PoT: persona/mantra (kirihara)
heyyyyyy, rikkai brigade. kirihara gen drabble. ambiguously gay yanagi/kirihara. written today because I am so sick of looking at my Tezuka/Fuji fic. do not expect it to make a lot of sense. also completely ignored Yukimura's surgery, because then I'd actually have to mention it, and this thing would not be drabble length, and I have absolutely no time to get into another fic.
why kirihara? because he reminds me of gaara in a way. automatic love, yo.
edit// I don't have a kirihara icon. why don't I have a kirihara icon? :O!
Personal hygiene rates on the lower half of Kirihara's priorities list, below tennis, sleep, video games, and food; appearance rates even lower, almost to the point of where schoolwork creeps up on it. Nails don't even make the list. Which is most unfortunate, Marui complains, because he's sure Kirihara's nails qualify as a public health hazard. He constantly forgets to cut them, hardly ever bites his nails, and they sort of just, well, grow. To make it worse, Kirihara refuses to eat vegetables and the lack of vitamin makes the top of the nails crack easily, forming small jagged fragments that draw blood at first contact. His racket is bruised with scattered crescent imprints from where he grips the racket and sometimes at practice, he'll forget himself and run his hands along the metal cross-wire fences bordering the tennis courts, wincing when the blood pools at his fingertips.
The habit starts second year, during class (specifically math and Japanese lessons) and the nights before tennis ranking matches. Kirihara peels the outer layer of the nail off, each layer thin and sharp, and when he's not careful, he'll sometimes prick his fingerpads or peel off too much. His racket is usually spotted with red smears whenever he does that by accident, and Kirihara is forced to tighten his grip, pain throbbing through his head down his arms and wrists, but he thinks of it as validation of hard work, the suffering and dark red tips of his fingers. If the other tennis Regulars notice, they don't say anything about it, not to Kirihara, not to something like that, not since they don't officially have a captain. Yanagi had made a comment, once, after a practice match about Kirihara's grip weakening, and the next day, Kirihara had held his racket so forcefully that the knuckles were white along the edges and his hands looked deformed, one row of colorless skin between two strips of red. No one tried after that.
Playing Fuji is like one long split nail for Kirihara. The entire duration of the match, all he can feel is the blood ripping through his body, pounding and loud and everywhere at once, invading every one of his senses, so much that all he sees is in shades of red and white, his vision clouded to the point that the sweat running down his body looks and feels like something else, something familiar, something real and grim and dominant.
So when he loses, the final point counted, final step taken, final ball served and hit and missed, everything rushes back into color, and it's enough to knock him off balance, this lack of substance. The rest of the day passes in a fog of clarity, objects sharply in focus and completely lost to his memory.
Kirihara arrives to practice early the day after the tournament, open flesh wounds covering both of his palms, his arms, his face, anywhere that his fingers might have touched even once. Yanagi wordlessly takes out the first aid kit when he sees him, and Kirihara sits down obediently as he prepares the alcohol swabs and bandages. Yanagi inspects his hand, pressing lightly on the gashes with his thumb, and sighs disapprovingly.
"You need to stop doing this. You're not going to be able to play tennis if you keep this up," he tells him, voice almost as soft as the hand bandaging the cuts. Kirihara looks down and doesn't know what to say, how to tell him that his body's gone numb, that he's lost something vital that he can't get back, not even with all the blood, and he can't feel the sting of the alcohol on his open skin, can't feel anything at all.
Kirihara knows it's something Yanagi wouldn't understand, because he can see Yanagi's hands, and they're as pale and smooth as the lines on the tennis court.
A/N: Curious, really, but how many of you prefer the old comment page to this one? I've always preferred the white, universal thing, but I really do like the color combinations for this layout. Still, I'm thinking about changing back, so.
why kirihara? because he reminds me of gaara in a way. automatic love, yo.
edit// I don't have a kirihara icon. why don't I have a kirihara icon? :O!
Personal hygiene rates on the lower half of Kirihara's priorities list, below tennis, sleep, video games, and food; appearance rates even lower, almost to the point of where schoolwork creeps up on it. Nails don't even make the list. Which is most unfortunate, Marui complains, because he's sure Kirihara's nails qualify as a public health hazard. He constantly forgets to cut them, hardly ever bites his nails, and they sort of just, well, grow. To make it worse, Kirihara refuses to eat vegetables and the lack of vitamin makes the top of the nails crack easily, forming small jagged fragments that draw blood at first contact. His racket is bruised with scattered crescent imprints from where he grips the racket and sometimes at practice, he'll forget himself and run his hands along the metal cross-wire fences bordering the tennis courts, wincing when the blood pools at his fingertips.
The habit starts second year, during class (specifically math and Japanese lessons) and the nights before tennis ranking matches. Kirihara peels the outer layer of the nail off, each layer thin and sharp, and when he's not careful, he'll sometimes prick his fingerpads or peel off too much. His racket is usually spotted with red smears whenever he does that by accident, and Kirihara is forced to tighten his grip, pain throbbing through his head down his arms and wrists, but he thinks of it as validation of hard work, the suffering and dark red tips of his fingers. If the other tennis Regulars notice, they don't say anything about it, not to Kirihara, not to something like that, not since they don't officially have a captain. Yanagi had made a comment, once, after a practice match about Kirihara's grip weakening, and the next day, Kirihara had held his racket so forcefully that the knuckles were white along the edges and his hands looked deformed, one row of colorless skin between two strips of red. No one tried after that.
Playing Fuji is like one long split nail for Kirihara. The entire duration of the match, all he can feel is the blood ripping through his body, pounding and loud and everywhere at once, invading every one of his senses, so much that all he sees is in shades of red and white, his vision clouded to the point that the sweat running down his body looks and feels like something else, something familiar, something real and grim and dominant.
So when he loses, the final point counted, final step taken, final ball served and hit and missed, everything rushes back into color, and it's enough to knock him off balance, this lack of substance. The rest of the day passes in a fog of clarity, objects sharply in focus and completely lost to his memory.
Kirihara arrives to practice early the day after the tournament, open flesh wounds covering both of his palms, his arms, his face, anywhere that his fingers might have touched even once. Yanagi wordlessly takes out the first aid kit when he sees him, and Kirihara sits down obediently as he prepares the alcohol swabs and bandages. Yanagi inspects his hand, pressing lightly on the gashes with his thumb, and sighs disapprovingly.
"You need to stop doing this. You're not going to be able to play tennis if you keep this up," he tells him, voice almost as soft as the hand bandaging the cuts. Kirihara looks down and doesn't know what to say, how to tell him that his body's gone numb, that he's lost something vital that he can't get back, not even with all the blood, and he can't feel the sting of the alcohol on his open skin, can't feel anything at all.
Kirihara knows it's something Yanagi wouldn't understand, because he can see Yanagi's hands, and they're as pale and smooth as the lines on the tennis court.
A/N: Curious, really, but how many of you prefer the old comment page to this one? I've always preferred the white, universal thing, but I really do like the color combinations for this layout. Still, I'm thinking about changing back, so.