Rubix Cube (Tenipuri, Yukimura/Sanada)
Rubix Cube
Tenipuri; Yukimura/Sanada
PG; 3571 words
"They leave Kanagawa during a light snowfall, Yukimura with a wistful smile upon his face and Sanada with an inexplicable feeling in his heart."
For subrosa_tennis.
They leave Kanagawa during a light snowfall, Yukimura with a wistful smile upon his face and Sanada with an inexplicable feeling in his heart.
When Yukimura invites Sanada, Sanada says yes right away. It's not that he doesn't say no; it's more that Sanada can't say no. He has never been able to say no to Yukimura, not even when they first met three years ago.
The fact that his parents may tell him no doesn't even enter Sanada's mind. Even if they do, Sanada would go anyway, no matter the consequences. He doesn't know how to refuse Yukimura, and he never will.
Sanada doesn't know if that's a curse or a blessing or maybe neither or both at the same time.
On the plane ride to Hokkaido, they sit together. Yukimura sits by the window, and he idly traces words on the fogged-up glass, hiragana and kanji here and there that all say something but may mean nothing at all. Sanada can't see what Yukimura's writing, but Yukimura is also blocking the words. Sanada doesn't try because Yukimura doesn't want him to see, but he wants to know.
The sun shining through the window is pale light making Yukimura's words shine, and everything takes on a faint golden tinge. When Yukimura leaves for the restroom, Sanada looks at the window. He sees love and tennis and Sanada and Yukimura and nationals all mixed together into a huge mess of words. They mean nothing to him, but somehow, they connect in some way to Yukimura, and Sanada wonders.
He traces the kanji for love on his fold-down tray before Yukimura comes back, and Sanada wonders how different his and Yukimura's would look on paper.
Yukimura says it's to thank him for taking care of the team and visiting him all the time while he was in the hospital. Sanada thinks that any respectable fukubuchou would do what he did, look after the team and keep the buchou up to date, especially if said team won nationals twice in a row and said team's buchou is indispensable. Besides, they are friends, and any friend would visit his sick friend in the hospital. Plus it's Yukimura, and that's probably the most important reason of all. Sanada doesn't think anyone can refuse Yukimura, would refuse Yukimura. He knows that he can't, and any person who would is a fool.
"You'll go, won't you?" And Sanada is trapped completely already by that simple question. It's the tone Yukimura uses when he wants something, soft and smooth, spinning a fine web, and Sanada doesn't struggle or resist. He forgets how when it's Yukimura.
"Yes," he whispers, and Yukimura smiles, sweet but satisfied, beautiful but predatory.
Sanada is certain that Yukimura has an ulterior motive, but he doesn't know what it is, and he's too afraid uncertain to hope.
They own a traditional house in Hokkaido, and Sanada is reminded of his own house with its tatami-covered wooden floors, sliding paper screen doors, calligraphy, paintings, decorations, everything of the past and yet nothing at all because the past is gone, completely faded away.
He receives the guest bedroom, of course, and everything in it is perfectly neat, all straight lines, clean edges, and sharp corners. It's like Yukimura when he plays tennis, clean returns, fast serves, sharp swings, but the room is also perfectly bland despite the decorations in it because none of the decorations are personal-there is no life in them, and Yukimura is everything but bland.
Yukimura is a whirl of color and light and talent and brilliance and beauty, and when Sanada thinks about it, meeting Yukimura made his world more saturated, more brilliant. It's like he was living in grayscale before Yukimura, like in an old black and white movie or maybe a perpetual night, where everything was dimmed down, just shades of itself, and then, Yukimura came and made all the colors real.
Yukimura gave everything life when Sanada met him. He made Sanada want something besides being the best at everything. Yukimura made Sanada want to live for something besides perfection.
The pond's frozen over, and Yukimura grabs his ice skates and Sanada. Sanada watches Yukimura skate as he sits in the snow, putting on his own skates, and Yukimura is complete grace and beauty, cutting the ice smoothly, the sun shining over him as he spins with carefree abandon, splashed with pale light. He is so beautiful, so filled with life, and when he skates over to Sanada and tells him to hurry up, laughing and breath puffing into little clouds in the cold air, Sanada can't help but see Yukimura collapsing at practice the past winter, pale and lifeless and light like a mesh of sticks joined together, a stark contrast to the brilliant boy in front of him. He's afraid to see Yukimura crack like glass in front of him, breaking all over the ice into tiny little shards, but Yukimura pulls at him, laughing, and Sanada realizes that he doesn't remember the last time Yukimura has laughed like that, so carefree and so truly happy, so filled with vitality.
