Third Watch: All In One

In the wake of his brilliant senpai, Kirihara has to struggle to find his own team and tennis as Rikkai’s new captain. Follows directly after Challenge; manga continuity and divergent future with a bit of Tachibana/Kirihara at the end.

The extras are stories that would have been part of the next arc, if the next arc had ever really come together. I do not expect to fill in the spaces around them, and take no responsibility for the frustration of readers who might want more after reading those.

Third Watch

When the third years retire from the club, Kirihara has to deal with taking over. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Furuya Touya, Hiiyama Nobuo, Kirihara Akaya, Kuwahara Jackal, Niou Masaharu, Rikkai next gen, Sakamoto Chiaki, Sanada Genichirou, Suzuoki, Yukimura Seiichi

Akaya counted off the days of the past week in his mind, as he walked toward the tennis courts. One day of recovery from Nationals, to make sure no one had injured themselves in an excess of enthusiasm, as Yanagi-senpai put it. Three frantic days of learning what paperwork the captain of the tennis club had to take care of while the rest of the club sorted out their new rankings. Two rather boring days of proving that, yes, he was still the best player out of the first and second years. And third, too, barring Sanada-san and Yukimura-san, but that didn’t matter any more. One day to sit home and catch his breath and bite his nails.

And now here he was, for his first day as captain of this club.

He came most of the way down the stairs to the courts and stopped. He was fairly sure he could make himself heard over the noise of horseplay and half-hearted warming up, but he really didn’t want to invite comparisons to Sanada-san, who had been able to do it with no effort at all. So he just stood and waited. It worked. Quiet spread across the courts, and everyone drifted toward him. Akaya tried to banish his nervousness; he didn’t succeed very well. At least, he reflected, he could be reasonably sure he wasn’t showing it to everyone else.

“I’m not going to say this will be an easy year,” he stated, without preamble. “It won’t. Our strongest players are gone, and however hard we work it isn’t likely this year’s team will be as strong. We aren’t them.” He saw some grimaces, and a few expressions of resentment, but not many. It was an obvious truth that few, if any, of them could become what Yukimura or Sanada or Yanagi was. Akaya nodded, and raised his voice. “It doesn’t matter. What we are is Rikkai. We will win.” A murmur passed through them, and nods, sharp and proud. They were Rikkai; they might or might not be the best, but they would damn well try. “Regulars, stay here. The rest of you, get warmed up. I want first years playing against second years.”

The club scattered, chattering, first years either groaning or bouncing, depending on how confident they were. His new team gathered around Akaya.

“Inspiring speech, there,” Furuya said, with some sarcasm.

Akaya gave him a narrow look. “You want me to send a message up to the third years, so Sanada-senpai can come down to play you and you can prove me wrong?” he asked, secure in the knowledge that Furuya would sooner carve out his own liver with a spoon than do any such thing.

Furuya looked away.

“Didn’t think so. All right, we should have doubles pretty well sewn up through Regionals; most of our major competition have half pairs left. When we get closer to the tournaments, we’ll work more on that, but for now I want to focus on singles.”

“Kirihara,” Hiiyama interjected, quietly, and nodded off to the side when Akaya glanced at him.

Akaya turned to see an adult standing at the wall around the courts, watching them all. He thought he recognized the man as one of the coaches. What now?

“I’ll see about it,” he said. “Hiiyama, rotate the doubles players against the singles.”

His vice-captain nodded.

“Waste of what we’re best at,” Furuya grumbled, quietly. “Real doubles players never play as well in singles.”

Akaya spared a moment to be thankful, first that he only had one dedicated doubles pair to deal with, and second that Furuya’s partner, Chiba, could usually curb Furuya’s quarrelsomeness. “Learn,” he snapped over his shoulder. “You never know when there might be an accident that demands you play alone.”

After the hell of the past year, mention of accidents shut everyone up, and Hiiyama started to sort them out as Akaya stalked over to the man watching them.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

The man smiled at him, which surprised Akaya a bit considering his tone hadn’t been the politest. He examined their visitor a little more closely. Tall, but rangy rather than big. Dark. Pretty nondescript. The only notable features were a pair of sharp, champagne colored eyes. And the smile.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could help you. Kirihara-kun, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Akaya admitted, a touch warily.

“Suzuoki,” the man introduced himself. “The faculty advisor for the tennis club is doing a little reorganization this year, and I noticed no one seemed to be assigned to work with the junior high division. I thought I’d come see how things were going.”

Akaya smirked. He hadn’t been around for it, but he’d certainly heard the story from his senpai, about how the advisor had said the wrong thing to Yukimura-san and been run off. All the coaches had stayed well away from them, actually. He eyed Suzuoki, wondering whether he’d heard the story too.

Suzuoki eyed him back. “You don’t look like the type to bite heads off, but I understand the last captain didn’t either.”

That sounded like a yes.

“And you seem to have a pretty fractious bunch fairly well in hand,” Suzuoki continued, “so I’ll refrain from snap judgments, I think. Which leaves us with the real question: do you want my help?”

Akaya considered this. They had done well enough without either advisors or coaches for the past two years. But what he’d told the club held true here, too. The team didn’t have Sanada-san and Yanagi-senpai to put together training schedules for them anymore. Akaya wasn’t sure he believed Suzuoki would have the fine touch for it that those two did, but he knew for sure that he himself didn’t. He couldn’t turn away something that would help him strengthen his team.

On the other hand, he was used to the idea of working without interference, and didn’t especially like the idea of someone who thought he could override the team captain. How to tell whether this guy would be more trouble than he was worth?

A sudden thought struck Akaya, and he grinned. “How do you feel about paperwork?” he asked.

Suzuoki looked like he was biting back a grin of his own. “I’ll lend you my office, if you need a quiet place to work on it,” he offered, blandly.

Okay, not a stick in the mud, and not a pushover either. Akaya’s grin sharpened. He could work with that. “I might take you up on that. And yeah, I think I would like your help. Suzuoki-sensei.”

“Good.” Suzuoki leaned against the wall. “So, what do you need, Kirihara-kun?”

Akaya ran an absent hand through his hair. “Like I was telling them, I want to work on singles for now…”

Akaya was perfectly willing to admit when he’d been wrong. Well, maybe not perfectly, but he was lucky enough not to have voiced his doubts to anyone but himself, and therefore didn’t have to admit the mistake to anyone else, either. Suzuoki was turning out to be a great deal of help.

Of course, he also drove Akaya absolutely nuts, but that was at least half Akaya’s own fault.

“I think it’s time Ueda started practicing more often against you,” Suzuoki mused over his clipboard. “He’s starting to win pretty regularly against both Kuwabara and Tsunoda. He needs to work against someone with a stronger focus on technique.”

“He came along faster than I was expecting,” Akaya admitted, leaning on the wall beside Suzuoki where they could watch the team practice.”The climbing exercises you gave him really helped his speed.”

Suzuoki smiled. He never said Of course, but, then, the results said it for him. Akaya snorted.

“Now that singles are in hand, Kirihara-kun, have you noticed what’s been happening in doubles?” Suzuoki asked.

Akaya frowned. “I’ve noticed that Tsunoda and Kuwabara have seemed… a little odd lately. Distracted, maybe.”

“Mm.” Another smile. “I was working with the first years last week. Tsunoda is gravitating toward Sakamoto. They make a good pair; quite possibly a stronger pair than Tsunoda and Kuwabara. I expect Sakamoto will suggest the idea some time soon.”

Akaya winced. There were a lot of stories about his temper, he knew. And, for that matter, Hiiyama, while normally a quiet guy, could go off like a warehouse full of fireworks when pushed too far. But Sakamoto topped them all. Mouthier than Furuya, more explosive than Hiiyama, and meaner than Akaya when the mood was on him. Akaya occasionally had to wonder whether it was compensation for being small and delicate looking. He was also, however, an excellent doubles player, and had remarkable rapport with the few partners he really bonded to. What a mess. Akaya slanted a look at his coach and crossed his mental fingers.

“Do we allow that kind of ranking challenge in the middle of the year?” he asked, as innocently as he could manage.

Suzuoki raised his brows and looked back, amused. “I don’t know, Kirihara-kun, do we?”

Akaya sighed. Oh well, it had been worth a try. “I’ll look into it,” he muttered, leaning back on his hands.

He did have a certain reluctant admiration for the way Suzuoki managed not to be conned into things like this. And he had to admit, the presence of a coach who was willing to let Akaya keep full authority over the team was a blessing. The entire club followed Suzuoki’s lead without thinking twice about it. But Suzuoki steadfastly maintained that Akaya had to lie in whatever bed he chose to make. Either he could shove off half of the administrative chores onto Suzuoki, and half his authority with it, or else he could keep one hundred percent of both.

It did not entirely help that Akaya was convinced that, if Yukimura-san knew about all this, he would gently point out that it was good experience for Akaya and that he could hardly fault the man for his integrity. And that Yukimura-san would then go somewhere else and laugh for a long time. Akaya wasn’t sure whether this would be better or worse than the stern lecture that would, no doubt, be forthcoming from Sanada-san if he knew. And he just wasn’t going to think about how Niou-senpai would respond. Altogether, he thought he was grateful that they were all busy studying for their exams.

He pushed off from the wall. “Well, no time like the present. Ueda! You’re playing a set with me, come on!”

Akaya was busy enough that December came as a surprise.

The visit came as a surprise, too, though it shouldn’t have.

“Kirihara-kun,” Suzuoki, put in, between last minute admonitions to Sakamoto at the end of the day’s practice, “you have visitors, I think.”

Akaya looked up, blinking, and around to see Yukimura-san and Sanada-san leaning against the wall, watching the club members trickle past on their way out the doors. He was torn between two such strongly conflicting impulses that, for a moment, he swayed on his feet. He wanted to hide behind Yukimura-san and beg him to take care of all this crap. He wanted them to go away, far away, from his team, his people.

He was vaguely aware of Suzuoki taking over the conversation with Sakamoto, and shook off the moment of disorientation before walking over to greet his erstwhile captain and vice-captain. Yukimura-san smiled as he approached.

“Akaya. We stopped by to see how you were doing. Things look well.”

Akaya, who had been feeling harried all day, laughed. “I guess so. Except for the paperwork. And maybe Sakamoto.”

Yukimura-san glanced over his shoulder to where Sakamoto was tossing his bright hair, restlessly, in response to whatever Suzuoki had said. “That one?”

“Yeah.” Akaya raked a hand through his own hair. “Temper like a powder keg, and you wouldn’t believe the mouth on him.”

Sanada-san snorted and gave him an extremely sardonic look. Akaya flushed and looked down, abruptly recalled to his relationship with Sanada-san as the order keeper of the old team.

Yukimura-san was a bit more polite about it, though his eyes danced. “Well, maybe he’ll be as good for your team as you were for mine.”

Akaya fought down a twitch as his world view flip-flopped again. Yes, it was his team here, now. Sakamoto was his problem, he was not their problem. Right.

Yukimura-san set him spinning again with a sharp look at Suzuoki. “And this coach? He isn’t giving any of you any trouble?” The hard edge in Yukimura-san’s voice said very clearly that he would step in if Akaya was having trouble. The thought that Yukimura-san still considered Akaya his to protect warmed Akaya like an embrace, but at the same time it was in conflict with everything he had spent months telling himself and acting on. Rikkai might not be as cutthroat as Hyoutei, but it was a lot wilder. If Akaya was going to succeed as captain, he couldn’t let himself be seen leaning on Yukimura-san’s strength.

“No,” he managed, “Suzuoki-sensei has been a lot of help.” He wanted to elaborate, but was afraid it would just draw him deeper into the spiral of clashing perspectives.

“Good. And the rest of the team? I remember you were a little concerned about Ueda.”

Responses rushed through Akaya’s mind. Well, yes, but I’m worrying differently these days, because they’re coming along, and Hiiyama can almost match me, his speed makes up for a short reach you know, but I’m worried because I’m measuring all of them against myself, because I’m the best there is, here, now, but will that be enough against the other schools, and what if my own edge is blunted exactly because I’m the best here, now, and I can’t bring them on enough and we lose?

Akaya couldn’t say any of it.

There was no good reason why he couldn’t talk shop with Yukimura-san, and compare captainly woes with him, except that… it was Yukimura-san. He could feel himself slipping, falling back into someplace more comfortable, where all he had to worry about was his own game. He could feel himself stiffening, too, trying to pull himself back together under the sidelong looks of the lingering club members.

“Ueda’s doing much better,” he answered, as evenly as he could. “Like I said, Suzuoki-sensei has a lot of good ideas for training exercises.”

Yukimura-san tipped his head and gave Akaya a long, slightly quizzical, look before his eyes softened. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure your team will do well this year, Akaya.” He touched Akaya’s shoulder in parting, and swept Sanada-san out with him, leaving Akaya in possession of the tennis club’s domain. Akaya was fairly sure he’d done that on purpose, and reminded himself not to squander the gift by collapsing in a stressed heap or scuttling off to hide in the club rooms until he got a grip again. Instead, he took a long breath and strolled back to Suzuoki, as if to finish a discussion with him.

“Impressive,” Suzuoki commented, quietly. “I don’t think anyone has ever delivered such a sharp warning to me without saying a word.”

“Yukimura-san’s like that,” Akaya said, stifling a shiver.

Suzuoki looked him up and down, measuring. “Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you, haven’t you?”

Akaya mustered a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“My pleasure,” his coach murmured.

The man really did drive him absolutely nuts. And half the time it wasn’t Akaya’s fault at all.

Akaya rather liked Suzuoki’s office. Of course, it wasn’t just his, several other teachers shared it. But at this time of day the other teachers had generally left, and Akaya could take possession of the extremely battered, brown armchair someone had wedged into one corner at some point, while Suzuoki worked at his desk. Akaya had no idea what he did with those stacks of books that were always threatening to topple across or completely off of his workspace; it looked more like research than grading or anything. The office was quiet and warm, though, and if the paper dust made him sneeze every now and then it was a small price to pay.

Akaya tossed yet another page of equipment request forms on the growing stack by the chair, and stretched his arms over his head. He could hear when his spine popped.

“I really, really hate these things,” he declared, glaring at the remaining sheets.

“Enough to get someone else to do them?” Suzuoki asked, as he often did when Akaya grumbled.

Akaya eyed his coach, who hadn’t even looked up from whatever notes he was taking. “Not quite that much,” he sighed.

“I have to wonder what you would have done if I weren’t around to keep reminding you of that,” Suzuoki commented, sounding amused.

“I’d have still done them, of course,” Akaya told him, absently, biting the end of his pen as he tried to remember how many cases of balls he had wanted to order, “only I’d have had to get someone else to listen to me complain.”

Now Suzuoki looked up, with a thin smile that glinted in his eyes. “You know, every time I think your basic immaturity is shining through, Kirihara-kun, you surprise me.”

Akaya sniffed. He’d spent far too much time baiting people, himself, to rise to that one. “This chair needs new stuffing,” was all he said.

“I wasn’t actually expecting you to accept the offer to do your paperwork in here,” Suzuoki told him, returning to his books. “Most people don’t seem to be comfortable spending much time in my office.”

“What, just because you’re abrasive, snide and enjoy punching people’s buttons just so you can watch them go off?” Akaya waved a dismissive hand. “I’m used to that, Suzuoki-sensei.”

Suzuoki leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Most people have to be drunk before they can be that honest with someone senior to them,” he noted, recovering.

Akaya gave Suzuoki his most engaging smile. “But, Sensei, you’re the only one I can keep in practice with, anymore.”

Another glint. “Yes, you do seem to be more stable when you have regular opportunities to mouth off to someone. It’s worth putting up with your insolence to watch you gain control of your team. And of yourself. Besides, you can be amusing.”

Akaya paused, looking down at the papers in front of him. Yes, he had been aware that Suzuoki was encouraging such a casual relationship because he wanted Akaya to succeed. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“You’re welcome,” his coach answered, quite evenly.

