Ohtori looks away, feeling the arm heavy and warm through his school uniform. He bites his lip. “It was only a fluke.”
He feels Shishido sigh and his hair is ruffled by Shishido’s hand, which unsettles him in more ways than he cares to consider. “Don’t think like that, Choutarou.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that and remains silent. They reach the bus stop and pause. Shishido drops his arm and Ohtori mentally berates himself for missing the contact.
They both sit down, neither talking but it's not all that uncomfortable or unpleasant. Gradually he feels himself relax.
“You didn’t return it.”
“I know.”
A smile flitters over his lips. He thinks that he sees a faint flash of a grin from Shishido as well.
-
Perhaps it was only a fluke. But it was a fluke that succeeded and blew Shishido’s racket clear out of his hand. It only happened once and when he tried the serve again it failed but that one moment of success had his blood boiling and it felt like a fire was ignited within him.
It was enough to make him want it again. Want it with a passion that had slowly ebbed in the previous months.
-
The painful memories of Shishido’s bowed head, disappointment screaming from every part of his body and the sound of a rushing ball hitting a net still plague his mind.
But he manages to block them. Somehow Shishido’s presence, his renewed faith in him, has helped. After most practices they leave the courts together and join each other's family for dinner. It’s never discussed beforehand where they’ll eat but surprisingly neither of their parents mind when a guest turns up unannounced and a dinner goes cold in another house.
As long as their homework is completed and they go to bed at reasonable times, their parents are happy. Occasional sleepovers gradually happen but only on weekends and sporadically to begin with.
.
Tennis practice becomes less stressful and a sense of ease returns. There are less scufflings and heated debates. The other team members return to treating him normally, no longer hushing each other as he enters the changing room or giving him sly looks as he leaves again.
Life begins to return to normal. But the serve hasn’t gone in again.
-
Ohtori begins to wonder if it was all in his head. Worrying too much and trying too hard. He's heard that sometimes when you want something too badly, everything you shift your focus from falls apart and you lose control. It makes sense, at least in this situation. According to Shishdo.
It feels strange telling Shishido everything and it makes him feel awkward and silly. Somehow he manages to push those discomforts aside and say what he needs to say.
The darkness in his bedroom and the soft breaths coming from Shishido, unassuming and not pressuring, relax him and make him feel more confident with a sense of security surrounding him.
"You need to relax, Choutarou," Shishido finally says. Ohtori hears sheets ruffling and he imagines that Shishido is turning on his side, looking over at him between the two single futons. "It ain't healthy thinking that much. No wonder you've been blowing game after game these past few weeks."
They talk for awhile. Neither of them have actually had a proper, serious conversation before -- not like this or for this long. When Ohtori drifts off to sleep, a weight off his shoulders, he dreams of tennis and Shishido. And a ball going over the net.
-
He wakes suddenly.
It's still dark outside and the air is chilly. He can hear himself breathing and his heart beating. Ohtori shifts on his futon, straining to hear whatever it was that woke him from his sleep.
Something in his room moves and there is a muffled gasp.
Ohtori freezes, his cheeks flaming and he squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself that he's imagining things. A moan, longer and choked off towards the end, fills his ears and it's undeniable.
It feels like hours but it must only be a few minutes until there is silence again. Ohtori blinks, eyes opening and the room isn't as dark anymore. He hesitates before turning onto his side, lifting his head so he can look over at Shishido's futon.
Their gazes meet and hold.
-
In the morning there is no time to talk about what happened earlier. Ohtori thinks that even if there was time, he'd rather stand in front of a speeding ball machine without his racket than bring up the subject of Shishido masturbating in his room.
"Five minutes."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, I have to get my bag."
"It's at the end of my bed."
"Thanks - can you grab me a drink?"
"Sure. The usual?"
“Surprise me.”
Shishido flashes him a grin and disappears up the stairs, his feet heavy as he races up and Ohtori hopes he doesn't wake his parents. Ohtori grabs the drinks and their lunches, remembering at the last minute to get the sunscreen and bug repellent and he shoves everything hastily into his carry bag.
"Let's go!" Shishido calls, jumping down the last few steps and Ohtori shushes him, gesturing to his watch. Shishido mouths an apology and Ohtori gently punches his shoulder, shaking his head as they walk out the door.
