Overtones (for dystopiarcadia)
And here comes the last fic!
For: dystopiarcadia
Title: Overtones
Pairing: Yagyuu/Niou
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is (was?) all Konomi's.
Summary: There is no such thing as a rockstar with a clean image.
Notes: L, you are amazing for sitting with me while I sobbed and procrastinated and tried to off myself and read bad romance and skipped all my classes to make this make slightly more sense than no sense. dystopiarcadia, I can only hope you enjoy the, er, the ride. Happy badfic reading!
"You ever think about flying?"
Yagyuu and Niou on the roof, Niou leaning against the surrounding fence with a cigarette clamped in between his jaws. Plants, flowers, all manner of foliage everywhere -- the setting is the Rikkaidai botanical garden, northwest corner. The season is fall, and the color of the sky is the most pristine, clearest blue.
Yagyuu has an itch in his elbow and won't scratch it, so he settles for twitching at irregular intervals as they stand in silence. At one point he slams his arm against metal railing in frustration, gritting his teeth all the while, and it is then that Niou walks over, takes Yagyuu's arm, his fingers grinding into the bicep, and rubs his palm once against Yagyuu's elbow, rough and fast.
In response, Yagyuu plucks the cigarette out of Niou's mouth and deposits it in a nearby trashcan.
*
The recollection is crumbling at the edges, as though Niou's watching a movie from behind a cracked, dirt-stained wall of glass. The sky is blue, but when Niou grabs onto Yagyuu's skin the colors yellow and blacken, tobacco stains on Niou's perfect memory. What's left is sickening sweet, sharp and stark, insidious and carcinogenic. What's left is a dull ache in all of his limbs and an unfamiliar arm on his pillow in the black of night, two thousand miles away from home.
The clock beeps softly, jerking him back into reality. Four o'clock -- time to get up for his flight for Nagoya at seven.
Niou turns on his side and winds his fingers through the stiff folds of the pillowcase, clutches the rough fabric. It's all he can do to keep from hurling the pillow at the television set opposite the bed.
*
If Niou's memories of Yagyuu are behind glass, then Niou's early memories of his band are written in light pencil on crumpled, yellowing paper. Life as he knows it now is a blur; it's all he can do sometimes to remember his name, and part of him thinks that he's forgetting the old times on purpose -- afraid to reconcile the band members of then with the band members of now.
Niou vaguely remembers meeting Kirishima Shirou and Hiyama Tatsumi at cram school, in a classroom filled with fluorescent light. A five-minute break for drinks and a glance outside lent itself to five minutes of conversation between Niou and Kirishima, who described himself as an "aspiring artist" who was only attending cram school to conform with societal norm. Niou's first impression of Kirishima: something like "weird, a little (totally?) off-base," but he can't remember much beyond that.
Hiyama is easier; a loud, angry street punk with a fascinatingly impossible dream -- to one day have a concert debut in America, of all things -- and one mean guitar.
They're quite the trio; Niou, with his erratic improvisational drumming, Hiyama's sleek guitar, and Kirishima's powerful, if odd, voice.
Quite the trio, Niou notes wryly, his thoughts turning to Yagyuu. They were quite the duo, once.
*
He remembers his first set of nerves: second year of primary school, front row and center - the school anthem at the sixth graders' commencement ceremony. To his left and to his right are a bold, big-grinned boy and a quiet girl, respectively. Immediately in front of him is a wide, expectant crowd of parents, family friends, friends of family friends. His sister in the audience, surrounded by her fellow graduates. The auditorium a deep gray, the stage swathed in ribbons of light. Speeches, several of them, and the odd hiccup or sob in the short beats of silence.
And Niou, in the midst of it all, a child.
His legs are as two columns of jello. His heartbeat pounds frantically in his brain, cold chills racing down his arms, turning his fingers to ice. Adrenaline courses through him-and suddenly, he's a rock star, a celebrity, and he grins.
After the song and a short salute, the younger students file offstage.
"You were smiling," his sister says, giving him a strange look. "Somewhat of a weird thing to do at a graduation ceremony, no?"
"Nah," Niou says, beaming. "It was fun."
*
Their first real gig had been in Shibuya, in the atrium of a popular teen hangout squeezed between an udon shop and a bookstore, on a street so incredibly tiny that Niou wonders why the municipality bothered to give it a name. Niou is a bundle of nerves and cocky adrenaline; Kirishima spends the half-hour prior to their performance quietly freaking the fuck out backstage; Hiyama spends the half-hour massaging his shoulders and muttering to himself.
