(OshiGaku) Worth It (Sequel to Peacock’s Thighs) Part 2/3
© 2006 Gold
Title: The Blame It On Atobe Series, or In The Name of Love 2016
Otherwise Known As: Worth It (Sequel to Peacock’s Thighs) Part 2/3
Author: Gold
Pairing: Oshitari/Gakuto.
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-sama or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis . It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-sama or aforesaid entities.
Summary: Sequel to Of Peacock’s Thighs and Moonlit Balconies. Set two years later, in 2016. This part is Oshitari-centric, a mirror part to the earlier part. We see things from Oshitari's point of view, with some additional details. There are guest appearances from Gakuto, Atobe, Shishido, Jirou and Ohtori.
Additional: Kissing gourami are a kind of fish. They have perpetually puckered lips and have this peculiar kissing habit... looks like kissing, anyway.
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It is already eight in the evening when Oshitari Yuushi finally completes the last of his paperwork and steps across to the window. Outside, dusk has fallen, and the lights of the city are beginning to show up in the deepening twilight. It is now the end of December and the winter season is at its peak. Tokyo has just suffered another heavy snowfall overnight, most unprecedented, and the passers-by below trudge their way through mounds of the white stuff, while cars struggle to make their way.
It is the day before New Year’s Eve, and Oshitari, who usually pulls night shifts and more, courtesy of both his youth and his determination to gain as much experience as possible in the hospital, is late for a party. He goes across to his locker and takes off his white coat, pulling on a thick woollen overcoat instead. The coat is a luxurious black angora wool overcoat, matching the dark blue tint of his hair perfectly. It was a present from Gakuto, and has already seen two winters, but Oshitari likes it all the better for its familiarity.
The snow outside is crisp and makes crunching sounds under Oshitari’s shoes. He walks quickly, heading for the train station. It is a special day today, and he doesn’t want to be too late. Gakuto, as always, will be extremely punctual, and his temper rises exponentially with every minute that Oshitari is late, even if today is a very special day. But this time, Oshitari Yuushi has with him something that will extinguish Gakuto’s temper. In the right-hand pocket of the dark blue overcoat is a small, velvet-covered box. And nestled within the small box is a platinum ring, chunky in design, one-of-a-kind, and speckled with diamonds.
Oshitari’s eyes are a very dark and intense, almost-black blue.
He has known Gakuto for a long time, since his junior high days, when he travelled from Kansai all the way to Tokyo to attend his father’s alma mater, Hyoutei. Natives of Kansai are not exactly welcomed as part of the most elite of upper-crust Tokyo, but Oshitari had an advantage at Hyoutei that cleared all obstacles in his path to becoming part of the ‘in’ crowd: he was a close friend of Atobe Keigo, the son of the chairman of the school board of Hyoutei. Oshitari’s status in Hyoutei was sealed when the monthly rankings of the Hyoutei Eligible Bachelors (Junior High Division) were released (this was one of the many projects of the RABU RABU club, a band of Hyoutei schoolgirls with a membership that spanned across all divisions of Hyoutei, and whose life mission was to check out cute Hyoutei boys) and he came in second, right after Atobe. Better still, Oshitari Yuushi would continue to hold that ranking until he graduated from Hyoutei.
At Hyoutei, Oshitari Yuushi met Mukahi Gakuto.
Oshitari remembers his very first conversation with Mukahi Gakuto. It was, of course, on the grounds of the tennis courts of Hyoutei.
It had been May then, and Oshitari was into his fourth week of tennis club practice. Club time had just ended, and the non-regulars were streaming in a crowd towards their club room. Oshitari did not join them; it was his habit to remain and watch the regulars practice. He noticed that he was not the only one of the freshmen who did so.
There was a boy with a lithe, muscular frame, and his crowning glory was his long hair, which rippled to his waist in a glossy, dark nut-brown waterfall when loosed, and which he usually kept tied back in a ponytail. He also had a rather pretty face for a boy, with fine-cut features, but his looks were suitably spoiled by the perennial scowl he wore. His name was Shishido Ryou and Oshitari only knew this because Shishido had ranked Number Ten on the list of the Hyoutei Eligible Bachelors (Junior High Division).
Then there was a sleepy-looking boy, also from Oshitari’s year, one Akutagawa Jirou, who had the reputation of being able to nap anytime, anywhere. The only reason Akutagawa got away with napping in the sunniest of places on the bleachers was because he was a very good friend of Atobe Keigo, who was the only freshman allowed to practice with the regulars. By virtue of the fact that his father was the chairman of the school board at Hyoutei, Atobe consequently owned the school, but the reason why Atobe could practice with the regulars was because he was, simply, the best. Only two of the third-years-the top two ranking singles players-could touch Atobe in any match, one on one.
There was a third freshie there, someone who stood out because of his small and slight build (Oshitari towered several inches above him) and his unusual head of cranberry-red hair. He was always moving, almost dancing on his feet, and it seemed as if he could never keep still. He liked to sling his racket over one shoulder, caveman-like and belligerent, but there was an unconscious grace to his movements that easily attracted the eye. His name was Mukahi Gakuto.