-
The rain is pouring down as they race into the train station, both soaking wet and clothes sticking to their body. The storm came out of nowhere.
“Well, at least we got to go swimming,” Shishido says, shaking his head like a dog. He runs his fingers through the long choppy strands of his hair, flattening down the wayward ends that are threatening to dry in unattractive spikes and kinks.
Ohtori nods, smiling and wiping water from his face.
“The forecast said sunny skies and warm weather. Didn’t mention anything about a storm or even just wet weather,” Ohtori offers, edging further into the station to look at the train time table. The next train for them leaves in eight minutes.
Shishido merely shrugs. “Whatever. At least we got a free shower and the sand washed off of us.”
They continue talking as they head down to the train and join other passengers as they board. People press too closely together and something pokes Ohtori in the back painfully. He grimaces and Shishido, who is backed into a corner opposite him, smirks and mouth a rude word, which makes Ohtori’s ears burn.
It’s nowhere near comfortable and there are at least six people separating him from Shishido. After a few stops, people begin to shift around, more people boarding and others disembarking.
Ohtori doesn’t know when the pain in his back stops and the pain in his side begins. But he does know when the sharp pain in his foot starts, because a middle aged lady treads on it repeatedly as she is jostled around.
He is wet, sore and sweaty. Shishido looks at ease, leaning against a wall, arms crossed and eyes closed. Ohtori can’t help but feel slightly annoyed, wanting to be resting against something and not having some strange lady treading on him and grabbing his shirt to save herself from falling over.
The train stops again and there is a rush for the doors and Ohtori finally finds himself in front of Shishido. He breathes easily, relaxing and takes a moment to glance down at Shishido. Up this close, the expression on his face is more pained than anything else. As people gradually surround him, he gently touches Shishido’s shoulder and smiles softly when Shishido opens his eyes to look at him.
“Are you okay, Shishido-san?” he asks, steadying himself with his arm against the wall next to Shishido’s head.
“I’m fine,” Shishido replies tightly, his eyes closing again.
Ohtori is taken aback and his smile fades. He doesn’t try to talk again. Not even to apologize when he is shoved from behind and he falls into Shishido, knocking his hat to the floor.
-
A shower has never before been as relaxing and relieving for him as it is later that night. Images of what Shishido may have done in the early hours of the morning flash through his mind and he bites down on his lip, his imagination straying into dangerous and unexplored territory.
Afterwards, when he is panting and shivering, staring at the steamed glass of the bathroom mirror, realisation sets in and his mind goes blissfully blank. He takes a few deep breaths, noticing how pale and drawn his face appears. Not able to look at himself any longer, he lets his head fall forward and he stares into the basin.
His dreams and reality have mixed together. The dreams he was able to ignore. Ohtori was able to pass them off as something to do with worrying about tennis, upsetting Shishido and wanting to please him.
Perhaps the dreams weren’t as innocent as he likes to pretend but he was able to push them aside and not think about them. But now, with Shishido having done what he did in his room, only a few tennis ball size spaces away, it is harder to ignore and dismiss.
He shivers and rubs his face, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids and he groans in confusion and frustration. Things were getting easier but now Ohtori is lost with how to handle this.
-
“Are you busy?”
“A little. I have to help my mum prepare for our dinner guests, so I can’t go out.”
“Ah, okay. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure, Shishido-san. I'll see you then.”
“Alright, I'll let you go. ’Bye, Choutarou.”
“’Bye.”
-
“You’ve been avoiding me, Choutarou.”
Ohtori chokes on his mouthful of sushi and he coughs, his eyes watering. Shishido slaps his back a few times as he takes the seat next to him, straddling the bench and facing Ohtori.
“…Excuse me?” Ohtori asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He carefully packs his food away, saving it for later.
He thought the roof would be a fairly decent place for him to eat in peace and would give him a chance to think. It had worked for a few days but he knew it was only a matter of time before Shishido found him.
Ohtori watches Shishido as he picks at loose strands of cotton on his pants, tugging them loose and flicking them away. “You keep avoiding me,” Shishido repeats, his voice is soft but there’s a faint trace of anger and something Ohtori can’t decipher.