And, of course, all this just made Akaya think of the other person who wanted him to succeed. The one he couldn’t face. He could deal with Suzuoki, and his sardonic sense of humor, and his silent sharpness, and his casual, unbending demands. Suzuoki kept his distance. Akaya could manage that. What he couldn’t deal with was Yukimura-san’s passionate caring.

Which was another good reason for sticking around Suzuoki’s office after practice. It minimized his chances of encountering Yukimura-san, and having to see that understanding look as Yukimura-san let him escape with nothing more demanding than a few pleasantries. It spared him having to see the flash of worry or almost-reaching-out that the understanding covered up. Which was a good thing, because damn it hurt to watch that. Akaya shifted, uncomfortably, in his chair. He didn’t like not being able to answer when Yukimura-san reached for him. But as soon as he did answer, he was overwhelmed again, and there went all the sureness and centeredness he needed to deal with his team. It wasn’t that he lost self-control; after all, that was one of the things Yukimura-san had helped him find.

It was just that, when he answered Yukimura-san, Yukimura-san became his center.

And when Yukimura-san had been his captain, that had been fine. But it wasn’t now, and Akaya wasn’t strong enough to stop it. On bad days, he wondered if he ever would be.

“Are you going to fill out those forms, or just brood at them in hopes they’ll spontaneously combust?” Suzuoki inquired.

Of course, there were also good reasons for not sticking around Suzuoki’s office. Akaya glared as best he could into the sun slanting in through the windows.

“It’s getting late. I’ll finish them tomorrow,” he declared, gathering up the stack and shoving it into his bag.

“See you tomorrow morning,” Suzuoki said, agreeably.

Akaya trudged out of the building and across the grounds, muttering to himself. “… really annoying … thinks he’s so cool … thinks he knows everything … worst part is when he does …”

“Ah, here he is.”

“I was starting to wonder whether you were planning to camp out in there, tonight!”

Akaya started at the familiar voices, and blinked to find Niou-senpai and Jackal-senpai falling in on either side of him.

“Senpai? What are you doing here?” he asked.

“We haven’t graduated quite yet,” Jackal-senpai pointed out, sounding amused.

Niou-senpai draped an arm over Akaya’s shoulders. “Thought you’d get rid of us that easily? Think again.” He grinned down at Akaya with just a hint of friendly malice.

Akaya sighed. “As if Suzuoki-sensei, and his bad sense of humor, wasn’t enough,” he shot back with as much forlorn resignation as he could manage.

“Hey!”

Akaya ducked out of Niou-senpai’s hold, laughing, and nipped around the other side of Jackal-senpai. He paused there, and looked up, curious. “I thought you didn’t like looking after me, Jackal-senpai,” he said, a little hesitant.

“I’m remembering the reason why,” Jackal-senpai noted, dryly. But the exasperated gaze fixed on Akaya was warm. Akaya smiled, and ducked his head a little.

“Someone mentioned that you’ve been staying late,” Niou-senpai provided, recapturing him by the ends of his scarf and reeling him in. “We thought we’d see how you were doing. Maybe drag you out for a while.”

“If I can’t avoid you, the least you can do is feed me,” Akaya agreed, pleasantly. The conversational tone of this insolence earned a gratifying double take; it was a trick he’d learned from Suzuoki.

Niou-senpai arched his brows and gave Akaya a long, slightly unnerving look. “Hmm.” An even more unnerving smile. “Let’s hit the University Cafe, then. You look like you’ve been studying way too hard for a second year. We can get you some coffee, too.”

“Food first,” Jackal-senpai specified, firmly. “I’ve seen Akaya on caffeine before, Niou.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Niou-senpai demanded.

“The problem is more your threshold for what you consider an adventure,” Jackal-senpai told him. “If you want someone who will let you run wild, get Yagyuu.”

Akaya let himself be swept along, feeling a little better about the whole world.

End

Strategy

Kirihara meets Yanagi while out studying, and they chat about literature, history, psychology and teammates. Drama, I-2

Character(s): Kirihara Akaya, Yanagi Renji

A current of cold air passed over Akaya where he sat, sideways, in one of the University Cafe’s few booths, and he looked up. In part, he wanted to make sure the newcomer wasn’t a college student who would evict him from his spot, this being their proper territory after all. Akaya had only kept his place so far because so few students had stuck around campus for such a cold, wet weekend.

Of course, in the past few weeks Akaya had also learned that if he didn’t look up when the door opened he was liable to find himself lassoed by Niou-senpai’s scarf or pounced on by Marui-senpai, who turned out to be a lot more solid than he looked.

This time he was lucky. It was Yanagi-senpai. Akaya waved without hesitation. Yanagi-senpai was a lot less extreme about the whole ‘keeping in touch with Akaya’ thing than the rest of them. It had recently occurred to him to be very, very grateful that his birthday had fallen before the project got going.

Akaya swore to himself that he would never be such a trial to his own kouhai.

“I didn’t expect to see you here on a weekend, Akaya,” Yanagi-senpai noted, as he settled across the table. “Were you hoping for some company? Or,” his mouth curved just a bit, “did you hope to avoid everyone by coming here when they would expect you to be at the arcade?”

Akaya shrugged, riffling the pages of his book with a fingertip. “I’ve just gotten used to coming here. It’s a nice place to study. Not so quiet I can’t hear myself think, like the library.”

Yanagi-senpai tipped his head, examining the spine of the book. “Ten Nights of Dreams? They gave you that for homework?”

Akaya snorted. “We have to write a report for Japanese, and I asked if I could do this instead of Botchan. Which I’ve read before anyway, and this is on the alternate reading list, so Yoshimura-sensei said it was all right.” He sighed. “Couldn’t get out of the boring books for History, though. I don’t suppose … ” he trailed off hopefully.

Yanagi-senpai’s lips quirked strangely. “I might not be the best person to ask for help just now, Akaya. I’ve been working on a comparison of the old History text with the new one. I wouldn’t want to confuse you with references you won’t need for your own tests.”

Akaya blinked. “Is it a class project?” It didn’t sound like one, but every now and then weird things popped up in the elective courses.

“Purely for my own interest. The differences in the editions are politically instructive. Genichirou says I have too much taste for contention, but it’s a fascinating study. In any case, Genichirou is the one you should speak to about Japanese history.”

“Mmmm.” Akaya poked at the crumbs of his snack from earlier in the afternoon.

“Since I’m here and he’s not, though,” Yanagi-senpai went on, “what’s giving you trouble?”

Akaya eyed Yanagi-senpai through his lashes. He’d been wondering when the loaded questions would start. “It isn’t that I don’t want,” he started and paused. “I just,” he tried and stopped again, frustrated at the clumsiness of all the words suggesting themselves to him. He was supposed to be good with language, he reminded himself.

“I know,” Yanagi-senpai told him, quietly. “Don’t worry too much, Akaya. It wasn’t entirely unexpected.”

Akaya blew out an exasperated breath. “If you knew I was going to have trouble when you guys left, you could have warned me,” he muttered.

“It wasn’t sure, and if it wasn’t going to happen I hardly wanted to suggest it to you,” Yanagi-senpai pointed out, reasonably. “One of the hazards of prediction.”

Akaya raised his head, staring as a sudden thought leaped up. “Is that why you say it out loud on the court?”

Yanagi-senpai smiled.

Akaya leaned back, unsettled. “Maybe I’ll start with catching Sanada-san, instead,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“You style is, perhaps, better suited to overcoming him,” Yanagi-senpai agreed.

Akaya made a note of that “perhaps” to chew on later. When Yanagi-senpai used such smooth qualifiers it usually meant he was bluffing. But Yanagi-senpai probably knew by now the kinds of things Akaya noticed, so maybe it was a trap. Akaya sighed. Definitely start with Sanada-san; the head games with Yanagi-senpai would just make him dizzy.

“Enough of that,” Yanagi-senpai said, chuckling. “We can play again later, if you like. I don’t want to distract you too much from your work.” He nodded at the book, now fallen closed on the table. “Do you know what you’ll say about it yet?”

“That the spirit is eternal and love kind of sucks,” Akaya answered, promptly.

Yanagi-senpai laughed out loud. “Anyone would certainly think so after reading Soseki for a while,” he allowed, “but you should probably concentrate on the first part, for the teacher’s benefit.”

“Figured,” Akaya shrugged.

“So classes are going well. What about your team?”

Akaya sprawled back down on the table, groaning. “Yanagi-senpai, please, please tell me both your doubles pairs are nice and stable and not going anywhere. Please?”

“I take it yours are not entirely stable at the moment?” Yanagi-senpai asked with only the faintest wobble of amusement in his voice.

Akaya buried his fingers in his hair. “I’ve never seen dramatics like this outside of afternoon television,” he declared. “Kuwabara didn’t take it too badly when Tsunoda threw him over to pair with Sakamoto instead. Well, not too badly considering he got upstaged by a first year; I’m surprised you didn’t hear him bellowing all the way across campus, but he didn’t break anything. But now there’s Niiyama, who was pairing with Sakamoto, all in a snit, and he challenged Ueda this week and won. So now I’ve got him sniping at Tsunoda over Sakamoto, and half the second years getting pissed off about two first years being Regulars, and Sakamoto doesn’t seem to care who he plays with as long as they hammer the other side six feet into the ground, and Niiyama and Tsunoda are making a personal competition of who can make him happiest!” He paused to catch his breath.

“Sounds like a fairly standard restructuring period for the team,” Yanagi-senpai murmured.

Akaya looked up at him, blankly. “Are you joking?” he asked, finally.

“Not at all, Akaya. That doesn’t sound all that unlike how Niou and Yagyuu came to be a pair.”

“It is?” Akaya sat back, blinking. On the one hand, it was a bit comforting to know his pack of crazies wasn’t some kind of karmic punishment for him personally. On the other … “Yukimura-san let them?”

Yanagi-senpai turned a hand palm up. “When the players balance each other’s strengths and weaknesses, it’s usually best to let them sort it out. Only when they are unbalanced do they need their captain to step in and provide the counterweight.”

Akaya considered this. “Maybe they do balance out,” he said, slowly. “At least … Niiyama never lets Sakamoto actually go too far. I thought he would, but he doesn’t.” They were silent for a while before Akaya nodded. “Thanks, Yanagi-senpai.”

“My pleasure,” Yanagi told him with a wry smile. “I think we’re more than just teammates after this past year. Friends look out for each other.”

Akaya smiled back. The words “more than just teammates” sparked another thought made him look down again, though. “Yanagi-senpai, does Sanada-san … ” he paused, fishing for the right word. Understand, he supposed. He knew Yukimura-san understood, but he hadn’t seen Sanada-san at all lately.

“He understands,” Yanagi-senpai offered, hand resting briefly over Akaya’s. “He’s been staying away from you for many of the same reasons you’ve been staying away from him.”

Every now and then, he didn’t mind so much that Yanagi-senpai knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“So,” Yanagi-senpai said in a brisker tone, “what part of History has been giving you trouble?”

“Not trouble,” Akaya protested. “It’s just so boring it’s hard to remember sometimes.”

Yanagi-senpai’s mouth curled up at one corner. “Ah. What you really want is to ask Niou, then. His historical narratives are anything but boring.”

Akaya gave him a flat look. “I’m sure they are, Yanagi-senpai, thanks very much.” Did anyone else know Yanagi-san was this evil?

“Oh, very well,” Yanagi-san said, tolerantly, “let me get some tea; pick a period, and I’ll tell you about it. Did you want anything?” he added, rising.

“Hot chocolate!” Akaya tucked away his book as Yanagi-san made his way to the counter, and prepared to listen.

He was glad he’d come here today.

End

Wildflower

Yukimura, a bit troubled over Kirihara, talks first with Tezuka and then with Suzuoki. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Suzuoki, Tezuka Kunimitsu, Yukimura Seiichi

Seiichi didn’t come out to Makuyama Park very often. The harshness of the landscape didn’t generally appeal to him. But today he needed to remind himself of a few things, and Makuyama suggested itself. In January there were few other people there, and Seiichi wandered among the plum trees, thinking.

He was troubled over Akaya. He wanted to give his successor all the time he needed to get his feet under him. But the way Akaya was still shying away from him worried Seiichi. On the other hand, he couldn’t very well interfere when he himself seemed to be the problem. That fact still annoyed him greatly. Renji teased Seiichi about being possessive, but Seiichi didn’t think he was. Not the way Renji meant, at any rate. Seiichi chose a sunny shelf of rock to settle on, and looked up at the spray of branches that hung over it. This one was almost ready to blossom, lavender buds showing brighter rose at the edges as it prepared to unfurl.

“You don’t care, do you?” he asked, reaching up to touch a branch. “Not that you’re growing on volcanic rock, not that it’s winter. You just keep growing.” He sighed and smiled, a little crookedly, at the tree.

“Yukimura?”

Seiichi looked around to see, of all people, Tezuka standing near. “Tezuka,” he greeted, a little surprised to see him out here. “You’re rather early for the tourist season in this park.” He was amused to see how much distaste a single shrug could convey.

“I’m not fond of tourist season.”

“I’m not either,” Seiichi admitted. “I wonder if they mind.” He stroked the branch, lightly.

Tezuka tilted his head, consideringly. “They seem to keep growing, regardless,” he said, at last.

Seiichi had to laugh. “That was why I came out here today, actually.” He leaned back on his hands and gazed out across the trees. “Sometimes, when one of the plants in my garden isn’t doing well, and I can’t figure out why, I come out to one of the parks. It reminds me that plants are a lot tougher than most gardeners like to think they are. They survive just fine on their own.” He took a deep breath and ordered the tightness in his chest to go away. “I do wonder, sometimes. If my plants could talk to me, would my seedlings tell me I’m jostling their roots, and to stop fussing over them?”

Tezuka didn’t answer, but he didn’t move off, either. When Seiichi glanced at him, he was simply waiting, a little the way Genichirou did when he knew Seiichi wanted to talk about something. Only less patiently. Seiichi chuckled again. Tezuka’s presence was a silent offer to keep listening, but the crossed arms and faintly quirked brow said that obscure whimsy would not be tolerated. Genichirou tended to be amused by such things, and would reflect them back as poetry if Seiichi caught him in the right mood. Somehow, Seiichi doubted Tezuka wrote poetry. Which made his implicit offer a bit of a mystery. Maybe he was feeling a little bereft, too, without his own team.

And perhaps it would help to talk with someone outside his team, Seiichi reflected. More than that, to talk with another captain. So.

“Do your seedlings ever cause you worry, Tezuka?” he asked. “Momoshiro. Echizen.”

“Sometimes,” Tezuka said, brows raised. “We both had rather willful teams this year, Yukimura.”

“Now there’s an understatement. I find myself worrying more, now that I have to leave one of them behind.”

“There will still be someone there to oversee the ones I’m leaving,” Tezuka said, slowly. “It helps. Ryuuzaki-sensei is a good teacher. If I’ve gotten them to start on their own paths, I can trust she’ll see that they keep going. A good coach provides a great deal of continuity.”

“A good coach,” Seiichi repeated, hearing his own voice chill. From the watchful expression on Tezuka’s face, he knew his had probably turned hard and cold. “I found those in short supply, and declined to have any interfering with my team. Though one has found his way to Akaya.”

“Is he any good?” Tezuka asked, calmly.

Seiichi felt his fingernails scrape against stone and forced his hand to unclench again. “I have no idea. I’ve never dealt with him; he worked with the high school division until this fall.”

Tezuka was silent for a long time, which was probably just as well since Seiichi was busy trying not to snarl at the thought of the tennis club’s faculty advisor taking the same tone with Akaya he had once presumed to take with Seiichi.

“Yukimura,” Tezuka said, at last, “do you trust Kirihara?”

Seiichi blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Even if Ryuuzaki-sensei wasn’t there, I don’t think I would be afraid for Momoshiro or Echizen.” Tezuka waved a hand at the plum trees surrounding them. “They’re strong. I know that. So do they.”

Seiichi felt something in him relax. Not all the way, but a little. It helped, to hear the logic that had drawn him here today stated in someone else’s voice. “I do trust Akaya,” he answered, softly. And perhaps, he thought, ruefully, Akaya would trust himself more if Seiichi could offer a better example of confidence in his own teaching. And then he smiled up at Tezuka. “I suppose Echizen never has accepted any fussing over himself. But, then, that doesn’t seem like a mistake you’re prone to.”