Sanada lets Yukimura pull him onto the ice, and Yukimura doesn't let go. Yukimura's smile is bright, and when Sanada thinks that Yukimura isn't looking, he allows himself a small smile. When he's with Yukimura, Sanada forgets a lot of things and lets go of a lot of other things. Yukimura makes him think that he is just some boy who happens to be really good at tennis and several martial arts and is completely in love with an impossibly beautiful and brilliant, almost untouchable boy, not the Sanada Genichirou.
When he's with Yukimura, Sanada can pretend that he is normal. When he's with Yukimura, Sanada remembers how to smile, laugh, act normal.
Yukimura doesn't wear a hat, only earmuffs, and when they walk back toward the house, Sanada notices the snow caught in Yukimura's hair, little dots of white tangled in soft blue. He takes off his cap and puts it on Yukimura's head, and Sanada feels foolish for wearing a baseball cap in the snow.
Yukimura touches the brim of the cap and looks up at Sanada, and he smiles. "How thoughtful of you. Now the snow's in your hair." Sanada doesn't even feel it. Yukimura leans close and whispers, "Give me your cap? I like you better without it." Sanada feels strange without his cap, almost like he's exposed a part of himself that he wants to keep hidden, but he says yes anyway because he doesn't know how to say no and can't say no even if he does.
Sanada practices his calligraphy at night, and Yukimura is there, silently watching as Sanada's brush flies across the paper, smooth strokes with deadly edges, black bleeding onto white.
"Let me try," he says, and Sanada hands his brush to Yukimura. Yukimura's strokes are softer but just as powerful and strong, and the ink burns into the paper like it's branding it. Yukimura looks at Sanada's words, ink still mostly wet, looks at the sharpness that is Sanada, and he says, "Teach me?"
Sanada's hand is warm, and when he wraps it around Yukimura's hand, it becomes even warmer. The back of Yukimura's hand is soft and smooth against his callused palm, but Sanada knows that Yukimura's palm is callused as well. Sanada moves his hand down the paper, and the words come easily, strokes precisely defined and sharp, like using Fuurinkazan.
When they finish for the night, Yukimura wraps his hand around Sanada's and, while thanking Sanada, traces words onto the back of Sanada's hand with his thumb. Sanada doesn't know what they say, but he just knows that they are words that mean something, something that he should know himself as well. Sanada doesn't know, however. He doesn't know that Yukimura traces "I love you" onto his hand, like if he does it enough, they will sink into Sanada's flesh and become a part of Sanada, and everything will be true.
Sanada looks at Yukimura's writing, the very first one without any of him in it, and then at his own, and he thinks that there really isn't much difference between their styles, after all.
Sanada has trouble sleeping. Yukimura is just a few doors away from him, and Sanada can feel the residue of Yukimura's essence wrapped around him, a soft blanket intoxicating him and choking him at the same time.
Sanada finds that the more he doesn't want to think about Yukimura, the more he thinks about him. It was okay when Yukimura was in the hospital, when they didn't interact with each other every day, but now, when Yukimura's fingers hover millimeters above Sanada's, when he lays a hand on Sanada's arm or shoulder just a few seconds too long or doesn't let go at all, Sanada can't erase the feeling of Yukimura's touch out of his mind, and he can always see an imprint of Yukimura on his skin, like a mark of possession or love or both. Or maybe it's nothing at all, and it's all just in Sanada's head, but that would almost be too cruel.
Sometimes, it's easier to pretend it's nothing, and Sanada tries to tell himself that he doesn't really see what's in Yukimura's eyes, even though his eyes say the exact same thing, even though he wants it so much, almost too much.
"We see them every year."
Sanada has never seen a crane in the wild before, never mind a whole flock of them, and they are exactly and nothing like how he imagines them. They are wildly graceful and beautiful, the sort of light Yukimura becomes when he plays tennis seriously, unrestrained and raw, beautiful and powerful and deadly, something Sanada wants to capture for himself but doesn't know how, like so many things concerning Yukimura.
"They look like they can live a thousand years, don't you think?" Yukimura asks. "Elegant and eternal, chosen by the gods." Like you, Sanada thinks, but he doesn't say it. "When I was in the hospital, I thought about them, and I thought if they can do it, live so long in such a harsh climate, then I'm going to beat Guillain-Barré just to see them again-"
"Just to see them again?" Sanada unwittingly whispers aloud, and Yukimura laughs, the sound of bells drifting on a cold winter day.
