FIC: Rewind Forward (D1) 17/63
Title: Rewind Forward (17/63)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17 (eventual)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
The first day of 2002, Niou wakes up at noon after crawling back into bed just before eight in the morning. He stumbles into the bathroom, takes a piss, and starts to peel his pajamas off for a shower.
The face in the mirror scowls back at him. Messy bleached hair all over, every direction on his head.
With a lovely red spot on the left side of his chin.
A compliment to his mole.
He pokes the spot with his finger. It aches more than his wrists do. More than his calves do.
“Puri,” he grumbles.
***
Yanagi stares at Niou the entire practice. His eyes shift, slitted little black beads watching Niou like a hawk watches a pigeon, calculating things in his mind.
Niou fumbles with his shots.
His wrists hurt.
His calves hurt.
His face hurts.
Yagyuu uses the entire situation to his own advantage. Niou gives up on his right hand and switches back to his left, the familiarity of his stronger side comforting if nothing else.
Southpaw against southpaw.
Niou’s played this way before, sorta.
Yanagi sits in the ref’s chair. “Game, Yagyuu. Four games to love. Switch courts.” His eyes follow Niou as he scuffs his sneakers onto the other side of the net.
Niou clenches his fist to keep from touching his face.
Has Yagyuu noticed? Isn’t it working?
Yagyuu hits low. Niou returns high, completely distracted by his thoughts. His limbs are tired, too, from the early morning hike his family insists on doing every year. But he knows he can’t blame his family for the sloppy rallies and misjudged shots that Yagyuu smashes into his baseline.
At least the dork is gracious enough to stick his hand out at the net for a post-game shake. Niou sniffs. “Happy you won?” he snaps. He ignores the hand and shoves his racket into his tennis bag. He gulps down his water- it’s too cold for this weather and the icy chill freezes his throat.
Yagyuu is silent. He frowns, sighs, and packs his own racket up. Sweat makes his hair damp, makes it messier ever, a bit like Niou’s. Yagyuu’s upturned t-shirt collar is dark with sweat, too. The dork turns it up every practice, a shield for his neck, as if Niou is going to shoot balls as his face.
Niou is too angry to bother. And too tired. He wants to crawl into bed and jerk himself off and forget about this game and the stupid pimple on his chin. And stop thinking about whether or not Yagyuu can see it and whether or not Yagyuu knows he is covering it up like a girl would.
Stupid girls.
Stupid Yagyuu!
“And why do you wear your collar like that?” he shouts at Yagyuu. “It looks dumb!”
For a split second, Niou feels better.
But then Yagyuu turns around to look at him and Niou knows Yagyuu can see the spot on his face through the layers of caked-on beige stolen from his sister and Niou wants to slither off under a cement drain, hide from the world and Yagyuu’s icy expression.
Sanada, the ass, tops everything off in the club house when he stops Niou with a scowl and crossed arms. Yanagi whispers something to Sanada, whose eyes go wide and whose lips break into a shuddering smirk.
Niou’s insides shrivel up completely. He hangs his head, trying to be as inconspicuous as-
“Are you wearing…make-up?” Sanada asks, right before he and Yanagi both burst out laughing. And then Marui sidles up to Niou, short enough to have a look for himself and see.
“Hah! Nice zit, Niou!” he shouts. “Matches that mole growing out of your face. Hah!”
Niou grinds his teeth. If he weren’t wearing just a towel, he’d deck Marui in his grinning fat face. Instead, he swipes his finger across the spot where the waterproof makeup was and smears it right across Marui’s cheek.
“Make-up germs,” he says. “Enjoy.” Niou forces himself to smile. And it almost does feel good to see Marui grimace and tell Niou to fuck off.
But it doesn’t make him feel any better now that Yagyuu knows. Stupid spot, he thinks as he pulls his shirt on. Should have just popped the bastard this morning.
Except it hurts to touch too much. Niou was almost in tears in the bathroom mirror trying to jab the sharp end of a dart into it. It bled. No pus. And hurt like hell, watering his eyes and throbbing on his chin.
Niou pulls the rest of his clothes on as fast as he can and stomps out of the locker room.
This year sucks. He waits for the bus stop, fishing around in his coat pocket to make sure he’s still got his bus pass. The paper edges brush his fingertips and he sighs. Good.
“Niou-kun,” Yagyuu says behind him, “that wasn’t an official game. Surely you know the score doesn’t actually count.”
Niou doesn’t turn around. “Well…” he starts, but it takes him a long moment before he finally says, “You’re probably a better player anyway.”
Yagyuu makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I like playing doubles with you.”
Niou’s stomach flip-flops. He sniffs. Down the road, he can see the outline of a bus approaching. “We haven’t actually played a doubles game yet. You don’t know that.”
Yagyuu chuckles and Niou finally does glance over his shoulder at him. Yagyuu smiles at him, shaking his head. “We play Marui-kun and Jackal-kun in exactly three weeks. Sanada posted the schedule after you stomped out of the clubhouse, Niou-kun.”
***
His parents drive to the family shrine after supper. His sister pleads homework, but Niou’s brother tags along. Niou watches as his mother packs a bundle of incense sticks into her purse and waves goodbye to him.