“It isn’t something he’s ever complained about, no,” Tezuka agreed, in a dry tone. “The only regular complaint they make is of overly vigorous pruning.”

Seiichi stared at him for a long moment, before he laughed with genuine delight. Perhaps he’d been right, and Tezuka was in the same place he was, missing the connection of a team collected around him. He couldn’t imagine many other things that would bring such a reserved person to trade metaphors with him. He clasped his hands around one knee and leaned back against them.

“I think next year will be difficult,” he said. “For all of us. Our teams this year … were something special. And now we’re broken apart. Nor am I at all sure our senpai will be pleased to see us again.”

Tezuka’s eyes were shadowed, as he looked down at Seiichi, and Seiichi decided he had, indeed, been right.

“Will you be there, next year, Tezuka? You and Fuji?” Something to look forward to; something to keep him going.

“Yes.” Iron rang in Tezuka’s voice, the tone of someone who had never backed down from any challenge.

Seiichi closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to feel the sun against his face. It was simply warm, now; but come summer it would be bright and hot and dangerous. Yes. He would look forward to summer. “Good. We’ll be there, too.”

The one question Tezuka had asked him that Seiichi hadn’t been able to answer nagged at him over the next few days. Was Suzuoki a good coach? He didn’t know. And Seiichi was aware enough of the irrationality of his prejudice that it made him uncomfortable.This was what had led him to one of the halls he didn’t normally frequent.

Seiichi knocked on the frame of Suzuoki’s door. The man barely glanced up.

“Yukimura-kun, I was expecting you sooner. Come in.”

Points for observation, Seiichi noted. He also filed away the thought that Suzuoki was the sort who liked to unnerve his opponent. Well, then, bluntness in return for bluntness—Seiichi hooked a chair around to face Suzuoki and seated himself without waiting for an invitation.

A thin smile crossed Suzuoki’s face as he took his cigarette out of his mouth. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Seiichi considered for a moment. Clearly, this one would not be susceptible to the same kind of intimidation that had worked in the past. Suzuoki knew what this confrontation was about, and was prodding Seiichi to show his hand first. A cautious approach seemed called for.

“I was wondering,” he began. “I hear you’ve been working with the high school division for years. Was there a particular reason you switched, now?”

“It would certainly have been interesting to stay and deal with you, instead, Yukimura-kun,” Suzuoki allowed, smoothly. “But both rumor and results say that you have all the help you need. The junior high division, however, is losing that support. As a coach, it behooved me to offer some help to the new captain.” He paused, and snorted. “Who actually accepted it, to my increasing surprise the better I get to know him.”

The abrupt shifts from bluntness to reticence and back were enough to set even Seiichi off his pace. Caution, definitely. “Surprise?” he probed.

An eyebrow lifted. “You have a reputation as a perceptive young man,” Suzuoki noted. “It can’t have escaped you that Kirihara-kun is a spitfire. To put it mildly.” And then sharp eyes glinted. “Or perhaps it did escape you.”

Seiichi kept a firm hold on the flare of anger that answered that suggestion, that he might not know the measure of one of his own team. He felt his focus start to narrow, as it did when he faced a good opponent on the court, and answered Suzuoki’s provocation with the waiting poise that had swallowed so many challengers before. “I am familiar with Akaya’s temper,” he returned, coolly.

Rather than pressing in, though, Suzuoki eased off. He blew out a long breath and leaned back, shaking his head. “No wonder the kid’s so tangled up.”

Seiichi’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll bet my next pay packet that he’s spent two years being overshadowed by you,” Suzuoki answered, apparently not affected at all by Seiichi’s increasing sharpness. Suzuoki flicked his fingers, trailing cigarette smoke through the air. “It isn’t always a bad thing. But he’s always had your control to rely on, hasn’t he?”

“Akaya has learned to control himself, or I wouldn’t have made him the next captain,” Seiichi returned, firmly.

Suzuoki blew a stream of smoke at him. “I’m not surprised you don’t see it. He’s probably too close to you. You defined the edge of acceptable temper for him, Yukimura-kun. Your self control is the pattern he’s blindly followed; it’s obvious in the way he relaxes when he’s with you. Now he’s having to find that stopping point for himself, and relaxing is the last thing he can afford to do.”

Well, this certainly answered Seiichi’s questions about the quality of help Akaya had attracted. Suzuoki was right, and Seiichi did, in fact, know it. That left only one question outstanding, and answering that one would require different tactics. So Seiichi relaxed, disengaging from the focus of confrontation, and smiled.

“I trust Akaya’s strength,” he said, quietly.

A momentary pause, followed by a one sided smile, said he had caught Suzuoki by surprise. Seiichi waited, holding off his tension, for the response.

Suzuoki’s smile gained ground, though it was still rather tilted. “Actually, so do I. At least,” he added, “I think he has the potential. I’d rather like to see him succeed.”

It really was amazing, Seiichi reflected, the variety of people Akaya managed to capture without seeming to intend it. “Would you?” he asked, teasing just a little, now that he was more sure Suzuoki was on the right side.

Suzuoki gave him a narrow look. “I have to have a very good reason before I’ll put up with the kind of mouthiness that kid gives me on a regular basis,” he stated, dourly.

Seiichi bit back a laugh, but knew his amusement was probably showing anyway. “Akaya is a good reason,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of him, Suzuoki-sensei.”

Suzuoki’s look turned sardonic. “Thank you for leaving him alone, this year, Yukimura-kun.”

“Hm.” Their glances practically rang off each other. One pass made it quite clear that, just as Seiichi had no intention of leaving Akaya wholly to his new coach, Suzuoki had no intention of backing down. “Well enough,” Seiichi said, softly, and turned toward the door.

Seiichi was not, after all, the only one from the old team who was interested in Akaya’s welfare.

“Yukimura-san?”

Seiichi turned from closing the door to see Akaya standing in the hall, looking startled. His glance flicked from Seiichi to the office he’d just come out of and back, and widened. Seiichi laughed.

“Everything’s all right, Akaya.”

Akaya examined him for a moment longer, and nodded, relaxing.

And visibly caught himself back.

Seiichi tipped his head to one side, contemplating his protege. Akaya had a little over a year to settle this thing for himself. Would that be enough? Seiichi knew Akaya was phenomenally capable, when he needed to be. Look how far he had come in a year and a half, starting from the simple decision to overcome Seiichi and Genichirou and Renji.

Seiichi thought about that.

“Akaya.” When Akaya looked up at him, Seiichi smiled the way he did when inviting Akaya to play a serious game against him. “I’ll be waiting.”

Akaya’s head came up, sharply, and his eyes focused, darkened. “I’ll find you, Yukimura-san,” he answered.

“Good.” Seiichi took himself off, and only barely caught the exchange behind him.

“You look like you’ve been standing in a fire,” Suzuoki commented.

“Did I ask?” Akaya snapped back, irate and fearless, before the door closed.

Seiichi chuckled all the way down the stairs. Yes, he believed that Akaya would do fine.

End

The Other Side

Kirihara deals with a stressful practice and finally snaps. In a good way. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Furuya Touya, Kirihara Akaya, Niiyama Shino, Rikkai next gen, Suzuoki, Tsunoda Naruki

“We would have won if I’d been playing with him!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have the reach to counter Chiba.”

“You don’t have the speed!”

Akaya tried to unclench his teeth before he gave himself a headache. “Both of you be quiet,” he growled. Niiyama and Tsunoda shut up but didn’t stop glaring at each other, Niiyama’s eyes fiery and Tsunoda’s chill. Akaya throttled down the urge to whack them both over the heads with his racquet, and never mind that Tsunoda was tall enough he’d have to reach for it.

Sakamoto leaned against the fence, staying out of it for all he was worth, and Akaya wished once again that he knew whether that was because Sakamoto didn’t care or cared too much. He’d really like to figure out whether he could use Sakamoto to quash these fights or not. Right now he was stuck doing all the work himself, and it was getting old.

“I don’t suppose, just possibly, for the good of the team you’re both allegedly a part of, you could actually agree to share Sakamoto’s time instead of using him as your tug-of-war rope?” he asked with tired sarcasm, raking a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” Furuya muttered from where he was fetching a water bottle, “after all, you had really good examples of sharing this past year, right?”

Akaya knew it had been a long practice, and that everyone was tired. He knew that when Furuya was tired he sneered more than ever. He knew it was now his responsibility to keep his temper when everyone else didn’t. But in the shocked silence following Furuya’s remark, Akaya could hear the singing rise of his own blood pressure and feel the clenching tightness in every muscle that meant he was going to break something very soon.

“Furuya,” he gritted out, enunciating carefully, “you will not say things like that, here.”

Later, Akaya would place the look on Furuya’s face as nervous bravado. At that moment, though, he saw only defiance and it tinged his vision in red. It had been more than a long day, for him, it had been a long four months. Rage hovered in the back of his mind, bright and gleeful.

“Or what?” Furuya shot back. “You’ll get Sanada-senpai to come down here?”

Akaya’s pride reared up, hauling him away from the edge. He would not be less than those three, and this court was his now. These people belonged to him, and it was his choices that would steer this team. Suddenly Furuya’s question, his doubt, was another opponent, and Akaya’s focus snapped around the question the way it closed around an opponent’s game. Ice washed through Akaya’s mind, replaced the red with stark clarity. “I am the captain of this club,” he said, very softly. “You will not say things like that in front of me.”

Furuya gave back a step and glanced away. “Yeah, fine.” His expression was unnerved, now.

Akaya turned away, dismissing him as the cool edge of his thoughts suggested something about the original problem. He swept a look over the three in front of him.

“Niiyama,” he said, at last, “I’m pulling you out of doubles. Your skills are solid enough there, you need to work on singles for a while. When I’m confident you’ve made a good start,” he continued over Niiyama’s choke of protest, “I’ll rotate Sakamoto out to singles and we’ll see how you and Tsunoda do as a pair.”

“What?!” Niiyama nearly screeched, blue eyes a bit wild. The look on Tsunoda’s face wasn’t any more sanguine.

“You’re the one who wanted a place on the team so badly,” Akaya rapped out. “Act like it. Or was I wrong about what you want? Because if I am you can leave now.”

Niiyama inhaled sharply and his chin came up. “Yes, Kirihara-buchou,” he said though his teeth.

Akaya swung his racquet up to his shoulder. “Good. Then come play a set with me.”

Niiyama’s eyes widened and then narrowed, and he followed readily. Akaya nodded to himself; better Niiyama focus that competitive streak on him than on Tsunoda.

And it did seem to do some immediate good. Niiyama’s game was as flamboyant as ever, but more efficient than usual. A stronger opponent drew him out. Akaya thought about that as he pulled out a ball for his next serve. Was this what Yukimura-san had seen, looking at him?

For one moment he was disoriented, as if he had stepped around the other side of a one-way mirror and seen a familiar room from a skewed angle. How had he gotten to be on this side? Akaya took a deep breath and pushed the strangeness away. He had a player who needed him to do this, to stand back and watch and think how to teach Niiyama something he might not want to hear.

Hmm. That did suggest something, though.

Akaya looked across the net and let himself lean into Niiyama’s anger and aggression. The edges of the world tucked in around them. “Niiyama!” he called.

“Yeah?” Niiyama shot back, eyeing him.

“Focus,” Akaya ordered. “Because I’m not holding back with you today.”

Niiyama’s eyes widened and whipped around to follow the serve as it tore past him, and snapped back to Akaya. His lips tightened, and Akaya saw it—the first surge of Niiyama’s intent pushing back against him.

“Much better,” he murmured to himself.

Suzuoki was waiting for him when they came off the court and Akaya dismissed practice. “Very nice,” he observed.

“Mm,” Akaya answered, taking a long drink. In the end, Niiyama had pushed him harder than he’d expected. “It’ll do for now. Though I wonder what will happen when I pair him with Tsunoda.”

“They’ll do well, as long as they have a reason to,” Suzuoki predicted, watching those two fall in on either side of Sakamoto. “You might consider arranging some practice games against rival teams for them.”

“Now there’s a thought.” Akaya tallied up teams that still had seasoned pairs in his head. “Wonder if Fudoumine still wants to draw and quarter me.”

Suzuoki snorted, having gotten that whole story out of Akaya weeks ago. “Well, how good are you at pretending to be reformed?”

“Hey!” Akaya glared. “Though, you know,” he added as Suzuoki chuckled into his cigarette, “I wouldn’t mind playing him again.”

Suzuoki’s glance sharpened. “Tachibana?”

“Yeah. I feel like I got short changed, after what I saw of him at Nationals.” Akaya frowned. He’d like to know why Tachibana hadn’t shown his strength during their match, too. “Besides, I need someone besides my own team to practice against,” he concluded.

“Good call,” Suzuoki approved. “Though it wouldn’t hurt you to depend less on your opponent’s spirit to raise your own.” He smiled, dryly, as Akaya blinked at him. “Consider it, Kirihara-kun.”

Akaya made a mental note of it, but most of his thoughts were on the bus schedule to Tokyo. Good competition, that would help. That would make him feel more familiar to himself, again.

End

Mock Battle

Kirihara sets up some practice matches with Fudoumine, to the general annoyance of most concerned. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Fudoumine, Fuji Yuuta, Hiiyama Nobuo, Ishida Tetsu, Kamio Akira, Kirihara Akaya, Niiyama Shino, Rikkai next gen, Sakamoto Chiaki, Tachibana Kippei, Tsunoda Naruki

Akaya trudged across the campus of Fudoumine feeling put upon. Why couldn’t Suzuoki have set this up? Why did it have to be him? Fudoumine as a whole wanted his guts for garters. He knew it was, in the final analysis, his own fault, which didn’t help in the least. It helped even less when he finally reached the tennis courts only to see that Tachibana was there along with Fudoumine’s proper team, albeit not in uniform. What was it, he thought crankily, with pushy senpai who couldn’t retire properly when they were supposed to?

A slightly more charitable corner of his mind noted the stifled conflict in every line of Kamio’s stance beside his ex-captain. It looked like Akaya wasn’t the only one dealing with standing in someone else’s shadow, this coming year. He really did sympathize.

“What are you doing here?”

Sympathy evaporated in face of that challenge, and Akaya eyed the girl now standing at the gate. Tachibana’s sister, wasn’t it? He’d heard stories about her.

“I’m not here to talk to you, that’s for sure. So, if you’ll excuse me.” He edged around her and gauged his welcome from the people he was here to talk to. Not much of one from what he could see. Measuring cold from Ibu and Kamio both, a couple growls from the others, some muscle-flexing from the tall one especially; probably a good thing one or two seemed to be missing or they might have succeeded in causing him to combust in the collective glare. Tachibana himself was the most neutral.

Which meant that Akaya was in a receptive mood when the imp of the perverse made a suggestion. He leaned in the gateway and let his mouth quirk.

“So, who’s actually in charge, here?” he needled, with a meaningful glance at Kamio.

Score. The lines around Kamio’s eyes and mouth tightened in a way that would probably look familiar if Akaya had spent more time looking in the mirror this winter. When Tachibana was the first to speak Akaya had to bite back some fairly black laughter.

“What is it you’re here for?”

“To see about arranging some practice matches,” Akaya shrugged.

Now Kamio stepped forward, and the fact that he didn’t seem to think about it first raised his credit in Akaya’s eyes. “Between Fudoumine and Rikkai?”

“Mm. Between one of my doubles pairs and one of yours, in particular,” Akaya expanded. “You and Ibu, for preference, but I’m not terribly picky.”

From behind him the girl muttered something about not being surprised, and Akaya hid a grin. She was even easier to get worked up than Sanada-san was. Come to think of it, she glared a lot the same way, too. Only from a lower angle.

Kamio had the distant look of someone paging through a calendar in his head. Akaya was pleased that he’d accepted the idea so readily; at this rate he might actually end up respecting his opposite number before he left. A little, anyway. Kamio looked at Ibu. “Thursday?”