"Sanada, are you jealous?" Yukimura teases, and they both know the answer without Sanada having to reply. Yukimura's voice turns serious. "Yes, just to see them again. And you. You know they are symbols of fidelity. They reminded me of you. You always came to visit me without fail, no matter what. Without you, I don't know what I would have done, sitting in the hospital all day with nothing to do. I don't think I could have beaten Guillain-Barré without you. You gave me the will to want to live again." The last two sentences Yukimura says softly, and Sanada thinks that Yukimura is giving him something precious, something close to his heart, but Sanada still doesn't know what it is. Or maybe he does, but he's too scared to take it, to hope.
Rikkai wins nationals. They crowd together, laughing and shouting and screaming with joy, arms around each other and bodies pressed close, all like little kids whose wishes have just been granted. Yukimura is in the circle with them, arms around Sanada, cheering with the rest of them, face bright like a star up close, more open and warm than he has been since his collapse the previous winter.
Yukimura whispers, "I love you so much." Sanada hears him clearly, as if it were just the two of them in a completely silent room, as if there were no crowd and no teammates, and all of a sudden, all he can feel are Yukimura's arms around his neck, Yukimura's body pressed against his, and the indentation Yukimura has left of himself in the air around Sanada. When Sanada turns to Yukimura, he's cheering with the rest of them, happy and triumphant and overjoyed, and Sanada pretends that Yukimura meant something else even when he doesn't want that himself.
The winter sun shines just as brightly as any other time of the year, but the whiteness of winter makes its rays colder, paler. Yukimura looks like some sort of spirit sent down to earth, all ethereal light and pale edges, and it's like if Sanada reaches out for the answers, Yukimura will disappear because Sanada doesn't know.
Sanada knows so much about everything except Yukimura and everything about him, them. It's not that he doesn't know anything about Yukimura, but the more he knows about Yukimura, the more Sanada finds that he doesn't know, wants to know, is almost afraid to know. Yukimura is a never-ending puzzle that twists deeper and deeper into itself the farther Sanada goes, and he knows that if he can just reach the center, he will understand everything, but Sanada isn't there yet, and Yukimura hasn't offered it up to him, either.
In the cold winter sunlight, all Sanada knows are the planes of Yukimura's face and the way everything lights up when Yukimura smiles.
"I'm Yukimura Seiichi." And Yukimura smiles, beautiful and bold, brilliant and taunting, arrogant and touching. Sanada knows already that he will never be able to resist this boy in front of him, this boy who is a contradiction upon himself, this boy who is so beautiful, so cruel, so driven, so ruthless, so manipulative, so brilliant, so full of meaning and life.
Sanada isn't surprised when Yukimura becomes their unofficial captain, deadly grace and crushing power, and he takes his side by Yukimura as second-in-command. Yukimura slaughters him mercilessly when they play against each other, but Sanada only falls for him more.
They win nationals that year with the three most talented tennis players of the junior tennis world. The newspapers gush about them: deceptive, brilliant Yukimura; powerful, ruthless Sanada; and calculating, precise Yanagi, the most ideal trio for a tennis team, but Sanada knows that they don't occupy equal spaces. He takes up more space than Renji, and Yukimura takes up more space than both of them. He's just so much better, almost too good for his age, and Sanada feels lucky for being able to touch someone who is so much higher above him, for having the chance to play alongside Yukimura, for being an actual person in Yukimura's huge world.
"Nii-chan always seems happier when he's with you," Yukimura's younger sister tells Sanada. "If you ever make him sad, I'll find you and beat you to pieces." Sanada laughs and tells her that Yukimura's lucky to have a cute little sister like her, and she runs off, beaming.
"You're so indulgent," Yukimura says, stepping out silently, and Sanada turns to him, realizing that he hasn't noticed Yukimura's presence at all. Yukimura's smiling, gentle and calm and fond, like a lotus floating on a pond in summer, insects chirping and fish swimming lazily in the background.
"Only for you," Sanada replies with a smile, and Yukimura laughs. He steps up and traces the outline of Sanada's mouth, which is still curved into a smile, touch light, almost just an extension of the air itself.
"Just like your smiles and laughter." Sanada knows that's true; all the times he smiles or laughs are when he's with Yukimura. When he's with Yukimura, Sanada feels relaxed, like he doesn't need to be so strict and uptight, and he lets himself go. He bares his most important piece to Yukimura, and though Yukimura notices and takes a hold of it often, Sanada is still not ready to give it to Yukimura, even though he wants to, wants to have Yukimura's essence as part of himself, wants to mix and mold with Yukimura until he knows Yukimura can't let go of him the same way Sanada can't let go of Yukimura. Sanada just wants to reach inside Yukimura and know it's safe before he gives himself up completely.