Not quite sure how to answer Shishido, Ohtori remains silent, looking away from Shishido and over towards the tennis courts, which are visible from the roof.
“Why?”
Ohtori shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
“Is it because of the other morning?” Shishido asks.
His tone causes Ohtori to look back at Shishido and he notices exactly how uncomfortable Shishido is. There are lines around his mouth and he is frowning, not looking at anything in particular. His entire body screams of tension and awkwardness.
Ohtori is not used to seeing Shishido like this. Shishido is usually confident, knows what he wants and thinks. To see him like this unsettles him.
“A little,” he admits quietly.
Shishido nods, reaching up to drag his fingers through his hair and then he stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay.”
“That… I mean, it’s not the only reason, Shishido-san!” he says hurriedly when he notices that Shishido is getting ready to leave. Ohtori stands as well, wringing his hands together in front of him to stop himself from grabbing Shishido.
“What?” Shishido turns back, looking at him expectantly.
Ohtori opens his mouth but then realizes that he doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say? He feels his ears heat up and he bites his bottom lip before blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I have dreams about you.”
-
When his serve goes in repeatedly, again and again, and it’s perfect and unreturnable, Ohtori thinks that he should feel proud and satisfied.
He feels empty and doesn’t understand what has changed. Why is the serve working now when it wasn’t a week ago?
After the last week, he thinks it should have only gotten worse -- not better.
-
“An improvement, Ohtori,” Atobe comments as he enters the change room. “Now get it to work during a doubles match. I expect you to have it under complete control by early next week.”
“Yes, Atobe-buchou.”
-
“Hey Shishido, you definitely don’t deserve a girl like her on your arm!”
“Shut up!”
Ohtori tries to ignore the change room talk and leaves as fast as he can
-
“Choutarou, wait!”
Ohtori pauses for a second before speeding up, ducking his head down to keep the wind from stinging his eyes.
It shouldn’t hurt. There is nothing to be hurt over. Not really. He should be happy. His serve is perfect, in singles and doubles, and he is confident that they can win easily in the upcoming tournament.
“Don’t ignore me,” Shishido growls as he grabs his arm, stopping him and swinging him around to face him. “I was calling you and I know you heard me.”
Ohtori frowns, hunching over and shifts his bag on his back.
“What's your problem, Choutarou? You heard Atobe, we were supposed to stay behind and practice on the ball machines and close up.”
“I-I forgot.” He hadn’t and Shishido can tell. His expression and snort shows it.
“This is about what Gakuto said, isn’t it?” Shishido shakes his head. “We broke up, it wasn’t working. She wasn’t my type--”
“You don’t need to tell me this, Shishido-san,” Ohtori interrupts, feeling the back of his neck heat up as his palms begin to sweat. He doesn’t want to hear about it. It's none of his business. It has nothing to do with him. Shishido has his type. It may not be this girl but it’ll --
-- Shishido’s mouth against his own silences his thoughts. He freezes for a moment and then stumbles back, hand coming up to his mouth.
“I have dreams about you, too, Choutarou.”
-
Ohtori bounces the ball, excitement and nervousness making his heart race and flutter. Shishido quickly looks over his shoulder at him and Ohtori returns his grin with one of his own.
He licks his lips and throws the ball into the air and with pride and confidence, he demonstrates to his opponents, his team, his family and his friends how much he has grown and improved. But most of all, he shows Shishido and he knows that he is proud of him.
It feels incredible.
~fin.
Recipient's name: tikaima
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Shishido/Ohtori
Warnings: Sexual elements but not explicit.
Author's notes: Thank you to
for all your help and handholding throughout writing this. And thank you
for supporting me when I first began writing and looking over the first draft.
I tried my very best, Tikaima, and found your request to be perfect for me and I hope it meets your approval. :)
Reaching the Peak (And Back Again.)
-
Sweat slowly but steadily drips down Ohtori's face, dropping off his chin and falling to the ground, evaporating quickly on the hot surface of the court. The sun burns harshly against his neck, turning it a deep red, but that doesn't stop him, doesn't make him pack his racket and ball away and go home.
Instead he grunts as he throws the ball in the air once more, his arm fast as his racket connects smoothly and he watches as the green blur arches through the air and hits the net. Again.
