TeniPuri: (FIC) Shinjitsuichiro Yukimura/Sanada PG
Title: Shinjitsuichiro
Pairing: Yukimura/Sanada
Summary: What May Come
For: ruji who asked for a sequel to Shinjitsu
A/N: I can't think of a good title. And whisper132 suggested Macaroni Love. I sorta went ... at her. And picked this kinda lame one.
Genichirou doesn't know what to do, really. At first, the only thoughts he has are of making sure that Yukimura is fine, alive. It's only after he learns that everything was a success that his loss hits him, hard. Part of him wants to walk into the room and take his lumps. Another part of him wants to put off Yukimura telling him how much he disgusts him.
If he stays away forever, Yukimura's last words to him won't be one of hatred, and he can relive the memory of last night in mind 'til he dies. He knows it's not really an option, though, because the thought of not seeing Yukimura's face at all is more painful than knowing what he'll see in it once he opens the door.
Still, he doesn't move, shifting uselessly back and forth outside of the room. Renji peeks out a second later, and steps into the hall.
"He wants to see you," Renji says, voice low. From his expression, Yukimura wasn't too happy with him either.
"I..."he begins, feeling hopelessly stupid in front of his friend. He doesn't know how to explain the promises he's made, and how deep the betrayal in breaking them.
"He doesn't hate you," Renji says, placing his hand on his shoulder. He doesn't shake it off, even though he wants to.
"You don't have to lie," he replies, not needing the truth sugar-coated any more than he needs deceit. The rest of the team come out before he has a chance to go in, and as he touches the door, his team members' eyes on his back, he truly feels as if they're seeing him off before he commits seppuku, which is slowly becoming a comforting thought.
He closes the door behind him, takes off his hat, and, without even looking at Yukimura, bows as low as he can without actually kowtowing before him. He doesn't know what he's saying, but words spill uselessly from his lips, and hopes none of them can even be seen as excuses. He has none and will make none.
"Stop," Yukimura orders, and he freezes. It's been a long time since he's heard that tone. His insides cheer, partly, because it means that his captain is back. He stops speaking, but he doesn't right himself, not knowing if the stop was for the words alone or the overall useless apology he's trying to give.
"You lost," Yukimura says, words more like an accusation than a statement of fact. No one is more aware than he the gravity of his actions. He hates himself for letting Yukimura down, for disappointing him. There's nothing in the word so disgraceful as failing someone as important as he is.
Genichirou stays as he is, murmurs, "Yes." The word yes sounds like guilty in his own mind, as if confessing to a crime he knows that he committed.
"Come here," Yukimura orders, and he doesn't know how to unbend, how to look Yukimura in the eye.
He settles on just managing one, and working up to the other. He stares at the ground, never lifting his eyes, and notices the thin hand patting a piece of bed. That Yukimura wants him that close to him astounds him. He sits, and focuses on the hat he's crushing in his hand.
"Give me that." Yukimura holds his hand out, and he relinquishes his hat without so much as a protest. The fight has gone out of him, not that he ever thinks of fighting his captain, except for those blissful moments when they're facing each other on the court.
"Sanada," Yukimura says, "you should have been focused on what was most important." Genichirou stills at that. He was focused on what was most important. It makes him feel small, insignificant to know that Yukimura doesn't, or chooses not to, see that.
"I failed you. I'm sorry," he says after a few tense moments. He doesn't know what else to say, what else to offer, but the guilt is still eating at him. If he didn't fulfill his promise, what if...what if Yukimura didn't as well? It would have been his fault.
He shakes his head. He can't think like that. It's moot anyhow. Yukimura is fine, and he's a failure. Yukimura may never touch him again, may never smile at him again, but he has his one perfect memory, and that will have to be enough.
"Look at me," Yukimura says then, and he almost refuses. He doesn't want to see that look, not after everything. But Yukimura is asking him, and he can't say no, especially when it's something he can do.
Yukimura's face is impassive, not happy, not angry. He doesn't see the hate he's been expecting, but it's not soft like it was last night. He wants that look back so much it hurts.