Niou grunts. He rolls over on the couch.
His cellphone pokes his hip through his pocket, then it starts to vibrate.
Niou flips it open. One message.
Sender: 柳生比呂士
Niou-kun do you want to play on the street courts tomorrow and practice? Please meet me at ten. You will need to take bus 28 from the train station at Keio University and get off at the first stop after the expressway. I will meet you there.
Niou sighs. The train station must take at least two bus changes to get to. At ten in the morning.
The television anchorman blathers on in front of a weather map, white cloud formations and yellow tracking lines indicating the cold weather to come. And rain, too.
Lovely, Niou thinks.
He sighs again, then takes his time texting Yagyuu a message in return. He doesn’t want to seem too keen, either. Niou waits for the weather report to finish. Time inches by as commercials for vacuum cleaners and all-purpose cleaner flash across the station.
Yes Ill come. I want lunch too.
***
Sure enough, Yagyuu waits at the bus stop, the first after the expressway on bus route number 28 from the Keio University station, holding a large paper bag in his hand and his tennis bag over his opposite shoulder.
“I brought the lunch you requested, Niou-kun,” Yagyuu says. He holds the bag open for Niou. Inside are stacked two lacquered jubako boxes. Niou can smell the faintest tang of seaweed and fish coming from them.
He blinks. “You brought osechi?” Niou raises an eyebrow at Yagyuu.
Yagyuu closes the bag and shrugs. “My mother felt bad about the bugs at home so she bought them for us.”
Niou whistles. “Your family is loaded, Yagyuu.”
Yagyuu just shrugs again. “The courts are a bit of a walk from here, just down the street, but there has been a number of students hanging them around lately.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, then buries his face into his scarf.
“And you think we’ll find a team to play doubles against,” Niou says. He breathes a small laugh. “Aren’t you the clever one.”
Yagyuu has to be smiling under that scarf. Niou can practically hear it in his voice when Yagyuu says, “It’s worth a shot.”
Nothing but crows and pigeons are out in the skeletal limbs of the trees. The cooing, the caws follow behind as Niou keeps up with Yagyuu down the street. The sky is clear, for now, but even now Niou can see the tell-tale rim of grey on the horizon, a storm coming in off the sea.
The wind has picked up. Niou digs his hands into his pockets. The mittens keep them warm, but his coat even more so.
Yagyuu isn’t wearing his Rikkai tennis club uniform, but instead black pants and what looks like a green shirt, some boring and dorky moss-coloured green shirt underneath the same school-issue coat and scarf Niou has on. Although Niou has his tennis uniform already on- if he was going to be wake up early enough to play with Yagyuu, then damned if he will change a second time for tennis practice this afternoon. Too much effort.
Besides, seeing the glances of recognition in students’ eyes around the prefecture when he shows up somewhere in the Rikkai black and yellow? It feels good inside to feel special, to be important enough that people whisper and say, “He plays for the number one team.”
Niou can be number one at something.
Yagyuu’s streetcourts are at the back of a small green park, lined with bare trees on three sides with a swing set nearby. The place looks cold and deserted in January, the grass a little too patchy and brown for playing, but on the courts, Niou hears the familiar sound of balls bouncing and the grunts of players.
He looks at Yagyuu, who looks at him and peels his scarf from his face. Yagyuu’s green collar is already turned up against his neck. “We’ll challenge them to a match,” he says.
Niou snorts. “There’s no nets.” He nods to the courts where two idiots are trying to rally, but looking stupid because there is nothing in between them except two tennisbags strewn across the middle where a net should be.
Yagyuu opens the fence gate, which creaks and makes the two players look up at them. “Excuse me,” Yagyuu says as the one boy catches the ball on his racket, sliding it across the face, “do you two want to play a doubles game?”
The brown-haired boy with the ball looks at his friend. “Wakato?” he asks.
The red-haired boy sighs heavily, but he smirks the whole while. He stretches, lazy like a cat, and shrugs. “Why not? Should we test out some of sensei’s theories?”
Niou pokes Yagyuu in the arm as Yagyuu starts to pull his racket from his bag and test the strings. “Those two look a bit…” Niou shakes his head and laughs. “How do we know if they’re any good?” Niou asks. “We could be playing against morons. They could be collecting data.”
Niou shudders at the memory of meganes in bushes, chasing him through his dreams for a good week afterward. He looks over his shoulder, but the shrugs are bare enough without their leaves now that he can see straight through them.
“Their bags say they are from Jyousei Shounen,” Yagyuu says. “They must be on the tennis team there.”
“Where?” Niou rolls his eyes. “If they’re any good, we’d have heard about them by now.”
Yagyuu smiles, a little enigmatic twitch to the sides of his lips. “Won’t playtime be fun, then, Niou-kun?”
Niou unzips his own bag. Yagyuu seems to be acting a little off, the way he keeps smiling, almost the same way Kirihara does before a game, completely confident and cock-sure of himself. “Fine,” Niou says. “But I’m playing right-handed if you want to play against those two.”
“Take the net,” Yagyuu says.
Niou swings his racket over his shoulder. “Of course.”