The disappointment on Yukimura's face hurts worse than actually losing to that upstart freshman. He smiles and tells them that he feels better already, but the smile isn't very bright, like Yukimura's lost a bit of himself, some important spark, along with Rikkai's loss at the Kantou regionals.
Before they leave the hospital, Yukimura gives them their punishment, to be carried out until his return, and even Sanada thinks it's a bit harsh (two extra hours of practice every day, five hours on weekends, fifty laps on the track before and after practice, and fifty laps for each loss). When he returns, he pushes them harder than ever. They have all but forgotten Yukimura's presence at the courts, and though everyone is so happy to see Yukimura back, the training drags them down like dead weights because they haven't trained this hard since their first year of junior high (except for Akaya, of course), back when they were still challengers for the title of national champions. Only this time, it's even worse because though they lost their Kantou title, they are still the defending national champions. Sanada wants to blame Renji or even Akaya, but he always ends up blaming himself because he was the one who really decided, and he decided wrong. That's the difference between him and Yukimura because Yukimura will never decide wrong.
No one complains, however, because everyone's goals are the same as Yukimura's expectations, and everyday, Yukimura looks a little brighter and smiles a little more until soon, it's like Kantou and Guillain-Barré have never happened and nothing has ever changed, but deep down, everyone knows that nothing will ever be the same again. Yukimura's smiles are faded, shadows of itself, and Sanada wants to see him happy again but doesn't know how except to train harder and win nationals for Yukimura the way he couldn't win Kantou and remain undefeated, like he promised. Sanada doesn't know if a fulfilled expectation will make up for a broken promise, but he wants to try and make it up to Yukimura.
Sanada keeps the happy past close to him and doesn't let it go, and he always grips Yukimura a little tighter, as if Yukimura will escape from him if his hold is just a little too loose, like how he almost lost Yukimura to Guillain-Barré. Yukimura's half-hearted smiles and words, his pretenses, cut at Sanada, sharp and jagged and hurtful, but Sanada hangs on resolutely because he doesn't know how he can survive without Yukimura, not anymore.
Sanada turns his head for a moment, distracted, and when he looks back, Yukimura is gone. All Sanada can see is the white glare of the snow surrounding him on all sides, and Sanada stumbles around without any sense of direction, looking for Yukimura.
When they meet up again, Sanada hugs Yukimura tightly and doesn't let go. "I was worried. I didn't know what had happened to you. I was scared I'd lose you forever." Sanada can still feel the restricted feeling in his heart, the tension in his muscles, the panic welling up inside of him, thinking that he may have lost Yukimura despite everything.
"I just-" Yukimura begins, but Sanada hugs him tighter, and Yukimura stops speaking. Finally, he says, "I love you." The world grinds to a sudden stop, and suddenly, it's just the two of them, holding each other like they are each other's very survival. Sanada's heard those words before from Yukimura, but never in this situation and never with this much emotion, so much want and desperation and need and complete and utter love.
Sanada tries to say them back, but the words clog up in his throat and refuse to come out, and Sanada can only hold Yukimura even closer to him and press his cheek against his own cap, feeling like an absolute failure.
Yukimura tilts his head back, and Sanada turns his head to meet Yukimura's gaze. Yukimura's eyes are clear and opaque and resolute, and then, he closes them and kisses Sanada.
Sanada knows Yukimura understands.
They sit together again on the plane ride back to Kanagawa. Yukimura traces random words on the fogged-up window, and when there's no more room, he traces "I love you" over and over again on Sanada's arm.
Sanada remembers the way those words look on paper, flowing from his brush, succinct and powerful and strong, the exact contours of his own love. Sanada also remembers looking at Yukimura's, ink etched onto paper, sharp and dangerous and intense, a reflection of Yukimura's love, and Sanada thinks that somehow, they fit, wildly different corners and edges that mach together perfectly.
Yukimura is strong and beautiful next to him, vibrant and happy, and Sanada knows how lucky he really is, to be able to get what he's wanted for so long, wanted almost to the point of being sick with dizzy need. Yukimura is breathtaking and brilliant and almost untouchable and his and his alone, and Sanada forgets so many things so easily now, with Yukimura by him.
Sanada thinks he finally understands and knows everything.
They return to Kanagawa on a sunny but cold day, Yukimura with a genuine smile upon his face and a cap on his head and Sanada with content in his heart and a small smile on his lips.
