FIC: Rewind Forward (D1) 47/63
Title: Rewind Forward (47/63)
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17 (eventual)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
Your family was nice. Thank you for dinner, Masaharu.
Niou can't stop looking at the text message. The LCD screen of his cell shines blue in the dark of his room. Niou's eyes prickle. His cock rubs the sheets, aching and hard as he sets his cell down with his right hand and grabs himself with his left. Niou bites his lips, but the shuddered sob still rises. His thighs shake. He comes, nearly untouched, with a grunt and desperate moan he can't hold back.
He lies there, hand tight around his soft dick, and breathes in the darkness. Yagyuu's cocky smile is burned onto his eyelids, teasing him with a wink and mouthed words Niou can almost-but not quite-understand.
How much time do you need, Yagyuu? he thinks.
You seem more than ready now…
***
Niou is having a good dream. Flickering monochrome images melding into colour and light and Yagyuu's voice whispering in his ear. "Masaharu…Masaharu…"
Niou smiles and buries his head deeper. Yagyuu's chest is soft and dry. Niou opens his mouth to lick his skin, but his tongue is sticky and his mouth tastes gross and stale. Would Yagyuu mind? Would he care? Niou rubs his face, his cheek pressed to Yagyuu. "Is this okay?" he mumbles.
"Masaharu!"
Yagyuu's chest moves. Niou's shoulder moves too. Lucidity swirls around his head, then thumps him on the arm. His eyes crack open and he sees the sleep blurred form of…
His mother.
Niou closes his eyes and falls back on his pillow with a groan. "Go away," he grumbles.
His mother yanks the curtains open. Blinding light floods his room, hot and cheerful yellow sun streaming across his bed. "I thought Yagyuu-kun said you two were visiting a sick teammate today," she says. "You could have told me sooner, Masaharu. We could have bought him something to wish him luck."
Niou rolls onto his stomach. He stuffs his face in the crack between his pillow and the bed. His head crawls. His legs are sticky with sweat and probably come, too. Stupid mother, ruining a good dream…
But his mother doesn't understand the important things. She pulls his sheets away from his body. Niou grunts. "Go have a shower," she says. "Your breakfast has been on the table for four hours."
The clock reads past noon. They're meeting at the hospital in two hours. Train ride: forty minutes. Bus to station: fifteen. Doing his hair: ten. Shower and quick jerk-off: five.
Niou throws his head back. "Puri."
***
He takes the train instead of the bus and changes for the subway to the main train station downtown to get to Tokyo. Niou runs through the underground arcade, breathing in the fumes of ramen and tonkatsu that make his belly rumble. The wilted salad and cold toast he had before don't seem as good when he runs past the displays of plastic food, all bright and colourful and advertising pork ramen that makes his mouth water.
Niou dodges pedestrians and weaves in and out of crowds of people streaming past. He pants hard and his sneakers slap the ground. The yen in his pocket and his metal chain jingle, but he's got enough money today after his mother slipped him a couple bills when he rushed out the door.
His cell buzzes in his pocket as he waits to buy a ticket to Tokyo. Niou's eyes flash to the train schedule. If he's quick, he can make it to the platform in time before the next one. Niou ignores the message and shoves in front of a couple gaijin tourists to buy a ticket first, then he runs for the platform: through the automated gates, down the corridor, jump to the side out of the way, dodge the mother pushing a stroller, then run up the steps two at a time.
Niou cuts past a few school kids and waits in line. The train pulls into the station on cue. He leans down on his knees and exhales. The swollen heat of summer is multiplied with his efforts to get here on time.
Normally, he wouldn't care.
But this is Yukimura. The team is dead as is, and Sanada will absolutely slaughter them if they're late. Niou almost feels bad for Sanada, because no doubt he will be the one to break the news to the poor crippled kid in the hospital. Niou thinks about it: like taking candy from a baby, or swiping the cane from an old blind man. Cruel, really.