The Jyousei Shounen pair stares at Niou’s uniform and whisper to each other, nodding to Yagyuu, then back to Niou. Niou knows that his uniform jacket, the colour says it all- he and Yagyuu are members of the number one tennis club in the country, still, neither the red-haired boy nor the other one seem to care.
Niou holds his racket in his right hand. He might have played Yagyuu with it, he might have played a former senpai, but he’s never played this sort of a game with his other hand before.
Just so they don’t take any data, he thinks. Niou bounces his wrist, testing the weight to make sure his grip isn’t too tight.
Yagyuu dumps his tennisbag at the centre to make the line more distinct.
“Thanks,” the one other boy says. He turns his head and Niou can see the glint of an earring catch the dim winter sun. He leans his racket on the ground. “Smooth or rough?”
Yagyuu doesn’t so much as even turn around to ask Niou what they should choose. Immediately he says, “Rough”.
Jyousei spins the racket, a whirl of dark blue, then a clatter as it hits the ground and bounces once. Twice. Three times, then stillness.
“You may serve,” Yagyuu says. He adjusts his glasses. “If you would like to.”
The red-haired Jyousei boy snickers as he walks back to the baseline. “Yes, we would.”
Niou nods to himself, to Yagyuu. Fine then, he thinks. Let’s see what you have. Now, with his left hand free, he has more movement to motion to Yagyuu with his better hand- faster, sneakier, maybe.
The red-haired boy starts with a serve- it’s okay, nothing special, nothing better than an average player in the tennis club could do. Niou is used to going left, to taking the far shots, but now with his right, he steps and returns, fast and short, just to test the waters.
Yagyuu waits at the baseline.
Niou knows Yagyuu is up to something. He can sense it, the way the back of his neck prickles and his rat tail whips at his skin, the cold winter air biting as he moves. He reaches, cutting motion with his left to Yagyuu- leave the ball. Don’t get it. Let’s see what happens.
The Jyousei net player with the earring calls, “Our point. Jyousei, fifteen-love.” Unlike his friend, he doesn’t smirk at their win, if anything, his brow furrows and he seems to be muttering something to himself.
The red-haired Wakato serves a second time, a straight mid-range shot. Niou curls his fingers behind his back- come forward, lob it. Yagyuu runs up to the centre of the court, Niou can hear his sneakers slapping against the cold clay, echoing against the trees. The ball lobs high above Niou’s head, arcing into the distant horizon.
Niou ducks his head just as the earring boy smashes the ball. Niou holds back for a split second before he makes a half-assed attempt with his right hand to use a rising shot.
“Jyousei, thirty-love,” the earring boy says. “You must not be regulars on the Rikkai team.” He tugs at his ear, fingering the earring. He frowns.
Niou shrugs. “Guess not.”
Yagyuu’s odd comment about playtime thrills Niou inside now that they are playing against another team. If Yagyuu want to have fun, then Niou will oblige. He motions to Yagyuu to let the third serve, then the fourth go by. Yagyuu complies, running to the baseline corner in a feigned attempt to start a rally.
Jyousei’s confidence grows.
The set up is good. With this game, Niou doesn’t need to worry about his right side being weaker because Jyousei won’t know the difference.
Wakato clicks his tongue when they change courts. “You know, Kajimoto, for being members of the Rikkai tennis club, they sure seem rather average to me. No play style. No coordination and that bleach job can barely hold his racket the right way. Good thing sensei hasn’t tried that team yet. They suck.”
“Wakato…” the brown-haired Kajimoto starts, but he lets the reprieve slide.
The sting hurts Niou. He knows his right side isn’t his best. He knows, too, that Yagyuu is much better at any ambidextrous attempts they made, but for some no-name school to be saying things like that? He can feel his eye twitch. He wants to itch his scalp, too, and spit at that red-haired twit with the ridiculous and flippy hair. Flippy attitude.
“Gee,” Niou says, trying to speak as sweetly as he can through his teeth, “you caught me. I haven’t been playing very long and neither has he.” He nods to Yagyuu, who nods back.
“It’s true,” Yagyuu says. It’s not a lie in the least. Niou and Yagyuu have maybe three years’ experience between the two of them. The two boys from Jyousei act as though they have been playing since childhood, the way they shift their weight on the court, waiting for Yagyuu to serve. The way the Wakato kid, especially, rolls his eyes.
Niou cocks his head to the side, tossing Yagyuu the ball. “Hopefully they’ll go easy on us,” he tells Yagyuu, a little too loud, a little too nice. Let’s slaughter them.
Yagyuu nods once, cocking his head to the opposite side. Niou can’t read anything about his expression, his face is as bland as ever, but the slightest glint from his glasses, Niou hopes, says enough. Says that Yagyuu understands.
Yagyuu’s serves have never been his forte, but Niou listens as Yagyuu sucks in a deep breath, then throws himself into the serve. It zooms past Niou, so fast that Jyousei both stand and blink as the ball slams into the chainlink fence behind them.
After they realize they’ve lost the point, Wakato yawns, melodramatic and flashy like Marui would, but without the genius. He and his friend whisper something to each other, then reform themselves on the court, both closer to the baseline.