For a first concert, it's not actually all that bad. In fact, they hit it pretty big with the chicks, as Hiyama puts it, and Niou's feeling damn good about himself until he realizes, hollowly, that Yagyuu isn't there.
He's pressing the call button when he realizes the date: August 15th. His blood runs cold, and he has to sit down amidst the post-concert chaos.
August 15th, Kantou Regionals. Rikkaidai High School Division Tennis Club: first place.
*
Niou laughs through a cloud of cigarette smoke, blowing a few wisps towards the window, where they slink out and vanish into the crisp early morning air. They are headed to the second to last stop on their first-ever all-Japan tour, in a bus equipped with a kitchen, partitioned cots, and a bathroom. The three band members, however, are sprawled in the common area, talking and laughing. For a moment, Niou sees the three of them back in cram school, with dreams as big as the earth and potential as fresh and sharp as newly-mowed grass.
Then reality sets in -- the three of them, sitting on smelly, manufactured carpet, the air in the bus stale with cigarette smoke and a tinge of uncleaned vomit. The bus bumps along potholes in the older roads, and Niou feels like throwing up. Hiyama actually does, with great gusto, and though Kirishima laughs about it, nudging Niou's shoulder as he chortles, Niou just feels sick.
The bus driver's smooth voice comes over the intercom. "Sirs," he says carefully, "we will be reaching the New Chitose Airport shortly. Please make sure everything you wish to bring to Nagoya is with you when you disembark."
There is a boy adjusting his glasses at Terminal B, his manner business-like and brisk. When he catches sight of the three stars, his nose wrinkles. Niou is reminded, again and painfully, of Yagyuu.
*
Sometimes, Niou doesn't remember what happens at all. The first time they get all-out trashed after a concert; crashing the nearest bar, finding solace in drink until late afternoon the next day... all the memories have meshed together into one huge, dense pile of dredge. Niou's not dumb enough to search through his moments of drunken stupor for enlightenment or truth. He'd rather just forget it all, and for the most part, he does.
Some moments, though, stick out more obtusely than others.
"I find you devilishly attractive," Kirishima slurs, and Niou can't help but laugh a little. There is a druggy haze around his eyes; he thinks there may actually be little circles of rainbow light doing somersaults and cartwheels on Kirishima's eyebrows, which makes him look totally ridiculous and also a little bit like a cartoon character that Niou's certain he liked at one point in his life, when he wasn't really actually, actually, actually thinking about being a rockstar, and he hadn't met Yagyuu yet, whoever the heck Yagyuu was anyway, and God, was that a pony? No, wrong word, that-- "Hey," Kirishima is saying, "are you listening?"
"No," Niou tells him. "I'm not. Your eyebrows are very interesting."
"Glad you like them," Kirishima says, and suddenly Niou's against a wall, a thumbtack grinding itself against his back.
Niou really sort of hates being against walls; this he recalls even through the haze. This is how he justifies yanking Kirishima closer by the collar when he does; this is how he justifies kissing him so harshly that Kirishima loses his balance and Niou's able to fling him against the damn wall (take that, artsy boy, Niou sneers), forcing his legs apart with a quick push of his right knee.
Some how this keeps going, going until it's practically routine. Niou doesn't even realize he's sleeping with his own bandmate until they wake up in Niou's hotel room in Kyoto, six weeks into their first tour of Japan.
When he wakes to find a decidedly not-Yagyuu (not-Niou, too) arm on his pillow, he realizes something has to give.
And then the headache sets in.
*
Yagyuu is sipping tea from a small, ornate cup, which he cradles in his hands. "Niou-kun," he says, a little gently, "perhaps it's time to stop."
Niou, whose hands are poised over drums, his fingers chafed from hours of holding the rough wooden sticks, wipes the sweat off his brow in response. "Sun's still out, Yagyuu." Which is true, to an extent; there are still vestiges of sunset streaming into the garage, the light weak and fiery orange.
"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says, and Niou looks up. Yagyuu sets the cup down on the coffee table by his stool, crosses his arms. "You're quitting the tennis club, right?"
Niou stops, chuckles sardonically. "I guess I am."
Yagyuu takes the cup again. "I see." He sips, his eyes shut to the light.