From the beginning, Oshitari hadn’t set out to attract Gakuto’s attention. All he had done, really, was to make a sort of noise at a particularly excellent shot Atobe had just made. “Hmm.”
The redhead had whipped his head around and glanced up at him. Oshitari had liked the way he looked, with his clear, bright eyes, that stubborn, pointed chin, and that mop of deep red hair. Mukahi was really rather good-looking and quite as pretty as Shishido, and Oshitari, as befitted a cultured gentleman, always appreciated beauty in any shape, size or form.
“Mukahi-san.” Oshitari had smiled down at the redheaded boy.
Mukahi Gakuto had seemed startled that Oshitari even knew his name. Then he had tossed Oshitari a quick nod, lifting his chin. “Oshitari-san.”
A long silence had followed this exchange as Mukahi had been more interested in watching Atobe Keigo coolly take two games in a row from Hyoutei’s third-ranked singles player, whereas Oshitari had actually taken his eyes off the game now and then to watch Mukahi Gakuto. There had been something intriguing about the little redhead-little, because Mukahi was at least a whole head shorter than him, and although he was sturdy-looking, he was actually rather slender. Mukahi had been flipping his racket over and over his wrist at a remarkably fast speed as he watched Atobe play. Oshitari had wondered absently just how many years the redhead had played the sport.
“Five years.”
Oshitari had blinked and realized that he had asked the question aloud without thinking.
The little redhead had looked up at him mulishly. “How long have you been playing tennis?”
“Three years,” Oshitari had answered simply. It had been Atobe who had introduced the game to him the first time they met.
Mukahi’s response had been to widen his eyes in sheer disbelief. “What are you, a tensai?”
Well, that wasn’t a reply he had expected. Sure, lots of people called him a tensai vis-à-vis tennis and quite a few other things besides, but Oshitari was fairly sure that Mukahi Gakuto had never watched him play before. He would have noticed the redhead immediately. “… what makes you say that?”
Mukahi had looked at him as if his intelligence had been insulted. “Well, duh, you hold your racket like Atobe-san.”
Oshitari had found himself being surprised again. Mukahi Gakuto was… most unexpected. And evidently he was also very observant. But to compare him with the great Atobe Keigo-Oshitari had stifled a grin. He needed more material to needle Atobe with. “Really? How so?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Mukahi had snorted, rolling his eyes. “It’s not as if I can describe it in words. You just look it. If you can hold the racket like Atobe-san, you probably can play just as well as he can. Not everybody can hold it like that, you know. Plus you know what I mean, so stop pretending to be stupid, ’cause you’re not. It’s stupid to pretend to be stupid!”
Oshitari hadn’t been able to stop grinning. The redhead was really extraordinarily cute. He looked about as meek and delicate as a lily, what with that perfect, pale skin that was set off by his cranberry-red hair, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was amusing as hell, clearly had the habit of saying whatever came straight to his mind and was equipped with just about the sassiest mouth Oshitari had ever come across. Oshitari decided then and there that he really liked Mukahi Gakuto.
“You know, Mukahi-san…” Oshitari had raised his voice at the retreating redhead, who had flounced off and was rapidly vanishing out of earshot. “Would you like to play a game or two?”
The redhead’s voice had floated back over his shoulder, loud and clear: “In case you didn’t notice, Oshitari-san, there are no tennis courts here that we are allowed to play on.”
“But there are street tennis courts,” Oshitari had called back.
“No balls can bounce off that kind of surface, the way they treat it.”
“Mukahi-san-” Oshitari had called out again.
“You two over there, shut up!”
Oshitari had arched an eyebrow. Right, so obviously Mukahi Gakuto wasn’t the only one with a temper around there… Shishido Ryou, the one with the perennial scowl and waist-length hair, was clearly possessed of a fiery disposition as well.
And Mukahi Gakuto, not to be outdone, had roared right back: “Shut up yourself!”
Oshitari would always remember what happened next. Shishido Ryou had whipped out a tennis ball from his pocket, and put ball to racket. What followed later was sheer instinct on Oshitari’s part, as the tennis ball flew, swift and golden, towards Gakuto. In a flash, Oshitari’s racket had sent the ball flying back to Shishido, who had crowed “Missed!” in delight just as Gakuto snarled with fury from his end. Then Shishido had hit the ball back-and Oshitari Yuushi would never regret having stepped back to let Gakuto take the ball this time.
Mukahi Gakuto hadn’t simply reached up and hit back the ball. No, instead, he had actually done a quick flip and a one-handed somersault, and his racket had then connected with the ball, sending it back to Shishido.
Oshitari’s mouth had dropped open. He had never seen anything like that in his entire life. It had happened so fast that Oshitari couldn’t help wondering then if he had just imagined it.
And suddenly, just like that, they were playing ball-he, Mukahi Gakuto and Shishido Ryou, in the stands that surrounded the hallowed tennis courts of Hyoutei. Kantoku, of course, had many things to say about it, including assigning them tedious clean-up duties for the rest of the year. But it marked the beginning of the friendship between Oshitari and Gakuto. Oshitari had somehow earned Gakuto’s grudging respect-and Gakuto’s respect was very difficult to win-as well as the right to be called “Yuushi” way before anyone else in Hyoutei (Atobe Keigo made a bit of a fuss about this later, so Oshitari had to allow Atobe to call him “Yuushi” as well).