Yagyuu’s second serve isn’t as good. Niou can see too much angle, too much follow-through with Yagyuu focusing more on the speed than the form. He clicks his tongue. What would Yukimura say? he thinks, just as Kajimoto returns the ball with the slightest of rises, carrying the ball across his racket to build up a slice and throw off Yagyuu’s straight shots.
Niou rushes for the return, using both hands and a left-hand undershot- it’s his stronger side, which helps. Familiarity breeds comfort, a successful comfort that cuts back away from Wakato, who runs and lunges, but misses the shot in a plume of cold dust as he stumbles.
Playing with Yagyuu is easier in the real game than during practice. Gone are the hundreds of rushing thoughts Niou had about how to direct Yagyuu, about his form, about their movements together. Niou stops thinking about that and lets things flow. He motions with his hands and Yagyuu only has to nod once, sometimes not at all and he gets it.
Except during the third game, Niou at the right side of the not-quite net and Yagyuu at the far left baseline. A beautiful, easy shot aimed for the centre of the court by Wakato. Niou slips up, he knows it’s his fault but before he fully realizes it, he’s favouring his left hand, waiting and ready to return with an imitation laser.
And Yagyuu thinks the same thing, his back rim-rod straight and his right arm and racket fully extended back for the maximum effect.
Neither of them makes the ball, but it is the last point Jyousei scores in the entire game. Niou returns with smashes and lobs, enticing them, luring Jyousei into rallies for Yagyuu. And Yagyuu follows up with his laser, unexpected at first, that laser-fast flash of yellow, so fast that it leaves blackened marks at the baseline, barely in, but in the court enough to score point after point.
“You’re eating this up, aren’t you?” Niou asks. Jyousei has the serve, but he and Yagyuu are up, four games to one.
Yagyuu snorts. “Why would you think that, Niou-kun?” he asks, but his face isn’t so blank anymore. There are beads of sweat along his forehead and the tiniest of smiles on his lips. Playful.
“Time for…our comeback!” Wakato shouts on the other side of the court. Kajimoto groans and slaps his hand against his brow, embarrassed about whatever that red-head is doing with his back turned away from the court.
Niou taps his foot, waiting.
Yagyuu fixes his glasses.
A crow caws in a nearby tree, shouting for the game to continue, shouting out with the impatience on the court.
Hands fly up in the air and Wakato jumps around, yelling, “Changeooooover!” He stands up straight and his face falls from a smirk into a neutral expression, only his eyes blinking. He bounces the ball twice, cocks his head, tosses up for the serve, and fires a fast, straight shot.
Straight at Niou.
It’s not a laser, there is too much spin and the speed may be fast, but not Yagyuu fast. That idiot is trying to copy your shot, Yagyuu, Niou thinks.
Niou moves sideways, stepping over to make the play, but Yagyuu yells, “Mine!” so sharp that Niou falls back, partly out of surprise and partly out of curiosity as to why Yagyuu wants the return so badly.
Yagyuu volleys it, leaving Niou standing at the net, slightly confused. He won’t doubt Yagyuu’s judgment. If Yagyuu wants to play, fine.
Wakato returns Yagyuu’s volley with a lob, almost enticing for Niou to smash, but he doesn’t. Niou steps back and waves two of his fingers. Show me what you want to do.
Maybe it is the wind, or maybe Niou really hears a noise that sounds like a chuckle behind him. Whatever it is, Jyousei doesn’t expect another laser now. Yagyuu isn’t posing, he’s running across the court, completely in motion and then BAM!
Wakato shrieks, falling over sideways and clutching his calf.
The ball rolls off the court, innocent, with a dark, painful burn mark left on the clay and the smell of burnt rubber in the air.
“You almost burned my leg!” Wakato shouts. “Look! Kajimoto! See the red marks here? What the fuck was that?”
Yagyuu, though…Niou can only stare at him. It’s like he’s a different person. Two wholly different facets, the way Yagyuu stands stiff and straight like usual, but with his eyes completely glazed over like his lenses. His nostrils are flared and his lips upturned, but not exactly in a smile.
More like a sneer.
“Oops,” Yagyuu whispers, his voice breathy, “Please excuse my shot.” Yagyuu swings his racket down in his hand, back and forth like a pendulum.
Wakato stands up, gingerly wiping at his leg. Niou can see the barest of blushes on his calf- not a burn, maybe a graze. He’s shaken up and his serve falters. Yagyuu doesn’t need any more laser beams. Simple shots and smashes take the fifth game, then Niou’s serves in the sixth- all no-touch aces- seal the match.
Across the line of tennisbags, they shake hands.
“Are you sure you’re not regulars?” Kajimoto asks. Niou smirks. Kajimoto lifts his chin, “Maybe we’ll see you at the Regionals, then,” he says.
“Maybe,” Niou says.
“Thank you for the match,” Yagyuu adds, the perfect gentleman once more.
Jyousei leaves the court and Yagyuu picks his tennis bag up, then the plastic bag full of lunch. He and Niou walk out of the courts and sit down on a bench in the surrounding park. The few birds and the tittering of squirrels, the rustle of dead leaves on the ground fills the silence until Niou says,
“You’re a little scary sometimes.”