Ibu nodded, silently; he hadn’t taken his eyes off Akaya for one second. It felt unnervingly similar to having Yagyuu-senpai’s eyes on him, and Akaya made a mental note to be a little careful about this one.

“Works for me,” he said, pushing upright. And then he paused and heaved a sigh. He was here; Tachibana was here. He might as well get it over with. “Tachibana-san.”

“Yes?” Still the neutral tone.

“I apologize for what happened during our last match,” Akaya said, managing to be only a little stiff.

He was less successful in not rolling his eyes at the looks of surprise and, in a few cases, outrage on the faces of the Fudoumine team. Behind his shoulder, Tachibana’s sister growled.

“Accepted, of course.” Tachibana’s quiet voice cut across the less cordial reactions.

“Tachibana-san … ” Ibu murmured.

Tachibana shook his head. “It would be… inconsistent to hold the past against him, Shinji.” He held Ibu’s gaze until Ibu nodded his assent, still looking displeased about it. “I’ll look forward to another match at some point, Kirihara-kun,” he concluded.

Akaya’s shoulders relaxed. “I’d like that.” He cocked his head. “If you’re not holding back next time.” He was still kind of pissed off about that.

Tachibana’s expression slipped out of its neutrality into a faint, rueful smile. “If it isn’t to be a repeat, both of us will have to hold back on at least one front.”

An odd hint of sympathy lurked in Tachibana’s eyes, and Akaya added that to the things he’d heard from Yanagi-san. Yeah, he’d thought the rumors about Tachibana having been a violent player were probably true, after the way Tachibana had performed at Nationals. Akaya’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t hand out anything I can’t take, Tachibana-san. One way or another.”

“A good thing to know,” Tachibana returned coolly. But there was a spark in his eyes, and Akaya smiled. The next match should be worth it.

“See you Thursday,” he told Kamio.

As he turned to leave, though, he came face to face with two more members of Fudoumine, carrying baskets of balls. One he was vaguely familiar with. Sakurai, the tall one’s doubles partner. The other was far more of a surprise.

“Fuji Yuuta?” Akaya resisted the urge to rub his eyes and double check the uniform. There was no question it was the Fudoumine uniform. “Well, well, isn’t this interesting?” Akaya purred, almost to himself. He hadn’t really hoped for a match with the younger Fuji; no one expected St. Rudolph to advance past Prefecturals in the upcoming season. But wouldn’t that be a nice jab at the older Fuji? To give him a heart attack after the fact, when he heard his precious brother had been playing someone with Akaya’s reputation for brutality? The idea appealed mightily to Akaya’s sense of mischief. He grinned at Yuuta. “I’ll see you Thursday, too, I hope.”

Bounce was back in his step as he left.

“… can’t believe you’re making us play an actual match like this,” Niiyama grumbled, as he’d been grumbling under his breath the entire way to Fudoumine.

“If you don’t stop complaining, I’ll find something even worse,” Akaya threatened, very evenly, casting a quick look over the courts to see if Tachibana or his fire-breathing sister were present. Fortune smiled on him; they didn’t seem to be.

Niiyama shut up, just in time for Akaya to greet Kamio with some dignity. Had he ever given Sanada-san this kind of trouble? Well, all right, his sense of justice forced him to add, had he been this much trouble before Sanada-san took him to bed? He honestly didn’t think so.

On the other hand, Niiyama’s snippiness did mean that Akaya felt far less guilty than he might have about what he was doing. A thin smile tugged at his mouth as he watched Niiyama and Tsunoda set themselves across from Kamio and Ibu. He didn’t expect his players to make any foolish mistakes; they were both experienced in doubles. But Kamio and Ibu had been through a much hotter fire, and their rapport was seamless.

Sure enough, Kamio and Ibu took three games in quick succession. Akaya grinned as he noted that Niiyama and Tsunoda’s glares were shifting from each other to their opponents.

“You look awfully cheerful,” a voice noted beside him.

Akaya glanced over to see Fuji Yuuta leaning against the fence watching the match. “Moderately,” he agreed.

Yuuta shot him a sidelong look. “Are you that confident they’ll make a comeback?” He didn’t sound like he believed it. Nor, for that matter, did the rest of Fudoumine, from the pleased sound of the remarks a little further down the fence.

“It’s possible,” Akaya said, watching one moment of clear understanding flicker between his players as their eyes met before Tsunoda fell back to support a series of Niiyama’s quick drives. Not entirely likely, but possible. Either way it would work out, and these two would get a wake up call.

Yuuta’s eyes darkened. “You’ve got a real ruthless streak, Kirihara.”

Akaya was mildly surprised that Yuuta had unraveled the purpose of this exercise. Of course, he couldn’t actually be an inattentive player, if he’d played a good game against Echizen; but his reputation was more for power than finesse or analysis. Another note for the mental files. “As if you have any room to talk,” he returned.

“Only with myself,” Yuuta countered, disapproval in his voice.

“You think a team captain has that luxury?” Akaya asked, curious. He had wondered what Yuuta was doing here, when he had been expected to take over the St. Rudolph team; maybe now he knew.

“Hm.” Yuuta declined to spar any more and turned his attention back to the game.

In the end it went the way Akaya had expected, and even a bit more so. The final score was 6-4, thanks to an edge of brilliance and viciousness in Ibu that he didn’t remember seeing before. He made a note to talk to Suzuoki about Ibu later. For now, he had a lesson to round off. He pushed away from the fence and waited for Niiyama and Tsunoda to come to him.

“Well?” he asked, coolly.

Niiyama’s spine straightened, and his eyes glinted, daring his captain to censure him. “We won’t lose again,” he pronounced.

Tsunoda was quiet, but the same determination showed in his level gaze. They were, Akaya was pleased to note, standing shoulder to shoulder instead of turned warily toward each other the way they normally did.

“I expect not,” Akaya answered, softly. Success! He left Hiiyama to give the pair notes on the match and looked over the Fudoumine team. “Anyone else up for a match?” he inquired.

Ishida stepped forward, just enough to loom a bit. “Sure.”

Akaya considered what he knew about Ishida’s style. “Sakamoto. Your turn.”

“Me?!” Sakamoto squawked. Ishida blinked a bit, too, taking in Sakamoto’s small, slight build.

“Yes, you,” Akaya confirmed, impassively. Sakamoto wasn’t training in singles right now purely so that Akaya could metaphorically handcuff his two regular doubles partners together. Akaya had every intention of developing all the skills his team had as far as they would go. Sakamoto was a perfectly capable singles player, and Akaya wasn’t about to let him slack off. Besides, Akaya had pulled out the small-and-cute card on his teachers too often not to notice when someone tried to play it on him. Sakamoto’s glare, as he fished out his racquet, hinted that he was catching on to this fact.

“Kirihara-buchou, I really hate you. Just so you know,” Sakamoto told him, in the petulant tone he only ever used with the team.

Akaya’s lips twitched. “Yes, I know. Now get going.”

“Going, going,” Sakamoto grumbled, stalking past a bemused Ishida.

“Interesting team dynamics you’ve got, Kirihara,” Kamio remarked dryly.

Akaya shrugged, carelessly. “It works for us.” Sure enough, Sakamoto was the one who was pushing the pace right from the start, aggressive enough to rock Ishida back onto the defensive. “You know, Hiiyama,” Akaya murmured to his vice-captain, “it’s too bad you don’t play doubles. You and Sakamoto would be an unstoppable pair. Just like a pair of explosive little super-balls bouncing around the court.”

Hiiyama shot him a dark look. “Your sense of humor is going to be a bigger legend than your temper at this rate,” he muttered.

Akaya had to admit that this was probably true. Which only encouraged him, really. At that thought, with what could only be fated timing, his eye fell on Yuuta, still observing from the side. Ah, yes. A bubble of amusement lightened his voice. “Fuji. You look bored. How about a match?”

He almost laughed at the ripple of unease that passed through Fudoumine. Well, all of them except Yuuta. Yuuta looked distinctly suspicious. Akaya offered his most engaging smile. “Come on, you know you want to.”

He caught an exasperated look from Hiiyama, and knew that he would be hearing, later, about the proper dignity of a captain. Akaya tossed him a wink, just to be provoking. Niiyama’s eyes were a little wide, as he watched, never having seen Akaya like this from up close before, but Tsunoda just shook his head and nudged his reluctant partner back against the fence, out of the line of fire.

Yuuta’s suspicion didn’t fade, which, thinking about it, Akaya didn’t find surprising; Yuuta was smiled at by an expert on a regular basis, he was sure. The suspicion was joined, however, by a certain hungry light. Yuuta glanced at Kamio and raised an eyebrow. After a moment Kamio nodded.

It was different from his usual games, and maybe this was what Suzuoki had meant. Akaya found himself wavering, rather uncomfortably, back and forth over the line of complete engagement. Yuuta was too strong a player to deal with lightly; his shots were precise and powerful, and his counters annoyingly effective. But never so much so that Akaya could just relax and respond automatically, or stretch out to his limit without thought. For someone who was supposed to be bullheaded, Yuuta was a very deliberate player, and it ruffled Akaya that he couldn’t automatically find the right rhythm to deal with him.

As he set himself to serve he closed his eyes for a moment, searching for stillness he had learned under pressure from Yuuta’s brother, hoping that would work where his usual fire hadn’t. Looking across the net into suddenly attentive eyes he felt the catch, like a spark against bare skin. Yuuta was moving, even as the serve arrowed in, to catch it and throw it back. The edge of wariness between them dissolved, and Akaya almost laughed. Much better.

The second half of the match was brutally fast, and they were both breathing hard when they met at the net. “Good game,” Akaya panted, grinning. He had won 6-4.

“Yeah, it was,” Yuuta agreed, and Akaya had to suppress the urge to make a face at the hint of surprise in his voice.

“So just how did you wind up here, anyway?” he asked, instead.

The openness in Yuuta’s gaze folded closed again. “The St. Rudolph team was Mizuki-san’s. Without him, it’s a different thing.”

“It’s a thing that would have been yours,” Akaya suggested.

Yuuta’s eyes never flickered, and the line of his mouth was proud. “I like this thing better,” he said, waving a hand at the courts around them.

Akaya was impressed, not that he was going to admit that.

As they rejoined their teams, Hiiyama gave him the raised brows, asking whether it had been worth it to show his game that openly. His vice-captain had very expressive eyebrows, Akaya reflected. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, under his breath.

Hiiyama snorted.

“It isn’t worth it unless it’s for real,” Akaya said, firmly.

Niiyama stirred, against the fence, expression more thoughtful than was typical for him. Akaya hid a smile; extra dividends, how nice. He kept half an eye on Niiyama through the parting courtesies, wanting to know where that expression was leading. They were half way home before he got an answer.

“Kirihara-buchou.”

“Yes?” Akaya nodded to the seat beside him.

Niiyama sat, slowly. “What did you mean, ‘for real’?” For once he sounded serious, though serious looked just as intense on him as any other emotion.

Why the hell did Akaya feel old, all of a sudden?

Akaya leaned back. “When you have a good opponent and you’re not paying attention to anything else—when nothing but the game exists for right then and it takes up everything you are—that’s when it’s real. When you’ve been there once it’s hard to stay away.” Not that he intended to tell this particular audience about the permutations of that passion, the way it could twist, especially when you were in pain. Niiyama didn’t need to know about the details of that, and Akaya didn’t like to think about it. He shot a sidelong glance at Niiyama’s thoughtful attitude. “It works better when you’re not wasting your attention showing off for your partner,” he added.

Niiyama opened his mouth with an indignant expression, but Akaya overrode him.

“If you were a dedicated doubles player it might be different,” Akaya conceded, thinking of Niou-senpai and Yagyuu-senpai. “But this little competition you and Tsunoda have going is distracting you. You can play better than that.” Watching Niiyama wondering about what a real game meant had convinced Akaya of that much. And it was, he reflected, a damn good thing Niiyama hadn’t been around to see what Akaya had been like as a first year, himself, or he’d probably have been accused of total hypocrisy by now.

After a long, fraught, moment, Niiyama lowered his eyes. “Yes, Kirihara-buchou.”

Akaya made a shooing gesture. “Go think about it, then.”

As he slouched down in his seat a little further and closed his eyes, he considered his own first year again, and wondered whether he should write a letter of apology to Yukimura-san when they got home.

End

Quick Days

Side-story to the Third Watch arc; follows from “Fly”, in Challenge. Fuji and Tezuka move from the court to the bedroom. Porn with Insights, I-4

Character(s): Fuji Shuusuke, Tezuka Kunimitsu

Pairing(s): Fuji/Tezuka

The walk back from the court was relaxed in a way Kunimitsu was becoming familiar with. It wasn’t the quiet of exhaustion, though both he and Fuji came out of their matches drenched and out of breath. Kunimitsu liked to think of it as the ease of honesty.

It had certainly taken long enough.

He had never said that out loud, but he rather thought Fuji had gotten the idea anyway. There was a rueful quirk to Fuji’s lips those times when Kunimitsu stood watching him for just a little longer than was reasonable, just to confirm that, yes, it really was Fuji playing such a magnificent game. That quirk was as close as Fuji would ever come to an apology for the years of frustration he had put Kunimitsu through by refusing to grasp his real strength.

Kunimitsu didn’t truly need an apology, because when that quirk smoothed into stillness Fuji unfolded for him, played matches with him that demanded every iota of his own strength. He was still losing half of them, and that was all the proof he needed of Fuji’s honesty and engagement. It was enough.

Sometimes, of course, Fuji chose to take his reassurances further anyway. Or perhaps it was Fuji’s own need for reassurance. Kunimitsu wasn’t sure the two could be separated. Given that they had just passed the turn off toward Fuji’s house, though, he thought that today was probably one of those times. And when they reached his house, and Fuji had finished being charming for Kunimitsu’s mother, and the bedroom door was locked behind them, Kunimitsu tipped his head at Fuji in question.

The gleam in Fuji’s eyes and the full fledged grin on his face were sufficient answer. It was definitely one of those times. Kunimitsu stifled a chuckle and sat down on the edge of his bed, leaning back to keep eye contact. If anything, Fuji’s eyes brightened; it looked like he was in an aggressive mood today, a conclusion that didn’t alter in the slightest when Fuji came to sit on his heels in front of Kunimitsu. He took one of Kunimitsu’s hands in his, uncurling it, stroking the palm and fingers.

“I like your hands, you know,” Fuji remarked, head bent over the one in his possession.

Kunimitsu made an inquiring sound, bitten short as Fuji’s tongue flicked out to taste a fingertip.

“They’re very well proportioned; long without being too thin,” Fuji noted, conversationally. “And very strong.” Fuji tasted the inside of Kunimitsu’s wrist this time, lingering just a bit. Kunimitsu turned his hand swiftly to curve along the line of Fuji’s jaw.

“Don’t tease,” he said, softly.

Fuji smiled with genuine amusement; they both knew he was never more straightforward than when he was touching and being touched. “All right.” He uncoiled up off the floor, hands finding Kunimitsu’s shoulder and chest to push him back flat on the bed. Kunimitsu wrapped an arm around Fuji’s waist to bring him along, and Fuji was laughing as he landed in a sprawl on top of Kunimitsu, driving his breath out.

The laugh flavored their kiss with a little wildness. Kunimitsu was getting used to that, with Fuji, though. Fuji’s mouth was hot against his, and as impatient as the fingers flicking open the buttons of his shirt. And then his pants. Kunimitsu threaded a hand through Fuji’s hair, pulling him closer as Fuji’s hand spread against his stomach and slid up. Fuji’s lips curved at the sound Kunimitsu made when Fuji’s hands paused for a thumb to stroke the line of a muscle, the arch of a rib, the outline of a nipple, tiny sparks of pleasure skittering under his light touch. Kunimitsu wrapped a leg around one of Fuji’s, levering their hips together. Fuji tossed his head back with a gasp, and Kunimitsu took the opportunity to tug Fuji’s shirt loose so his own hands could wander more freely. Fuji’s skin still seemed heated from their game, flushed and taut.