Ohtori closes his eyes, clenching his jaw shut as his shoulders tense and he grips his racket tightly, breathing heavily through his nose. If he can't get this right, if he can't get it over and in - can't get it perfect…
No, he refuses to think about that. Somehow he will make this work. If not for him then for the team. For Shishido-san. It has to work. Even if he has to practice for hours in the summer heat every single day after practice.
He rolls his shoulders back, gradually easing away the tension and he sighs as his muscles protest and contract. Ohtori has been there for hours already, hitting the same ball over and over, making the same movements, striving to reach the same goal with each hit and failing every time.
It's frustrating but he cannot give up yet. Licking his lips that are dry from thirst, he walks over to the ball, bending over and picking it up, walking back to the same spot to start over again.
Ohtori bounces the ball once, twice and with a groan, he repeats the exact same movements and gets the same results.
-
The shower spray is cool on his tender skin; the first signs of blisters from sun damage sting as soap suds wash over them. The cracked calluses on his palms sting as well. Ohtori tries to ignore these discomforts -- they just add to the dull throb of overworked muscles. It's nothing he can't handle or can’t live with.
His mother will no doubt tend to them when he walks in through the front door. She'll fuss over him, clucking her tongue as she rushes around the house in search of the right aids to help sunburnt, blistered and cracked skin. It's certainly not the first time he has gone home like this and it definitely won't be the last. Another lecture and he'll reply like he does every other time. It's no use telling her not to worry; his words fall on deaf ears and it's easier just to let her mother him.
Ohtori rubs his face, closing his eyes against the hard spray as he washes the sweat and grime from his body, wincing as his jagged nails scrap over inflamed and flushed skin.
Some days it doesn't feel like he is making any difference, that he is hitting a wall repeatedly and no matter how hard he tries to break through -- he’ll never quite get there. Today was no better than yesterday, or the day before that, or even the day before that. Ohtori wants to feel the thrill of getting the ball in again, getting it over the net and having elation and pride rush throughout his body at his success.
Weeks have past and he is still no closer to obtaining that one perfect serve. One without fault or error but it is still slipping through his fingers. Still elusive and Ohtori's frustration continues to grow.
When Ohtori notices that the water is running cold, he hurriedly turns off the spray, shivering as he reaches for his towel just outside the stall and wraps it tightly around his waist.
It is still strange to be in the changing rooms alone, to be getting dressed and not rushing, or being embarrassed or suffering from his team mates stares and teasing. It's not his fault he flushes easily and stammers awkwardly when there is so much naked flesh surrounding him. It's distracting for him and they know it.
Ohtori leaves the changing room quickly and takes the late afternoon bus home. He is right. As soon as he walks through the door, his mother is onto him quick as lightning and he only manages to smile faintly in greeting before being pushed into a chair as stinging ointments are dabbed over his skin.
-
"Choutarou, you're drifting!" Shishido yells over the net, his racket tapping against his thigh as he watches and waits for Ohtori to regain his focus. Ohtori flushes, coughing as he bounces the ball.
What just happened? he asks himself, grimacing as he serves.
"Sorry, Shishido-san," he murmurs, in apology for tuning out during practice and for hitting the net again.
Shishido sighs, shaking his head as he walks toward the net and he gestures for Ohtori to come forward. Ohtori complies immediately, trying not to let his feet shuffle or drag.
It's Shishido-san!
But he has been falling behind recently and its affecting games. Shishido has definitely noticed and his patience is wearing thin.
Ohtori sighs as well.
"What's gotten into you, Choutarou?" Shishido asks with a raised brow. Ohtori knows that tone. He feels his entire body tense and he looks to the side, not able to meet Shishido's enquiring gaze.
"I'll try harder, Shishido-san," Ohtori states, clenching his fists by his side, feeling his racket thick between his fingers, slippery from sweat. He gives a tiny, sheepish grin.
But Shishido doesn't reply, his lips become tight and he gives a sharp nod, a quick inclination of his head, and moves back into place.
Ohtori carefully searches Shishido's face as he takes a few steps back, looking for reassurance or encouragement but only finding determination to win. Ohtori gulps.