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17 (eventual)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
The first day of 2002, Niou wakes up at noon after crawling back into bed just before eight in the morning. He stumbles into the bathroom, takes a piss, and starts to peel his pajamas off for a shower.
The face in the mirror scowls back at him. Messy bleached hair all over, every direction on his head.
With a lovely red spot on the left side of his chin.
A compliment to his mole.
He pokes the spot with his finger. It aches more than his wrists do. More than his calves do.
“Puri,” he grumbles.
***
Yanagi stares at Niou the entire practice. His eyes shift, slitted little black beads watching Niou like a hawk watches a pigeon, calculating things in his mind.
Niou fumbles with his shots.
His wrists hurt.
His calves hurt.
His face hurts.
Yagyuu uses the entire situation to his own advantage. Niou gives up on his right hand and switches back to his left, the familiarity of his stronger side comforting if nothing else.
Southpaw against southpaw.
Niou’s played this way before, sorta.
Yanagi sits in the ref’s chair. “Game, Yagyuu. Four games to love. Switch courts.” His eyes follow Niou as he scuffs his sneakers onto the other side of the net.
Niou clenches his fist to keep from touching his face.
Has Yagyuu noticed? Isn’t it working?
Yagyuu hits low. Niou returns high, completely distracted by his thoughts. His limbs are tired, too, from the early morning hike his family insists on doing every year. But he knows he can’t blame his family for the sloppy rallies and misjudged shots that Yagyuu smashes into his baseline.
At least the dork is gracious enough to stick his hand out at the net for a post-game shake. Niou sniffs. “Happy you won?” he snaps. He ignores the hand and shoves his racket into his tennis bag. He gulps down his water- it’s too cold for this weather and the icy chill freezes his throat.
Yagyuu is silent. He frowns, sighs, and packs his own racket up. Sweat makes his hair damp, makes it messier ever, a bit like Niou’s. Yagyuu’s upturned t-shirt collar is dark with sweat, too. The dork turns it up every practice, a shield for his neck, as if Niou is going to shoot balls as his face.
Niou is too angry to bother. And too tired. He wants to crawl into bed and jerk himself off and forget about this game and the stupid pimple on his chin. And stop thinking about whether or not Yagyuu can see it and whether or not Yagyuu knows he is covering it up like a girl would.
Stupid girls.
Stupid Yagyuu!
“And why do you wear your collar like that?” he shouts at Yagyuu. “It looks dumb!”
For a split second, Niou feels better.
But then Yagyuu turns around to look at him and Niou knows Yagyuu can see the spot on his face through the layers of caked-on beige stolen from his sister and Niou wants to slither off under a cement drain, hide from the world and Yagyuu’s icy expression.
Sanada, the ass, tops everything off in the club house when he stops Niou with a scowl and crossed arms. Yanagi whispers something to Sanada, whose eyes go wide and whose lips break into a shuddering smirk.
Niou’s insides shrivel up completely. He hangs his head, trying to be as inconspicuous as-
“Are you wearing…make-up?” Sanada asks, right before he and Yanagi both burst out laughing. And then Marui sidles up to Niou, short enough to have a look for himself and see.
“Hah! Nice zit, Niou!” he shouts. “Matches that mole growing out of your face. Hah!”
Niou grinds his teeth. If he weren’t wearing just a towel, he’d deck Marui in his grinning fat face. Instead, he swipes his finger across the spot where the waterproof makeup was and smears it right across Marui’s cheek.
“Make-up germs,” he says. “Enjoy.” Niou forces himself to smile. And it almost does feel good to see Marui grimace and tell Niou to fuck off.
But it doesn’t make him feel any better now that Yagyuu knows. Stupid spot, he thinks as he pulls his shirt on. Should have just popped the bastard this morning.
Except it hurts to touch too much. Niou was almost in tears in the bathroom mirror trying to jab the sharp end of a dart into it. It bled. No pus. And hurt like hell, watering his eyes and throbbing on his chin.
Niou pulls the rest of his clothes on as fast as he can and stomps out of the locker room.
This year sucks. He waits for the bus stop, fishing around in his coat pocket to make sure he’s still got his bus pass. The paper edges brush his fingertips and he sighs. Good.
“Niou-kun,” Yagyuu says behind him, “that wasn’t an official game. Surely you know the score doesn’t actually count.”
Niou doesn’t turn around. “Well…” he starts, but it takes him a long moment before he finally says, “You’re probably a better player anyway.”
Yagyuu makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I like playing doubles with you.”
Niou’s stomach flip-flops. He sniffs. Down the road, he can see the outline of a bus approaching. “We haven’t actually played a doubles game yet. You don’t know that.”
Yagyuu chuckles and Niou finally does glance over his shoulder at him. Yagyuu smiles at him, shaking his head. “We play Marui-kun and Jackal-kun in exactly three weeks. Sanada posted the schedule after you stomped out of the clubhouse, Niou-kun.”
***
His parents drive to the family shrine after supper. His sister pleads homework, but Niou’s brother tags along. Niou watches as his mother packs a bundle of incense sticks into her purse and waves goodbye to him.
