[FIC] "Change the World," Sanada & Kirihara, G
subtitled: sanada's late birthday gift :3
GIP, too. shineq just shared this pic at the right time ;)
Change the World
by MorphailEffect
Why do you like him?
Sanada frowned before he handed the excuse slip back to Yanagi. Then there was no time to waste, he might change his mind and decide not to do this...
He said Akaya's name out loud. He seldom needed to shout, the air over the Rikkaidai practice courts was always tense enough for the softest voice to carry. In response to the summons, a wiry second-year with bright eyes and wild black hair jogged up to Sanada, still carrying his racket.
"Yo, Sanada-fukubuchou," was the casual greeting. "What's up?"
Yanagi glanced over at Sanada, already knowing what he had in mind, and knowing that it was the best solution. There was no reason to treat this like a major sacrifice.
A slight bow of leave-taking to Sanada, then one of acknowledgement to Kirihara, and Yanagi turned to leave. Sanada addressed his team's second-year ace:
"Jackal's mother wrote a note asking his teachers to let him leave early. I'm taking you home today."
"WHAT?!" It could be heard from one end of the court to the other. Some turned, but didn't dare stare.
Obviously it was a major sacrifice for someone else.
"You got a problem with that?"
"I got a choice?" Kirihara was on his way to a tantrum. He was far from tired and the day was ending. Jackal had been something to pick on to relieve the leftover energy: a punching bag, the fun sort, one that kind-of fought back.
On the other hand, he knew from experience, trying to punch this one would just land him a bandaged fist. If he was lucky.
"I have to drop by the student council after practice, so you have fifteen minutes to wait for me. Spend it on swing training."
"Right, whatever."
Sanada turned to leave, and Kirihara stomped back into the court. The non-regulars watched with interest, because they knew if it had been anyone else, that sort of behavior would have been rewarded with a month of cleaning duty.
But it was Kirihara, who somehow always managed to escape light punishment. And when he was told to do swing training, they knew that he would still be following orders while everyone else was already packing up for the day.
************
Sanada always took this route on his way home. Kirihara could take this route, too, but he preferred to traipse through the busier main streets, where there was a chance he could come across (and pester) someone he knew.
This route was quieter, more shaded. It was also in an urban residential area, a shortcut unknown to most other kids. Walking down the almost-empty streets, the two middle schoolers looked like a pair of soldiers who had strayed far from camp.
"...tutorials with Yanagi, then a one-on-one practice session with Marui, to speed up your volleys." That was everything that needed to be said. He looked over at his (utterly bored) companion. "That'll last until lunchtime. So you'd better not make any plans for Saturday morning."
Kirihara grimaced and scratched his head. "Keh. That's no fun. Saturday morning's for playing videogames and stuff..."
The calm, unasked-for reply was, "It isn't supposed to be fun."
And the irritable knee-jerk response: "If you're not having fun, what's the point??"
Sanada said nothing.
Kirihara had always been a problem. He challenged authority for the sake of challenging it.
"But his behavior shows improvement. And he inspires confidence, at least. He's going to be a good leader someday."
The cool winter wind blew unhindered past the buildings and dead branches. It stirred Kirihara's wild hair, and he hunched his shoulders to keep from shuddering.
Sanada glanced over at Kirihara and wondered what the younger boy had to look so displeased about. He liked to feel the wind in his hair. But there were times, even off the courts, when the cap needed to stay on, the way a crown needed to stay on a king's head.
"...God you're boring," Kirihara said eventually.
Sanada's brows drew together. "What? Where'd that come from?"
"Every damn day." One could hear the pout in that answer. "It's like you're not just one year older than me. How do you get like that?"
But when Sanada looked into the younger boy's eyes, expecting malice or challenge, he saw only curiosity. And a touch of concern that was certainly unexpected.
Why do you like him?
He remembered asking this of Yukimura earlier in the year, as they were on their way to their tennis club adviser's office. They had been called in because their "second year ace" had made trouble in a certain go tournament, and the incumbent officers had to take responsibility.
"He reminds me of you in a lot of ways..." he remembered his captain and childhood friend answering, with a kind smile on his face. "You both think you can change the world."
Sanada was about to say something, finally, but Kirihara exclaimed, "Wait up, my shoes..."
Sanada stopped walking and Kirihara dropped down on one knee. His shoelaces had come loose, so he took to conveniently fixing them in the middle of the sidewalk.
By some miracle of chance, Kirihara had done this in front of the house Sanada most hated.