04.12.15
Tenipuri; Yukimura/Sanada
PG; 3571 words
"They leave Kanagawa during a light snowfall, Yukimura with a wistful smile upon his face and Sanada with an inexplicable feeling in his heart."
For subrosa_tennis.
They leave Kanagawa during a light snowfall, Yukimura with a wistful smile upon his face and Sanada with an inexplicable feeling in his heart.
When Yukimura invites Sanada, Sanada says yes right away. It's not that he doesn't say no; it's more that Sanada can't say no. He has never been able to say no to Yukimura, not even when they first met three years ago.
The fact that his parents may tell him no doesn't even enter Sanada's mind. Even if they do, Sanada would go anyway, no matter the consequences. He doesn't know how to refuse Yukimura, and he never will.
Sanada doesn't know if that's a curse or a blessing or maybe neither or both at the same time.
On the plane ride to Hokkaido, they sit together. Yukimura sits by the window, and he idly traces words on the fogged-up glass, hiragana and kanji here and there that all say something but may mean nothing at all. Sanada can't see what Yukimura's writing, but Yukimura is also blocking the words. Sanada doesn't try because Yukimura doesn't want him to see, but he wants to know.
The sun shining through the window is pale light making Yukimura's words shine, and everything takes on a faint golden tinge. When Yukimura leaves for the restroom, Sanada looks at the window. He sees love and tennis and Sanada and Yukimura and nationals all mixed together into a huge mess of words. They mean nothing to him, but somehow, they connect in some way to Yukimura, and Sanada wonders.
He traces the kanji for love on his fold-down tray before Yukimura comes back, and Sanada wonders how different his and Yukimura's would look on paper.
Yukimura says it's to thank him for taking care of the team and visiting him all the time while he was in the hospital. Sanada thinks that any respectable fukubuchou would do what he did, look after the team and keep the buchou up to date, especially if said team won nationals twice in a row and said team's buchou is indispensable. Besides, they are friends, and any friend would visit his sick friend in the hospital. Plus it's Yukimura, and that's probably the most important reason of all. Sanada doesn't think anyone can refuse Yukimura, would refuse Yukimura. He knows that he can't, and any person who would is a fool.
"You'll go, won't you?" And Sanada is trapped completely already by that simple question. It's the tone Yukimura uses when he wants something, soft and smooth, spinning a fine web, and Sanada doesn't struggle or resist. He forgets how when it's Yukimura.
"Yes," he whispers, and Yukimura smiles, sweet but satisfied, beautiful but predatory.
Sanada is certain that Yukimura has an ulterior motive, but he doesn't know what it is, and he's too afraid uncertain to hope.
They own a traditional house in Hokkaido, and Sanada is reminded of his own house with its tatami-covered wooden floors, sliding paper screen doors, calligraphy, paintings, decorations, everything of the past and yet nothing at all because the past is gone, completely faded away.
He receives the guest bedroom, of course, and everything in it is perfectly neat, all straight lines, clean edges, and sharp corners. It's like Yukimura when he plays tennis, clean returns, fast serves, sharp swings, but the room is also perfectly bland despite the decorations in it because none of the decorations are personal-there is no life in them, and Yukimura is everything but bland.
Yukimura is a whirl of color and light and talent and brilliance and beauty, and when Sanada thinks about it, meeting Yukimura made his world more saturated, more brilliant. It's like he was living in grayscale before Yukimura, like in an old black and white movie or maybe a perpetual night, where everything was dimmed down, just shades of itself, and then, Yukimura came and made all the colors real.
Yukimura gave everything life when Sanada met him. He made Sanada want something besides being the best at everything. Yukimura made Sanada want to live for something besides perfection.
The pond's frozen over, and Yukimura grabs his ice skates and Sanada. Sanada watches Yukimura skate as he sits in the snow, putting on his own skates, and Yukimura is complete grace and beauty, cutting the ice smoothly, the sun shining over him as he spins with carefree abandon, splashed with pale light. He is so beautiful, so filled with life, and when he skates over to Sanada and tells him to hurry up, laughing and breath puffing into little clouds in the cold air, Sanada can't help but see Yukimura collapsing at practice the past winter, pale and lifeless and light like a mesh of sticks joined together, a stark contrast to the brilliant boy in front of him. He's afraid to see Yukimura crack like glass in front of him, breaking all over the ice into tiny little shards, but Yukimura pulls at him, laughing, and Sanada realizes that he doesn't remember the last time Yukimura has laughed like that, so carefree and so truly happy, so filled with vitality.
