[lakeplacid]
Title: Our Own Time
ID: [lakeplacid]
Word count: 4,200
Character(s) or pairing(s): Oshitari Yuushi / Atobe Keigo, Shishido Ryou / Ohtori Choutarou, Hyoutei ensemble
From the start, they never saw eye-to-eye, much less looked each other in the eye.
He was the rightful heir of a melting castle. A returned king expecting a heroes’ welcome and they fell in line at his feet, all ready to worship. Bent knees and downcast gaze. Who dared look upon his grace? He spoke and his words were to become the law. So by his heel, he swept new life into an organization fat on its laurels. It was a time of change, time for a new dynasty and his legend to rise. Every dynamic revolution called for a great leader and Hyoutei’s tennis club was not spared.
Oshitari Yuushi was no royalty, more of a scribe than a knight, preferring romantic words to bloody swords. And as much as he adored damsels and knights, tea and scones, he never liked kings. Kings were always pompous old farts, with thrones too high and too far away to rule. What made it worse was that, this king’s smirk was disturbing, disarming and most of all, distracting. Like now, Oshitari sighed.
“You with the glasses, you got a problem?”
His ears perked at the word ‘glasses’ and their eyes met for the first time. There were no sparks or an earth shattering rush of blood, nothing of that sort. Atobe didn’t give him the time of the day and the king was gone before the scribe could give some sort of an excuse for staring. It was then he finally understood why it was rude to stare.
It got under the skin of even kings.
Atobe was named youngest Captain of the Hyoutei Tennis Club in a week. He got rid of his vice-captain in another. And Oshitari thought it took him long enough.
- - -
After the epic match, Atobe was the first to leave. By the start of the awards ceremony, Hiyoshi was nowhere to be found. Jirou was permanently stationed at the Rikkai side of the grounds with Gakuto at his side. Some time after the officials announced Seigaku to be the winner, Shishido had stormed off with Choutarou in his wake. Oshitari waited till the fan girls left before he approached Tezuka, then Sanada.
A firm handshake, an identical message, and he left them reeling with words that did not belong to him. There were other things to do now, other priorities. There’s more to life than tennis. That thought left a bittersweet aftertaste in his throat.
It began to pour as he picked up his violin. Oshitari emptied his mind with it.
The handshake. Good game, it was a tough fight. Oh by the way, Atobe still wants his re-match. Oshitari didn’t wait for an answer. He knew their answers. Because it can’t be over just like that, it cannot just end like this.
Hiyoshi led the last few practices and they don’t mention the Nationals again.
- - -
When his violin teacher asked about the Nationals, Oshitari gave her a bemused look.
“It’s like after an earthquake, with the land evened and the houses rebuilt, who’s to know that an earthquake happened there or that it buried people alive?” She laughed.
“You read too much.” Oshitari answered her with the first note of his audition piece.
He closed his eyes, bow taut on strings, letting the images come to him. Carmen Fantasie. Untamed, wild and free, everything Hyoutei was not. The day they had been waiting for ended like any other day. The matches of blood and sweat, tactics and strategies became nothing but echoes on other people’s lips. He tucked the violin deeper into his shoulder and poured in the unspoken words and leftover frustration.
The D string snapped the same time Oshitari felt something inside him die. Tennis was over. He slowly opened his eyes and offered his teacher an apologetic look.
But she shook her head at him, a small smile played on her lips as she removed the violin from his hand. “My bad, I was…” Oshitari started awkwardly.
“It’s your dream isn’t it?”
Oshitari inhaled sharply at those words. She cut into him with eyes so kind it threatened to kill him with her understanding. There was this pregnant pause as a million voices invaded his head, voices with a name and a feeling. Oshitari hadn’t realised he was spacing out till she placed her hand on his white knuckle.
“Yuushi…” He blinked and still her smile refused to go away.
“It’s going to break.” She meant his bow but her words suddenly felt like checkmate.
Not our dreams. Yet, he couldn’t help considering what they were left with, now that tennis was no longer a valid excuse. He let her take his remaining bow. Her hand was like his. Calloused, rough around the edges with half moon dents on fingertips. Battle scars so alike his and yet completely different.
“You need to be gentle Yuushi,” she continued, oblivious to the change in her student, as she got out the repair kit. For a while, the only sounds in the room were hard pelts of the rain against the window and two people breathing, one harder than the other.
“Instruments have fragile souls, Yuushi. They break like hearts.” And Oshitari felt his threaten to rupture when she returned him the violin, as good as new.