Niou resumes one of his old riffs, but stops short and begins to laugh, abruptly, and he has to set the drumsticks down. He covers his face with his hands, rakes his hands through his hair, then stands, wobbling a little. He walks straight towards Yagyuu, who once more sets the cup aside and looks at him, waiting. A beat, then: Niou puts his right hand on Yagyuu's left shoulder -- Yagyuu doesn't flinch. Niou leans down, presses a kiss on Yagyuu's mouth -- Yagyuu still doesn't flinch, doesn't close his eyes. They're still staring straight through Niou when his own eyes open, and Niou backs away, picks up his bag, and walks away from the garage.
Yagyuu waits until the image of Niou, hunched with a bookbag slung over his shoulder and no tennis racket in sight, has disappeared, before he closes the garage and heads home.
*
The concert in Nagoya is a success, even if Niou has to admit he's not quite so into it anymore and his drums don't ring with the same harsh, perfect rhythm as they had when the band made its first appearance in an abandoned parking lot. They ease into the nightclub of the hour, Hiyama making a beeline for the first group of women that he spots.
Niou circles his way to the bar and orders a vodka, and it's not until he starts drinking that he notices Kirishima standing a tad too close. He turns to make some witty remark, but Kirishima's faster -- the kiss is there before Niou can get even half a syllable out, and the morning's nausea comes back in fast, unrelenting waves. "Hey, Shirou..." he says shakily, "let's not."
Somehow, Kirishima is already drunk. Either that, or he's actually serious. Whichever the case, he's trying to violate Niou again, and for the last time, too, because Hiyama chooses that exact moment to strut towards the bar with two women on his arm. When he sees the two of them, his initial bewilderment evaporates in an instant, replaced by rage unlike anything Niou's ever seen out of anyone, including Sanada. But then again, he's out of his league. What Hiyama lacks in athletic or martial prowess he makes up in raw, uncultured anger, something Niou -- sheltered, middle class, suburban, tennis-playing Niou -- is woefully unfamiliar with.
Funny that he should be caught now, when he's absolutely certain that he doesn't give a rat's ass about Kirishima.
Surprisingly, though, Hiyama doesn't beat either of them up. He just takes them both "out back," as he calls it, and asks what the hell he did wrong. Should he have introduced them to more girls, he asks. They shake their heads.
Kirishima is adamant and loud, gives the sort of speech only a bleeding-heart liberal could make; something about love and acceptance and passions running high. And Niou, thinking of lazy afternoons and cold feet and blistered thumbs and Yagyuu, can't stop laughing.
*
The official disbanding announcement is made in April of Niou's would-be first year of university, two and a half years after their first meeting in cram school and a year after Shibuya.
Niou uses the last of his clout to con a Tokyo University clerk into giving him Yagyuu's address. He lives in an apartment building a good ten blocks' worth of walking away from campus. He makes the trip by foot, figuring he could use the air and exercise.
Yagyuu lives on the sixth floor, on the corner apartment. There is a window facing east. The door is painted green, with a gold-tinted placard reading "603" at the center.
When Yagyuu opens the door and sees him, he doesn't move at first.
"Hey," Niou says.
Yagyuu punches him.
*
Niou and Yagyuu both remember the first time they partnered up. Two first-years, each as green as the next, tennis rackets in hand. Their opponents: Yukimura Seiichi, first year, and Nobuta Ryouji, first year. The assignments were totally random, as doubles partnerships in Rikkai were wont to be.
They lose, terribly.
It works out anyway.
*
Niou grabs onto Yagyuu's arm as the punch connects.
"A long, long time ago," Niou tells him, letting the stinging pain in his arm fade into numbness, "I used to play tennis. That tennis. Haha, funny, I know. A rockstar playing tennis. How completely absurd." He moves closer, and Yagyuu takes one step back in reply.
"You left your teacup in our garage," Niou says. "I've brought it back. It's a little late, but I was busy." He sets the cup in Yagyuu's free hand, then lets go of his arm. There's a long moment of silence, and Niou's about to excuse himself and run for dear life when Yagyuu sighs.
"A tennis player, thinking to be a rockstar." He sets the cup down, hands Niou a pair of slippers. "How completely absurd."
*
Niou has thought about flying.
No airplanes; nothing metal and overbearing, just his arms and his body cutting through the sky at breathlessly fast speeds, just air and air and more air. Maybe a full orchestral background to add to the effect. A lone jazz trumpet, trailing emptily into silence as he fades into the sunrise. And all the while, a steady undercurrent of percussion, starting off slow and steady, but increasing gradually in tempo, until the final burst of energy at the close.
