Down For The Count [G]
Title: Down For The Count
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Kirihara, Sanada
Rating: G
Notes: Um, gen. And stuff. Written for wordplex. The prompt was "anguish." Takes place after/at the end of the episodes with the American team. Beta'd by regulusa.
Summary: Sanada makes sure Kirihara is okay.
Word Count: 592
Sanada stood with his back against the wall, watching as the medic made the call to the ambulance. Kirihara sat at the bench next to him, head bowed low, his hair covering his eyes. Sanada didn't look at him.
Akaya sighed. His palm lay flat on his knee for several seconds before he balled it up into a fist, slamming it down against his thigh.
"That won't make it heal faster," said Sanada, his voice calm and cold.
Kirihara's voice sounded slightly broken. "I don't need you to be here."
"I'm your Vice-Captain," responded Sanada. "I need to be here."
Kirihara snorted in annoyance.
"Whether you want me to be or not."
They remained silent, Sanada helping Kirihara onto the stretcher when it arrived, brown eyes watching with strict seriousness as the door closed.
He walked back inside.
*
"You don't have to visit me every day," said Kirihara, rolling his eyes. "I'm not dying."
Sanada placed the flowers next to Kirihara's bed, avoiding his eyes. He sat down in the chair provided, next to the hospital bed.
"I'm not Yukimura," muttered Kirihara.
Sanada's eyes blazed. "Akaya."
"Sorry, sorry," said Kirihara quickly with a wave of his hand.
Sanada remained silent, merely watching.
Kirihara layed back against his pillow. Sanada's visits, though well-meaning, tended to make him feel like he would never leave. He remembered the times they'd come, as a team, to visit Yukimura here. He remembered how they'd tried to win in the tournament against Seigaku.
He didn't want to remember any of it. Yet Sanada came every day, watching him with that same, concerned gaze.
It was unsettling.
Even when he didn't look at him that same way, there were the reminders - the newspapers, the TV, everything - that played through his head repeatedly, showing him the match he couldn't finish. The game he had to forfeit.
The bravery Sanada had encouraged him to show.
"I have another week," said Kirihara, forcing his mind back to the present.
"Ah," said Sanada. "Will you need more physical therapy or will you be able to play when you get out?"
"I can play as soon as I'm discharged," answered Kirihara. He began to play with the edges of his hospital blanket, finding a thread and unraveling it with a hot-cut sort of satisfaction, glad to have a way to channel his annoyance. He'd seen Sanada angry and he wasn't in the mood to see it again.
"Nationals are soon." Kirihara looked up at the change in tone. Sanada seemed the same as ever - from the unsmiling face to the glaring eyes - with only his voice different. He found himself watching his fukubuchou with interest. "We'd like you there."
That's when he caught it - the gleam, the one he'd seen only twice before, when Sanada had seen Tezuka play and when he'd had his match against Echizen. The one that showed just how much of himself Sanada invested into tennis. Kirihara had seen it twice, but never directed at him.
He felt flattered.
Lowering his gaze, he smirked. "I"ll see what I can do," he said, sounding faintly like Atobe.
"Good." Sanada stood abruptly, pushing the chair back. He looked at Kirihara, then nodded.
"I'll expect you at practice in exactly one week," he said quietly as he exited, closing the door behind him.
Kirihara licked his lips, excited at the prospect.
Author: worblehat
Genre: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Kirihara, Sanada
Rating: G
Notes: Um, gen. And stuff. Written for wordplex. The prompt was "anguish." Takes place after/at the end of the episodes with the American team. Beta'd by regulusa.
Summary: Sanada makes sure Kirihara is okay.
Word Count: 592
Sanada stood with his back against the wall, watching as the medic made the call to the ambulance. Kirihara sat at the bench next to him, head bowed low, his hair covering his eyes. Sanada didn't look at him.
Akaya sighed. His palm lay flat on his knee for several seconds before he balled it up into a fist, slamming it down against his thigh.
"That won't make it heal faster," said Sanada, his voice calm and cold.
Kirihara's voice sounded slightly broken. "I don't need you to be here."
"I'm your Vice-Captain," responded Sanada. "I need to be here."
Kirihara snorted in annoyance.
"Whether you want me to be or not."
They remained silent, Sanada helping Kirihara onto the stretcher when it arrived, brown eyes watching with strict seriousness as the door closed.
He walked back inside.
*
"You don't have to visit me every day," said Kirihara, rolling his eyes. "I'm not dying."
Sanada placed the flowers next to Kirihara's bed, avoiding his eyes. He sat down in the chair provided, next to the hospital bed.
"I'm not Yukimura," muttered Kirihara.
Sanada's eyes blazed. "Akaya."
"Sorry, sorry," said Kirihara quickly with a wave of his hand.
Sanada remained silent, merely watching.
Kirihara layed back against his pillow. Sanada's visits, though well-meaning, tended to make him feel like he would never leave. He remembered the times they'd come, as a team, to visit Yukimura here. He remembered how they'd tried to win in the tournament against Seigaku.
He didn't want to remember any of it. Yet Sanada came every day, watching him with that same, concerned gaze.
It was unsettling.
Even when he didn't look at him that same way, there were the reminders - the newspapers, the TV, everything - that played through his head repeatedly, showing him the match he couldn't finish. The game he had to forfeit.
The bravery Sanada had encouraged him to show.
"I have another week," said Kirihara, forcing his mind back to the present.
"Ah," said Sanada. "Will you need more physical therapy or will you be able to play when you get out?"
"I can play as soon as I'm discharged," answered Kirihara. He began to play with the edges of his hospital blanket, finding a thread and unraveling it with a hot-cut sort of satisfaction, glad to have a way to channel his annoyance. He'd seen Sanada angry and he wasn't in the mood to see it again.
"Nationals are soon." Kirihara looked up at the change in tone. Sanada seemed the same as ever - from the unsmiling face to the glaring eyes - with only his voice different. He found himself watching his fukubuchou with interest. "We'd like you there."
That's when he caught it - the gleam, the one he'd seen only twice before, when Sanada had seen Tezuka play and when he'd had his match against Echizen. The one that showed just how much of himself Sanada invested into tennis. Kirihara had seen it twice, but never directed at him.
He felt flattered.
Lowering his gaze, he smirked. "I"ll see what I can do," he said, sounding faintly like Atobe.
"Good." Sanada stood abruptly, pushing the chair back. He looked at Kirihara, then nodded.
"I'll expect you at practice in exactly one week," he said quietly as he exited, closing the door behind him.
Kirihara licked his lips, excited at the prospect.