Niou grunts. He rolls over on the couch.
His cellphone pokes his hip through his pocket, then it starts to vibrate.
Niou flips it open. One message.
Sender: 柳生比呂士
Niou-kun do you want to play on the street courts tomorrow and practice? Please meet me at ten. You will need to take bus 28 from the train station at Keio University and get off at the first stop after the expressway. I will meet you there.
Niou sighs. The train station must take at least two bus changes to get to. At ten in the morning.
The television anchorman blathers on in front of a weather map, white cloud formations and yellow tracking lines indicating the cold weather to come. And rain, too.
Lovely, Niou thinks.
He sighs again, then takes his time texting Yagyuu a message in return. He doesn’t want to seem too keen, either. Niou waits for the weather report to finish. Time inches by as commercials for vacuum cleaners and all-purpose cleaner flash across the station.
Yes Ill come. I want lunch too.
***
Sure enough, Yagyuu waits at the bus stop, the first after the expressway on bus route number 28 from the Keio University station, holding a large paper bag in his hand and his tennis bag over his opposite shoulder.
“I brought the lunch you requested, Niou-kun,” Yagyuu says. He holds the bag open for Niou. Inside are stacked two lacquered jubako boxes. Niou can smell the faintest tang of seaweed and fish coming from them.
He blinks. “You brought osechi?” Niou raises an eyebrow at Yagyuu.
Yagyuu closes the bag and shrugs. “My mother felt bad about the bugs at home so she bought them for us.”
Niou whistles. “Your family is loaded, Yagyuu.”
Yagyuu just shrugs again. “The courts are a bit of a walk from here, just down the street, but there has been a number of students hanging them around lately.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, then buries his face into his scarf.
“And you think we’ll find a team to play doubles against,” Niou says. He breathes a small laugh. “Aren’t you the clever one.”
Yagyuu has to be smiling under that scarf. Niou can practically hear it in his voice when Yagyuu says, “It’s worth a shot.”
Nothing but crows and pigeons are out in the skeletal limbs of the trees. The cooing, the caws follow behind as Niou keeps up with Yagyuu down the street. The sky is clear, for now, but even now Niou can see the tell-tale rim of grey on the horizon, a storm coming in off the sea.
The wind has picked up. Niou digs his hands into his pockets. The mittens keep them warm, but his coat even more so.
Yagyuu isn’t wearing his Rikkai tennis club uniform, but instead black pants and what looks like a green shirt, some boring and dorky moss-coloured green shirt underneath the same school-issue coat and scarf Niou has on. Although Niou has his tennis uniform already on- if he was going to be wake up early enough to play with Yagyuu, then damned if he will change a second time for tennis practice this afternoon. Too much effort.
Besides, seeing the glances of recognition in students’ eyes around the prefecture when he shows up somewhere in the Rikkai black and yellow? It feels good inside to feel special, to be important enough that people whisper and say, “He plays for the number one team.”
Niou can be number one at something.
Yagyuu’s streetcourts are at the back of a small green park, lined with bare trees on three sides with a swing set nearby. The place looks cold and deserted in January, the grass a little too patchy and brown for playing, but on the courts, Niou hears the familiar sound of balls bouncing and the grunts of players.
He looks at Yagyuu, who looks at him and peels his scarf from his face. Yagyuu’s green collar is already turned up against his neck. “We’ll challenge them to a match,” he says.
Niou snorts. “There’s no nets.” He nods to the courts where two idiots are trying to rally, but looking stupid because there is nothing in between them except two tennisbags strewn across the middle where a net should be.
Yagyuu opens the fence gate, which creaks and makes the two players look up at them. “Excuse me,” Yagyuu says as the one boy catches the ball on his racket, sliding it across the face, “do you two want to play a doubles game?”
The brown-haired boy with the ball looks at his friend. “Wakato?” he asks.
The red-haired boy sighs heavily, but he smirks the whole while. He stretches, lazy like a cat, and shrugs. “Why not? Should we test out some of sensei’s theories?”
Niou pokes Yagyuu in the arm as Yagyuu starts to pull his racket from his bag and test the strings. “Those two look a bit…” Niou shakes his head and laughs. “How do we know if they’re any good?” Niou asks. “We could be playing against morons. They could be collecting data.”
Niou shudders at the memory of meganes in bushes, chasing him through his dreams for a good week afterward. He looks over his shoulder, but the shrugs are bare enough without their leaves now that he can see straight through them.
“Their bags say they are from Jyousei Shounen,” Yagyuu says. “They must be on the tennis team there.”
“Where?” Niou rolls his eyes. “If they’re any good, we’d have heard about them by now.”
Yagyuu smiles, a little enigmatic twitch to the sides of his lips. “Won’t playtime be fun, then, Niou-kun?”
Niou unzips his own bag. Yagyuu seems to be acting a little off, the way he keeps smiling, almost the same way Kirihara does before a game, completely confident and cock-sure of himself. “Fine,” Niou says. “But I’m playing right-handed if you want to play against those two.”
“Take the net,” Yagyuu says.
Niou swings his racket over his shoulder. “Of course.”