Ohtori ducks his head, focusing first on the heavy racket in his hand and the ball as he throws it into the air, hitting it perfectly with a muted thwacking sound and then watching as it sails into the net.
The drop of Shishido’s head, his disappointment, is worse than his own for disappointing Shishido.
-
The shower is freezing. Goosebumps develop all over his body but he doesn't notice. He rests his forehead against the tiled wall, breathing deeply with his eyes squeezed shut.
-
When Atobe talks with him privately after practice, Ohtori knows that he needs to shape up or risk losing his place on the team.
-
It had started off with him trying to get control over his new, improved serve but turned into something more complicated. Now its effecting everything; his tennis, his serve, his friendship with Shishido, his relationship with team members and his sleep - mostly his dreams.
It's all enough to keep him preoccupied and distracted. Trying so hard to remain focused and in control, he ends up losing it more often. It's so unlike him. It makes no sense and it frustrates him more than anything else has, or so he thinks because he doesn't recall anything else that compares.
What is worse is that Shishido distances himself. At first he tries to help, to assist him like he has in the past but this time Ohtori is so wound up that nothing helps and only makes him screw up worse. Shishido has given up on him, finally admitted to himself that his friend just can’t keep up anymore and is failing under the strain. It hurts.
-
“Finally reached your peak, Ohtori-kun?” Oshitari drawls as he walks pass Ohtori towards his locker, his towel slung over his shoulder and a smirk on his lips.
Ohtori almost drops his bag, stooping quickly to grab it and he adjusts it onto his back, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, Oshitari-san?”
The sounds of Jiroh’s muffled snores seem louder as he waits for Oshitari to reply. It crosses his mind that he has no real reason to be nervous but he doesn’t know how to take what Oshitari says anymore. Ever since they entered high school with older boys and girls, almost every second word or phrase out of Oshitari’s mouth is filled with sexual innuendoes. The one year that they were in different parts of the school changed Oshitari.
It changed them all.
“I’m sure you heard me,” Oshitari replies, a quirk to his brow and a twist to his lips. Ohtori watches him silently as he packs his stuff into his locker, fingers combing through his hair and their eyes meet through the mirror mounted to his locker door.
“No,” Ohtori finally responds. “No, I haven’t.”
“I see,” Oshitari murmurs but Ohtori doesn’t hear him. He’s already walking out the door.
-
The following weeks are no different, no changes and it only serves to spread tension throughout the tennis team. No one else is lagging or holding the team back.
Ohtori watches them all, watches Gakuto train for hours with Oshitari; long drawn out practices that make him sweat and curse but he never gives up. Not even when his hair sticks to his skin and his shoulders shake from strain and exhaustion.
They’re all improving, leaving him behind and a tight knot develops in his stomach.
-
Out of the blue, Shishido invites him out to see a movie and Ohtori accepts eagerly, wanting to spend time with Shishido like they used to. The movie doesn’t interest Ohtori but Shishido is enthralled by it, his face attentive towards the large, bright screen and it’s only after the movie ends that he realizes he noted every single expression Shishido made.
Instead of watching the hour and a half long movie, he watched Shishido’s face for all that time. When that thought occurs to him, he doesn’t understand why he did that or why his cheeks heat with embarrassment at the realization.
Thankfully, Shishido didn’t notice and as they walk down the busy streets, dodging salarymen on their way home from work, Shishido retells the movie in detail, hands waving as he gestures about in excitement. It makes Ohtori smile, forgetting about the unsettling feelings in his stomach and he watches how Shishido’s face lights up in pleasure when he remembers scenes he particularly enjoyed.
It feels like how it used to be. Before things became complicated and confusing. Before tennis became hard for Ohtori. Before Shishido was disappointed in him.
-
It catches him off guard when Shishido asks him to join his family for dinner. It's nothing special or all that exciting.
If Shishido was disappointed in him, why is he asking him to do things with him? It makes no sense to Ohtori but he doesn’t question it aloud.
-
“Have you sorted out your problem, Ohtori?” Atobe calmly enquires as they walk side by side in the school corridor between classes -- not intentionally but just crossing paths.
It takes a few moments for the question to sink in and process, long enough that Atobe is pointedly glaring at his watch and sighing in irritation. Finally tired of Ohtori’s weak replies, which include nothing but false reassurances, Atobe silences him with a hand in his face.
