[wenlock]
Title: And Back Again
ID: [wenlock]
Wordcount: 4,200
Character(s) or pairing(s): Yukimura Seiichi / Yagyuu Hiroshi, Sanada Genichirou, Yanagi Renji, Kirihara Akaya
[1]
Yagyuu is there when Yukimura arrives, gazing calmly at the world through the holes in the iron fence and taking long drags out of a cigarette. He turns around when Yukimura greets him, and doesn't even bother hiding the cig like he (or any of Yukimura's players, really) would have done had this happened a few months ago, when he was still captain of the Rikkai tennis club. Then, Yukimura would have been furious to find that one of his players was dampening their health (and with it, Rikkai's chances of victory) in such a stupid and reckless way. He would have made them run laps until they coughed up their nicotine-drugged lungs, or even had them thrown out of the club.
Now, he just raises an eyebrow and teases, "Smoking on the rooftop again? That's so high-school of you."
'A few months ago' seems like a really long time, somehow.
"Good morning, Yukimura-kun," Yagyuu replies, doing a good job of keeping up his polite façade -- that's something that'll never change, even if that hologram seems to flicker more and more often every day. As if there are interferences -- as if pretending to be Niou all these years has made Yagyuu forget how to pretend he's the tame, altruistic gentleman everyone supposes him to be. "Are your morning lessons done already?"
"I have a free period now." A free period which, he fails to mention, he's probably supposed to spend doing research for his Renaissance Art project, due on Monday (as their teacher makes a point of reminding them every few minutes). "I thought about hanging out at the cafeteria with all the cool guys, but I figured you were probably pulling the rebellious teenager act up here so I decided to drop by."
"I see," Yagyuu replies, turning his back on the world and leaning against the fence, which rattles under the sudden weight. There are traces of amusement in his voice. "I'm honoured."
"None of the cool kids play tennis, anyway," Yukimura jokes with a grin and a shrug. Not like he plays tennis any longer, either, but that's another story entirely.
"Figures," Yagyuu says, lips curling slightly upwards.
[2]
Yukimura's daily routine goes like this: 50 push-ups and a bit of jogging around the block in the morning, then a lesson in survival of the fittest and its applications in public transport, then class. He's attending Rikkai again, so he knows the campus well, but it still manages to feel incredibly unfamiliar. Truly, he remembers the location of the chemistry lab and the resources room and the small unused classroom where Akaya and Niou hid Sanada's family rock two years ago, but those are distant memories, as if belonging to a previous life. Every morning Yukimura runs towards the school and stops for a bit to still his breathing just outside the gates, surrounded by grass and trees that are different from those he saw the year before, the day before even. The weather is starting to get cold, so his breath fogs up the air in front of his face, and that too is different every day. Everything affects and changes everything, and the world keeps moving onwards.
This holds true for Yukimura as well, always has. He is always moving forward, never looking back, letting that inertia carry him as far as he'll go. As long as he keeps advancing, he believes, everything will be fine.
Akaya is the one who shakes that reassurance, which in hindsight isn't all that surprising -- Akaya has always had a knack for unsettling the stablished order of things and shaking the earth wherever he goes. He shows up one afternoon at the beginning of December, all unruly curls and cheeky smiles, and ambushes Yukimura just outside the cafeteria with a wide grin.
"Buchou!" he calls, even though he is the captain now.
The Akaya standing there looks like a life-sized projection of the Akaya in Yukimura's memory. He's wearing the Rikkai mustard yellow jersey, and that, along with his loud demeanor, make him completely impossible to miss. His voice is the same, and he gesticulates wildly as he speaks. He probably still falls asleep on the bus going to school, Yukimura thinks with a grin. There's that same air of determination hanging around him, the same tone of voice that suggests he's waiting for some sort of recognition from Yukimura even now, and that's comforting in an extremely selfish sort of way. From the looks of it, he's grown taller again -- if he keeps it up, soon enough he'll tower over Yukimura and maybe even Renji, and then where will they be?
"Everyone sucks, captain," Akaya whines, swinging his legs from where he's sitting, perched on top of the railings. "The team are a bunch of sissies. Just because they managed to crush Fudomine in the Regional preliminaries, they think they're too good to need training. Fudomine sucked, too."