The Jyousei Shounen pair stares at Niou’s uniform and whisper to each other, nodding to Yagyuu, then back to Niou. Niou knows that his uniform jacket, the colour says it all- he and Yagyuu are members of the number one tennis club in the country, still, neither the red-haired boy nor the other one seem to care.
Niou holds his racket in his right hand. He might have played Yagyuu with it, he might have played a former senpai, but he’s never played this sort of a game with his other hand before.
Just so they don’t take any data, he thinks. Niou bounces his wrist, testing the weight to make sure his grip isn’t too tight.
Yagyuu dumps his tennisbag at the centre to make the line more distinct.
“Thanks,” the one other boy says. He turns his head and Niou can see the glint of an earring catch the dim winter sun. He leans his racket on the ground. “Smooth or rough?”
Yagyuu doesn’t so much as even turn around to ask Niou what they should choose. Immediately he says, “Rough”.
Jyousei spins the racket, a whirl of dark blue, then a clatter as it hits the ground and bounces once. Twice. Three times, then stillness.
“You may serve,” Yagyuu says. He adjusts his glasses. “If you would like to.”
The red-haired Jyousei boy snickers as he walks back to the baseline. “Yes, we would.”
Niou nods to himself, to Yagyuu. Fine then, he thinks. Let’s see what you have. Now, with his left hand free, he has more movement to motion to Yagyuu with his better hand- faster, sneakier, maybe.
The red-haired boy starts with a serve- it’s okay, nothing special, nothing better than an average player in the tennis club could do. Niou is used to going left, to taking the far shots, but now with his right, he steps and returns, fast and short, just to test the waters.
Yagyuu waits at the baseline.
Niou knows Yagyuu is up to something. He can sense it, the way the back of his neck prickles and his rat tail whips at his skin, the cold winter air biting as he moves. He reaches, cutting motion with his left to Yagyuu- leave the ball. Don’t get it. Let’s see what happens.
The Jyousei net player with the earring calls, “Our point. Jyousei, fifteen-love.” Unlike his friend, he doesn’t smirk at their win, if anything, his brow furrows and he seems to be muttering something to himself.
The red-haired Wakato serves a second time, a straight mid-range shot. Niou curls his fingers behind his back- come forward, lob it. Yagyuu runs up to the centre of the court, Niou can hear his sneakers slapping against the cold clay, echoing against the trees. The ball lobs high above Niou’s head, arcing into the distant horizon.
Niou ducks his head just as the earring boy smashes the ball. Niou holds back for a split second before he makes a half-assed attempt with his right hand to use a rising shot.
“Jyousei, thirty-love,” the earring boy says. “You must not be regulars on the Rikkai team.” He tugs at his ear, fingering the earring. He frowns.
Niou shrugs. “Guess not.”
Yagyuu’s odd comment about playtime thrills Niou inside now that they are playing against another team. If Yagyuu want to have fun, then Niou will oblige. He motions to Yagyuu to let the third serve, then the fourth go by. Yagyuu complies, running to the baseline corner in a feigned attempt to start a rally.
Jyousei’s confidence grows.
The set up is good. With this game, Niou doesn’t need to worry about his right side being weaker because Jyousei won’t know the difference.
Wakato clicks his tongue when they change courts. “You know, Kajimoto, for being members of the Rikkai tennis club, they sure seem rather average to me. No play style. No coordination and that bleach job can barely hold his racket the right way. Good thing sensei hasn’t tried that team yet. They suck.”
“Wakato…” the brown-haired Kajimoto starts, but he lets the reprieve slide.
The sting hurts Niou. He knows his right side isn’t his best. He knows, too, that Yagyuu is much better at any ambidextrous attempts they made, but for some no-name school to be saying things like that? He can feel his eye twitch. He wants to itch his scalp, too, and spit at that red-haired twit with the ridiculous and flippy hair. Flippy attitude.
“Gee,” Niou says, trying to speak as sweetly as he can through his teeth, “you caught me. I haven’t been playing very long and neither has he.” He nods to Yagyuu, who nods back.
“It’s true,” Yagyuu says. It’s not a lie in the least. Niou and Yagyuu have maybe three years’ experience between the two of them. The two boys from Jyousei act as though they have been playing since childhood, the way they shift their weight on the court, waiting for Yagyuu to serve. The way the Wakato kid, especially, rolls his eyes.
Niou cocks his head to the side, tossing Yagyuu the ball. “Hopefully they’ll go easy on us,” he tells Yagyuu, a little too loud, a little too nice. Let’s slaughter them.
Yagyuu nods once, cocking his head to the opposite side. Niou can’t read anything about his expression, his face is as bland as ever, but the slightest glint from his glasses, Niou hopes, says enough. Says that Yagyuu understands.
Yagyuu’s serves have never been his forte, but Niou listens as Yagyuu sucks in a deep breath, then throws himself into the serve. It zooms past Niou, so fast that Jyousei both stand and blink as the ball slams into the chainlink fence behind them.
After they realize they’ve lost the point, Wakato yawns, melodramatic and flashy like Marui would, but without the genius. He and his friend whisper something to each other, then reform themselves on the court, both closer to the baseline.