He snickers and steps onto the train, pushing through some people to find a good place to stand. Niou grabs a handrail and the train jerks forward. He plants his feet wider to keep his balance, then he flips his cellphone out.
"Niou-kun!"
He looks up. Through the crowd, he can hear the distinctive sound of Yagyuu's voice and slowing, parting through the commuters with polite ducks of his head and muttered apologies, Yagyuu appears.
The A/C blasts overhead. The hairs on Niou's arms stick up, but his insides are hot and slither between his legs. He turns his body from Yagyuu to hide his reaction, but Yagyuu steps further down the carriage to grab the same hold.
"I sent you a message a little bit ago," Yagyuu says.
Niou nods and holds his cell up. He shoves it back into his pocket. "Didn't know you were on the train too," he says.
Yagyuu nods. "I waited to see if you'd come, but I only saw you when you got onto the train."
How many people have hair like this? Niou thinks. His eyes drift down the train and settle on a teenager with green hair.
Niou snorts.
On the train they don't talk, not about dinner, not about the switch, not even really about Yukimura. Yagyuu has a small bag with him, another department store purchase. The green tops of three bamboo stick out over the edge of the bag.
Lucky, Niou thinks.
But it isn't Yukimura who needs the luck or support. At the train station, where they agreed to meet-west exit 5-Sanada looks greenish. He matches the shade of his t-shirt. Niou doesn't even snicker, he just falls in line behind the rest of the team as they march to the hospital in a somber procession.
Even Kirihara has shut up. He scuffs his feet instead of skipping. Niou slaps him on the back and the kid stumbles. He glances up at Niou with a glare under his mop. "Chill, chibi," Niou says. It's not you who has to do the explaining…
Marui has a box of chococro. He nibbles on one as they cross into the hospital. But as soon as the receptionist sees them, he dumps his pastry into a bin. Niou raises an eyebrow. His stomach knots once, then loops over and knots twice when Yagyuu bumps him in the elevator.
Yanagi's head hangs. Sanada's throat bobs. Despite the shadow from his cap brim, Niou can see heavy purple bags under his eyes, pink at the edges. He frowns. Yagyuu frowns too and murmurs to Jackal that he hopes Yukimura-kun is up to their visit.
Footsteps clack down the corridor. Niou's sneakers squeak. Kirihara trips again, over nothing but his misery. Sanada's head is high, but his shoulders are tight and his eyes are glazed over.
Yanagi steps ahead of him, right outside Yukimura's room. A nurse with big tits walks by them-her chest bounces. Niou looks, but glances back to Yagyuu, who fixes his glasses. In a low whisper, Yanagi says, "Genichirou, it's my fault, I should-"
Sanada's hand flashes. Yanagi winces and jerks back. It's too fast for even Niou to see, but there's no sound of a slap, nothing except the slow slide of Kirihara's sneakers across the laminate floor as he crumples and shakes his head furiously.
Sanada says nothing.
The door swings open and Sanada enters. It shuts with a soft click. Niou leans with his back to the wall. Yagyuu is beside him and everyone else on the other side of the door. Niou sighs. The hospital smells of chemicals and it makes his nose sting, just a little. He sniffs. Jackal paces. Marui squats down next to Kirihara and mutters something.
For the longest while, Niou can't hear anything from inside the room. Maybe Yukimura is asleep. Maybe he's lying in bed sobbing because he already knows. Maybe the look on Sanada's face killed him and his body is going stiff with rigor mortis already.
Bile rises in his throat-he shouldn't think like that. After all, Yukimura did practically die. Niou bites the inside of his lip to keep quiet. Today of all days he doesn't want to make an ass of himself and regret something later.
And then he hears the low grumble of Sanada's voice-nothing clear, but it's talking. Niou sucks in a breath. Marui presses a hand to the wall and Yanagi squeezes his eyes shut.