Yukimura laughs and pokes at the cheap food they bought from the cornershop. "Fudomine used to be worth crushing. When Tachibana was still around."
"Yeah, well, not anymore," Akaya snorts, shaking his head a bit but grinning anyway. "Now there isn't anyone worth crushing around. Geez, what a joke of a team." He rolls his eyes and, as an afterthough, adds, "I wish Sanada-fukubuchou was still around to scare the shit out of them."
That single mention is unexpected, not in a good sort of way. Actually, Yukimura doesn't really know in what sort of way, so he cracks a joke to cover for that. "Or, you know, you could wear a black baseball cap and practice frowning in front of the mirror," he says, laughing, because the thought of Akaya trying to impersonate Sanada is kind of funny. "Actually, just start by getting up at ungodly o'clock every morning -- the rest will come naturally."
Akaya is laughing now too, his shoulders shaking with the motion. "I'll turn into a cranky old man. And then I won't be able to play tennis without breaking a hip or something."
"You won't even beat Fudomine if that happens."
"Sucks to be me, huh." The laughter has died out, somewhat. Then, "You should drop by practice sometime, captain. Show them what it's all about. They'll piss their pants."
Yukimura remembers that -- the feel of his sneakers stepping on clay, other people holding their breaths around the court, and on it, Sanada, Renji and him, standing at the top of their world. He wonders if it would be the same now, if he allowed himself to stop and go back to that. To tennis. It probably would.
"I will," he tells Akaya with a smile. "Some time next week, some day I don't have class or something." Which shocks Akaya as well as it does Yukimura himself, because less than a year ago he would have said something along the lines of who cares about school, we've got tennis, but at some point or another school life apparently stopped being all about tennis and started being all about, well, school, and Yukimura can't say it doesn't make him feel uneasy, just a bit. As if he's advancing, but not in the right direction.
Akaya doesn't comment on it. "Okay," he replies, and grins carelessly.
[3]
"No, what I'm trying to say is -- I like you, Yukimura."
"I like you too. We're friends, right?"
A pause. "Not like that. Well, that too. But I like you, like you. As in, more than that."
A moment's hesitation. What is he supposed to say? "You're probably just getting your feelings for me mixed-up. You think you feel that way, but maybe you actually don't. We're best friends, Sanada. I guess it's easy to mistake friendship for love, right?"
Easy. Possible, not certain. Actually, maybe he's just a tad scared because Sanada's not the kind of guy to say things without thinking, and if he actually likes Yukimura, everything would change -- the possibilities are too many to be considered. Yukimura isn't sure he's ready for it. He isn't sure how to react.
There's a moment of silence.
"I guess."
[4]
"Yukimura-kun."
Yukimura looks at Yagyuu, who's standing on the threshold of his flat and staring at Yukimura with raised eyebrows -- which more or less equates to a what on earth are you doing here at this time of day in Yagyuu-speak -- so Yukimura explains. "It started coming down like no tomorrow," he says, pointing at the ugly grey clouds blocking out all sunlight. An unnecessary gesture; as it is, he looks like he just came from the Wet T-Shirt Contest rather than from university lectures. "Your place was closer."
Yagyuu steps back before he's finished talking, and Yukimura hasn't had time to even take off his shoes at the entrance when Yagyuu comes back with a towel. "I'll get you some dry clothes," he says, going in the direction of his bedroom. "You can use the shower, if you like."
"Thanks."
The sound of the rain pounding against the windowpanes makes for weird background music as Yukimura stands under the shower, washes away old water with new water. Once he's finished, he uses Yagyuu's towels to dry himself and turns to find dry clothes waiting for him, as promised. They're not Yagyuu's clothes, but his; an old sweatshirt and jeans he must have forgotten during a previous visit. He pulls them on -- they smell of Yagyuu and Yagyuu's house now, a mixture of tea and the stink of tobacco that forms part of Yagyuu's personal scent now -- and does not think too long about the fact that this is becoming a pattern, this whole hanging out at each other's place and borrowing clothes and time and only occasionally pretending to care.
