Evening brought cooler air and fewer people, which suited Hajime just fine at the moment. He wanted to get his practice in without being questioned about why a third year was so concerned with such things. Only a few lights were on around the courts, not quite drowning out the clear, deep indigo of the sky. It was a lovely evening and he was in a good mood.

At least he was in a good mood up until the moment he saw that Yuuta was on the court before him, and lined up for the Twist Spin shot.

The ball sang off Yuuta’s racquet, tore past an invisible opponent and climbed the fence. It was an excellent shot, and it made Hajime grit his teeth.

Using a shot that wore so hard on his body, Yuuta would never last three more years at this rate! What was the boy thinking? How was Hajime supposed to draw Yuuta back, year after next, if he went on like this?

Hajime stalked onto the court and snapped. “Yuuta-kun!”

Yuuta tried to stand up and spin around at the same time, and wobbled. “Mizuki-san!”

“What are you doing, using that shot during practice?” Hajime lectured. “There’s more than just this season to think about, now. And why are you out here, anyway, you should be training weights at this hour.”

“I was hoping to see you.”

Hajime’s brows rose. “… why?” Surely Yuuta had enough to keep him busy, taking over the club. And, unlike Hajime, Yuuta was the sort to throw himself headlong and absolutely into everything he did.

All right, maybe it wasn’t so surprising he was still using that shot.

Yuuta scuffed a toe against the clay. “The coaches are good; their suggestions for exercises help a lot, with the club. But I feel like my personal training is really falling off.” He looked up, eyes clear. “I was hoping you’d be willing to help me.”

The corner of Hajime’s mind that hadn’t been entirely sure Yuuta wouldn’t hold a grudge breathed out a sigh of relief. He buried that under his week-old sense of annoyance, though, and folded his arms, raking Yuuta up and down with a long look. “And how am I supposed to train someone who won’t do as I say?”

“I do!” Yuuta protested. “Well, I mean… it wasn’t…”

Hajime sighed and waved a hand to quiet him, mouth quirking. “Yes, yes, all right.” Honestly, he knew perfectly well there was a difference between disobeying a tactical order and not sticking to a training regimen. Yuuta had never once slacked on his training.

He also knew it would take Yuuta several more minutes to articulate that. If Hajime’s weapon was forethought, Yuuta’s was intensity, and subtlety was generally a bonus for him.

This was a good opportunity to set his hand on Yuuta’s training again, though. “Come along, then.” He pulled out his racquet. “Play a set with me so I can see how it’s affected your game.”

He watched, as they played. Yuuta had judged correctly; there was a starting spring missing from his footwork, an edge of power missing from his shots. He was still magnificent—the best Hajime had ever trained. But he could be better, and, knowing that, Fuji Yuuta would never rest.

They’d agreed on that from the beginning.

He nodded to himself, at the last point, and came to extend his hand over the net, as usual. “All right. Double your running time to start with.” He paused, less for real thought than to get more of his breath back; even off his peak, Yuuta was strong. “I’ll stop by tomorrow evening to adjust your weights.”

Yuuta nodded, still sharp despite the sweat sticking his shirt to him, and shook Hajime’s hand once, quick and firm. “Yes, Mizuki-san.” He tucked his chin down for a moment before glancing up and adding. “Thank you.”

“Just focus on getting stronger,” Hajime directed. And then he frowned, remembering. “And stop using the Twist Spin during practice. Really, you shouldn’t use it even in official matches until after your next growth spurt.”

Yuuta looked down, and Hajime felt the hand in his tense. “I know,” Yuuta said, quietly. “I was listening to everything, last weekend. Tonight I was testing to make sure I’d recognize that kind of strain.” He opened his mouth to add something and then closed it again, chewing on his lip.

In the back of his mind, where the truth lived, Hajime thought that he really didn’t understand Yuuta. Yuuta’s forthright passion was something he didn’t think he’d ever felt. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t driving Yuuta away from him, now that the harshness of Hajime’s calculation was out in the open.

And yet, he was glad it wasn’t. For one thing, it was surely good for Yuuta to temper that enthusiasm with at least a little considered judgment, which he was clearly starting to do. For another…

Well, never mind that.

“I have longer term plans in mind, now, than I have this past year,” he said at last.

Yuuta’s hand relaxed and he looked up with a faint smile. “Okay.”

The clarity of those grey eyes stole Hajime’s thoughts for a moment, before he shook himself and fished out another ball. “Well, come on, then. One more set, since you’re out here.”

As Yuuta fell back to the baseline, Hajime told himself not to think foolish things. Personal interest, even in someone with Yuuta’s brightness, had absolutely no place in his search for perfection. None at all.

Surely not.

End

Yuuta worked through his last set of repetitions and let the bar clank back down to rest, sprawling over the bench as he caught his breath. He grinned up at the ceiling, satisfied with the feeling of burning muscles and heaving lungs. This was the feeling he remembered, the feeling of driving right up to the edge of his strength and endurance and staring the limit down. The feeling of advancing.

The feeling Mizuki-san gave him.