“We won’t want our dreams to break like strings, no?” Oshitari’s answer to her was the same as before. Carmen Fantasie, albeit controlled and cautious now.
It’s like after a broken string is fixed, who’s to know that it’s different now?
- - -
The week later, Oshitari cleared the entrance exam to a prestigious music college in Vienna. After his teacher and parents, he shared the news with one other person.
“I made it.” There was no response on the other end but Oshitari knew he was listening. If he held the phone nearer, he could imagine the other’s lips near his ear.
“I’ll be leaving for Vienna the night of our graduation. I won’t be coming back for…”
There was a sharp click and then a dial tone. Staring at his mobile, Oshitari frowned.
- - -
“Yuushi! Why are you learning German? It’s not like you’re going…”
Oshitari tore his gaze from his German dictionary in time to see a flash of blue and white, and then a familiar blazer dumped unceremoniously on Gakuto’s head, which was what cut him off. It’s not his, Oshitari mused, eyes following the body of blue and white that just arrived. The clubroom door slammed shut again. Another blue and white tripped in, this time, taller and stockier than the previous.
“Shishido-san!”
The clubroom was tersely quiet except for Ohtori’s panting. The junior took one look at Gakuto’s new headwear and Shishido’s confused scowl, and quickly put two and two together. Clearing the distance in two large strides, he was ramrod straight as he bowed low before the redhead, who was still sporting his new headgear.
Oshitari could barely see his doubles partner from where he sat. Choutarou grew taller again. Hm. Shishido has this last week to get it on… he thought.
“I’m very sorry Mukahi-senpai. Atobe-san told me to bring Akutagawa-senpai his blazer jacket but Shishido-san was coming first so I thought it would be best if he…”
Ohtori never got to finish his explanation. The blazer flew across the clubroom, slapping Shishido by the back of his head. There was silence and then hijinks ensued.
- - -
Oshitari cleverly moved out of the clubroom battleground. Changing into his uniform would take him a quarter of the time they took to settle the dispute, and if worse came to worse, he was sure a smile would get him off the hook with his homeroom tutor.
Only when the door clicked shut behind him did he remember seeing blonde curls buried beneath the pile of new regular jerseys in the clubroom. Jirou could sleep through an earthquake. He wondered if the blonde ever dreamed of graduating.
He was about to sit and peruse the finer points of the German language when an accusing voice demanded his attention. “Why haven’t you changed?”
It wasn’t a question, Oshitari knew, but before he could face the dictatorial owner of said words, the clubroom door flew open. A scramble of red and blue knocked his dictionary to the ground. Then came a flash of blue and white, animalistic sounds and a blur of brown. Atobe’s sudden side step and a pointed nudge from nowhere were all it took for Oshitari to lose his balance. His vision became a sea of itchy brown. It stank of old sweat and expired, sugared treats. His last thought was Jirou.
- - -
Apparently, Hiyoshi broke his fall, so Oshitari escaped with a bump and broken glasses. He hadn’t noticed the junior-- no captain-to-be, lurking behind Atobe then.
Gakuto was making a mess out of his glasses, but Oshitari indulged his doubles partner. He didn’t have the heart to tell the redhead that a little tape at the corner would do the trick since Gakuto had dug out a roll as big as his fist and was currently, enthusiastically taping every square inch possible. Oshitari wondered if malfunctioning glasses and a near concussion were enough reason to get out of class.
He was drawn from his reverie when he sensed a sudden motion to his right. Shishido had just thrown a tube in his direction but Oshitari made no move to catch it and the tube landed on the pile of new regular jerseys. Jirou did not stir.
“Rub that on your bump stupid,” Shishido grunted as he finally stopped throwing things out of his locker. The brunette flung his cap violently into the upper shelf of his locker, cuffed his flattened hair and kicked the tin of ointment at his feet. It ricocheted behind Ohtori and the tall boy made a grab for it. He missed by a hair’s breadth.
Ohtori sighed as Shishido’s assortment of injury products began to roll further away.
“Apology accepted,” Oshitari replied with a little smile as he pocketed the tube.
“I ain’t apologizing!” A little roll of bandages began to unravel. Ohtori bit his lip.
“There Yuushi! Good as new!” Oshitari’s eyes widened a sliver as Gakuto suddenly became all that he could see. Blue cat-like eyes, too large for his face and… since when did Gakuto have freckles? Ah. The tennis training camp at Atobe’s… where Gakuto vanished with Hiyoshi, Oshitari recalled. The redhead positioned the round glasses on his nose and paused, staring for a moment too long and a little too close. Oshitari gazed back unblinkingly, mirth apparent behind cracked glasses.