“Yes,” Fuji bent his head down again to murmur in Kunimitsu’s ear. “Like that.” He braced his free leg and turned them both over, pulling Kunimitsu on top of him. “Much better.”

Kunimitsu was not particularly surprised to feel Fuji’s hand smooth down his spine, under the loosened waist of his pants, until his fingertips rubbed over Tezuka’s entrance. A low rumble of approval filled his throat, rolled into Fuji’s mouth as they kissed. Fuji’s fingers pressed harder.

Sometimes, on slow days, they explored each other a little, had patience, for a little while, under each other’s mouths and fingers. But today wasn’t a slow day.

Kunimitsu spread his legs wider over Fuji’s hips. He liked this, liked the raw feeling of Fuji’s fingers working into him without anything on them. It was Fuji’s fierceness that drew him, fascinated him, made him want to touch Fuji as soon as their games ended, without waiting to be in private. He counted it a good day when that fierceness lasted until they were.

Those were often the quick days.

“Tezuka,” Fuji breathed against his throat.

“Mm.” Kunimitsu nipped just under Fuji’s ear, enjoying the sharp arch of Fuji’s body under his and the tension of the fingers inside him. “Yes.”

Fuji shoved down Kunimitsu’s pants, disentangling himself long enough to strip off his own as well. Kunimitsu rolled onto his back, stretching; he smiled at the flare in Fuji’s eyes. Fuji had an absolute passion for seeing him naked, something Kunimitsu was not above taking advantage of. When he spread his legs apart and held out a hand, Fuji was pressed against him again almost too fast for the eye to follow. Kunimitsu made a pleased sound into their hard, fast kisses, and reached over to fish a small foil tube out of his bedside table. With its contents cool in his cupped hand he reached down to stroke Fuji’s erection.

A hard shudder shook Fuji and he bit back a cry too loud for a house with other people in it. “You like surprising me,” he accused, between his teeth.

“I have a lot to catch up on,” Kunimitsu murmured back to the glint in Fuji’s eyes. “Now.”

Very little could distract Kunimitsu from the feeling of Fuji pressing into him, but Fuji’s hands behind his knees, Fuji’s thumbs stroking the soft skin there, did pull an extra sigh from him. When Fuji’s touch slid down his thighs, pressing along the length of stretched tendons, it was Kunimitsu’s turn to shudder. In that moment of relaxation, Fuji was inside him.

Kunimitsu released a breathless moan for the hot stretch and the shaking, always-alarming openness as Fuji pressed deeper.

On quick days, Fuji’s thrusts were fast and light, and the ripples his movement sent down nerve and muscle made Kunimitsu laugh today. Fuji caught his breath.

“Oh. Do that again,” he whispered, voice husky, pausing deep inside Kunimitsu.

“You can’t expect me to laugh too very often,” Kunimitsu returned, rocking up against him. Not that his expression was very sober at the moment with his eyelids heavy and his lips parted from the tingling tenseness Fuji had been driving through him.

“Something else, then, perhaps,” Fuji suggested, lacing the fingers of one hand through Kunimitsu’s. He slid their joined grip down Kunimitsu’s erection.

His entire body flexed toward the pleasure of that touch. He would have said something about Fuji enjoying surprises, too, but Fuji’s renewed thrust into him stole his voice. Fast pleasure caught him and dragged him under a swirl of sensation, aware of his body tightening to support it, of his fingers locked hard around Fuji’s, of Fuji’s moan, of his breath stilled in his lungs.

He opened his eyes in time to watch Fuji’s turn distant and his mouth soften. He liked to see that, especially since it didn’t ever take long for Fuji’s expression to return to his usual watchfulness. A watchfulness slightly tinged with smugness just at the moment.

“Mmm. That works, too,” Fuji commented, easing himself away and then down to lie beside Kunimitsu.

Kunimitsu took a moment to recall the track of their words. “That similar an effect just from me laughing?” he asked, turning on his side so he could stroke Fuji’s back.

Fuji stretched like a cat, nearly purring like one. “Of course.” He looked at Kunimitsu evenly, brushing his fingertips over Kunimitsu’s lips. “You could win every game we ever played with your laugh.”

“Perhaps that’s why I don’t.” Kunimitsu tucked Fuji closer against him, kneading the back of Fuji’s neck now.

Fuji closed his eyes with a tiny smile. “I know.”

End

Sunrise

The new year starts, unsettling Kirihara a bit until he talks with Jackal. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Kirihara Akaya, Kuwahara Jackal

Akaya thumped down into the grass under the stand of chestnut trees at the edge of campus. For a long time he just lay, looking up at the sky, which was a lovely, clear blue that day, just about as empty as his mind. With luck, no one would notice him for a while.

Luck clearly thought that he’d gotten enough favors lately, though, because he heard footsteps well before he had recovered himself.

“You look dazed.”

Akaya levered himself up on an elbow to make sure that was who it sounded like. “Jackal-senpai.” Who looked rather amused. He let himself thud back down. “That’d be because I feel dazed. I mean,” he rambled on, “there have got to be eight billion new first years running around today, and half of them are in the tennis club, and they’re all calling me Buchou.”

Jackal-senpai leaned against one of the trees, humor hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Surely you’re already used to that, Akaya; everyone has been calling you that for months, now.”

“It’s different,” Akaya muttered. He sat up and folded his arms around his knees. The second years he could handle; he had earned what he saw in their faces when they called him Kirihara-buchou. Respect or fear or pride, he had earned it. But the glow in the first years’ eyes, the awe in their voices when they whispered to each other about him, that made him twitchy.

“Hm.” Jackal-senpai sat down next to him, but didn’t speak for a while. “You know,” he said, finally, “this is one of my favorite places on campus. It’s where I used to come when culture shock was getting to me.”

Akaya rested his head on his knees, looking sideways at Jackal-senpai. “Culture shock?”

“When you feel unsettled and out of place. When you feel like either you or everything around you is changing and you’re not sure which it is. When you don’t feel like you can connect.” Jackal-senpai leaned back on his hands. “This is a nice, quiet place to calm down again.”

Akaya bit his lip, hard, as his stomach lurched. Disconnected. Yeah. But it wasn’t like he was alone, was it? He had his team, just a different one this year. And next year he could go back.

Couldn’t he?

Out of place… no, that wasn’t exactly the problem anymore. “What do you do when you’re in place and it’s a different place than it was?” he asked, softly.

A crooked smile twisted Jackal-senpai’s mouth for a moment, more like one of Niou-senpai’s than his own. “Ah. That’s what comes next. When you get there you just have to stand as firm as you can.”

He could do that, Akaya was pretty sure. The first years didn’t make him twitch because he thought he couldn’t live up to those looks. Actually, he picked at his feelings, slowly unraveling them, he was twitchy because he was so sure he could. He sighed at his own total illogic. “I’m an idiot,” he said to his knees. “There’s no such thing as being too good.”

“Wouldn’t think so,” Jackal-senpai agreed. “But you’ve had two years under Yukimura; none of us will be surprised if it takes you a while to get used to being on your own.”

Another cold shiver grabbed Akaya’s insides, and he grimaced. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t afraid of catching up to Yukimura-san. He knew he wasn’t. He didn’t need to lean on Yukimura-san. He knew he didn’t. He just…

He just wished he did.

“Complete idiot,” he muttered to himself.

Jackal-senpai made a questioning sound, though, when Akaya lifted his head, he turned out to be looking up at the sky. A breath of a laugh caught Akaya by surprise. He was getting to appreciate that kind of tact more every day he had to deal with Niiyama and Sakamoto.

“I miss it,” he whispered. Missed the comfort of not being the strong one.

Now Jackal-senpai looked at him, steel eyes level. “Yes. And it won’t be quite the same when you go back. But that isn’t something we can help, Akaya. Any of us.” Suddenly he smiled—his own smile, serious and kind. “But I really don’t think anyone is going to toss you back out the door; my aunts and uncles certainly don’t, though the comments on how much I’ve grown since they last saw me almost make me wish they would.”

Akaya had an absurd mental image of Yukimura-san pinching his cheeks the way his own aunts did when they visited, and broke down laughing.

Jackal-senpai reached over and ruffled his hair, a rare casual gesture from him. “It’ll be better when the tournament season starts and you have other things to distract you,” he assured Akaya.

Akaya snorted a final laugh. Come to think of it, the tournaments probably would cure him of this irritating introspection, if only by providing him with opponents to take away any silly qualms about winning. And winning. And winning some more. He smiled, feeling better just thinking about it.

Summer would be a good time.

End

Given

The start of the new year gives Fuji some new problems to deal with. Yamato-buchou is his mildly evil self. Drama, I-2

Character(s): Fuji Shuusuke, Kirihara Akaya, Yamato Yuudai

Shuusuke regarded the lineups for the first ranking matches of the year as though the board might bite him. In a sense, it already had, actually. He had expected to see Tezuka’s name there. No one would argue, any more, that it didn’t belong there. What he hadn’t expected was to see his own, in the same block. He looked back down at Yamato-buchou, who was leaning back in the chair behind the table, apparently quite relaxed. He raised his brows in inquiry at Shuusuke’s suddenly rather tight smile.

“That wasn’t a very kind thing to do, Buchou,” Shuusuke noted.

“Wasn’t it?” his captain mused, twirling a pen through his fingers. “Perhaps not. But if you choose to keep going, Fuji, you’re going to have to face Tezuka in competition sooner or later. Isn’t it better to start now than be surprised in a professional setting?”

Shuusuke’s mouth tightened a bit further, and he didn’t answer. He and Tezuka had played each other, over the winter and spring, as often as studying for exams allowed. He had started, and this was just gratuitous. But he knew perfectly well that Yamato-buchou was remarkably stubborn for someone who seemed so easygoing, and that nothing Shuusuke could say was likely to change his mind.

So he murmured an acknowledgement, and resigned himself to it. He would wade through the second and third years, and he would play as a Regular this year; he would likely incur some resentment, but that had never really bothered him in the past. He would give the team his best, and if that failed to reconcile any of the club members to having yet another younger player pass them by, well, then their opinions weren’t worth being bothered by.

And he would play seriously against Tezuka when they faced each other, here. Despite his continuing dislike of exposing himself. He couldn’t do any less, not anymore, not without hurting his friend badly. Yamato-buchou really was too perceptive for other people’s good, sometimes.

Two days layer, he was having a hard time not glaring at the murmuring club members gathered around the court as he and Tezuka met at the net. Yes, it was a new thing for him to show himself so clearly; yes, he was better than they had thought; yes, this would be an interesting match, thank you so much, and would they please shut up already? There was a gleam of amusement behind Tezuka’s calm expression, and Shuusuke indulged himself and did glare at Tezuka for a second.

“On edge?” Tezuka asked, quietly.

“Irritated,” Shuusuke clipped out.

“Mmm.”

Too ruffled, and too busy not showing it, to pursue what was on Tezuka’s mind, Shuusuke set himself and waited for Tezuka’s serve.

It was not the best game he had ever played.

It was harder than usual to focus on Tezuka the way he needed to, to match Tezuka’s game. This was unlike Nationals, where challenge and need had taken up all his attention, unlike their games alone, where nothing but the contact between them mattered. Now, awareness of the watching eyes prickled at him all the time, and he found himself having to fight his own long-standing reflex toward concealment. He had to remind himself, constantly, that he wasn’t playing that kind of game anymore, couldn’t play that one if he wanted to stand against the person on the other side of the net.

Tezuka won cleanly, 7-5.

Frustrated with the audience, with Tezuka’s forbearance in not asking what was wrong with him, and with himself in particular, Shuusuke favored his captain with an unusually sour look when Yamato-buchou strolled over to them.

“Impressive,” Yamato-buchou said.

Shuusuke barely pressed a snarl into a smile.

Yamato-buchou shook his head. “I mean it, Fuji-kun. To play aggressively was never your preferred style, mentally or technically; you’re making quick progress. You just need to remind yourself that no one watching can make much use of what you show them.”

A valid point, Shuusuke had to admit. Still. “That won’t be true when outsiders are watching,” he pointed out. “Especially at competition matches.” And, really, he was just being contrary, because he already knew that, in a competition match, he was far less likely to care. Still. He didn’t feel like letting Yamato-buchou off easy.

“That’s true,” Yamato-buchou admitted, “but it still doesn’t matter.”

Shuusuke blinked.

“Fuji, if you intend to play seriously, you can’t afford to spend any game second guessing yourself. Play to the extent the opponent demands you play. If you lose a match because you were thinking twice about a potential future opponent, then your caution will have defeated itself, won’t it?”

The words sank into Shuusuke’s mind and rang there, because he knew they were true. So much for being contrary; he should know better, with Yamato-buchou, he supposed. He took a deep breath and let some of his tension go. His captain smiled and patted his shoulder, which Shuusuke took half as reassurance and half as an admonishment to get it right next time. He offered a slightly crooked smile back. “Yes, Buchou.”

“Good! If you have more trouble acclimating to an audience, just let me know. I’m sure we can come up with some exercises to help.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Shuusuke said, with as much confidence as he could inject into one sentence. He crossed his mental fingers, hoping this would be accepted. He had enough interest in his life right now without Yamato-buchou’s often quirky ideas of useful exercises.

“Excellent,” Yamato-buchou declared, not looking deceived at all. “And Tezuka, watch that side step. You’re stepping wide on your push-off; it will set your balance off if you do that when you play someone besides Fuji.”

Tezuka acknowledged this with a respectful nod. Shuusuke looked up at him, surprised. He hadn’t realized they had been playing hard enough today for that. Tezuka shrugged, minimally, one corner of his mouth quirking. Shuusuke’s smile softened. He knew that was exactly what Tezuka loved about their games.

Shuusuke walked for a long time after practice that day. Wandered might be closer to the truth, he reflected, as he sauntered down dark sidewalks. He had a lot to think about. He fetched up, eventually, at the street courts by the park, watching the matches under the floodlights. Some of the players were just here for fun, and won or lost with a laugh. Some were clearly serious, and focused on their opponents in a manner he found familiar, though they fell far short of the intensity he was used to seeing. He found himself remembering something he had seen and heard over and over again: someone mentioning that they had been saving a particular move for later, but would use it prematurely rather than lose. It had never entirely made sense to him, not viscerally. He’d never had to do any such thing. He’d rarely been driven to develop new moves. Now…

Now, he thought it would happen far more regularly.

He had unfolded himself, opened his talent out as far as it would go and found himself among the very best. But the very best did drive themselves forward; he’d seen it. And they would overtake him if he stood still. It was a precarious feeling. Yamato-buchou was right; he would have to show himself, and watching opponents would plan and work and develop based on what they observed in order to defeat him, and he…

He would have to do the same.

A tiny shiver tracked down his spine, and he laughed, breathlessly, to himself. Precarious, yes, but also thrilling. A challenge.

A familiar tilt of head caught his eye, down on one of the benches that surrounded the courts. Shuusuke’s brows rose, and he picked his way through the onlookers.

“Kirihara. You’re a ways from home tonight,” he greeted, coming to stand beside him.

Kirihara shot a quick look up at him before turning back to the match in progress. “Yes, I am,” he agreed, sounding very pleased with this condition.

“A bit below your level, isn’t this?” Shuusuke prodded, curious.

“As if you have room to talk,” Kirihara snorted.

“I hadn’t thought to play here.” It was entirely true, but Shuusuke was arrested by a sudden thought. He eyed Kirihara, and the courts at large. Opponent. Audience.

Opportunity.

“Would you care to play a match against me?” he asked.

Kirihara’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “Now?”

“Yes.” Shuusuke gave him the kind of bright smile he knew would be annoying. “We’re not, technically, in opposing teams this year, so there shouldn’t be any problem, right?”

A little to his surprise, Kirihara didn’t bristle, merely gave him a long, serious look. “For real?” he asked.

Shuusuke had to admit, he was somewhat impressed. Very few people could stand him being cheerful at them with equanimity. Kirihara seemed to have gotten a better grip on his temper, if nothing else, this year. “For real,” he agreed.

It wasn’t as difficult as Shuusuke had thought it might be, to put the watchers out of his mind and concentrate on what the match demanded. By the end of the second game he had to start wondering whether his own club actually made him more nervous than potential rivals. He tucked the thought away for later.