"You won't fail again," Yukimura says, sure of himself. He nods his assent, and gets up to leave, knowing a dismissal when he hears one. Except, Yukimura's hand restrains him, and he sits back down.
He's not sure what he expects to happen, a longer lecture, perhaps, a subtle, but effective threat about the security of his position of Vice Captain, or as a regular. Genichirou feels off-kilter, isn't sure why those things aren't happening, because he doesn't expect Yukimura to tug him down by his collar and he certainly doesn't expect the kiss that follows.
Yukimura bites at his bottom lip when he's slow to respond, still too much in shock to give Yukimura's mouth the attention it deserves. This kiss feels like a benediction he doesn't deserve. He supposes, then, that no one deserves benediction in the first place, but those thoughts disappear when Yukimura's fingers graze the back of his neck.
This kiss, in some ways, is so much better than their first, their third, their last, because this one is even more of a surprise than the ones that can before. A part of him will always be in awe of the reality that Yukimura chose to touch him in the first place; that he chooses to do so now, after everything, stuns him to his very core.
When Yukimura breaks away, breathing a little heavily, he presses his forehead to Genichirou's and sighs. The weight of the day, and everything that's happened is heavy. It's too much and exhausting and feels like he's not slept in weeks. He shifts on the bed, sitting next to Yukimura, and tentatively holds his hand.
Yukimura leans his head on Genichirou's shoulder. It feels warm, too warm, and he stills so as not to disrupt him. He still feels the guilt, the weight of failure, the larger weight of his broken promise, but Yukimura is alive, and touching him, so he tries to just breathe.
"We will win at Nationals," Yukimura says. There's determination in his voice, and happiness. Nothing makes Yukimura come alive like tennis, and he can't wait to see him hold a racquet again. He hopes against hope that he'll be lucky enough to stare at Yukimura from across the net first. He wants that privilege so much that even the thought of Yukimura's first serve being given to someone else makes him envious.
"We will," he replies, meaning every word. It's hard not to believe what Yukimura believes, dream what Yukimura dreams, want what Yukimura wants. There's nothing he will deny him, never will be. This time, he swears, this time...
Pairing: Yukimura/Sanada
Summary: What May Come
For: ruji who asked for a sequel to Shinjitsu
A/N: I can't think of a good title. And whisper132 suggested Macaroni Love. I sorta went ... at her. And picked this kinda lame one.
Genichirou doesn't know what to do, really. At first, the only thoughts he has are of making sure that Yukimura is fine, alive. It's only after he learns that everything was a success that his loss hits him, hard. Part of him wants to walk into the room and take his lumps. Another part of him wants to put off Yukimura telling him how much he disgusts him.
If he stays away forever, Yukimura's last words to him won't be one of hatred, and he can relive the memory of last night in mind 'til he dies. He knows it's not really an option, though, because the thought of not seeing Yukimura's face at all is more painful than knowing what he'll see in it once he opens the door.
Still, he doesn't move, shifting uselessly back and forth outside of the room. Renji peeks out a second later, and steps into the hall.
"He wants to see you," Renji says, voice low. From his expression, Yukimura wasn't too happy with him either.
"I..."he begins, feeling hopelessly stupid in front of his friend. He doesn't know how to explain the promises he's made, and how deep the betrayal in breaking them.
"He doesn't hate you," Renji says, placing his hand on his shoulder. He doesn't shake it off, even though he wants to.
"You don't have to lie," he replies, not needing the truth sugar-coated any more than he needs deceit. The rest of the team come out before he has a chance to go in, and as he touches the door, his team members' eyes on his back, he truly feels as if they're seeing him off before he commits seppuku, which is slowly becoming a comforting thought.
He closes the door behind him, takes off his hat, and, without even looking at Yukimura, bows as low as he can without actually kowtowing before him. He doesn't know what he's saying, but words spill uselessly from his lips, and hopes none of them can even be seen as excuses. He has none and will make none.
"Stop," Yukimura orders, and he freezes. It's been a long time since he's heard that tone. His insides cheer, partly, because it means that his captain is back. He stops speaking, but he doesn't right himself, not knowing if the stop was for the words alone or the overall useless apology he's trying to give.