A loud cough was all it took to set Gakuto back to reality and Oshitari turned to see a signature Hiyoshi look - the shroom glare, as christened by Shishido. Hiyoshi stood beside Atobe, not fighting Kabaji’s position. And for a second, Oshitari saw Hiyoshi frown but when he looked back, Hiyoshi was gone. Trick of the light. Right. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the blue haired boy hoped that Gakuto’s fingerprint marks would not stay after he removed the tape.
“Thanks Gakuto.” The redhead beamed before shooting Shishido a dirty look.
Folded arms, tilted head and a singsong. “It’s your fault anyway.”
“You started it!” Shishido’s jaw tightened.
Gakuto stomped his feet and snarled. “Excuse me, you were the one who…”
The school bell rang and there was another mad rush, curses and dignity all forgotten. Limbs and clothes, browns and whites, Kabaji shouldering Jirou like a potato sack, Shishido chasing after Gakuto, Ohtori locking Shishido’s locker and finally, silence.
The two left behind don’t move for the longest time, Oshitari hunched over the bench and Atobe leaned against Hiyoshi’s locker. They were both waiting it out, a battle of wills and resistance. Oshitari made the mistake of removing his glasses and lifting his gaze. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and he knew he was going to lose.
Atobe’s lithe frame reminded Oshitari of Gakuto’s as he pushed the other hard against the metal lockers. Till then, the brunette refused to yield, cobalt eyes flashing with defiance. So Oshitari leaned deeper into him, eliminating as much distance as he could without touching till he was impossible to ignore. Atobe smelled of musk, expensive musk, the kind Oshitari associated with Greek mythology and old castles.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Atobe’s voice had the same timbre of a cello.
“Never hang up on me.” And Oshitari’s pressed his lazy smile onto Atobe’s lips.
It was their first kiss.
The gentlest kiss. Because Atobe, like his violin, had a fragile soul.
- - -
It wasn’t planned but they somehow always ended up walking to class together. Atobe needed to lock the clubroom and Oshitari was always the last to leave. The blue haired boy gave him a lopsided smile, mumbling German as he shuffled out.
Wordlessly, Atobe dropped the keys on Oshitari’s open dictionary.
“It’s hideous.” Oshitari couldn’t tell if Atobe was referring to his butchering of German or his patchwork glasses and he had a feeling asking was out of the question.
So quickly, the bespectacled boy locked the clubroom and jiggled the handle for an effect. Atobe had sauntered off ahead without him, so Oshitari pocketed the keys. They made a little dull clang against Shishido’s tube as he chased after the brunette. Atobe did not ask for them and Oshitari forgot which noun he stopped at.
For their last few practices, Oshitari took over the locking of the clubroom and Atobe became the last to leave. Hiyoshi and Gakuto could never find an excuse to stay.
- - -
“Jirou! You drooled on Choutarou duffel bag!”
“Shishido-san, it’s okay.” A flustered Ohtori was at his side at once. Jirou rubbed his bleary eyes, tilting his head at the pair before him. “Don’t mind Akutagawa-senpai.”
“Hm?” The blonde blinked confusedly until Shishido pointed to the lump beside him.
“Oh. Chou Chou’s bag was the softest thing around,” Jirou explained matter-of-factly. Shishido’s glare flickered in the face of a smile made of sunshine and innocence.
“Don’t you have anything else to sleep on?” Shishido pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Chou Chou smells nice Shi Shi, you smell it too!” Jirou enthusiastically stuffed the duffel into Shishido’s face. Caught unaware, the brunette crashed against Ohtori, arms and legs flailing as they tripped like dominoes. The pair ended up tangled on the floor with the contents of Ohtori’s duffel bag strewn all over. Jirou chuckled sheepishly.
“Get a room Shishido,” Gakuto snickered wickedly and Ohtori blushed crimson.
“You’re not very intimidating when you look like a monkey’s ass,” Gakuto laughed louder at Shishido’s patented look of hate. The clubroom door swung open.
“Ne Yuushi, don’t you think Shishido looks constipated?”
Oshitari knew there was no point in telling Gakuto to desist. The redhead could never refuse any opportunity to ruffle Shishido’s feathers. Last chance tomorrow.
But before he could warn Gakuto not to take it too far, Shishido threw a shoe and the redhead ducked behind Hiyoshi who just entered. It hit Hiyoshi squarely in the face.