Yagyuu’s second serve isn’t as good. Niou can see too much angle, too much follow-through with Yagyuu focusing more on the speed than the form. He clicks his tongue. What would Yukimura say? he thinks, just as Kajimoto returns the ball with the slightest of rises, carrying the ball across his racket to build up a slice and throw off Yagyuu’s straight shots.
Niou rushes for the return, using both hands and a left-hand undershot- it’s his stronger side, which helps. Familiarity breeds comfort, a successful comfort that cuts back away from Wakato, who runs and lunges, but misses the shot in a plume of cold dust as he stumbles.
Playing with Yagyuu is easier in the real game than during practice. Gone are the hundreds of rushing thoughts Niou had about how to direct Yagyuu, about his form, about their movements together. Niou stops thinking about that and lets things flow. He motions with his hands and Yagyuu only has to nod once, sometimes not at all and he gets it.
Except during the third game, Niou at the right side of the not-quite net and Yagyuu at the far left baseline. A beautiful, easy shot aimed for the centre of the court by Wakato. Niou slips up, he knows it’s his fault but before he fully realizes it, he’s favouring his left hand, waiting and ready to return with an imitation laser.
And Yagyuu thinks the same thing, his back rim-rod straight and his right arm and racket fully extended back for the maximum effect.
Neither of them makes the ball, but it is the last point Jyousei scores in the entire game. Niou returns with smashes and lobs, enticing them, luring Jyousei into rallies for Yagyuu. And Yagyuu follows up with his laser, unexpected at first, that laser-fast flash of yellow, so fast that it leaves blackened marks at the baseline, barely in, but in the court enough to score point after point.
“You’re eating this up, aren’t you?” Niou asks. Jyousei has the serve, but he and Yagyuu are up, four games to one.
Yagyuu snorts. “Why would you think that, Niou-kun?” he asks, but his face isn’t so blank anymore. There are beads of sweat along his forehead and the tiniest of smiles on his lips. Playful.
“Time for…our comeback!” Wakato shouts on the other side of the court. Kajimoto groans and slaps his hand against his brow, embarrassed about whatever that red-head is doing with his back turned away from the court.
Niou taps his foot, waiting.
Yagyuu fixes his glasses.
A crow caws in a nearby tree, shouting for the game to continue, shouting out with the impatience on the court.
Hands fly up in the air and Wakato jumps around, yelling, “Changeooooover!” He stands up straight and his face falls from a smirk into a neutral expression, only his eyes blinking. He bounces the ball twice, cocks his head, tosses up for the serve, and fires a fast, straight shot.
Straight at Niou.
It’s not a laser, there is too much spin and the speed may be fast, but not Yagyuu fast. That idiot is trying to copy your shot, Yagyuu, Niou thinks.
Niou moves sideways, stepping over to make the play, but Yagyuu yells, “Mine!” so sharp that Niou falls back, partly out of surprise and partly out of curiosity as to why Yagyuu wants the return so badly.
Yagyuu volleys it, leaving Niou standing at the net, slightly confused. He won’t doubt Yagyuu’s judgment. If Yagyuu wants to play, fine.
Wakato returns Yagyuu’s volley with a lob, almost enticing for Niou to smash, but he doesn’t. Niou steps back and waves two of his fingers. Show me what you want to do.
Maybe it is the wind, or maybe Niou really hears a noise that sounds like a chuckle behind him. Whatever it is, Jyousei doesn’t expect another laser now. Yagyuu isn’t posing, he’s running across the court, completely in motion and then BAM!
Wakato shrieks, falling over sideways and clutching his calf.
The ball rolls off the court, innocent, with a dark, painful burn mark left on the clay and the smell of burnt rubber in the air.
“You almost burned my leg!” Wakato shouts. “Look! Kajimoto! See the red marks here? What the fuck was that?”
Yagyuu, though…Niou can only stare at him. It’s like he’s a different person. Two wholly different facets, the way Yagyuu stands stiff and straight like usual, but with his eyes completely glazed over like his lenses. His nostrils are flared and his lips upturned, but not exactly in a smile.
More like a sneer.
“Oops,” Yagyuu whispers, his voice breathy, “Please excuse my shot.” Yagyuu swings his racket down in his hand, back and forth like a pendulum.
Wakato stands up, gingerly wiping at his leg. Niou can see the barest of blushes on his calf- not a burn, maybe a graze. He’s shaken up and his serve falters. Yagyuu doesn’t need any more laser beams. Simple shots and smashes take the fifth game, then Niou’s serves in the sixth- all no-touch aces- seal the match.
Across the line of tennisbags, they shake hands.
“Are you sure you’re not regulars?” Kajimoto asks. Niou smirks. Kajimoto lifts his chin, “Maybe we’ll see you at the Regionals, then,” he says.
“Maybe,” Niou says.
“Thank you for the match,” Yagyuu adds, the perfect gentleman once more.
Jyousei leaves the court and Yagyuu picks his tennis bag up, then the plastic bag full of lunch. He and Niou walk out of the courts and sit down on a bench in the surrounding park. The few birds and the tittering of squirrels, the rustle of dead leaves on the ground fills the silence until Niou says,
“You’re a little scary sometimes.”