It's sudden and grating and high-pitched, Yukimura's response. It's been forever since Niou has heard him say much without being out of breath or wheezing or whispering and it's almost not his voice, the person who shouts "GET OUT OF HERE! GO HOME!"
His eyes snap open. Niou's heart crumples to the floor along with everyone else. The door flies open and Sanada rushes out, slamming the door behind himself as he pants. Seven pairs of eyes look at him, but Sanada doesn't notice. He stands with his legs wide apart and his arms hanging at his waist as he stares across the hallway. His chest doesn't move. He's not even breathing.
The unintelligible scream that follows cracks Niou's ribs. He winces as his ears pop. Yagyuu cringes and hunches his shoulders. Kirihara sniffles and Yanagi mutters it's his fault, it's all his fault, he's the one to blame: a low, monotonous chant that rolls off his lips but does nothing to calm the mood.
Another nurse walks by with a patient, whose IV stand rolls along with them. She gives them a sad smile and asks if they are Yukimura-kun's friends.
No one answers her. She and the patient continue their shuffle.
The atmosphere is too tense. Niou squirms. No more screams come from Yukimura's room, nothing. Sanada doesn't move, doesn't breathe, he's a statue and dead the way Yukimura could have been. Jackal bites his lip. The bleach smells in the air mix with the deep-fried oil of the chococros, making Niou's stomach heave.
He opens his mouth, trying to think about something to say. "Well," he says. Then he stops. Anything and everything he could possibly think of is lame and redundant. Only Marui and Yagyuu notice anyway. Niou blows a raspberry and pushes himself off the wall. His arms peel off, sticky and faintly filmy with sweat. "We can probably talk some more when he comes back to tennis practice," Niou says. Finally. Lamely. It's all the same.
Marui nods. "Yeah, yeah, we probably can."
Yagyuu pushes his glasses up. He turns to the door, then looks at his bag, which he sets down next to Yanagi. He bows his head to the team and his eyes meet Niou's; they're soft around the edges and his smile wry. Come on, let's go.
Jackal murmurs something about needing a coffee. It's the excuse they all need. Reluctantly, Kirihara rises to his feet and Yanagi drags himself to the elevator, too. Marui leaves his chococro box beside Sanada.
Sanada doesn't follow them.
As the elevator doors close, Niou watches as Sanada sinks to his knees on the floor and bows so low to Yukimura's door that the nurses could walk over him. Niou's throat feels thick, but the lump at the base won't be swallowed down.
***
It's six, then four, then two.
People filter in and out of the coffee shop-a Starbucks, if Niou wants to be exact. Kirihara says nothing, but he hangs his head and his pockets. Yanagi buys him a Frappuccino, but the kid doesn't get wired, he just swings his feet more under the table. Yanagi drinks tea, stirring it until it's long gone cold. Marui chows down on his cake and Jackal sips an iced cap. Nothing unusual between them. They're old friends, old teammates and they have a comfortable camaraderie, even after Yukimura's outburst.
Niou has the summer tea special: it's red and herbal and sweet. Yagyuu buys a fruit juice and a sandwich from the counter. Everyone picks at it. Niou peels the cheese off the one side, letting the smooth, creamy texture fold over his tongue.
They talk about nothing, but everything too.
"He must be in good spirits," Marui says. "If he can yell that loud."
Niou snorts. Morphine drip, he thinks.
"Maybe he'll be back at school before the summer break," Jackal says.
Yagyuu shakes his head. Niou stops slurping on his straw for a moment to listen. "I don't think so," he says. "He'll need to undergo intense rehab in the hospital. It will take him at least a week."
"Nationals coming up," Niou murmurs. He plays with his straw, swirling the ice cubes in his cup around. Yanagi winces a little. Kirihara hits the table leg with his foot and jumps in his seat.
"The Nationals aren't for another almost four weeks," Jackal says. "He's Yukimura."
Marui nods. Through a spray of cake across the table (landing on Niou's arm, no less), he says, "He's like…the child of God!"