Seeing Hiyoshi’s murderous expression, Oshitari remembered the new regular jerseys. They were gone now. Tuning out the new quarrel behind him, he spied a look at Atobe to find the other deep in some sort of one-sided conversation with Kabaji. No wonder Jirou had to find something new to snooze on, he thought.
“Five laps,” Hiyoshi said, the words sounded wrong from those lips, like the way the official language of Vienna made Oshitari’s tongue all thick and cumbersome.
“Both of you,” he added at Gakuto’s gleeful look. The redhead froze, a flicker of hurt clouded his eyes and the air in the clubroom turned icy.
“You’re not my captain,” Shishido muttered under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear. Oshitari felt his heart swell fiercely and he hoped Atobe heard it.
At that, Shishido pushed past Hiyoshi. The bang of the clubroom door was deafening. Ohtori scrambled to his feet, threw his new captain a desperate look, as if begging for understanding, and rushed out. Gakuto took a step back in disbelief before following suit. It suddenly felt like betrayal, the coup d’état kind from novels Oshitari pilfered from the library and he wasn’t sure if he was on the winning team. The stagnant silence spoke volumes, as if daring either of them to move and break it.
Hiyoshi locked eyes with him for a moment and Oshitari thought he saw something akin to hurt. He blinked and it was gone, Hiyoshi was his usual unperturbed self again. He opened his locker and an avalanche of sugary treats exploded from within.
“Presents for Hiyo-piyo!” Jirou squealed from behind, glomping the new captain indiscriminately. They had almost forgotten the other’s presence in the clubroom.
“For becoming Captain!” The blonde was all smiles as he rambled on about the miraculous qualities of Pocky and how Hiyoshi should include it in the training menu.
Bless his heart, Oshitari prayed as he ruffled Jirou’s curls and shut Hiyoshi’s now-empty locker, snacks on the floor. He watched amusedly as Jirou steered Hiyoshi out of the clubroom, jabbering excitedly about Shi Shi, Chou Chou and Ga-chan.
“Usu.”
Even from afar, Oshitari couldn’t miss the characteristic ‘Usu’. He saw Atobe turn away before Kabaji finished bowing. The giant hesitated at the clubroom door. There was a split second pause and Oshitari felt something sour as Kabaji took his leave.
They were alone and Atobe did not acknowledge his presence. Again.
“Today’s the last practice isn’t it?” Atobe deigned not to answer. Instead he pulled off his regular jersey and draped it over the handle of Hiyoshi’s locker. Oshitari felt a pang in his stomach and it wasn’t hunger. He didn’t understand this sudden insane need for stealing that jersey and Oshitari brushed it away as hunger pangs.
“Did you clear out your locker?” Oshitari tried again as the brunette strode past.
Atobe pretended not to hear him and continued to make his way out of the clubroom.
A smirk and his hands move on reflex, fingers curled tightly round Atobe’s wrist as he held the other back. “You’re a drama king till the end,” Oshitari drawled lazily.
Reluctantly, Atobe faced him, a mix of resentment and boredom apparent on his face.
“Handing over captaincy meant getting out of Hiyoshi’s face and letting him take control,” Oshitari paused and in a lower tone, he mumbled, “Leaving your things behind won’t do, Keigo.” Your shadow’s everywhere, he kept it to himself.
Atobe’s gaze bored a hole into him, as if anticipating more. But there were none, so the topic died and silence engulfed them. It was becoming a regular occurrence now.
A beat and then a step. Oshitari’s vision was obscured as Atobe picked off his glasses. The blue haired boy barely had time to tilt his head or grab something for balance because the brunette was on him faster than expected. It was a heady feeling, hard and needy. All he could do was return kiss after kiss, burning, urgent and mind absorbing.
Oshitari almost laughed at the thought of a desperate king. Maybe he remembered what day tomorr… Oshitari stopped thinking altogether when Atobe’s lips started a dance down his neck that made his spine dissolve. Not to be one upped, Oshitari tugged the brunette up and crushed him with an open-mouthed kiss. Atobe pulled violently at his collar, as if trying to convey what he couldn’t bring himself to say.
This was how Carmen Fantasie should sound, Oshitari decided giddily. An abandonment akin to the last day on Earth, wanton, passionate and downright beautiful. Two bodies melded together, their souls clashing, begging, needing, wanting, the very image of parallel lines forced to collide. They only stop when their brains were high from the lack of oxygen and still they feel the rising discontent.