Unsurprisingly, the kettle's on the stove when Yukimura walks back into the living room. "Tea?" Yagyuu asks, rhetorically -- he's already pouring steaming liquid into a glass, which he then holds out to Yukimura. "It'll warm you up."
Yukimura takes it, and his hands are instantly a lot warmer than the rest of his body. He holds the glass a bit closer to his face, thankful for the steam rising from the surface. "Thanks," he says, taking a sip and barely managing not to grimace. The taste is as awful as he remembers it, but at least he's stopped being cold.
Yagyuu nods and walks towards the kotatsu in the middle of the room. Around and on it, there are dozens of papers, notes written in Yagyuu's perfect calligraphy which is nothing at all like Yukimura's, who can't even understand his own most days. Yagyuu is the one who's studying Medicine, though, so rationally he should be the one with the indecipherable handwriting, but somehow he writes the tidiest notes Yukimura has ever seen. It's one of life's greatest mysteries. "Were you studying when I arrived," Yukimura states more than asks, placing a few papers in a stack in order to make some room.
"I was," Yagyuu replies unnecessairily, taking the papers from Yukimura and placing them on the kotatsu, on top of a volume that reads A Comprehensive List of Genetic Diseases, A-M. "Exams start next week."
Yukimura hums absentmindedly, watching Yagyuu over the rim of his glass. He remembers being surprised when Renji told him that Yagyuu was staying at Rikkai, just like Yukimura himself, even though he had good enough grades that he could have gone anywhere else -- probably even Tokyo University. It's times like this when Yukimura wonders why he decided to stay, because the Yagyuu he knows would not be happy with anything less than the best. It's something that nags at Yukimura, that someone as ambitious as Yagyuu would turn down the kind of chance that thousands of Japanese students (Yukimura not included) would kill for. The thing is, with his average, he could probably transfer if he wanted to, but he doesn't seem to have any intentions of doing so. It almost seems as if he's trying to hide or run away from something; what, Yukimura doesn't know for certain, but he never asks. After all, it's Yagyuu's choice what to do with his life; no matter how many convenient beds they have shared this past year or how many quick handjobs they have given in the guys' toilets between lessons, Yagyuu remains none of Yukimura's business, and viceversa.
Yagyuu's back is ramrod straight as he reads his notes, pauses to check something in one of his books, makes more notes. Everywhere on the surface of the kotatsu there are pictures of failing organs, dysfunctional nervous systems and too many other things Yukimura would rather never think about or remember again. Yagyuu is examining them one by one, with cold-blooded interest, and it's much more unnerving than it has any right to be.
So Yukimura taps him on the shoulder and sets aside his glass, definitely not looking at the books, and takes the easy way out of his discomfort. "Yagyuu," he says, and leans in to kiss him.
(There is the question of where they are going with this casual not-really-lovers thing, of what point they are trying to prove -- and to whom -- with this weird, insane turn they have allowed their lives to take. But then, Yagyuu's hands creep under Yukimura's shirt and into his pants, effectively blowing all profound philosophical thought out of Yukimura's mind. He gets closer to Yagyuu's heat, and it's the perfect excuse to play along and stop himself from dwelling on the what-ifs.)
[5]
He's on the Rikkai tennis courts again. This is rather strange; first, because he hasn't been here in months, second because he's wearing a normal uniform, complete with blazer, dress trousers and godawful tie. He stands there for a moment, wondering if he should go to the clubroom to change (would his team jersey still be there?), but after thinking about it, he decides to have a look around and see if there's anyone else. He can hear the rhythmic sounds of ball hitting a string gut and then clay, then string again, so there must be someone playing. The mere thought makes his heart beat a bit faster; it's been a while since he's done any more than watching the ATP tournaments on TV.
There's a small breeze blowing cherry blossom petals all around, and the sun is shining bright in the sky. Yukimura smiles; it makes him think of a typical first day of school in April, when the cherry trees are in full bloom and the weather is too nice to stay in. He walks past courts B & C, past the clubroom and towards the big tree under which Marui used to nap after eating his lunchbox. The sounds of tennis are louder now, and Yukimura starts walking a bit faster, eager to see whoever is playing.