Already thinking about the shape of his own game, Shuusuke noticed some interesting changes in the shape of Kirihara’s. For one thing, Kirihara was silent. When Shuusuke caught himself on the edge of fidgeting, waiting for Kirihara to prod at him and give him an opening to bait back, he had to laugh at himself. Yamato-buchou was right; the habit of playing defensively was one that could get him in trouble if he let it get out of hand and distract him from the other possibilities.

The other thing Shuusuke noticed, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with yet. Kirihara relaxed, as the match went on, even when Shuusuke gained a two-game lead. It made Kirihara’s game smoother than the tension of their last match had, but Shuusuke wasn’t at all sure that was a deliberate adaptation on Kirihara’s part. His curiosity was piqued, especially since Yuuta’s account of his own practice match against Rikkai’s new captain had hinted at something similar. Perhaps he could have another chat with his brother about this particular player.

Kirihara was out of breath as they met at the net, but still held his head high.

“Good game,” Shuusuke told him, offering his hand.

Kirihara snorted as he extended his own hand. “I’ll catch you, too.”

“Considering who else you have on your list, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Shuusuke answered, lightly.

He turned the match over in his head, as he walked home. It was possible, he thought, that Kirihara’s play style was shifting. Where he had previously relied on his strength and speed to break past any opponent, this new relaxation might be the start of a move toward a more rounded style. Not that the boy was any less aggressive, to be sure. That was all the more obvious in comparison to the match Shuusuke had played with Tezuka, today. The stillness at the core of Tezuka’s game made a stark contrast to the reaching outward that characterized Kirihara.

That was something he could use, Shuusuke mused. The stillness of Tezuka’s techniques was, he thought, based on the perfection with which Tezuka controlled the ball. Equal precision could answer that, making the competition between them a matter of who could achieve the finest degree of control.

A thought struck him, making Shuusuke pause under one of the streetlights. He was already making the kind of plans he had told himself he would have to start making—had already accepted the challenge, at least in one case. A certain smugness followed on the heels of that realization. Yamato-buchou might have been right, but so had Shuusuke. That made him feel much better about taking his captain’s advice.

Tezuka would probably give him an exasperated look, if Shuusuke told him about this.

He continued on his way, chuckling at himself.

End

Warming Up

Tournament season starts, and Kirihara gets a present from his coach. Drama, I-2

Character(s): Kirihara Akaya, Sasaki Kouji, Suzuoki

“That was boring.”

Akaya shot a glance at Hiiyama, sunk, arms crossed, in the next seat. From anyone else that would have been a complaint; from his vice-captain it was just a statement. Albeit not a very happy one.

“You can say that again,” he agreed, easily. “Prefecturals was boring last year, and it was boring this year.”

“You might want to speak to the team about that,” Suzuoki murmured from behind them.

Akaya turned to prop an arm over the back of his seat and raise his brows at their coach.

“Considering that there are real challenges coming up,” Suzuoki expanded with a sigh that said Akaya should have thought of it himself.

Akaya gave him an evil look, but had to admit that he had a point. So when their bus rolled in to Rikkai’s parking lot and his chattering team members piled off, he hauled them together one last time.

“All right, we’ve had a pretty good warm up,” he told them. “We’re about to have some good competition. Regionals are around the corner. This is where the real thing starts for us. Fudoumine will be waiting for us there; also Seigaku and Hyoutei. We’ll face two of them, the way seeding is most likely to fall. Provided no one gets over-confident and screws up.” He gave them a medium stern look and was pleased that they looked back with serious expressions rather than offended ones. “Good. Get out of here, then; I’ll expect everyone to be focused on Monday.”

The team scattered, but Suzuoki snagged him before Akaya could follow. “Apropos of which,” he said, “come say hello to your visitor.”

“What visitor?” Akaya asked, a bit suspiciously.

“The one I arranged for you,” Suzuoki answered, imperturbably. “Come on.” He steered Akaya toward the courts.

Since Akaya’s imagination suggested any possibility, from some pro friend of Suzuoki’s to Yukimura-san, he was relieved that the person waiting for them by the courts looked like a normal sort of student; high school or college probably.

“Sasaki-kun, it was good of you to stop by,” Suzuoki called, sounding so amiable that Akaya’s suspicions instantly doubled.

“Always glad to do a favor for my ex-coach,” Sasaki returned with a wry smile. “Besides, you made it sound interesting.”

Akaya turned a glower on Suzuoki, silently demanding to know what he was up to this time. Suzuoki smirked at him. “You got to play exactly once this weekend and last. You should unwind a little. Besides, you could use an actual challenge.”

Since Akaya couldn’t argue with any of that, he turned back to the visitor and offered him a resigned greeting. “Kirihara Akaya; pleased to meet you.”

“Sasaki Kouji.” A wry smile. “Likewise.”

“Sasaki-kun was captain of the high school team last year,” Suzuoki tossed over his shoulder. “He’s on the university team, now, which may, if he’s patient, finally result in playing on the same team as Sanada-kun.”

“I expect Sanada-kun to go professional straight out of high school,” Sasaki contradicted briskly. “If we ever play on the same team it will be longer than three years from now.”

“You know Sanada-san?” Akaya asked, slowly.

Sasaki’s smile crooked oddly. “I played with him last year. He came to the tennis school I practice at sometimes, looking for someone to sharpen his skills on. He’s a very powerful player; it was exciting.”

Akaya had to agree, though he found his mind wandering down side paths it really shouldn’t be at the moment, and hauled himself back on topic. He hoped he wasn’t blushing, now. The sudden hint of speculation in the angle of Sasaki’s brows didn’t make him hope very hard. Sasaki didn’t ask, though, for which Akaya was very grateful.

“So, Prefecturals were as boring as usual?” he asked instead.

“Deathly,” Akaya agreed, sourly, now that he didn’t have to set an example for any teammates.

Sasaki laughed. “So come play a more interesting game,” he invited with a grin.

And it certainly was far more interesting than the past few weeks had been. Sasaki was a very good player, indeed, and Akaya relaxed against that strength with a shiver of relief. It was good not to have to think about little details every second, good to let go and stretch out against an opponent he absolutely had to throw everything at.

Sasaki was smiling even more brightly when they met at the net. “Impressive.”

Suzuoki grunted from the sidelines. “Perhaps. But it’s still a bad habit.” He snorted when they both cocked their heads at him. “The techniques of not-thinking are strong ones, Kirihara-kun, and you learned them from players who use them well. But if thinking about your game is always a burden to you that will be your weakness.”

“So why did you arrange an opponent I could not think with?” Akaya wanted to know, feeling slightly guilty and exasperated by it.

“Because you’re not ready,” Suzuoki told him, bluntly.

“All right, I take the point; I’ll work on it,” Akaya grumbled, and looked a bit wistfully up at Sasaki. “Can I still play Sasaki-san sometimes, though? I mean,” he added, directly to his not-quite-senpai, “if that’s all right?”

“I’d like that.” Sasaki gave him a sympathetic look before turning questioning eyes on Suzuoki.

“I suppose so,” their coach agreed, grudgingly. “He needs someone stronger to work against; you’ll do for now.”

“I’m so flattered,” Sasaki shot back, dryly.

“Nice to know he’s like this with everyone,” Akaya muttered.

“Oh, no,” Sasaki corrected, quite serene. “He’s only like this with the very best. You know,” he leaned on the net pole, frowning thoughtfully, “I’d rather have liked to see what he would be like with Sanada-kun and your Yukimura-kun.”

“No you don’t,” Akaya stated, with a shudder at the very idea. “Really.” He set the horrifying thought away quite firmly and gave Sasaki a hopeful look. “Can we play one more set?”

It was not, he reflected as they set themselves across from each other again, quite as good as playing Sanada-san. But there were enough similarities to make him happy for now.

End

The Rush

Kirihara’s second spin through Regionals, and Nationals, as a captain this time. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Fudoumine, Ibu Shinji, Kamio Akira, Kirihara Akaya, Momoshiro Takeshi, Niiyama Shino, Rikkai next gen, Seigaku, Suzuoki, Tsunoda Naruki

The pace of what Akaya couldn’t help but think of as the real tournament season had two very different parts. There was the daily practice with his team, which, while demanding and sometimes intense, had a smooth swoop to it. And then there were the actual tournament matches, that sprinted along like a heartbeat after an adrenaline spike. Aside from the pressure of the matches themselves, he finally decided it was the people that made the difference. His own team was familiar; he knew them. Other teams were always a bit of a question mark.

Akaya could feel the difference, pacing down the sidewalks of the grounds hosting Regionals. Rikkai Dai didn’t have quite the same edge of cool confidence they’d had last year. The ready fire that had replaced it pleased him, though, even if it did mean keeping an eye out for trouble.

The first bit of trouble turned up, right on schedule, when they came face to face with Fudoumine in front of the match chart.

“Ah, the almost-Champions are here,” quipped one of their doubles players, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Ready to defend your second place title?”

Akaya stifled a sigh. Being responsible and captainly and not breaking people like that into little pieces was such a pain. He kept his gaze on Kamio, who, to his credit, looked a lot less cocky and more serious than the one who’d spoken.

Sakamoto was bristling. “Like you have room to talk, Spectator-san,” he snapped.

The other player (Mori, wasn’t it?) straightened up. “Not this year.”

Akaya held up a hand to cut off any escalations from his team. “We’ll expect to see you at the final round, then,” he told Kamio, and waved Rikkai on. He did take a bit of satisfaction from the disgruntlement on Mori’s face at being deprived of any openings. Akaya knew from his own experience just how annoying that could be, when you were geared up to provoke someone. It made his day a little brighter.

Tsunoda, who had taken the opportunity to examine the chart, came up beside him. “Do you think we will see them there? They’ll have Rokkaku, Yamabuki and Hyoutei to get through.”

“We’ll see.” Akaya glanced up at Suzuoki. “There shouldn’t be anything very urgent on our plate today. Can you take a look at the competition for me?”

“Certainly. Anyone particular you have in mind?”

Akaya huffed with exasperation at the slight curl to their coach’s mouth. Everything had to be a test, with Suzuoki. “We know something about Fudoumine already,” he sorted teams out loud. “And Hyoutei is across the chart. Seigaku first. Then Hyoutei. I’d like to know something about Rokkaku, this year, too, but there isn’t time.”

“Send Hisakawa,” Suzuoki suggested.

Akaya gave him a sharp look, and nodded slowly. Hisakawa was a good observer. With some experience he might be the analyst of next year’s team. Which, of course, was exactly what Suzuoki was suggesting. “Can you tell him some of what to look for?”

“Of course.” It was annoying, sometimes, how Suzuoki could sound so disinterested.

“Then I want him to look in on Midoriyama, too.” Akaya smiled; that had gotten Suzuoki to look at him straight on. “They still have most of their people from last year. And Seigaku lit a fire under them, then. I want to know how they’ve turned out.”

“Of course.” Suzuoki was grinning his thin, sharp grin when he said it this time.

Akaya watched Tsunoda starting to flag. He’d expected that. Kaidou really did have phenomenal staying power. Momoshiro had been wise to put him in Singles Three, the turning point of their matches. Again.

Suzuoki, leaning on the rail behind him, blew smoke past his ear. “Worried about a repeat of last year?” he asked, low voiced.

Akaya snorted. “No.”

When he returned to the bench, drenched and panting from his own match with Echizen, Suzuoki smirked at him. “Still not?”

Akaya glared. “No.” He thumped down on the bench, and beckoned to Hiiyama. “I’m not worried about you winning this,” he said, quietly. “But don’t underestimate Momoshiro. He’s an analytical player, and a tricky one. Think like you were playing Niou-senpai.”

His vice-captain nodded, silently.

Akaya sat back to watch.

“Kirihara-buchou?” This time it was Niiyama leaning on the rail behind him.

“Yes?”

“Did you take Singles Two so you could play Echizen?”

Akaya cocked his head at Niiyama. “Hm. Caught your attention, did he?”

Niiyama looked aside and shrugged. Akaya smiled. He could come back to that later; now looked like a good time for another little push. “Well I didn’t object to the idea, that’s for sure. But it was kind of a gamble. If Momoshiro had placed Echizen in Singles One, the match would have ended with that last set, because Momoshiro isn’t strong enough to beat me.” He fell silent, waiting to see how Niiyama would take that.

The look on Niiyama’s face was a little sour. “That’s kind of… well…”

“The kind of tactic the weaker team uses?” Akaya finished, softly. “It could have looked that way, yes. But strategy is also part of the game; and a good strategy lets you win either way.” Words of wisdom from Niou-senpai and Yanagi-san both.

“Mm.” Niiyama frowned, and Akaya left the lesson at that. “Buchou, do you think…” Niiyama paused, and Akaya raised a brow. “Do you think I might get a chance to play Echizen?”

“Almost certainly. Next year,” the spirit of bedevilment prompted Akaya to reply. He relented, though, at Niiyama’s unamused glower. “It’s possible.” There was, after all, a certain precedent for practice matches. It could be good for Niiyama.

After he’d polished his game a little more with Fudoumine, perhaps Akaya would set it up.

Akaya leaned against the fence beside Momoshiro, wearing a rueful smile. Echizen was hammering Niiyama into the clay.

And they were both grinning.

“Your player looks like he’s having fun,” Momoshiro observed, sounding amused.

Akaya shrugged. “He asked to play Echizen, after our Regionals match. I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t think he’d get something out of it.”

Momoshiro cocked his head. “Is that why you threw him in against Fuji Yuuta, when you played Fudoumine?”

Akaya reminded himself to take his own advice and not underestimate Momoshiro. “It’s good to play a variety of opponents,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” Momoshiro snorted, “how else could you and Echizen pick up so many weird moves to throw at each other.”

That, Akaya didn’t answer at all. Anything he said would give too much away to an analyst as sharp as the one standing beside him. He didn’t really want the people they might still face at Nationals to know that he’d finally learned what Suzuoki-sensei meant, and had figured out exactly why he’d lost to Seigaku’s Fuji last year.

It was fun, all right, to toss techniques back and forth with Echizen, playing in a hall of mirrors where anything either of them used might be reflected back again. But it was ultimately useless unless he kept enough awareness to gauge his own strength and movement, and plan accordingly.

Niiyama, now… Akaya watched as he dashed to catch a Drive B. Niiyama would have to come at it from a different angle, he thought. Niiyama tended even more to the straightforward than Akaya had; his best path might simply be to find the strength to support that. If Niiyama found the point where he just acted, Akaya suspected his game might become pure enough to approach even Echizen’s. Not that he’d likely be around to see it. “It’s really annoying that the High School and Junior High divisions have tournaments at the same time,” he remarked with a sigh.

Momoshiro made agreeing noises, apparently following Akaya’s train of thought. “There’s always video, but it just won’t be the same,” he mourned.

Considering the possibilities running in the other direction, though, Akaya decided he wouldn’t complain too much. He wanted to have a little edge of surprise on his senpai, after all. He smiled as Niiyama drove back a smash. Let Niiyama try to catch him by surprise, too. Fair was fair.

Akaya bounced the ball, eyeing Ibu across the net. He wasn’t really surprised that the last round of Nationals had gone to Singles One, though he hadn’t expected it to be because Chiba and Furuya slipped up. Clearly, winning against Fudoumine at Regionals had made them cocky. He was going to have a talk with them about overconfidence, as the pair’s rather hangdog expressions showed they knew.

He could feel Ibu’s focus on him, like the edge of a knife laid against his skin. Not unexpected—he’d known Ibu would be all the more dangerous for having lost once. Now it was time to see who could keep better control of his temper. That was still the crux when he and Ibu played.

As his first serve came back at him, low and fast, it crossed Akaya’s mind to be grateful that the final round was against Fudoumine, not Seigaku. Playing Echizen was a rush, albeit with a frustrating aftermath when he came down and realized he’d lost again. But Echizen was too bright, and he dragged people along with him. Ibu played fiercely, but colder, and against him Akaya could find the place he needed, sink down and ride the edge of not-thinking without losing himself in it.