He sighed a little and reached for his towel, levering himself up. He wished Mizuki-san had had a better match with Aniki. Not that it hadn’t been an amazing match, of course, but… neither of them seemed nearly as happy with it as he and Echizen had been with their match. He didn’t like thinking that maybe Mizuki-san didn’t know what it was like to just play. Play all out, play your best, and feel satisfied that you had. It had been so fantastic! Did Mizuki-san never feel like that? If he didn’t, it made the way he played seem really cold. Cold and distant.

And, yeah, losing sucked, but that was what training was for, right? So you could win next time. Only it seemed like Mizuki-san didn’t think so.

Or hadn’t thought so. Mizuki-san said things had changed.

Yuuta really hated not knowing whether he could trust that.

He leaned over the sink in the changing room, splashing water on his face more vigorously than necessary. Mizuki-san was the one who showed him a way to stand on his own—a way to respect himself. And, yeah, he’d order people to run until they dropped, and practice moves until you did them in your sleep, and dissect mistakes in chilly and excruciating detail. Mizuki-san had always been three times as demanding as the coaches, and pretty damn merciless. But Yuuta liked that. He didn’t want mercy; he wanted to be the best.

Of course, he also wanted to keep being the best for more than one season. Hard to do that with a busted shoulder.

Mizuki-san said it wasn’t like that anymore. He had told Yuuta to stop with that shot.

Yuuta leaned his elbows on the counter, staring down at the trails of water running down white porcelain. He’d trusted Mizuki-san. Was it stupid that he still really wanted to?

“Ah, there you are. What was your lap time this afternoon?”

Yuuta started at the sound of Mizuki-san’s voice behind him, and turned to find Mizuki-san standing in the door, brows lifted, foot tapping as Yuuta tried to remember the question. “Oh. Yeah, um, fifty-eight seconds.”

“Hm.” Mizuki-san folded his arms, dark eyes turning distant. “That should do. Increase the speed two notches, next time you practice with the ball machines.” He paused in the act of turning away and looked more sharply at Yuuta. “How is the team doing?”

Yuuta blinked. “It’s doing fine. We have a handful of good players already sorted out to work on.”

“Hmm.” Mizuki-san frowned. “Are your classes going well?”

“Yeah,” Yuuta said, slowly, starting to wonder what the inquisition was for.

“Well then try eating better,” Mizuki-san ordered. “You don’t look well. It won’t do either of us any good if you fall ill enough to affect your training.”

Either of us.

Yuuta relaxed all at once. Mizuki-san was looking annoyed, not considering or sleek; he hadn’t thought before saying that. He really did see Yuuta and Yuuta’s plans, and not just himself and his own. “Yes, Mizuki-san.”

Mizuki-san looked at him, unreadable, for a long moment before nodding. “Very well. Protein and then bed, Yuuta-kun.” As he slid the door closed behind him he murmured, “Sleep well.”

Yuuta smiled down at his hand-towel for no reason at all. “You too, Mizuki-san,” he said, quietly.

End

Hajime lay on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. To the absent Yuuta, he repeated, “Your brother really, really irritates me.”

Fuji’s match against Shiraishi had been magnificent. It had been a good match, unlike the one he’d had with Hajime. Fuji had found, not only determination, but passion. Passion that made him truly look like Yuuta’s brother for the first time Hajime could recall.

Passion Hajime had never played with.

The understanding twisted at him, made him turn on his side and curl in on himself, trying to escape his own thoughts.

Did he need it? Was that really one of the pieces he’d been missing? Did he have to… to expose himself that way, to play at the top?

Yuuta did.

Fuji had.

He would be damned before he’d be less than Fuji Shuusuke.

A quick rap on the door interrupted his brooding, followed by Yuuta’s voice. “Mizuki-san, did you see… Oops.” Yuuta’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sorry.”

Hajime turned over in time to see Yuuta tiptoeing back out the door and his mouth twitched up at one corner. “I’m not asleep,” he said dryly.

Yuuta looked over his shoulder. “Ah? Oh, good then.” He turned around again and came to bounce down in Hajime’s desk chair. “Did you see the tape Akazawa-senpai got of some of the other matches?” Yuuta’s eyes were a little wide. “Are all Nationals games really like that?”

Hajime turned over the various Nationals matches he had seen, in his head, marking the texture and intensity of them all. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he murmured.

“Wow.” Yuuta sat back, eyes fixed on something besides the room around them. “That’s amazing,” he said softly. And then his focus snapped back to Hajime. “We can do it, though. Right, Mizuki-san?”

Hajime felt breathless, pinned by the burning-glass of that fierce, grey gaze. He had, in fact, little doubt that Yuuta could do it.

Could he?

Could he refuse?

“Yes.” He closed his eyes. “Yes, Yuuta-kun. We will.”

When he opened his eyes again Yuuta was smiling, brilliant and… somehow already triumphant. Hajime’s mouth quirked. What a spot to put himself in, a sensible, logical person agreeing to go forward alongside this firebrand and push both of them to the edge and beyond.

All because he wanted Yuuta to look only at him, the way he was right now.

He sighed and leaned back on his elbows as Yuuta enthused about some of the shots he’d seen, mind already racing ahead in time, tracing the curve of his conditioning, mapping it steeper. He would climb that curve, and win. That was the important thing.

He would keep Yuuta beside him.

End