For: dystopiarcadia
Title: Overtones
Pairing: Yagyuu/Niou
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is (was?) all Konomi's.
Summary: There is no such thing as a rockstar with a clean image.
Notes: L, you are amazing for sitting with me while I sobbed and procrastinated and tried to off myself and read bad romance and skipped all my classes to make this make slightly more sense than no sense. dystopiarcadia, I can only hope you enjoy the, er, the ride. Happy badfic reading!
"You ever think about flying?"
Yagyuu and Niou on the roof, Niou leaning against the surrounding fence with a cigarette clamped in between his jaws. Plants, flowers, all manner of foliage everywhere -- the setting is the Rikkaidai botanical garden, northwest corner. The season is fall, and the color of the sky is the most pristine, clearest blue.
Yagyuu has an itch in his elbow and won't scratch it, so he settles for twitching at irregular intervals as they stand in silence. At one point he slams his arm against metal railing in frustration, gritting his teeth all the while, and it is then that Niou walks over, takes Yagyuu's arm, his fingers grinding into the bicep, and rubs his palm once against Yagyuu's elbow, rough and fast.
In response, Yagyuu plucks the cigarette out of Niou's mouth and deposits it in a nearby trashcan.
*
The recollection is crumbling at the edges, as though Niou's watching a movie from behind a cracked, dirt-stained wall of glass. The sky is blue, but when Niou grabs onto Yagyuu's skin the colors yellow and blacken, tobacco stains on Niou's perfect memory. What's left is sickening sweet, sharp and stark, insidious and carcinogenic. What's left is a dull ache in all of his limbs and an unfamiliar arm on his pillow in the black of night, two thousand miles away from home.
The clock beeps softly, jerking him back into reality. Four o'clock -- time to get up for his flight for Nagoya at seven.
Niou turns on his side and winds his fingers through the stiff folds of the pillowcase, clutches the rough fabric. It's all he can do to keep from hurling the pillow at the television set opposite the bed.
*
If Niou's memories of Yagyuu are behind glass, then Niou's early memories of his band are written in light pencil on crumpled, yellowing paper. Life as he knows it now is a blur; it's all he can do sometimes to remember his name, and part of him thinks that he's forgetting the old times on purpose -- afraid to reconcile the band members of then with the band members of now.
Niou vaguely remembers meeting Kirishima Shirou and Hiyama Tatsumi at cram school, in a classroom filled with fluorescent light. A five-minute break for drinks and a glance outside lent itself to five minutes of conversation between Niou and Kirishima, who described himself as an "aspiring artist" who was only attending cram school to conform with societal norm. Niou's first impression of Kirishima: something like "weird, a little (totally?) off-base," but he can't remember much beyond that.
Hiyama is easier; a loud, angry street punk with a fascinatingly impossible dream -- to one day have a concert debut in America, of all things -- and one mean guitar.
They're quite the trio; Niou, with his erratic improvisational drumming, Hiyama's sleek guitar, and Kirishima's powerful, if odd, voice.
Quite the trio, Niou notes wryly, his thoughts turning to Yagyuu. They were quite the duo, once.
*
He remembers his first set of nerves: second year of primary school, front row and center - the school anthem at the sixth graders' commencement ceremony. To his left and to his right are a bold, big-grinned boy and a quiet girl, respectively. Immediately in front of him is a wide, expectant crowd of parents, family friends, friends of family friends. His sister in the audience, surrounded by her fellow graduates. The auditorium a deep gray, the stage swathed in ribbons of light. Speeches, several of them, and the odd hiccup or sob in the short beats of silence.
And Niou, in the midst of it all, a child.
His legs are as two columns of jello. His heartbeat pounds frantically in his brain, cold chills racing down his arms, turning his fingers to ice. Adrenaline courses through him-and suddenly, he's a rock star, a celebrity, and he grins.
After the song and a short salute, the younger students file offstage.
"You were smiling," his sister says, giving him a strange look. "Somewhat of a weird thing to do at a graduation ceremony, no?"
"Nah," Niou says, beaming. "It was fun."
*
Their first real gig had been in Shibuya, in the atrium of a popular teen hangout squeezed between an udon shop and a bookstore, on a street so incredibly tiny that Niou wonders why the municipality bothered to give it a name. Niou is a bundle of nerves and cocky adrenaline; Kirishima spends the half-hour prior to their performance quietly freaking the fuck out backstage; Hiyama spends the half-hour massaging his shoulders and muttering to himself.