“Enough.” Atobe gives him an appraising look. “Fix it,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, turning away. “I’d rather not find out you are nothing but a disappointment, Ohtori.”
Ohtori watches Atobe walk away, people parting so that he can move pass them easily. He feels something inside of him break. He misses his last two classes but makes sure he is early for practice.
-
It’s a fluke.
-
As he is leaving the school grounds, lost in thought, someone walks up besides him and slings their arm over his back. Ohtori blinks, suddenly remembering where he is and he looks out the corner of his eye.
“Sorry if I startled you.”
Attempting to shrug, Ohtori looks away, feeling the arm heavy and warm through his school uniform. He bites his lip. “It was only a fluke.”
He feels Shishido sigh and his hair is ruffled by Shishido’s hand, which unsettles him in more ways than he cares to consider. “Don’t think like that, Choutarou.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that and remains silent. They reach the bus stop and pause. Shishido drops his arm and Ohtori mentally berates himself for missing the contact.
They both sit down, neither talking but it's not all that uncomfortable or unpleasant. Gradually he feels himself relax.
“You didn’t return it.”
“I know.”
A smile flitters over his lips. He thinks that he sees a faint flash of a grin from Shishido as well.
-
Perhaps it was only a fluke. But it was a fluke that succeeded and blew Shishido’s racket clear out of his hand. It only happened once and when he tried the serve again it failed but that one moment of success had his blood boiling and it felt like a fire was ignited within him.
It was enough to make him want it again. Want it with a passion that had slowly ebbed in the previous months.
-
The painful memories of Shishido’s bowed head, disappointment screaming from every part of his body and the sound of a rushing ball hitting a net still plague his mind.
But he manages to block them. Somehow Shishido’s presence, his renewed faith in him, has helped. After most practices they leave the courts together and join each other's family for dinner. It’s never discussed beforehand where they’ll eat but surprisingly neither of their parents mind when a guest turns up unannounced and a dinner goes cold in another house.
As long as their homework is completed and they go to bed at reasonable times, their parents are happy. Occasional sleepovers gradually happen but only on weekends and sporadically to begin with.
.
Tennis practice becomes less stressful and a sense of ease returns. There are less scufflings and heated debates. The other team members return to treating him normally, no longer hushing each other as he enters the changing room or giving him sly looks as he leaves again.
Life begins to return to normal. But the serve hasn’t gone in again.
-
Ohtori begins to wonder if it was all in his head. Worrying too much and trying too hard. He's heard that sometimes when you want something too badly, everything you shift your focus from falls apart and you lose control. It makes sense, at least in this situation. According to Shishdo.
It feels strange telling Shishido everything and it makes him feel awkward and silly. Somehow he manages to push those discomforts aside and say what he needs to say.
The darkness in his bedroom and the soft breaths coming from Shishido, unassuming and not pressuring, relax him and make him feel more confident with a sense of security surrounding him.
"You need to relax, Choutarou," Shishido finally says. Ohtori hears sheets ruffling and he imagines that Shishido is turning on his side, looking over at him between the two single futons. "It ain't healthy thinking that much. No wonder you've been blowing game after game these past few weeks."
They talk for awhile. Neither of them have actually had a proper, serious conversation before -- not like this or for this long. When Ohtori drifts off to sleep, a weight off his shoulders, he dreams of tennis and Shishido. And a ball going over the net.
-
He wakes suddenly.
It's still dark outside and the air is chilly. He can hear himself breathing and his heart beating. Ohtori shifts on his futon, straining to hear whatever it was that woke him from his sleep.
Something in his room moves and there is a muffled gasp.
Ohtori freezes, his cheeks flaming and he squeezes his eyes shut, telling himself that he's imagining things. A moan, longer and choked off towards the end, fills his ears and it's undeniable.
It feels like hours but it must only be a few minutes until there is silence again. Ohtori blinks, eyes opening and the room isn't as dark anymore. He hesitates before turning onto his side, lifting his head so he can look over at Shishido's futon.
Their gazes meet and hold.