Atobe didn’t need to say a word and Oshitari wished he didn’t understand. He could feel the fear in Atobe’s pounding heartbeat but kings would never allow themselves to appear weak. Kings had to lead and subjects dutifully followed. But Atobe was tired of leading and Oshitari was never the submissive sort. So they danced to their own rhythm and it was exactly how their relationship, or the lack of it or whatever Atobe decided to call it, played out - a song of fire and ice, dominance and seduction.
“This isn’t love,” Atobe whispered, breath hot against Oshitari’s ears as they came together again, lips on lips, skin on skin, not caring if it was going to bruise.
“Of course not,” Oshitari’s hands ghosted down his spine, forcing Atobe to arc back.
“You’re a bad habit.” And Oshitari murmured his agreement into Atobe’s neck.
Kings don’t fall in love, they leave that to the princes and we’re no princesses.
Even between kisses, neither spoke of the impending graduation ceremony.
- - -
That day, lunch was a noisy affair. Kabaji came by with Ohtori, pushing papers that needed signatures to Atobe. The brunette gave him one look and Kabaji turned to Hiyoshi. Jirou happily stole Hiyoshi’s lunch as the other inspected the paperwork.
“There is a pop quiz later.” Atobe didn’t react to Oshitari’s helpful news.
“Why the hell are they testing us when we’re graduating tomorrow?” Shishido continued to rail and rail to nobody in particular. Gakuto scoffed and Ohtori flinched but Oshitari wasn’t listening. He stole a look at Atobe. The brunette’s eyes were feral.
Shishido narrowed his eyes, casting doubt on Oshitari. “How do you know?”
“Yuushi always knows,” Gakuto’s reaction was immediate as he sneered at Shishido.
“It’s like his Tensai sense tingling. You won’t understand of course, you speak grunt.” Nobody noticed Ohtori sliding in between Shishido and Gakuto.
“Why you little…” Shishido would have twisted Gakuto’s neck if it weren’t for Jirou falling onto him sleepily. He ended up piggybacking the blonde to their next class.
Hiyoshi trailed behind with Kabaji and Oshitari figured it was now or never.
“I told them you wanted a re-match,” he said, nose buried in his German dictionary.
There was no question of who or what or when. “I didn’t ask you to,” Atobe spat.
Oshitari smiled knowingly. “You’re welcome.” The room hushed as Atobe entered.
Atobe was the only one to ace the test.
- - -
“Hiyoshi.”
The brunette was devoid of expression when he turned to him. Hiyoshi was clutching Atobe’s regular jacket like it meant something more and Oshitari suddenly felt like he was intruding into something personal. The day before, he had left the clubroom unlocked and now, the new peace in it felt foreign. Everyone else was going to the graduation hall but Oshitari had to do this. He handed over the clubroom keys.
“It’s your time now,” Oshitari said with his back to the brunette. He stopped in mid-step, nudged the box at door, before closing the clubroom’s door one last time.
Oshitari knew it wouldn’t take very long for Hiyoshi to wish he never opened the box. Pandora’s box, he smiled languidly. Except filled to the brim with the graduating regulars’ jerseys and the only candid shot of the them from Nationals.
Taped to the box was a contact sheet of all third years, even non-regulars, minus Atobe and Oshitari. On the other recycled side was the treasury report in Taki’s loopy handwriting but it was the signature that caught Hiyoshi’s eye. Cocksure and graceful it seemed to fly out at him. Hiyoshi silently vowed to practice his signature. The brunette tacked it to the club notice board and shoved the box into Atobe’s locker. That locker became a shrine, never to be used again by any Hyoutei individual.
- - -
That night, Oshitari flew. He departed on a red-eye flight, leaving his teary mother in the arms of his father. He was leaving for their dreams and his too.
His long-time music teacher couldn’t be prouder when she handed him her handy repair kit. “For those rainy days,” she smiled and he knew it meant something more.
The blue haired boy didn’t wait. He hugged them, smiled one more time and left.
But he turned back. Once. Twice. And that was it.
- - -
He didn’t get the window seat. But the girl beside him seemed to share the same wavelength as his, because at the crack of dawn, the window shade slid up.
It was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. Blue skies on sun kissed clouds.
Oshitari heard that distinctive voice in his head. Stupid romantic fool, I hope you choke on Wien cuisine. And that kept him warm for the rest of the flight.
Still grinning, he pried open the repair kit and out fluttered a slip of paper.
See the world through their eyes Yuushi. Play them a song of love.
Oshitari Yuushi lifted his gaze to the window and saw blue.
Blue eyes blue.
- - -