Unlike their last game, this one was silent. Silent and deliberate, for all their speed. Ibu’s play was quicksilver, slipping aside from direct attacks only to slash straight in through the slightest gap in attention. Quite like their last one, though, Akaya reflected, as he caught a vicious ankle shot and dropped it back over the net, they were still taunting each other. Body shots and shots that were just barely misses, silent threats and provocations, flew between them—a contest of precision and anger and temptation.

It was, he decided, a damn good thing he wasn’t trying to injure Ibu, or he would have been caught in the spiral and pulled off his focus just the way Ibu wanted him to be.

In the end, Akaya wondered whether it wasn’t Ibu’s own disbelief that Akaya could resist that lure that gave him the edge he needed. He tucked the lesson away in his mind and returned Suzuoki’s smirk with an even look, as the referee declared game, set and match.

This year’s award and closing ceremonies seemed strange to Akaya. What supported him, as they waited through speeches and stood for pictures, was not a sense of triumph, as when he was a spectator in his first year. He felt triumph, certainly. But what he felt most was quiet satisfaction.

“Dazed?” Suzuoki asked in a low voice as they wound their way through the dispersing crowd.

Akaya snorted out a half-laugh. “Maybe just relaxed; not sure I could tell the difference.”

“Hm.” They walked in silence the rest of the way, and it wasn’t until they were watching the team file onto the bus that Suzuoki spoke again. “You’ve done well.”

Akaya blinked at this rare bit of praise, and smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed, softly. “We did.”

End

Change

After the tennis season ends, and the third years retire, Kirihara finds himself at irritatingly loose ends. Drama, I-1

Character(s): Kirihara Akaya, Yukimura Seiichi

When Akaya found himself wandering down the hall where Suzuoki’s office was, he knew it was going to be bad. He stood and stared at the door he really hadn’t intentionally moved toward at any time that afternoon, finally giving in and thumping his head against it a few times.

“Come in,” Suzuoki called in dry invitation.

Akaya toed the door open and leaned in the frame. “Have I forgotten anything?” he asked, unable to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.

Suzuoki eyed him with sardonic amusement. “Hard time letting go, hm?”

“It’s not that!” Akaya protested. “It just feels like there must be something I forgot, or something I have to do.” He trailed off and crossed his arms, frowning at the tile floor.

“There isn’t and you don’t,” Suzuoki told him bluntly. The twist of his mouth spoke of sympathy as well as amusement, though. “It’s going to be uncomfortable for a while, Kirihara-kun. But this is a good time to start learning from Yukimura-kun’s example again, and trust that Niiyama-kun will do well by the team.”

Akaya grumbled under his breath as he stalked out of the building and across the school grounds. He knew all that, it just felt all wrong, and… His thoughts slid into silence as he noticed who was leaning against the gates.

“Yukimura-san.”

Yukimura-san looked up and smiled. “Akaya.” He pushed off from the wall and fell into step beside Akaya, who stole tiny glances from the corner of his eye, wondering.

“I thought you might be feeling a little dazed today,” Yukimura-san said, at last.

“It’s just weird not to be so busy anymore,” Akaya muttered.

“That, too,” Yukimura-san agreed, quietly.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, Akaya sighed. “It’s hard. To just stop.”

A rueful chuckle answered him. “It nearly drove me crazy, last year,” Yukimura-san agreed. “Do you trust the one you’ve left behind?”

Akaya stuffed his hands into his pockets, slightly grumpy again. “Of course I do.” He’d made as sure as he could that Niiyama was ready, after all.

“Well, it won’t stop you worrying,” Yukimura-san told him in a factual tone, “but it will stop you from going completely insane. As long as you remember it.” He gave Akaya a fond smile. “I speak from experience.”

Akaya almost missed his next step and felt his face heat.

“I’ll be glad when you’re back with us, next year,” Yukimura-san finished, tactfully looking straight ahead, though the corners of his mouth tweaked up.

Akaya didn’t answer but he did feel, as they walked along, a little less as though he had run into a brick wall this week. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“So how are the classes in the High School, Yukimura-san?”

End

Extra – Rematch

Kirihara finally gets that serious match he wanted out of Tachibana. Drama, I-2

Character(s): Kirihara Akaya, Tachibana Kippei

Akaya flipped restlessly through the pages of his book, cursing the English language and the educators who thought it was a good idea to make Japanese schoolchildren learn it. The voice that interrupted him wasn’t one he especially wanted to hear, most times, but at the moment even Seigaku’s terrifying old lady coach would have been welcome.

“Kirihara?” Tachibana stopped beside him, eyeing the stack of books on the park bench. “You’ve come a long way to find someplace to study.” He sounded amused, and Akaya growled, totally out of patience with everyone who had already gotten past the high school entrance exams.

And this was just the start of the study season, he reflected glumly.

Nevertheless, he had a sufficient fingernail-grip on his manners to answer without actually spitting. “If I’m doomed to study, I might as well do it in the sun.”

“Ah. I find a study partner often helps, too,” Tachibana offered with mild sympathy.

That made Akaya snort a little with laughter. “Yeah, well. My study partner threatened to nail my feet to the floor and tape my hands to the book if I didn’t stop fidgeting. A break seemed like a good idea for both of us.” School work tended to flatten out Hiiyama’s always subtle sense of humor completely.

That got a brief laugh out of Tachibana, too. “That bad, hm?” Akaya could tell the moment Tachibana’s eye lit on the tennis bag Akaya had taken along out of habit, because his smile suddenly turned considering and far less impersonal. “How about a game, to work off the jitters, then? Since we’re both here.”

Akaya shut his book with a clap and shoved the whole stack back into his bag. “That would be fantastic,” he agreed with enthusiasm.

Four games later, he was getting annoyed again.

He stood in the middle of the court with his hands on his hips, giving Tachibana a very displeased look. “I thought you said you would play for real the next time we played, Tachibana-san.”

He got a cool once-over in return. “Are you saying I’m not, Kirihara?”

“Yes that’s what I’m saying!” Akaya snapped. He stalked to the net, glaring. “I saw you play at Nationals. This,” he waved a hand, “is you holding back!”

Tachibana stood still, considering him for a long moment. “You’re restraining yourself as well,” he pointed out at last, quietly.

Akaya was now thoroughly aggravated. “I can’t do anything else while you’re playing like this! It wouldn’t…” he broke off, chewing on his lip. “It wouldn’t be right,” he mumbled finally, looking aside. Tachibana broke into a brilliant smile, and Akaya glared again. “Yeah, yeah, fine, I get it, all right? Now can we play for real?” It must be some kind of disease captains caught, wanting to reform players, he decided grumpily. At least he restrained himself to only picking on his own players.

“For real,” Tachibana agreed. “Your serve, Kirihara.”

This time the return nearly took the racquet out of Akaya’s hands, and he smiled. That was more like it. Still concientiously trying to remember Suzuoki’s advice, he edged toward greater intensity instead of diving headlong. Every step he took, though, every increase in strength, in speed, in ferocity, Tachibana met and passed, daring him to keep going. By the time the last point slammed home, Akaya was shivering with the effort of not matching the taunting undercurrent of violence in Tachibana’s game, too. That, he hadn’t expected.

“Are you all right?” Tachibana asked, voice concerned, as they met at the net.

“Yes.” Akaya breathed in and out, carefully. “Can we do that again?”

Tachibana blinked at him. Akaya knew it wasn’t exactly approved of, to train with someone from another team, but… how else could he really learn to deal with that part of his game? Instead of just supressing it.

And for that matter, how else could Tachibana learn to do it?

… all right, so maybe Akaya didn’t confine himself to his own players.

“It’s the time of year for studying,” he offered, obliquely.

One corner of Tachibana’s mouth curled up wryly. “I suppose it is.” He gazed at Akaya for a long moment before nodding. “All right. Give me a call the next time you have a study date around here.”

Akaya grinned at the sardonic note in Tachibana’s tone. “I will.”

This might be fun.

End

Extra – Courtship

Tachibana and Kirihara stumble into intimacy. Total Smut, I-4

Character(s): Kirihara Akaya, Tachibana Kippei

Pairing(s): Tachibana/Kirihara

Akaya dropped his racquet into his bag and fell back against the wall, breathing hard, almost laughing. Tachibana leaned beside him, on one hand, grinning.

“Good game,” Akaya panted. “You should play like that more often.”

“Should I?” Tachibana asked, looking down at him. “Why?”

Akaya grinned back. “It would get your opponents excited. That’s always worth something, isn’t it?”

“That,” Tachibana’s eyes glinted, “depends on the opponent.”

“Does it?” Akaya murmured, tipping his head back. He was enjoying this.

“Oh, yes.” Tachibana was leaning over him, now, playing the same game of dare and counter-dare they played on the court.

“Nice to know I’m special.” Akaya set a hand on Tachibana’s shoulder.

Tachibana slid an arm around him and closed the last few centimeters. Akaya met his kiss open mouthed, and pressed into his hold, feeling the roughness of Tachibana’s shirt against his palms, the smoothness of his lips against Akaya’s, the hardness of his thigh between Akaya’s legs. Akaya sighed into the kiss, and stretched a little against Tachibana’s body. Tachibana’s hand kneaded against his back, and Akaya thrust against Tachibana’s hips, pleased to feel that Tachibana was reacting to this, too.

He was not especially pleased when Tachibana drew back.

“Kirihara,” Tachibana sighed. He looked calmer, now, which was just not acceptable.

“If you say we should stop,” Akaya warned, “I won’t be responsible for what I do next.” He didn’t want to stop; this felt good. He ran a hand up Tachibana’s chest and into his hair, intending to pull him back down.

Tachibana caught his wrist, with a breath of laughter. “Demanding, aren’t you?” His thumb stroked, softly, against Akaya’s palm.

It might have been intended to soothe, but what it actually did was wash a shivering tingle down through Akaya’s entire body. He gasped and dropped his head back, eyes half lidded. He felt Tachibana tense, against him, and looked up to see that Tachibana’s eyes were hot again. Tachibana’s thumb caressed Akaya’s palm once more, and Akaya shivered.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered.

Tachibana smiled, and brought Akaya’s hand down, bowing his head over it. The wet, warm glide of his tongue tracing patterns in Akaya’s palm drove a long shudder through Akaya. It was the most sensual thing he could remember ever feeling, and he was distantly astonished to find his own hands so sensitive. Tachibana’s mouth closed over each finger in turn, tongue sliding up them in a way that made Akaya’s knees weak. Tachibana nibbled his way down Akaya’s middle finger and flicked his tongue into Akaya’s cupped hand, and Akaya moaned at the layering of sharp and silky sensation. If the wall hadn’t been behind him, he was sure he would have been a heap on the ground.

He wanted a matter transmitter, he decided, fuzzily. So that they could move instantly to someplace with a bed and he could lie down and spread his legs apart and feel Tachibana stroking him inside until he came; traveling instantly would be good, because he was very close to the edge now.

Perhaps Tachibana could tell, because he pressed Akaya back harder against the wall, and slid his free hand down between Akaya’s legs. He was gentle, fingers rubbing against Akaya as softly as his tongue, and it was far too much when Akaya was already wound up from a hard game. He groaned and his hips jerked up into Tachibana’s hand as fire washed through him, hazing out the world.

Tachibana pressed more firmly until Akaya stilled, and wrapped an arm back around him in support as Akaya sagged against the prickly brick behind him. He let Akaya’s hand go to brush Akaya’s hair back and stroke his cheek. Akaya looked up at him, a bit startled by this gentleness from someone he had come to know on the court as hard, and fast, and sharp edged.

“You’re wonderfully responsive, Kirihara,” Tachibana remarked, softly.

Akaya smiled. “You like your partners to let you know they’re enjoying it?” he asked.

“That’s part of it,” Tachibana agreed, looking amused. He stepped back and snagged a towel from the benches behind them. With commendable tact, he fiddled with his bag and didn’t watch as Akaya cleaned himself up. Which was good, because, otherwise, Akaya was sure he would have been blushing fit to fry something on his face. Someday, he swore, he was going to figure out how to stifle that reaction.

“So, what’s the rest of it?” Akaya asked, stuffing the towel back into his own bag and reminding himself to throw it in the wash the next day he did laundry himself.

Tachibana lifted an eyebrow at this nosiness, which Akaya parried with his best blithe look. Tachibana snorted.

“I like knowing that my partner is relaxed enough to enjoy it and unrestrained enough to express that. Not,” he added, dryly, “that this is exactly the best place for either of those.”

“Hmm.” Akaya looked sidelong at Tachibana. “You know of somewhere better?”

Tachibana gave him a thoughtful look, at this implicit offer, thoughtful and measuring. “I don’t generally do things like this casually, Kirihara,” he said, at last. “Are you sure you want a lover from another team?”

Akaya considered this. Did he want to be Tachibana Kippei’s lover? He liked their games. He rather liked Tachibana’s sense of humor. And he liked how seriously Tachibana took him. Akaya nodded; good enough. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered.

“Well, then,” a gleam lightened Tachibana’s eyes, “if you think you can deal with my sister, there’s always my house.”

Akaya gazed at him, trying to keep his mouth from twitching. “They’re all wrong,” he declared, “you are still a complete bastard. It’s a good thing I like that.”

“I had noticed the tendency,” Tachibana agreed, mouth curling up at one corner.

Akaya glared, until Tachibana, chuckling, caught his chin and kissed him.

“Okay,” Akay sighed, when Tachibana let him go, “I guess I can brave your little sister. How much worse than your devoted followers can she be?”

Tachibana opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Mm.”

Akaya eyed him. “Great,” he muttered. Exactly what was he getting himself into?

Tachibana patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry too much,” he encouraged. “I wouldn’t let her actually break anything.”

Akaya spent the entire walk wondering whether that had been a joke or not.

He managed to get through his introduction to the Tachibana family as “a friend I’ve been practicing with” with only a few twitches under the blowtorch intensity of Tachibana Ann’s glare. She was obviously someone who held grudges. The last time he’d seen a look that dire, it had been on Sanada-san. Only her brother’s whispered admonition, as he waved Akaya up the stairs ahead of him, relieved her attempt to scorch him with her eyes. Akaya heaved a sigh of relief, as the door locked behind them. He slumped back against Tachibana, who wound obliging arms around his waist.

“She’s rather protective,” Tachibana told him.

“You can say that again,” Akaya agreed, fervently.

Tachibana laughed, and bent to press a kiss against Akaya’s neck. Akaya sighed and arched back a little further, inviting more extensive liberties. That was, after all, why he had braved the girl-shaped dragon downstairs. He murmured appreciation as Tachibana’s hands moved under his shirt and slid up his sides to close around his ribs. Tachibana’s thumbs, stroking just shy of Akaya’s nipples, sent a complex shiver of heat straight to his groin. The hands slid down to his hips and back up, fingertips tracing over his stomach, and Akaya stretched his arms over his head in a pointed invitation to get rid of the shirt, already. Tachibana took the hint.

“Are you always this impatient?” he asked, sounding amused.

Akaya turned, and gave him a wicked smile. “Pretty much.”

“Will you be a touch more patient if I ask you to?” Tachibana asked, trailing light fingers down Akaya’s back.

Akaya’s breath hitched, and he wound his arms tight around Tachibana. “The only time I put up with teasing is when I’m pinned to the bed and can’t do anything else,” he said.

Tachibana curved a hand under his chin to make Akaya look up. “Not teasing,” he said, seriously. “Just taking it a little slower.”

Akaya was a bit surprised. Sanada-san would have taken what he said as a suggestion. But this was Tachibana, he reminded himself. Not the same person at all. “If you want,” he agreed, after a moment. And then he grinned, and tugged meaningfully at Tachibana’s shirt. “Not too slow, though.”

Tachibana gave him a wry look, but stripped off his shirt before pulling Akaya back against him.

“Mm. Much better,” Akaya sighed against his shoulder. Now he could feel Tachibana’s body heat against his skin.