Niou looks down at the cake splattered on his arm and he curls his lip up. Marui nods sagely when Yagyuu frowns.
Yanagi leaves soon after that. Kirihara follows ten, twenty minutes later when his cellphone goes off. Niou can hear the sound of a woman shrieking through the kid's cell as Kirihara cringes and turns away from it. With a huff, he says, "Yeah yeah, I'll be home soon."
They all look at the wonderchibi. He's drank maybe half his frap. "It was my mom," he mutters. When Jackal pushes his chair back, Kirihara forces a laugh. "I can walk myself to the station, senpais. Honest."
Five minutes later, not long after Marui swipes the dregs of Kirihara's drink and polishes it off with a satisfied pat to his stomach, Kirihara slinks back into the café.
"Um," he mumbles, "I can't remember which way the exit is." He kicks his shoe on the floor and the straw that Niou flicked onto the ground skitters across the floor and hits a standing bin.
Marui and Jackal leave with the kid.
Yagyuu and Niou are left alone. Not really, because there are a few salarymen and OLs littered around the seats, mostly by the window overlooking a Tokyo street, but beyond that, it's the cool A/C and them.
Niou leans across the table and sighs. His hair flutters in front of his eyes. Yagyuu blinks. "Yukimura-kun might be determined," he says, "but he's not supernatural. The human body can only heal so quickly."
Niou cracks a smile. "You just want to argue with the fatty, don’t you?" When Yagyuu turns away and doesn’t respond, Niou laughs under his breath. It's true, he thinks.
His stomach growls and Yagyuu glances down at his watch. The sun is low in the western sky, streaming through the shaded windows in a beam across the slate flooring. Niou looks around at the kitschy decorations on the wall, images of coffee beans and romanji names of exotic places: Brazil, Mozambique, Tanzania and Costa Rica.
To run away someplace like that, where the sun shines all year and the rains flood the ground and everything is saturated with unbearable humidity and livid green palms and birds the colours of rainbows…to be alone with Yagyuu in someplace like that…
Niou exhales. His chest pushes his chin up on his arms, then down again as he breathes out.
"Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asks. Niou glances up without moving from his spot.
"Let's get Chinese."
***
Yokohama's Chinatown is alive, bustling with people and glittering lights, red lanterns in front of restaurants that drip with BBQed ducks and pork slabs, all pink and sweating as they roast. Everything smells like five spice powder and the stink of too many people in the summer. Niou breathes it in and coughs.
He spent the train ride dissecting Yagyuu's words, wondering why Yagyuu called him Niou-kun instead of the Masaharu text from last night. Was the café too open? Are they too public now?
His head throbs. Yagyuu messes with it: leading him on, shoving him away, telling Niou he needs 'time'.
Time for what? he thinks. You're not a fag like me, Yagyuu.
Yagyuu motions ahead, three steps beyond Niou as he stands outside a restaurant. There are a hundred, three hundred places, all like this: red lanterns, signs in kanji and katakana, windows dripping with condensation and menus of noodles and congee and dumplings.
His stomach rumbles. Niou scuffs his sneakers and jogs forward, hands in his pockets. He nods to the door. "This place any good?" He can smell the fried rice already, making his mouth water in anticipation.
Yagyuu says, "I hope so."
It's supper time and the restaurant is packed. No place to run if something happens. No place to hide, either, not under the tiny plastic table, not when Yagyuu's knee brushes his. Niou stiffens and sits up in his seat. It's a tight squeeze-he's glad his tennisbag isn't here. One of the waitresses buzzing around, or even some of the Japanese tourists, would trip over it and probably break the strings on his Prince racket.
The menu is detailed, five pages of Chinese food, half of which sounds appetizing, the rest which sounds inedible. Niou runs his finger along the numbered choices, pausing over the BBQ duck section before turning the page. He passes the menu to Yagyuu. "Whatever you want," he says.