Sanada lets Yukimura pull him onto the ice, and Yukimura doesn't let go. Yukimura's smile is bright, and when Sanada thinks that Yukimura isn't looking, he allows himself a small smile. When he's with Yukimura, Sanada forgets a lot of things and lets go of a lot of other things. Yukimura makes him think that he is just some boy who happens to be really good at tennis and several martial arts and is completely in love with an impossibly beautiful and brilliant, almost untouchable boy, not the Sanada Genichirou.
When he's with Yukimura, Sanada can pretend that he is normal. When he's with Yukimura, Sanada remembers how to smile, laugh, act normal.
Yukimura doesn't wear a hat, only earmuffs, and when they walk back toward the house, Sanada notices the snow caught in Yukimura's hair, little dots of white tangled in soft blue. He takes off his cap and puts it on Yukimura's head, and Sanada feels foolish for wearing a baseball cap in the snow.
Yukimura touches the brim of the cap and looks up at Sanada, and he smiles. "How thoughtful of you. Now the snow's in your hair." Sanada doesn't even feel it. Yukimura leans close and whispers, "Give me your cap? I like you better without it." Sanada feels strange without his cap, almost like he's exposed a part of himself that he wants to keep hidden, but he says yes anyway because he doesn't know how to say no and can't say no even if he does.
Sanada practices his calligraphy at night, and Yukimura is there, silently watching as Sanada's brush flies across the paper, smooth strokes with deadly edges, black bleeding onto white.
"Let me try," he says, and Sanada hands his brush to Yukimura. Yukimura's strokes are softer but just as powerful and strong, and the ink burns into the paper like it's branding it. Yukimura looks at Sanada's words, ink still mostly wet, looks at the sharpness that is Sanada, and he says, "Teach me?"
Sanada's hand is warm, and when he wraps it around Yukimura's hand, it becomes even warmer. The back of Yukimura's hand is soft and smooth against his callused palm, but Sanada knows that Yukimura's palm is callused as well. Sanada moves his hand down the paper, and the words come easily, strokes precisely defined and sharp, like using Fuurinkazan.
When they finish for the night, Yukimura wraps his hand around Sanada's and, while thanking Sanada, traces words onto the back of Sanada's hand with his thumb. Sanada doesn't know what they say, but he just knows that they are words that mean something, something that he should know himself as well. Sanada doesn't know, however. He doesn't know that Yukimura traces "I love you" onto his hand, like if he does it enough, they will sink into Sanada's flesh and become a part of Sanada, and everything will be true.
Sanada looks at Yukimura's writing, the very first one without any of him in it, and then at his own, and he thinks that there really isn't much difference between their styles, after all.
Sanada has trouble sleeping. Yukimura is just a few doors away from him, and Sanada can feel the residue of Yukimura's essence wrapped around him, a soft blanket intoxicating him and choking him at the same time.
Sanada finds that the more he doesn't want to think about Yukimura, the more he thinks about him. It was okay when Yukimura was in the hospital, when they didn't interact with each other every day, but now, when Yukimura's fingers hover millimeters above Sanada's, when he lays a hand on Sanada's arm or shoulder just a few seconds too long or doesn't let go at all, Sanada can't erase the feeling of Yukimura's touch out of his mind, and he can always see an imprint of Yukimura on his skin, like a mark of possession or love or both. Or maybe it's nothing at all, and it's all just in Sanada's head, but that would almost be too cruel.
Sometimes, it's easier to pretend it's nothing, and Sanada tries to tell himself that he doesn't really see what's in Yukimura's eyes, even though his eyes say the exact same thing, even though he wants it so much, almost too much.
"We see them every year."
Sanada has never seen a crane in the wild before, never mind a whole flock of them, and they are exactly and nothing like how he imagines them. They are wildly graceful and beautiful, the sort of light Yukimura becomes when he plays tennis seriously, unrestrained and raw, beautiful and powerful and deadly, something Sanada wants to capture for himself but doesn't know how, like so many things concerning Yukimura.
"They look like they can live a thousand years, don't you think?" Yukimura asks. "Elegant and eternal, chosen by the gods." Like you, Sanada thinks, but he doesn't say it. "When I was in the hospital, I thought about them, and I thought if they can do it, live so long in such a harsh climate, then I'm going to beat Guillain-Barré just to see them again-"
"Just to see them again?" Sanada unwittingly whispers aloud, and Yukimura laughs, the sound of bells drifting on a cold winter day.