So eager, in fact, that he bumps into a kid and knocks him to the ground. "I'm sorry!" Yukimura apologises immediately, holding out a hand to help the kid back up. "I wasn't looking where I --"
He's brought up short by the sight of a pocket-sized Sanada lying on the ground and glaring bloody murder at him from under a black baseball cap. Considering he's about a foot shorter than Yukimura, the expression is not as menacing as it is funny, and also sort of cute, if Yukimura says so himself. He looks like an old man trapped in the body of an eleven-year-old; this must be Sanada from when they first met. "Oh god," Yukimura mutters, trying not to laugh in Sanada's face. While he doesn't think being slapped by a kid seven years younger than him will hurt too much, this is Sanada they're talking about, so he decides he'd rather not find out.
"Please excuse me," Sanada says. His voice, however, is just as deep as the last time Yukimura heard it. Creepy. "I have to go."
To the try-outs for the team, Yukimura's mind supplies randomly. "Oh," he says, stupidly. "Where's Renji?"
Sanada gives him a weird look, frowning slightly, but answers the question nevertheless. "I guess he's playing. Aren't you too?" he adds, nodding at the racket which Yukimura is pretty sure he hadn't been holding just a second ago.
Yukimura holds it up in front of him and examines it. It's without a doubt his favourite racket, but for a moment he almost doesn't recognise it. The grip-tape is coming off and the gut needs to be restringed. It's obvious that it hasn't been touched in a long time, and he feels an unbidden pang of sadness at seeing his racket so uncared for. "I don't know," Yukimura confesses.
The miniature Sanada adjusts his cap and, after rolling his eyes at Yukimura, strolls past him. "Tarundoru," Yukimura hears him mutter.
The racket starts vibrating in his hand and Yukimura practically jumps off the bed, his eyes wide open. No Sanada -- Yukimura's alone in his room. "A dream," he whispers, breathing heavily and looking around in the dark. It's Saturday, his brain remembers after a while, so he can sleep as much as he likes; whether he manages to or not, that's another thing entirely. His mobile phone is still vibrating on the bedside table: new mail from Kirihara Akaya, says the screen. Yukimura flips the lid open.
We're going to Nationals!
[6]
He hears about it from his Art History teacher.
"Congratulations, Yukimura-kun," he says. He's a plump old man with a baldening head and a gentle voice who speaks about art the way one would speak about their child, or their loved one. Yukimura rather likes him. "First place! You painted a beautiful picture. Your technique, the way you use light and shadow to create the desired effect -- it's all very well done."
Yukimura already knows this. He knows he's got talent for art -- among many other things -- and he's not the kind of person who'd go for faux modesty, so he nods. "I'm glad you liked it, sensei," he replies with a smile. "Thank you."
"Oh, yes, yes, indeed." The man is beaming, swinging back and forth on the balls of his feet. It's rather endearing, Yukimura thinks with a smile, watching as all of a sudden, the teacher's demeanor changes and he leans in, grinning conspirationally. "Excuse me for asking this, but have you decided what you'll do with the prize money?"
Yukimura hasn't really thought about it, but apparently his subconscious has, because the answer is rolling on his tongue before he even realises it. Well, at this point it's rather clear that his subconscious likes to act of its own accord, without consulting him, so maybe he shouldn't be all that surprised.
"I might buy a new racket," he hears himself say, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
And in a way, it is.
[7]
"I'm thinking of trying out for the team."
Yagyuu looks up from his bento and sideways at Yukimura, who is grinning like a maniac. There are several things the small upward motion of Yagyuu's right eyebrow could be taken to mean, but surprise is definitely not one of them. "Is that so?"
"Yes. Because I want to win."
There's no doubt about it. Yagyuu's expression is one of amusement. "I should have known you wouldn't be satisfied with something as trivial as winning first place for an important nation-wide art contest."
"Jesus, who do you think I am?" Yukimura replies with a grin, because it makes him sound kind of obsessed when Yagyuu puts it that way. Which, all things considered, he might just be. "Of course it's not enough. I haven't had a gold medal around my neck in a long time. I'm starting to experience withdrawal," he laughs, and steals a bit of rice from Yagyuu's bento, just to spite him.