Yagyuu blinks. His glasses slip down his face a bit lower. Niou's collar is tight and the air hot-whether it's from all the people, or a lack of air conditioning, he isn't sure. He plays with the chopsticks (Chinese ones. Lovely…) and shrugs.
"If you want something, I can treat," Yagyuu offers.
"Whatever," Niou says. Sweat dribbles down the side of his face. He pushes the beads back into his hair line. There is sweat on Yagyuu's top lip, glistening under the harsh yellow lighting. Niou shifts in his seat. His shorts are hot and sweat; his dick twitches. He's hungry and the tea he had earlier churns in his stomach, turning to acid.
Yagyuu ordered dumplings and the fried beef noodle special, chicken and mushroom rice and tofu with vegetables. "And," he says as his long fingers rove across the laminate menu, "the BBQ duck. Extra large size."
Niou can feel his mouth hang open, just long enough to make Yagyuu's lips quirk. Yagyuu nods and says that's all.
The waitress repeats everything back in a heavy accent. She shuffles off in mincing steps. "Typical Chinese wetback," Niou mutters. His face burns, but the mirrors on the walls only make things feel warmer.
Yagyuu clicks his tongue. "Don't be rude," he says.
Niou avoids his eye. He takes a chopstick and pokes Yagyuu in the arm. Yagyuu sighs and peels his arm off the table, away from Niou. Niou scrapes his chair across the floor in an attempt to stop his leg from touching Yagyuu's, but he backs up into another customer. Inwardly, he groans. His dick keeps pounding. The waitress brings a pot of tea-Jasmine.
His leg falls asleep and his calf starts to cramp up. He can't sit like this, squashed into his seat at an awkward angle, but each time he moves an inch, Yagyuu's leg is there, blocking him. Niou clenches his jaw. He moves his legs left, pressed together so tight that his cock hurts worse. His foot cramps up too.
The teapot clinks on the cup when Yagyuu pours the tea. Niou wiggles. Yagyuu slides a cup across the table to him. It's too hot for hot tea. The air is steamy enough. Niou sweats and squirms until something hard and blunt shoves between his knees and pries them apart.
Yagyuu's leg.
His eyes fly up to Yagyuu's. Yagyuu's gaze is firm and dark. He pushes his glasses up. "I already know," he murmurs.
Niou doesn't breathe.
"So just…relax, please," Yagyuu says. "You're making the table shake, Niou-kun." He pushes his tea cup around. A puddle around the base gleams.
Niou hunches his shoulders down. Oh.
Now he feels like a moron.
In perfect timing, the food arrives and the tension dissolves into the sizzling food. Niou digs into the duck. The sweet sauce and crispy skin melt in his mouth and the knots in his stomach unfurl as Yagyuu dishes up noodles and rice and everything, telling Niou to try this or that, or "Here, Niou-kun, do you want this last shrimp dumpling?"
Chopsticks with a dumpling hang in the space between them. Yagyuu waves it around, too close to Niou's face for him to grab the dumpling with his own chopsticks. The Chinese chopsticks are clumsy and bulky and the noodles he was holding slip back onto the plate.
Niou swallows. Do I…just…eat it from him?
Yagyuu tilts his head. "Do you want it?" he asks. His voice is nearly drowned out by the conversations of the rest of the place: pots clanging and the door chiming, people talking and waitresses shrieking their undulating Chinese gobbledygook to the cooks.
Niou swallows the rising lump in his throat, then he opens his mouth.
He can feel the dumpling on his tongue, and Yagyuu's chopsticks on his lips. Niou bites down, wishing he wasn't thinking-right now-how those chopsticks were in Yagyuu's mouth just a moment before, how those chopsticks caressed Yagyuu's tongue and lips and now they are moving over his own.
A shiver runs down his spine.