The house belonged to one of Yukimura's doctors. It was the one his family called a friend, trusted implicitly. When he said that Yukimura needed surgery, even if all the other doctors disagreed and said medication would be enough, Yukimura's family listened to him.
Sanada didn't dislike all doctors, but he hated this one. Every day he had to pass by this house, thinking Seiichi would be back with us if it wasn't for you.
There was a rock by the wayside, in front of that doctor's house. It stood out from all the other rocks by being large enough to hold in one hand, and heavy enough to cast at anything and cause sizeable damage.
Sanada had lost count of how many times he had actually picked up that rock and weighed it in his hand, wanting to throw it through the window of the doctor's house and then run, like the kid that he should have been. No one would know it was his fault.
But of course he had no call to do that. It wouldn't be acceptable behavior. The repercussions would be immense if he got caught...
************
"I'm home." He removed his shoes at the front steps, put them aside neatly. A darkness he was growing accustomed to had welcomed him. "The light in the hallway is still out?"
"Welcome home," a soft, tired voice said from the kitchen. "Kenjirou said he would take care of it. But..."
"Is he even here?"
There was no reply from the kitchen.
"Never mind, Okaasan. I'll fix it."
Sanada made his way to his mother, batting off murderous thoughts with every step. His older brother was always off somewhere, wasting his parents' money, the irresponsible bastard. He promised a lot of little personal things, like fixing the light in the hallway, getting a part-time job to help with the expenses, then vanished on them. What else was new.
On the other hand, his father was supposed to be here, too.
He deposited his schoolbag and tennis gear on the kitchen floor, at a corner far from the door, where no one would stumble upon them accidentally. There was no one else in the house except for his mother and himself, but his mother could get so distracted...
"It might be the starter," he said to his mother by way of greeting. "Where did you put the electricals?"
His mother was standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled amazingly good. She looked back over her shoulder, and there was a melancholy, faraway look on her face that was all too familiar.
"Oh...I don't remember, I'm afraid," she answered faintly. "Try the steel cabinet."
They weren't in the steel cabinet, of course. They were in the pantry.
"Okaasan, please put things in their proper places."
"I'm sorry," the woman in the kitchen said, without turning from her job of slowly stirring the soup.
"I'm going to fix the light. Then I'm going to my room."
"...I'll call you when dinner's ready."
"All right."
Fixing the light was easy. Maintaining the house was easy. It was worse to hang around to receive the bills his perennially absent father had left unpaid, and end up contacting his father's second family just to inform them that his father had been slacking off again. It was worse to sacrifice valuable time attending social functions in place of his father, because the "illustrious Sanada clan" always had to have a representative.
Somehow it was always himself and his grandfather in all those functions. His grandfather showed him around as "the heir."
It was worse to be kept from sleep by the very thought of losing in a competition and letting his entire school down, simply because he wasn't strong enough to keep the tradition started by a dear friend.
Sometimes he wanted to break loose from this. From all of this.
But there was too much on his shoulders. He couldn't just shrug them off.
And not everyone was strong enough to take on as much as he could.
Or even wanted to be.
************
Why do you like him?
"Yo," Kirihara said. "Hey, you've just been standing there all this time. What's wrong?"
Sanada looked over at Kirihara. "Ah," he began. He glanced back at the house far from the sidewalk, and mumbled "Nothing."
He could feel Kirihara studying his face -- or whatever of it showed beneath the shadow of the black cap's visor.
Then, before he could see what was happening, Kirihara picked up a rock by the wayside. It stood out from all the other rocks, and his hand wrapped around it like it would around a tennis ball, so comfortably.
And then, with a final friendly grin of understanding, he threw.
"Maybe the two of you can change the world. But neither of you can do it alone."
The shattering could be heard down the street, and in a second people would be looking through their windows to see what the noise was about.
Sanada stood still, struck dumb, as if the stone had gone through him and not the house he most hated.
Kirihara ran ahead. He stopped a few feet away and turned around, regarded his vice captain with that invincible summer grin, the winter wind blowing through his hair.
"Sanada-fukubuchou. If you're not gonna run," he announced, "I'm not gonna get caught with you."
So then, there was no choice.
Sanada ran.
Kirihara stayed ahead of him, laughing sometimes, with a pure unsullied laugh Sanada had heard only too few times before. It moved him to smiling. He would never be able to run that fast, or laugh that loudly...
But the both of them shook the quiet streets. The sound of glass shattering was the gunshot that started the race they were going to win together.