"Sanada, are you jealous?" Yukimura teases, and they both know the answer without Sanada having to reply. Yukimura's voice turns serious. "Yes, just to see them again. And you. You know they are symbols of fidelity. They reminded me of you. You always came to visit me without fail, no matter what. Without you, I don't know what I would have done, sitting in the hospital all day with nothing to do. I don't think I could have beaten Guillain-Barré without you. You gave me the will to want to live again." The last two sentences Yukimura says softly, and Sanada thinks that Yukimura is giving him something precious, something close to his heart, but Sanada still doesn't know what it is. Or maybe he does, but he's too scared to take it, to hope.
Rikkai wins nationals. They crowd together, laughing and shouting and screaming with joy, arms around each other and bodies pressed close, all like little kids whose wishes have just been granted. Yukimura is in the circle with them, arms around Sanada, cheering with the rest of them, face bright like a star up close, more open and warm than he has been since his collapse the previous winter.
Yukimura whispers, "I love you so much." Sanada hears him clearly, as if it were just the two of them in a completely silent room, as if there were no crowd and no teammates, and all of a sudden, all he can feel are Yukimura's arms around his neck, Yukimura's body pressed against his, and the indentation Yukimura has left of himself in the air around Sanada. When Sanada turns to Yukimura, he's cheering with the rest of them, happy and triumphant and overjoyed, and Sanada pretends that Yukimura meant something else even when he doesn't want that himself.
The winter sun shines just as brightly as any other time of the year, but the whiteness of winter makes its rays colder, paler. Yukimura looks like some sort of spirit sent down to earth, all ethereal light and pale edges, and it's like if Sanada reaches out for the answers, Yukimura will disappear because Sanada doesn't know.
Sanada knows so much about everything except Yukimura and everything about him, them. It's not that he doesn't know anything about Yukimura, but the more he knows about Yukimura, the more Sanada finds that he doesn't know, wants to know, is almost afraid to know. Yukimura is a never-ending puzzle that twists deeper and deeper into itself the farther Sanada goes, and he knows that if he can just reach the center, he will understand everything, but Sanada isn't there yet, and Yukimura hasn't offered it up to him, either.
In the cold winter sunlight, all Sanada knows are the planes of Yukimura's face and the way everything lights up when Yukimura smiles.
"I'm Yukimura Seiichi." And Yukimura smiles, beautiful and bold, brilliant and taunting, arrogant and touching. Sanada knows already that he will never be able to resist this boy in front of him, this boy who is a contradiction upon himself, this boy who is so beautiful, so cruel, so driven, so ruthless, so manipulative, so brilliant, so full of meaning and life.
Sanada isn't surprised when Yukimura becomes their unofficial captain, deadly grace and crushing power, and he takes his side by Yukimura as second-in-command. Yukimura slaughters him mercilessly when they play against each other, but Sanada only falls for him more.
They win nationals that year with the three most talented tennis players of the junior tennis world. The newspapers gush about them: deceptive, brilliant Yukimura; powerful, ruthless Sanada; and calculating, precise Yanagi, the most ideal trio for a tennis team, but Sanada knows that they don't occupy equal spaces. He takes up more space than Renji, and Yukimura takes up more space than both of them. He's just so much better, almost too good for his age, and Sanada feels lucky for being able to touch someone who is so much higher above him, for having the chance to play alongside Yukimura, for being an actual person in Yukimura's huge world.
"Nii-chan always seems happier when he's with you," Yukimura's younger sister tells Sanada. "If you ever make him sad, I'll find you and beat you to pieces." Sanada laughs and tells her that Yukimura's lucky to have a cute little sister like her, and she runs off, beaming.
"You're so indulgent," Yukimura says, stepping out silently, and Sanada turns to him, realizing that he hasn't noticed Yukimura's presence at all. Yukimura's smiling, gentle and calm and fond, like a lotus floating on a pond in summer, insects chirping and fish swimming lazily in the background.
"Only for you," Sanada replies with a smile, and Yukimura laughs. He steps up and traces the outline of Sanada's mouth, which is still curved into a smile, touch light, almost just an extension of the air itself.
"Just like your smiles and laughter." Sanada knows that's true; all the times he smiles or laughs are when he's with Yukimura. When he's with Yukimura, Sanada feels relaxed, like he doesn't need to be so strict and uptight, and he lets himself go. He bares his most important piece to Yukimura, and though Yukimura notices and takes a hold of it often, Sanada is still not ready to give it to Yukimura, even though he wants to, wants to have Yukimura's essence as part of himself, wants to mix and mold with Yukimura until he knows Yukimura can't let go of him the same way Sanada can't let go of Yukimura. Sanada just wants to reach inside Yukimura and know it's safe before he gives himself up completely.