For a first concert, it's not actually all that bad. In fact, they hit it pretty big with the chicks, as Hiyama puts it, and Niou's feeling damn good about himself until he realizes, hollowly, that Yagyuu isn't there.
He's pressing the call button when he realizes the date: August 15th. His blood runs cold, and he has to sit down amidst the post-concert chaos.
August 15th, Kantou Regionals. Rikkaidai High School Division Tennis Club: first place.
*
Niou laughs through a cloud of cigarette smoke, blowing a few wisps towards the window, where they slink out and vanish into the crisp early morning air. They are headed to the second to last stop on their first-ever all-Japan tour, in a bus equipped with a kitchen, partitioned cots, and a bathroom. The three band members, however, are sprawled in the common area, talking and laughing. For a moment, Niou sees the three of them back in cram school, with dreams as big as the earth and potential as fresh and sharp as newly-mowed grass.
Then reality sets in -- the three of them, sitting on smelly, manufactured carpet, the air in the bus stale with cigarette smoke and a tinge of uncleaned vomit. The bus bumps along potholes in the older roads, and Niou feels like throwing up. Hiyama actually does, with great gusto, and though Kirishima laughs about it, nudging Niou's shoulder as he chortles, Niou just feels sick.
The bus driver's smooth voice comes over the intercom. "Sirs," he says carefully, "we will be reaching the New Chitose Airport shortly. Please make sure everything you wish to bring to Nagoya is with you when you disembark."
There is a boy adjusting his glasses at Terminal B, his manner business-like and brisk. When he catches sight of the three stars, his nose wrinkles. Niou is reminded, again and painfully, of Yagyuu.
*
Sometimes, Niou doesn't remember what happens at all. The first time they get all-out trashed after a concert; crashing the nearest bar, finding solace in drink until late afternoon the next day... all the memories have meshed together into one huge, dense pile of dredge. Niou's not dumb enough to search through his moments of drunken stupor for enlightenment or truth. He'd rather just forget it all, and for the most part, he does.
Some moments, though, stick out more obtusely than others.
"I find you devilishly attractive," Kirishima slurs, and Niou can't help but laugh a little. There is a druggy haze around his eyes; he thinks there may actually be little circles of rainbow light doing somersaults and cartwheels on Kirishima's eyebrows, which makes him look totally ridiculous and also a little bit like a cartoon character that Niou's certain he liked at one point in his life, when he wasn't really actually, actually, actually thinking about being a rockstar, and he hadn't met Yagyuu yet, whoever the heck Yagyuu was anyway, and God, was that a pony? No, wrong word, that-- "Hey," Kirishima is saying, "are you listening?"
"No," Niou tells him. "I'm not. Your eyebrows are very interesting."
"Glad you like them," Kirishima says, and suddenly Niou's against a wall, a thumbtack grinding itself against his back.
Niou really sort of hates being against walls; this he recalls even through the haze. This is how he justifies yanking Kirishima closer by the collar when he does; this is how he justifies kissing him so harshly that Kirishima loses his balance and Niou's able to fling him against the damn wall (take that, artsy boy, Niou sneers), forcing his legs apart with a quick push of his right knee.
Some how this keeps going, going until it's practically routine. Niou doesn't even realize he's sleeping with his own bandmate until they wake up in Niou's hotel room in Kyoto, six weeks into their first tour of Japan.
When he wakes to find a decidedly not-Yagyuu (not-Niou, too) arm on his pillow, he realizes something has to give.
And then the headache sets in.
*
Yagyuu is sipping tea from a small, ornate cup, which he cradles in his hands. "Niou-kun," he says, a little gently, "perhaps it's time to stop."
Niou, whose hands are poised over drums, his fingers chafed from hours of holding the rough wooden sticks, wipes the sweat off his brow in response. "Sun's still out, Yagyuu." Which is true, to an extent; there are still vestiges of sunset streaming into the garage, the light weak and fiery orange.
"Niou-kun," Yagyuu says, and Niou looks up. Yagyuu sets the cup down on the coffee table by his stool, crosses his arms. "You're quitting the tennis club, right?"
Niou stops, chuckles sardonically. "I guess I am."
Yagyuu takes the cup again. "I see." He sips, his eyes shut to the light.