Tachibana’s hands came to rest at the small of his back, and started digging into his muscles; they worked up his spine until Akaya was sagging against Tachibana, practically purring. Finally, they slid back down, and Tachibana’s fingers slipped inside Akaya’s waistband. Akaya pushed a little away, languidly, to let Tachibana slide it down and made a soft sound of pleasure as Tachibana’s palms slid back up to cup his rear. He moaned a little as those strong hands kneaded against his bare skin.

His own hands searched over Tachibana’s chest and down, brushing across his stomach and drawing a gasp from him. Akaya reached Tachibana’s pants, and looked a question. Tachibana nodded, and Akaya noted Tachibana was breathing almost as fast as his was. That was good. He eased Tachibana’s pants down, and Tachibana stepped out of them, pulling Akaya tighter against him. Akaya squirmed a little, delighting in the feel of skin against skin, and in the low sound Tachibana made when his erection slid against Akaya’s stomach. Tachibana laughed, breathlessly, at Akaya’s grin.

“I’d call you imp, but I’m not sure that’s evil enough,” he observed.

“You’re one to talk,” Akaya gasped, as Tachibana’s fingers spread him open and feathered over sensetized skin. “Tachibana…”

Tachibana guided him to the bed and slid onto it, tugging Akaya after him. Akaya ended straddling his lap, as Tachibana sat, cross-legged, against the wall. It put Akaya’s knees rather far apart, and he leaned against Tachibana for balance.

“Do you mind being this spread open?” Tachibana asked, softly, passing his hands down Akaya’s thighs as if to check for strain.

A flush rose in Akaya’s face and he shook his head. “I like it,” he murmured.

Tachibana’s smile held satisfaction and promise. “Good.” He wove one hand into Akaya’s hair and drew him down to a slow kiss. Akaya made a sharp sound as the other hand smoothed over his entrance, slick and cool. He relaxed as fingertips circled, lightly.

“You don’t need to go too very slow with this,” he said, against Tachibana’s mouth, before sinking back into another kiss. It muffled his moan as Tachibana took him at his word, and slid two fingers into him, stretching him sharply.

“Good?” Tachibana asked, deep voice velvety.

“Oh, yeah,” Akaya husked.

He soon found that it was difficult to rock back into Tachibana’s touch in his current position. But Akaya wasn’t at all sure he could have anyway. Tachibana had amazing hands. His fingers weren’t always thrusting, but somehow they were always pressing or sliding or twisting against the place that felt best. Akaya had never contemplated the possibility of someone… caressing him inside like this, but here he was draped, shuddering, over Tachibana, moaning, abandoned, as those long fingers stroked waves of pleasure through him.

As Akaya’s body started to tighten, Tachibana slowed. “How do you want to finish this?” he asked, breath warm against Akaya’s ear.

Well, if the choice was up to him…

“Fuck me,” Akaya gasped.

“Gladly,” Tachibana whispered, and pushed his weight forward, spilling Akaya back onto the fuzzy blanket. Tachibana leaned over him, and Akaya noted that his smile was both gentle and burning hot. “How do you like it?” Tachibana murmured.

“Hard,” Akaya answered, with no hesitation. The slow, sensual pleasure had been overwhelming, and he was tense with it, now. He wanted something extreme to release him.

Tachibana’s smile gained a laughing edge. “You should probably turn over, then.”

Akaya shrugged, and did so, to find a pillow under his chin. At least, he consoled himself, Tachibana probably couldn’t see this blush. He’d almost forgotten there were other people in the house who might hear if they got enthusiastic. Which he certainly hoped they were about to.

Tachibana’s hands raised Akaya’s hips a little, and his knees spread Akaya’s apart. His fingers smoothed fresh lubricant between Akaya’s cheeks, cool against hot skin. The position and attention felt very wanton, which suited Akaya perfectly just at the moment. They were closing in again on how he felt when he and Tachibana played full out, and that was not a restrained sort of place.

One hand fisted in the blanket, crushing the fuzz, as Tachibana pressed against him, hard and insistent. Akaya sucked in a breath as his body opened and Tachibana slipped inside. That solid length pressed a little further in, and drew back, and then drove in again, hard and deep. Even muffled, Akaya’s cry was loud in the room. He bucked up as Tachibana thrust into him again and again, driving him hot and full. It felt wonderful, pounding and shaking Akaya’s muscles, wrenching them loose, unclenching him until Akaya felt liquid and bright and heated. Nerves that had strained against the slow pleasure from Tachibana’s fingers screamed now. He relaxed into it and burning pleasure broke through him, surged across his body, twisted and released him again and again, until Akaya was empty and breathless, almost drifting. He savored the fullness of Tachibana inside him, lying boneless and satiated under Tachibana’s weight until his rhythm, too, broke.

Akaya did grumble a bit, when, after catching his breath, Tachibana made him move so he could strip the blanket off the bed. The crisp cool of the sheets reconciled him, though, and Tachibana gathered Akaya back against him, stroking his hair when Akaya pillowed his head on Tachibana’s shoulder.

“That was great,” Akaya mumbled, wriggling just a bit to get more comfortable.

“Thank you,” Tachibana chuckled, “I thought so, too.” He pressed a kiss to Akaya’s forehead. “You’re remarkably sweet, for someone so impatient and demanding.”

Akaya blinked up at him before tucking his head back down against Tachibana’s chest to hide yet another damned blush. The effort went for nothing as Tachibana rolled them both over so he could lean over Akaya and lift his chin.

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever said something like that to you before,” he said.

“Just… no one outside my own team,” Akaya muttered, glancing aside.

“You’re cute when you blush, too,” Tachibana commented.

Akaya glared firey death, and Tachibana laughed. Akaya growled, and heaved, flipping them back over again so he could kiss Tachibana until he stopped, which he did fairly quickly.

Just before his brain unravelled again, the thought drifted through: what was his team going to think about this?

End

Extra – The Fairest

The new year begins and Kirihara suffers a bit of culture clash. Drama, I-3

Character(s): Furuya Touya, Hiiyama Nobuo, Kirihara Akaya, Niou Masaharu, Rikkai, Rikkai next gen, Sanada Genichirou, Suzuoki, Tsunoda Naruki, Yukimura Seiichi

First day of tennis club practice for the new year.

Akaya wasn’t precisely nervous, but there was no room in his mind for any thought but that one, running in echoing round. The ramifications of that thought occupied him even more than they had three years ago; this time he knew what was waiting for him.

Despite his preoccupation, he was aware that Hiiyama had probably chosen deliberately to walk ahead of him and clear people out of the way. At least, that was the effect he was having on the other students around them, and Akaya thought Hiiyama was likely wearing one of his Irresistible Force looks. They weren’t glares, but nevertheless managed, in a very deadpan way, to convey the idea that the recipient could either move or be mowed down.

They had changed and were almost at the courts before Akaya thought to say thank you, though.

Hiiyama snorted, looking up at Akaya from the corner of his eye. “Go on and get it over with,” he ordered, gruffly.

Akaya smiled and reminded himself to breathe. Why was he so wound up about this? He’d played his senpai dozens of times before. Busy thinking about this he paid even less attention than usual to the run-of-the-mill senpai around him, and started when one of them suddenly blocked his way.

“Where do you think you’re going? First years are gathering over there.” The obstruction jerked his chin toward the growing cluster of Akaya’s yearmates.

Akaya eyed the interloper up and down. Not someone he recognized. “Yes, I noticed,” he drawled, in answer, and didn’t budge.

The other player’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you are?” he growled.

Before Akaya could decide just how to answer that, a familiar laugh came from behind him.

“Making trouble already, Akaya?”

Akaya glanced back. “Niou-senpai, who is this?” he asked, pointing his racquet at the player in front of him.

“Saizen Tadahisa, second year,” Niou-senpai waved in a vaguely introductory manner, “meet Kirihara Akaya, first year.”

Akaya tapped an impatient foot. “So is he any good or not?”

“Not too bad,” Niou-senpai said, judiciously, while Saizen-senpai gaped at them.

“That’ll do,” Akaya decided, and turned back. “If you’re not to scared to take a challenge, senpai, play me a game and I’ll show you who I think I am.”

Niou-senpai was right; Saizen-senpai was fairly good. He kept two of his service games.

“Thanks senpai,” Akaya said, when they were done. “That was a good warm up.”

“And what is it that you needed to warm up for?” asked the voice Akaya had been waiting for, from the side of the court.

He breathed in and out, carefully, stomping on the shiver that tried to wind up his spine. “Yukimura-buchou.” He turned to see all three of them there, Yanagi-san looking discreetly amused, and Sanada-san looking, for him, only mildly disapproving. Yukimura-san …

Yukimura-san’s eyes sharpened as they met Akaya’s, and his gentle smile turned bright.

“Please,” Akaya said, quietly.

“Of course. One set.” Yukimura-san paced to the other side of the net, Saizen-senpai nearly scuttling back out of his way.

The sound of the club members watching, which had been a mixture of amusement and grumbling, changed tone. No sooner had he noticed, though, than they faded from Akaya’s attention. He had occasionally wondered, during the past year, whether his perception of Yukimura-san was simply a matter of inexperience—whether it would be different now. And in a way it was different; Akaya no longer felt completely out of control as they played.

But Yukimura-san’s brilliance was still enough to burn everything but the game, the now, the collection of movement that was the net and the ball and the two of them, from Akaya’s mind. Still the thing that could draw him further than he thought he could go and leave him rushing madly to keep his own balance.

In the end, Yukimura-san took him six games to four.

As Akaya hauled himself upright the sound of the club around them returned to his ears. Now it was a soft, incredulous buzz. He would have laughed if he wasn’t panting so hard for breath.

Yukimura-san was laughing for both of them, softly, just a bit breathless, as they met at the net. “Soon,” he said, and then added with a teasing gleam in his eye, “So, did you want to keep up your first year tradition with the other two? You should start getting used to multiple sets, you know.”

Akaya contemplated this. “Ten minute break, first?”

“To start with,” Yukimura-san agreed.

Before he could accuse Yukimura-san of developing sadistic tendencies they were interrupted by the last person Akaya had expected. “I see that my suggestion of some matches to fit the first years into the current rankings has been pre-empted.”

“What are you doing here?” Akaya exclaimed, wide eyed.

Suzuoki blew a stream of smoke at him. “The coaches drew straws to see who would stay with each division this year. I got the short one.”

Akaya tried to remember some of the French swear words Marui-senpai had taught him one slow afternoon at the Cafe. He snatched a quick look at Yukimura-san and winced. His captain’s eyes were cold. Suzuoki didn’t normally say things that stupid …

Oh, hell.

Akaya drove a hand through his hair and growled under his breath in frustration. “You,” he pointed at Suzuoki, “cut it out. And yes, I’ll do it,” he answered the slightly elevated brow, “so get lost for a little.”

“Of course.” Suzuoki smirked and strolled away, waving his clipboard in a careless farewell.

Akaya spun back to put himself square in front of Yukimura-san. “Yukimura-buchou. Please.” He made himself not back up as Yukimura-san’s eyes tracked back to him. Instead, he talked fast. “Look, on the one hand, there are times when I hate his guts, and today looks like it’s going to be one of them, but, on the other hand, he’s a good coach. He can see what people need to do, and he can get people to do it.”

Yukimura-san was silent for a long moment. “Can you give me an example, Akaya?” he said at last.

Akaya chewed on his lip. “Well … like right now, for example, when I’m pretty sure he provoked you to make me speak up.” He looked down. “Even if it isn’t quite what you want to hear.” And Suzuoki, that bastard, knew part of Akaya had been hoping to go back to the way it had been, hoping to relax again. So much for that. He sighed and raised his head again. “He can be useful, Yukimura-buchou. Even to you.”

Finally Yukimura-san’s eyes warmed again and his lips quirked up. “I see. You make a convincing argument. I’ll consider it.” The faint smile became a broader and more mischevious one. “Now walk around some so you don’t stiffen up to much for your match with Sanada.”

He raised his voice to assign exercises to the club, most of whom had gathered to watch by now, and Akaya tried to discreetly shake the trembling out of his legs while he moved and stretched obediently. From now on, he swore, Suzuoki was on his own with Yukimura-san. He snorted.

Short straw, indeed!

The club spent the rest of the week hammering out rankings. There weren’t many surprises, and the quiet time gave Akaya a chance to get reacquainted with how his senpai played tennis and find his feet and relax some.

He should probably have known better.

Thursday afternoon his match against Marui-senpai was interrupted by the suddenly raised voices of Furuya and Tsunoda. Akaya blinked at them, as Tsunoda, for once, abandoned his cool attitude to yell back and Furuya rocked forward on his toes like he was about to jump on his teammate. He’d been expecting something from Furuya ever since this morning, when Chiba had turned up absent, but not this!

“Furuya! Tsunoda!” he snapped, without thinking. The yelling stopped, but they still looked five seconds away from ripping eachother’s throats out. “Excuse me for a moment, please, senpai,” Akaya said, abandoning his match. “Tsunoda,” he said, quietly, coming between them, “go get a drink and calm down.”

Tsunoda closed shadowed eyes for two long breaths before he spun on his heel and walked away. Akaya let his own breath out.

“All right, what was that?” he asked. Furuya didn’t look at him and Akaya fought down the urge to grind his teeth. “Damn it, Furuya, I know you can still control your temper when Chiba isn’t around, why aren’t you?”

Furuya rounded on him, and Akaya found himself on his own toes, ready to move, because he recognized that tension—that snap that was ready to aim at someone. Furuya met his eyes and froze.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Akaya murmured, “remember who you’re talking to.”

Furuya’s hand flexed around his racquet. “Mamo is in the hospital,” he ground out at last.

Akaya’s tension redirected itself at once. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Furuya yelled before stifling himself again. “All I know is he was out with his little sister and got into a fight with some kids who were teasing her, and now … ” he broke off, lips pressed into a pale line.

“Go find out, then.” Akaya sighed when Furuya blinked at him. “You’ll be worse than useless around here until you know. I’ll take care of things. Go.”

Furuya’s shoulder slumped. “Thanks,” he said, softly, and nearly ran for the gate.

Akaya planted his hands on his hips. “What a mess.”

“What mess is that, and where is Furuya going?” Sanada-san asked, suddenly at his shoulder.

“I need to talk to Yukimura-buchou,” Akaya answered, distracted. Tsunoda was already edgy, separated from his partners, and if Chiba was seriously injured that would both suck in its own right and make Furuya unmanagable. He really didn’t need this …

Akaya’s thoughts jerked to a halt, as he remembered that he was not their captain this year.

Oops.

He glanced up at Sanada-san warily. A hint of surprise looked back at him. “Yukimura is coming,” was all Sanada-san said, though.

Indeed, Yukimura-san was arriving. “What’s going on?”

Akaya bit his lip, guiltily aware that he had seriously overstepped his authority. Really very seriously. “Furuya’s partner, Chiba, is in the hospital; Furuya hasn’t had a chance to find out why or how bad it is; he was distracted and upset enough to be a problem during practice, so I told him to go see Chiba.” He bowed, which had the added benefit of hiding the flush of embarassment he could feel in his face. “I apologize for my presumption, Buchou.”

After a pause long enough to make him squirm, Yukimura-san spoke. “I trust your judgement, Akaya.”

Akaya straightened in surprise. Yukimura-san smiled at him. “Just make sure you tell me about it, when it affects the club,” he added.

Akaya had to swallow a few times. “Yes, Buchou.”

Yukimura-san nodded in a that’s settled, then manner and moved back toward the matches he had been overseeing. Akaya stared after him for a few moments before looking up at Sanada-san who was still beside him.

Sanada-san wore a thoughtful look. “You’ve grown,” he said, at last.

Akaya’s eyes widened; Sanada-san moved off as well, touching his shoulder in passing. Akaya stood, rather dazed, until Marui-senpai came to collect him so they could resume their match.

And here he’d thought this year would be simpler than the last.

End

Ink Burns

Fanfiction by Branch

Third Watch: All In One

Third Watch

Strategy

Wildflower

The Other Side

Mock Battle

Quick Days

Sunrise

Given

Warming Up

The Rush

Change

Extra – Rematch

Extra – Courtship

Extra – The Fairest