Yagyuu does not even frown at his random outbursts of childish behaviour anymore, and just smiles slightly. A rather boring reaction, in Yukimura's opinion. "As expected of Rikkai's captain."
"I'm not captain yet," Yukimura replies. The implications of that statement are left hanging in the air, and Yagyuu's smile broadens just a bit.
"You will be. Actually, you've always been."
What is one supposed to reply to that? "You should try out as well. I want you for my team." You. Even if Niou isn't around anymore.
Yagyuu actually laughs. "I'm rusty. I haven't played in a long time," but it's not a I won't play again. Yukimura can be satisfied with that, for now.
"I'll have you run a few laps around the town. You'll be back in perfect shape in no time. But you'll have to give up smoking."
Yagyuu seems to consider this for a moment. "Physical exhaustion, Spartan training and withdrawal syndrome. A tempting offer," Yagyuu studies the lunchbox in his lap and the ends of his mouth twitch upwards. "But why should I accept it?"
This answer they both know very well, because while they are different in many ways, they are exactly the same when it comes to this. "Because you want to win."
And that, as they say, is that. "I'll think about it," Yagyuu says, and it sounds so much like a yes that Yukimura feels like he's already won.
[8]
Yellow and black colour the stands. Hundreds of spectators holding banners, cheering loudly, chorusing the same sentence over and over again, like some kind of mantra.
Always win, Rikkai Dai.
"Let's do this," Yukimura says with that cat-like smile that gives him the aura of a predator stalking its prey. "We're taking that embarrasingly huge gold cup home."
The umpire calls his name, and as he walks towards the baseline, a reverent sort of silence takes over the stadium. He tests the bounce of the ball once, twice, and this is it -- this is life.
"National Tournament Finals! Singles 1. One set match. Rikkaidai's Yukimura Seiichi to serve!"
The moment Yukimura throws the ball up in the air, the world grinds to a halt.
[9]
Yukimura runs out of the school building like a man possessed, dashing past befuddled students and groups of girls chatting under trees. He stops just outside the gates, where there is no shade, and when he looks up, the sun blinds him.
"Yanagi here." Renji's voice comes right after the second ring, as always.
Yukimura smiles. "Renji," he says by way of greeting, trying to steady his breath. It feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest, but it's good. He's missed the feel of adrenaline pumping through his veins, he realises. Actually, he's missed quite a lot of stuff. "It's me."
"I should hope so," comes Renji's amused reply. "You sound like you're about to cough up your lungs. Have you taken up marathon-running as a hobby since the last time we talked?"
Yukimura chokes out a laugh, and shakes his head, even though Renji can't see him. He's starting to get weird looks from several people around him but, truth be told, he's never been good at caring what other people think. This is more important, anyway.
"We should hang out sometime, all three of us," he blurts out randomly.
Renji's surprise is palpable even over the phone line (possibly a side-effect of having known each other for almost a decade now), and Yukimura can't really blame him -- he's a bit shocked at his own suggestion, himself, but he's excited too; it's like finally something's about to click into place, somehow. "We should," Renji replies after a moment, and he sounds pleased. Yukimura grins, and his heart speeds up again or its own accord. "Will it be like old times?"
"It won't," Yukimura says, unnecessairily, because it's impossible to go back, and they both know that, "but we should do it anyway."
Yukimura can almost hear Renji's smile when he says, "I'm free on Saturday." Yukimura nods with the phone in his hand and his mind immediately starts replaying images of the three of them eating lunch together under a tree, of Renji dragging him and Sanada to his favourite dingy Indian restaurant, of himself and Renji creeping up behind Sanada and shoving snow under his shirt. "I'll call Genichirou later today."
"I'll do it." He doesn't know how he's going to go about it, or how Sanada's going to react to his words, but he can try. He can make a bet, and maybe Sanada will give him a second chance, but even if he doesn't, Yukimura will be ready to deal with the consequences of his own actions. It's not going to be the way it used to, probably, but it'll still be them.
The rest, he finds, doesn't really matter.