There was no turning back, and there was no saying they were sorry.
GIP, too. shineq just shared this pic at the right time ;)
Change the World
by MorphailEffect
Why do you like him?
Sanada frowned before he handed the excuse slip back to Yanagi. Then there was no time to waste, he might change his mind and decide not to do this...
He said Akaya's name out loud. He seldom needed to shout, the air over the Rikkaidai practice courts was always tense enough for the softest voice to carry. In response to the summons, a wiry second-year with bright eyes and wild black hair jogged up to Sanada, still carrying his racket.
"Yo, Sanada-fukubuchou," was the casual greeting. "What's up?"
Yanagi glanced over at Sanada, already knowing what he had in mind, and knowing that it was the best solution. There was no reason to treat this like a major sacrifice.
A slight bow of leave-taking to Sanada, then one of acknowledgement to Kirihara, and Yanagi turned to leave. Sanada addressed his team's second-year ace:
"Jackal's mother wrote a note asking his teachers to let him leave early. I'm taking you home today."
"WHAT?!" It could be heard from one end of the court to the other. Some turned, but didn't dare stare.
Obviously it was a major sacrifice for someone else.
"You got a problem with that?"
"I got a choice?" Kirihara was on his way to a tantrum. He was far from tired and the day was ending. Jackal had been something to pick on to relieve the leftover energy: a punching bag, the fun sort, one that kind-of fought back.
On the other hand, he knew from experience, trying to punch this one would just land him a bandaged fist. If he was lucky.
"I have to drop by the student council after practice, so you have fifteen minutes to wait for me. Spend it on swing training."
"Right, whatever."
Sanada turned to leave, and Kirihara stomped back into the court. The non-regulars watched with interest, because they knew if it had been anyone else, that sort of behavior would have been rewarded with a month of cleaning duty.
But it was Kirihara, who somehow always managed to escape light punishment. And when he was told to do swing training, they knew that he would still be following orders while everyone else was already packing up for the day.
************
Sanada always took this route on his way home. Kirihara could take this route, too, but he preferred to traipse through the busier main streets, where there was a chance he could come across (and pester) someone he knew.
This route was quieter, more shaded. It was also in an urban residential area, a shortcut unknown to most other kids. Walking down the almost-empty streets, the two middle schoolers looked like a pair of soldiers who had strayed far from camp.
"...tutorials with Yanagi, then a one-on-one practice session with Marui, to speed up your volleys." That was everything that needed to be said. He looked over at his (utterly bored) companion. "That'll last until lunchtime. So you'd better not make any plans for Saturday morning."
Kirihara grimaced and scratched his head. "Keh. That's no fun. Saturday morning's for playing videogames and stuff..."
The calm, unasked-for reply was, "It isn't supposed to be fun."
And the irritable knee-jerk response: "If you're not having fun, what's the point??"
Sanada said nothing.
Kirihara had always been a problem. He challenged authority for the sake of challenging it.
"But his behavior shows improvement. And he inspires confidence, at least. He's going to be a good leader someday."
The cool winter wind blew unhindered past the buildings and dead branches. It stirred Kirihara's wild hair, and he hunched his shoulders to keep from shuddering.
Sanada glanced over at Kirihara and wondered what the younger boy had to look so displeased about. He liked to feel the wind in his hair. But there were times, even off the courts, when the cap needed to stay on, the way a crown needed to stay on a king's head.
"...God you're boring," Kirihara said eventually.
Sanada's brows drew together. "What? Where'd that come from?"
"Every damn day." One could hear the pout in that answer. "It's like you're not just one year older than me. How do you get like that?"
But when Sanada looked into the younger boy's eyes, expecting malice or challenge, he saw only curiosity. And a touch of concern that was certainly unexpected.
Why do you like him?
He remembered asking this of Yukimura earlier in the year, as they were on their way to their tennis club adviser's office. They had been called in because their "second year ace" had made trouble in a certain go tournament, and the incumbent officers had to take responsibility.
"He reminds me of you in a lot of ways..." he remembered his captain and childhood friend answering, with a kind smile on his face. "You both think you can change the world."
Sanada was about to say something, finally, but Kirihara exclaimed, "Wait up, my shoes..."
Sanada stopped walking and Kirihara dropped down on one knee. His shoelaces had come loose, so he took to conveniently fixing them in the middle of the sidewalk.
By some miracle of chance, Kirihara had done this in front of the house Sanada most hated.