"You lost," Yukimura says, words more like an accusation than a statement of fact. No one is more aware than he the gravity of his actions. He hates himself for letting Yukimura down, for disappointing him. There's nothing in the word so disgraceful as failing someone as important as he is.
Genichirou stays as he is, murmurs, "Yes." The word yes sounds like guilty in his own mind, as if confessing to a crime he knows that he committed.
"Come here," Yukimura orders, and he doesn't know how to unbend, how to look Yukimura in the eye.
He settles on just managing one, and working up to the other. He stares at the ground, never lifting his eyes, and notices the thin hand patting a piece of bed. That Yukimura wants him that close to him astounds him. He sits, and focuses on the hat he's crushing in his hand.
"Give me that." Yukimura holds his hand out, and he relinquishes his hat without so much as a protest. The fight has gone out of him, not that he ever thinks of fighting his captain, except for those blissful moments when they're facing each other on the court.
"Sanada," Yukimura says, "you should have been focused on what was most important." Genichirou stills at that. He was focused on what was most important. It makes him feel small, insignificant to know that Yukimura doesn't, or chooses not to, see that.
"I failed you. I'm sorry," he says after a few tense moments. He doesn't know what else to say, what else to offer, but the guilt is still eating at him. If he didn't fulfill his promise, what if...what if Yukimura didn't as well? It would have been his fault.
He shakes his head. He can't think like that. It's moot anyhow. Yukimura is fine, and he's a failure. Yukimura may never touch him again, may never smile at him again, but he has his one perfect memory, and that will have to be enough.
"Look at me," Yukimura says then, and he almost refuses. He doesn't want to see that look, not after everything. But Yukimura is asking him, and he can't say no, especially when it's something he can do.
Yukimura's face is impassive, not happy, not angry. He doesn't see the hate he's been expecting, but it's not soft like it was last night. He wants that look back so much it hurts.
"You won't fail again," Yukimura says, sure of himself. He nods his assent, and gets up to leave, knowing a dismissal when he hears one. Except, Yukimura's hand restrains him, and he sits back down.
He's not sure what he expects to happen, a longer lecture, perhaps, a subtle, but effective threat about the security of his position of Vice Captain, or as a regular. Genichirou feels off-kilter, isn't sure why those things aren't happening, because he doesn't expect Yukimura to tug him down by his collar and he certainly doesn't expect the kiss that follows.
Yukimura bites at his bottom lip when he's slow to respond, still too much in shock to give Yukimura's mouth the attention it deserves. This kiss feels like a benediction he doesn't deserve. He supposes, then, that no one deserves benediction in the first place, but those thoughts disappear when Yukimura's fingers graze the back of his neck.
This kiss, in some ways, is so much better than their first, their third, their last, because this one is even more of a surprise than the ones that can before. A part of him will always be in awe of the reality that Yukimura chose to touch him in the first place; that he chooses to do so now, after everything, stuns him to his very core.
When Yukimura breaks away, breathing a little heavily, he presses his forehead to Genichirou's and sighs. The weight of the day, and everything that's happened is heavy. It's too much and exhausting and feels like he's not slept in weeks. He shifts on the bed, sitting next to Yukimura, and tentatively holds his hand.
Yukimura leans his head on Genichirou's shoulder. It feels warm, too warm, and he stills so as not to disrupt him. He still feels the guilt, the weight of failure, the larger weight of his broken promise, but Yukimura is alive, and touching him, so he tries to just breathe.
"We will win at Nationals," Yukimura says. There's determination in his voice, and happiness. Nothing makes Yukimura come alive like tennis, and he can't wait to see him hold a racquet again. He hopes against hope that he'll be lucky enough to stare at Yukimura from across the net first. He wants that privilege so much that even the thought of Yukimura's first serve being given to someone else makes him envious.
"We will," he replies, meaning every word. It's hard not to believe what Yukimura believes, dream what Yukimura dreams, want what Yukimura wants. There's nothing he will deny him, never will be. This time, he swears, this time...