-
In the morning there is no time to talk about what happened earlier. Ohtori thinks that even if there was time, he'd rather stand in front of a speeding ball machine without his racket than bring up the subject of Shishido masturbating in his room.
"Five minutes."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, I have to get my bag."
"It's at the end of my bed."
"Thanks - can you grab me a drink?"
"Sure. The usual?"
“Surprise me.”
Shishido flashes him a grin and disappears up the stairs, his feet heavy as he races up and Ohtori hopes he doesn't wake his parents. Ohtori grabs the drinks and their lunches, remembering at the last minute to get the sunscreen and bug repellent and he shoves everything hastily into his carry bag.
"Let's go!" Shishido calls, jumping down the last few steps and Ohtori shushes him, gesturing to his watch. Shishido mouths an apology and Ohtori gently punches his shoulder, shaking his head as they walk out the door.
-
The rain is pouring down as they race into the train station, both soaking wet and clothes sticking to their body. The storm came out of nowhere.
“Well, at least we got to go swimming,” Shishido says, shaking his head like a dog. He runs his fingers through the long choppy strands of his hair, flattening down the wayward ends that are threatening to dry in unattractive spikes and kinks.
Ohtori nods, smiling and wiping water from his face.
“The forecast said sunny skies and warm weather. Didn’t mention anything about a storm or even just wet weather,” Ohtori offers, edging further into the station to look at the train time table. The next train for them leaves in eight minutes.
Shishido merely shrugs. “Whatever. At least we got a free shower and the sand washed off of us.”
They continue talking as they head down to the train and join other passengers as they board. People press too closely together and something pokes Ohtori in the back painfully. He grimaces and Shishido, who is backed into a corner opposite him, smirks and mouth a rude word, which makes Ohtori’s ears burn.
It’s nowhere near comfortable and there are at least six people separating him from Shishido. After a few stops, people begin to shift around, more people boarding and others disembarking.
Ohtori doesn’t know when the pain in his back stops and the pain in his side begins. But he does know when the sharp pain in his foot starts, because a middle aged lady treads on it repeatedly as she is jostled around.
He is wet, sore and sweaty. Shishido looks at ease, leaning against a wall, arms crossed and eyes closed. Ohtori can’t help but feel slightly annoyed, wanting to be resting against something and not having some strange lady treading on him and grabbing his shirt to save herself from falling over.
The train stops again and there is a rush for the doors and Ohtori finally finds himself in front of Shishido. He breathes easily, relaxing and takes a moment to glance down at Shishido. Up this close, the expression on his face is more pained than anything else. As people gradually surround him, he gently touches Shishido’s shoulder and smiles softly when Shishido opens his eyes to look at him.
“Are you okay, Shishido-san?” he asks, steadying himself with his arm against the wall next to Shishido’s head.
“I’m fine,” Shishido replies tightly, his eyes closing again.
Ohtori is taken aback and his smile fades. He doesn’t try to talk again. Not even to apologize when he is shoved from behind and he falls into Shishido, knocking his hat to the floor.
-
A shower has never before been as relaxing and relieving for him as it is later that night. Images of what Shishido may have done in the early hours of the morning flash through his mind and he bites down on his lip, his imagination straying into dangerous and unexplored territory.
Afterwards, when he is panting and shivering, staring at the steamed glass of the bathroom mirror, realisation sets in and his mind goes blissfully blank. He takes a few deep breaths, noticing how pale and drawn his face appears. Not able to look at himself any longer, he lets his head fall forward and he stares into the basin.
His dreams and reality have mixed together. The dreams he was able to ignore. Ohtori was able to pass them off as something to do with worrying about tennis, upsetting Shishido and wanting to please him.
Perhaps the dreams weren’t as innocent as he likes to pretend but he was able to push them aside and not think about them. But now, with Shishido having done what he did in his room, only a few tennis ball size spaces away, it is harder to ignore and dismiss.
He shivers and rubs his face, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids and he groans in confusion and frustration. Things were getting easier but now Ohtori is lost with how to handle this.
-
“Are you busy?”
“A little. I have to help my mum prepare for our dinner guests, so I can’t go out.”
“Ah, okay. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”
“Uh, sure, Shishido-san. I'll see you then.”
“Alright, I'll let you go. ’Bye, Choutarou.”