The house belonged to one of Yukimura's doctors. It was the one his family called a friend, trusted implicitly. When he said that Yukimura needed surgery, even if all the other doctors disagreed and said medication would be enough, Yukimura's family listened to him.
Sanada didn't dislike all doctors, but he hated this one. Every day he had to pass by this house, thinking Seiichi would be back with us if it wasn't for you.
There was a rock by the wayside, in front of that doctor's house. It stood out from all the other rocks by being large enough to hold in one hand, and heavy enough to cast at anything and cause sizeable damage.
Sanada had lost count of how many times he had actually picked up that rock and weighed it in his hand, wanting to throw it through the window of the doctor's house and then run, like the kid that he should have been. No one would know it was his fault.
But of course he had no call to do that. It wouldn't be acceptable behavior. The repercussions would be immense if he got caught...
************
"I'm home." He removed his shoes at the front steps, put them aside neatly. A darkness he was growing accustomed to had welcomed him. "The light in the hallway is still out?"
"Welcome home," a soft, tired voice said from the kitchen. "Kenjirou said he would take care of it. But..."
"Is he even here?"
There was no reply from the kitchen.
"Never mind, Okaasan. I'll fix it."
Sanada made his way to his mother, batting off murderous thoughts with every step. His older brother was always off somewhere, wasting his parents' money, the irresponsible bastard. He promised a lot of little personal things, like fixing the light in the hallway, getting a part-time job to help with the expenses, then vanished on them. What else was new.
On the other hand, his father was supposed to be here, too.
He deposited his schoolbag and tennis gear on the kitchen floor, at a corner far from the door, where no one would stumble upon them accidentally. There was no one else in the house except for his mother and himself, but his mother could get so distracted...
"It might be the starter," he said to his mother by way of greeting. "Where did you put the electricals?"
His mother was standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled amazingly good. She looked back over her shoulder, and there was a melancholy, faraway look on her face that was all too familiar.
"Oh...I don't remember, I'm afraid," she answered faintly. "Try the steel cabinet."
They weren't in the steel cabinet, of course. They were in the pantry.
"Okaasan, please put things in their proper places."
"I'm sorry," the woman in the kitchen said, without turning from her job of slowly stirring the soup.
"I'm going to fix the light. Then I'm going to my room."
"...I'll call you when dinner's ready."
"All right."
Fixing the light was easy. Maintaining the house was easy. It was worse to hang around to receive the bills his perennially absent father had left unpaid, and end up contacting his father's second family just to inform them that his father had been slacking off again. It was worse to sacrifice valuable time attending social functions in place of his father, because the "illustrious Sanada clan" always had to have a representative.
Somehow it was always himself and his grandfather in all those functions. His grandfather showed him around as "the heir."
It was worse to be kept from sleep by the very thought of losing in a competition and letting his entire school down, simply because he wasn't strong enough to keep the tradition started by a dear friend.
Sometimes he wanted to break loose from this. From all of this.
But there was too much on his shoulders. He couldn't just shrug them off.
And not everyone was strong enough to take on as much as he could.
Or even wanted to be.
************
Why do you like him?
"Yo," Kirihara said. "Hey, you've just been standing there all this time. What's wrong?"
Sanada looked over at Kirihara. "Ah," he began. He glanced back at the house far from the sidewalk, and mumbled "Nothing."
He could feel Kirihara studying his face -- or whatever of it showed beneath the shadow of the black cap's visor.
Then, before he could see what was happening, Kirihara picked up a rock by the wayside. It stood out from all the other rocks, and his hand wrapped around it like it would around a tennis ball, so comfortably.
And then, with a final friendly grin of understanding, he threw.
"Maybe the two of you can change the world. But neither of you can do it alone."
The shattering could be heard down the street, and in a second people would be looking through their windows to see what the noise was about.
Sanada stood still, struck dumb, as if the stone had gone through him and not the house he most hated.
Kirihara ran ahead. He stopped a few feet away and turned around, regarded his vice captain with that invincible summer grin, the winter wind blowing through his hair.
"Sanada-fukubuchou. If you're not gonna run," he announced, "I'm not gonna get caught with you."
So then, there was no choice.
Sanada ran.
Kirihara stayed ahead of him, laughing sometimes, with a pure unsullied laugh Sanada had heard only too few times before. It moved him to smiling. He would never be able to run that fast, or laugh that loudly...
But the both of them shook the quiet streets. The sound of glass shattering was the gunshot that started the race they were going to win together.
There was no turning back, and there was no saying they were sorry.