There were lots of differences between Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto. Physically, it was obvious where the disparities lay. Character-wise, however, they were also very different. Oshitari was the charming, stylish, mysterious boy who easily swept any girl off her feet through sheer ‘cool’ factor-and Gakuto was akin to a firecracker: sharp, explosive, brilliant and extremely colourful. In tennis, too, they were poles apart in style and ranking. Yet somehow, kantoku had seen something in them, and hatched a devious plot to make them into a doubles partnership.
Neither Oshitari nor Gakuto are willing to shed light on this, and indeed both have firmly declined to comment whenever the issue is raised, but kantoku had been right. Together, Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto were unstoppable, their tennis styles marrying together to form an explosive and extraordinarily successful doubles partnership that would be responsible for much of the silverware that decorated the glass-fronted cabinets in the Hyoutei tennis regulars’ clubroom.
Of course, the existence of their doubles partnership did not mean that Oshitari had definitely stopped playing singles; it meant simply that he played singles less often, something which he was actually very happy to do, since it allowed him more time with Mukahi Gakuto, who gradually became his closest friend after Atobe Keigo. But it is difficult to pinpoint exactly when Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto crossed the line that separated nearly-best friends from kissing gourami.
Sometimes Oshitari wonders why he hasn’t realized it before. He spoils Gakuto rotten, way more than any of his past girlfriends-way more than anyone, in fact. He is willing to stand in line for hours in the pouring rain at freezing temperatures in the dead of winter to get Gakuto limited-edition natto-filled dark chocolate pralines laced with edible gold dust. He obediently caters to Gakuto’s penchant for the famous food trails of Yokohama’s Chinatown, patiently popping by a thousand-and-one food stalls in Gakuto’s wake, and gamely stuffing himself with the tidbits Gakuto presses on him, although he knows that such an excursion will lead to an upset stomach for at least three days thereafter. Oshitari has also never needed a special occasion to surprise Gakuto with a gift. He’s always liked to surprise Gakuto just to see the pleasure and delight light up in that lively, expressive face. He and Gakuto can spend hours on end with each other, and they don’t argue as much as most people might think, given Gakuto’s famously short fuse-and when they do argue, they rather enjoy it. Oshitari hates having Gakuto upset-not because Gakuto is a pain when he’s all annoyed or distressed, but simply because it hurts Oshitari when Gakuto’s out of sorts, so much so that Oshitari’s quite willing to do anything that can set Gakuto back to rights again.
Yet there are many girlfriends and relationships in between before it takes a really silly argument, one of Atobe’s parties, a call from Oshitari’s then-girlfriend, a talking-to from Atobe Keigo (who still likes to poke his nose in wherever it isn’t his business), and the fact that it is almost New Year’s Eve, for both of them to change the way they look at each other.
After that, everything has been like a dream. It’s as if a seal has been broken, and Oshitari feels like a tap inside him has finally been turned on, because nothing else can possibly explain the fact that an overwhelming flood of adoration for Mukahi Gakuto just seems to keep on flowing from inside him. Suddenly Gakuto’s hair is his property too, and he can’t keep his hands off it and he can’t stop burying his nose in the cranberry-red strands, to sniff the various fruit-scents of the shampoos that Gakuto uses (honeydew-scented, apple-scented, even blackcurrant-scented, but mostly cranberry-scented), despite Gakuto’s remonstrations. Suddenly he can’t get close enough to Gakuto, to twine the other’s fingers through his, to walk with their arms touching, or to curl up somewhere with an arm around Gakuto, or Gakuto’s arm around him. Suddenly the most important part of his daily routine is to make sure that he wears something of Gakuto’s to work every day-one of Gakuto’s scarves, or one of Gakuto’s many pairs of outlandish sunglasses, or the carved wooden necklace Gakuto bought from Bali, or the funky silver ring, etc. Suddenly nearly every store window has something that suits Gakuto and any store that doesn’t is a bad, bad store. Suddenly Oshitari takes a leaf out of Atobe’s book, and haunts the luxury stores of Ginza, even going so far as to pester Atobe to loan him his personal shopper just so Oshitari can get hold of items from the really exclusive brands. And sometimes, it’s as simple as picking up a fancy bouquet of roses and lilies, and presenting it to Gakuto, who generally grumbles and grouses something about being treated like a girl, but who likes it very, very much.
Today is their second anniversary, the day before New Year’s Eve. There’s a question that Oshitari wants to ask Gakuto, and he wants to do so before he flies back home to Kansai the next day for the New Year. It’s a question that comes with an expensive and chunky platinum ring set with diamonds-six tiny square-cut ones, to be exact-from an exclusive jeweller who counts Atobe Keigo amongst his well-shod clientele. Oshitari’s been in love with Gakuto for years upon years, perhaps even from the first moment he laid eyes on that intriguing little redhead. And Oshitari’s not stupid; Gakuto pretty much adores him right back.
It’s about time they make it official.