“’Bye.”
-
“You’ve been avoiding me, Choutarou.”
Ohtori chokes on his mouthful of sushi and he coughs, his eyes watering. Shishido slaps his back a few times as he takes the seat next to him, straddling the bench and facing Ohtori.
“…Excuse me?” Ohtori asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He carefully packs his food away, saving it for later.
He thought the roof would be a fairly decent place for him to eat in peace and would give him a chance to think. It had worked for a few days but he knew it was only a matter of time before Shishido found him.
Ohtori watches Shishido as he picks at loose strands of cotton on his pants, tugging them loose and flicking them away. “You keep avoiding me,” Shishido repeats, his voice is soft but there’s a faint trace of anger and something Ohtori can’t decipher.
Not quite sure how to answer Shishido, Ohtori remains silent, looking away from Shishido and over towards the tennis courts, which are visible from the roof.
“Why?”
Ohtori shrugs. “It’s nothing.”
“Is it because of the other morning?” Shishido asks.
His tone causes Ohtori to look back at Shishido and he notices exactly how uncomfortable Shishido is. There are lines around his mouth and he is frowning, not looking at anything in particular. His entire body screams of tension and awkwardness.
Ohtori is not used to seeing Shishido like this. Shishido is usually confident, knows what he wants and thinks. To see him like this unsettles him.
“A little,” he admits quietly.
Shishido nods, reaching up to drag his fingers through his hair and then he stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay.”
“That… I mean, it’s not the only reason, Shishido-san!” he says hurriedly when he notices that Shishido is getting ready to leave. Ohtori stands as well, wringing his hands together in front of him to stop himself from grabbing Shishido.
“What?” Shishido turns back, looking at him expectantly.
Ohtori opens his mouth but then realizes that he doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say? He feels his ears heat up and he bites his bottom lip before blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I have dreams about you.”
-
When his serve goes in repeatedly, again and again, and it’s perfect and unreturnable, Ohtori thinks that he should feel proud and satisfied.
He feels empty and doesn’t understand what has changed. Why is the serve working now when it wasn’t a week ago?
After the last week, he thinks it should have only gotten worse -- not better.
-
“An improvement, Ohtori,” Atobe comments as he enters the change room. “Now get it to work during a doubles match. I expect you to have it under complete control by early next week.”
“Yes, Atobe-buchou.”
-
“Hey Shishido, you definitely don’t deserve a girl like her on your arm!”
“Shut up!”
Ohtori tries to ignore the change room talk and leaves as fast as he can
-
“Choutarou, wait!”
Ohtori pauses for a second before speeding up, ducking his head down to keep the wind from stinging his eyes.
It shouldn’t hurt. There is nothing to be hurt over. Not really. He should be happy. His serve is perfect, in singles and doubles, and he is confident that they can win easily in the upcoming tournament.
“Don’t ignore me,” Shishido growls as he grabs his arm, stopping him and swinging him around to face him. “I was calling you and I know you heard me.”
Ohtori frowns, hunching over and shifts his bag on his back.
“What's your problem, Choutarou? You heard Atobe, we were supposed to stay behind and practice on the ball machines and close up.”
“I-I forgot.” He hadn’t and Shishido can tell. His expression and snort shows it.
“This is about what Gakuto said, isn’t it?” Shishido shakes his head. “We broke up, it wasn’t working. She wasn’t my type--”
“You don’t need to tell me this, Shishido-san,” Ohtori interrupts, feeling the back of his neck heat up as his palms begin to sweat. He doesn’t want to hear about it. It's none of his business. It has nothing to do with him. Shishido has his type. It may not be this girl but it’ll --
-- Shishido’s mouth against his own silences his thoughts. He freezes for a moment and then stumbles back, hand coming up to his mouth.
“I have dreams about you, too, Choutarou.”
-
Ohtori bounces the ball, excitement and nervousness making his heart race and flutter. Shishido quickly looks over his shoulder at him and Ohtori returns his grin with one of his own.
He licks his lips and throws the ball into the air and with pride and confidence, he demonstrates to his opponents, his team, his family and his friends how much he has grown and improved. But most of all, he shows Shishido and he knows that he is proud of him.
It feels incredible.
~fin.