Niou resumes one of his old riffs, but stops short and begins to laugh, abruptly, and he has to set the drumsticks down. He covers his face with his hands, rakes his hands through his hair, then stands, wobbling a little. He walks straight towards Yagyuu, who once more sets the cup aside and looks at him, waiting. A beat, then: Niou puts his right hand on Yagyuu's left shoulder -- Yagyuu doesn't flinch. Niou leans down, presses a kiss on Yagyuu's mouth -- Yagyuu still doesn't flinch, doesn't close his eyes. They're still staring straight through Niou when his own eyes open, and Niou backs away, picks up his bag, and walks away from the garage.
Yagyuu waits until the image of Niou, hunched with a bookbag slung over his shoulder and no tennis racket in sight, has disappeared, before he closes the garage and heads home.
*
The concert in Nagoya is a success, even if Niou has to admit he's not quite so into it anymore and his drums don't ring with the same harsh, perfect rhythm as they had when the band made its first appearance in an abandoned parking lot. They ease into the nightclub of the hour, Hiyama making a beeline for the first group of women that he spots.
Niou circles his way to the bar and orders a vodka, and it's not until he starts drinking that he notices Kirishima standing a tad too close. He turns to make some witty remark, but Kirishima's faster -- the kiss is there before Niou can get even half a syllable out, and the morning's nausea comes back in fast, unrelenting waves. "Hey, Shirou..." he says shakily, "let's not."
Somehow, Kirishima is already drunk. Either that, or he's actually serious. Whichever the case, he's trying to violate Niou again, and for the last time, too, because Hiyama chooses that exact moment to strut towards the bar with two women on his arm. When he sees the two of them, his initial bewilderment evaporates in an instant, replaced by rage unlike anything Niou's ever seen out of anyone, including Sanada. But then again, he's out of his league. What Hiyama lacks in athletic or martial prowess he makes up in raw, uncultured anger, something Niou -- sheltered, middle class, suburban, tennis-playing Niou -- is woefully unfamiliar with.
Funny that he should be caught now, when he's absolutely certain that he doesn't give a rat's ass about Kirishima.
Surprisingly, though, Hiyama doesn't beat either of them up. He just takes them both "out back," as he calls it, and asks what the hell he did wrong. Should he have introduced them to more girls, he asks. They shake their heads.
Kirishima is adamant and loud, gives the sort of speech only a bleeding-heart liberal could make; something about love and acceptance and passions running high. And Niou, thinking of lazy afternoons and cold feet and blistered thumbs and Yagyuu, can't stop laughing.
*
The official disbanding announcement is made in April of Niou's would-be first year of university, two and a half years after their first meeting in cram school and a year after Shibuya.
Niou uses the last of his clout to con a Tokyo University clerk into giving him Yagyuu's address. He lives in an apartment building a good ten blocks' worth of walking away from campus. He makes the trip by foot, figuring he could use the air and exercise.
Yagyuu lives on the sixth floor, on the corner apartment. There is a window facing east. The door is painted green, with a gold-tinted placard reading "603" at the center.
When Yagyuu opens the door and sees him, he doesn't move at first.
"Hey," Niou says.
Yagyuu punches him.
*
Niou and Yagyuu both remember the first time they partnered up. Two first-years, each as green as the next, tennis rackets in hand. Their opponents: Yukimura Seiichi, first year, and Nobuta Ryouji, first year. The assignments were totally random, as doubles partnerships in Rikkai were wont to be.
They lose, terribly.
It works out anyway.
*
Niou grabs onto Yagyuu's arm as the punch connects.
"A long, long time ago," Niou tells him, letting the stinging pain in his arm fade into numbness, "I used to play tennis. That tennis. Haha, funny, I know. A rockstar playing tennis. How completely absurd." He moves closer, and Yagyuu takes one step back in reply.
"You left your teacup in our garage," Niou says. "I've brought it back. It's a little late, but I was busy." He sets the cup in Yagyuu's free hand, then lets go of his arm. There's a long moment of silence, and Niou's about to excuse himself and run for dear life when Yagyuu sighs.
"A tennis player, thinking to be a rockstar." He sets the cup down, hands Niou a pair of slippers. "How completely absurd."
*
Niou has thought about flying.
No airplanes; nothing metal and overbearing, just his arms and his body cutting through the sky at breathlessly fast speeds, just air and air and more air. Maybe a full orchestral background to add to the effect. A lone jazz trumpet, trailing emptily into silence as he fades into the sunrise. And all the while, a steady undercurrent of percussion, starting off slow and steady, but increasing gradually in tempo, until the final burst of energy at the close.