The disappointment on Yukimura's face hurts worse than actually losing to that upstart freshman. He smiles and tells them that he feels better already, but the smile isn't very bright, like Yukimura's lost a bit of himself, some important spark, along with Rikkai's loss at the Kantou regionals.
Before they leave the hospital, Yukimura gives them their punishment, to be carried out until his return, and even Sanada thinks it's a bit harsh (two extra hours of practice every day, five hours on weekends, fifty laps on the track before and after practice, and fifty laps for each loss). When he returns, he pushes them harder than ever. They have all but forgotten Yukimura's presence at the courts, and though everyone is so happy to see Yukimura back, the training drags them down like dead weights because they haven't trained this hard since their first year of junior high (except for Akaya, of course), back when they were still challengers for the title of national champions. Only this time, it's even worse because though they lost their Kantou title, they are still the defending national champions. Sanada wants to blame Renji or even Akaya, but he always ends up blaming himself because he was the one who really decided, and he decided wrong. That's the difference between him and Yukimura because Yukimura will never decide wrong.
No one complains, however, because everyone's goals are the same as Yukimura's expectations, and everyday, Yukimura looks a little brighter and smiles a little more until soon, it's like Kantou and Guillain-Barré have never happened and nothing has ever changed, but deep down, everyone knows that nothing will ever be the same again. Yukimura's smiles are faded, shadows of itself, and Sanada wants to see him happy again but doesn't know how except to train harder and win nationals for Yukimura the way he couldn't win Kantou and remain undefeated, like he promised. Sanada doesn't know if a fulfilled expectation will make up for a broken promise, but he wants to try and make it up to Yukimura.
Sanada keeps the happy past close to him and doesn't let it go, and he always grips Yukimura a little tighter, as if Yukimura will escape from him if his hold is just a little too loose, like how he almost lost Yukimura to Guillain-Barré. Yukimura's half-hearted smiles and words, his pretenses, cut at Sanada, sharp and jagged and hurtful, but Sanada hangs on resolutely because he doesn't know how he can survive without Yukimura, not anymore.
Sanada turns his head for a moment, distracted, and when he looks back, Yukimura is gone. All Sanada can see is the white glare of the snow surrounding him on all sides, and Sanada stumbles around without any sense of direction, looking for Yukimura.
When they meet up again, Sanada hugs Yukimura tightly and doesn't let go. "I was worried. I didn't know what had happened to you. I was scared I'd lose you forever." Sanada can still feel the restricted feeling in his heart, the tension in his muscles, the panic welling up inside of him, thinking that he may have lost Yukimura despite everything.
"I just-" Yukimura begins, but Sanada hugs him tighter, and Yukimura stops speaking. Finally, he says, "I love you." The world grinds to a sudden stop, and suddenly, it's just the two of them, holding each other like they are each other's very survival. Sanada's heard those words before from Yukimura, but never in this situation and never with this much emotion, so much want and desperation and need and complete and utter love.
Sanada tries to say them back, but the words clog up in his throat and refuse to come out, and Sanada can only hold Yukimura even closer to him and press his cheek against his own cap, feeling like an absolute failure.
Yukimura tilts his head back, and Sanada turns his head to meet Yukimura's gaze. Yukimura's eyes are clear and opaque and resolute, and then, he closes them and kisses Sanada.
Sanada knows Yukimura understands.
They sit together again on the plane ride back to Kanagawa. Yukimura traces random words on the fogged-up window, and when there's no more room, he traces "I love you" over and over again on Sanada's arm.
Sanada remembers the way those words look on paper, flowing from his brush, succinct and powerful and strong, the exact contours of his own love. Sanada also remembers looking at Yukimura's, ink etched onto paper, sharp and dangerous and intense, a reflection of Yukimura's love, and Sanada thinks that somehow, they fit, wildly different corners and edges that mach together perfectly.
Yukimura is strong and beautiful next to him, vibrant and happy, and Sanada knows how lucky he really is, to be able to get what he's wanted for so long, wanted almost to the point of being sick with dizzy need. Yukimura is breathtaking and brilliant and almost untouchable and his and his alone, and Sanada forgets so many things so easily now, with Yukimura by him.
Sanada thinks he finally understands and knows everything.
They return to Kanagawa on a sunny but cold day, Yukimura with a genuine smile upon his face and a cap on his head and Sanada with content in his heart and a small smile on his lips.
04.12.15