Then the chopsticks are gone and Yagyuu grabs another tofu piece for himself. Niou starts to chew, slow and deliberate. His chest flutters, all doki doki and the dumpling bursts in his mouth, shrimp and oil and garlic and onion sliding over his tongue. It's better than the other dumplings he had.
But not as good as Yagyuu's tongue would be.
Niou looks at the plates of food on the table, packed so tight that they hang off the edges and the waitresses have to dart around them. His stomach is warm, his skin burns alternately with flushes of hot and cold sweat and his cock is harder than ever, stealing his attention whenever Yagyuu asks him something. Niou nods. He grunts. He slurps noodles and pathetically picks at the rice. His chopsticks fail. He purses his lips and curls the upper one.
Puri!
"Here," Yagyuu says. He offers a bit of rice.
This time, Niou leans forward first, mouth already open.
***
They roll themselves out of the restaurant. Yagyuu pays the bill. Niou doesn’t feel guilty-after all, yesterday he did help pay for some of their conbini snacks. His waistband strains, his stomach feels painfully distended, but the food was too good to stop. He's stuffed and horny and the night is beautiful.
There is a park along the harbour that they walk through. Crickets chirp a continuous strain and Niou ambles, waddling back and forth to ease the pressure of his shorts. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, sniffing the air. Everything smells like a rose garden here. He looks around and heavy bushes drip with flowers, petals scattered across the green lawns that muffle their footsteps.
In the West, the towers of the MM21 district light up the sky, all blinding white and blue and yellow beacons. Closer, the Marine Tower thrusts bright into the sky. Even at this hour, with the water blackened and the sky alive with flashing airplane lights and skyscrapers, Niou can see people taking photos of the tower and the harbour. Pairs of lovers, arm in arm, stroll along the bay, mostly.
Niou watches two people lean close against a fence rail. When they start to look at each other and kiss, he makes a gagging noise. Inside, his stomach seizes with a bloom of cold jealousy. He picks strings of duck meat from his back molars. Yagyuu walks underneath a tree and touches the trunk, turning around to look at Niou.
"Do you want to go to an arcade?" he asks.
Niou stops in his tracks. A ship on the harbour rolls past them, smooth in the velvet water. Yagyuu jumps down off a tree root and walks up to him. Niou steps back, moving towards a fountain. The water bubbles and beds of daisies crowd around the edges of the pool. Niou leans down and pulls the heads off one flower, then two, then three. He chucks the flowers into the pool and they float, drifting towards a gushing burst of water that cuts off whatever Yagyuu says next.
Niou sucks on his tongue. The BBQ sauce from supper has gone stale, but the taste of garlic remains. He breathes into the air and stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets, pushing his shorts down.
"Okay," he says. "Got nothing better to do anyway."
The subway station is close and the trains packed with commuters, all going home. The A/C is cool, but this many people make the carriage swelter. Niou stuffs his face close to his shoulder and breathes in his garlic breath until Yagyuu moves and they get off the train, five, maybe six stops later. He hasn't counted, but it's not near either of their homes.
It's near the arcade instead. That arcade where Niou visited a long time ago. His undiscovered place, until he found that megane dork playing darts at his board. Niou smirks at the memory. He was so paranoid then about Yagyuu, and hating him for no good reason. Now, faint worry gnaws at his chest for a different reason.
For five, maybe ten minutes they walk through a shabby shopping arcade and cement-filled district. There is a big pachinko parlour, the clinking, rushing sounds of hundreds of machines spilling out onto the street. Yagyuu doesn't talk much. Niou doesn't say anything. They walk and sweat and the air ripples with scooter engines and frying food stands and cheap electronic shops with too-bright lights and stands advertising the latest idol DVDs and soft-core porn.
Niou's eyes drift over the ads. Buxom girls with glossy lips and long hair, hands spreading their thighs open in invitation or half-covering their round, fake tits. He sneers. Yagyuu looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "Niou-kun?"
Niou shakes his head. He swallows any half-assed witty retort in favour of "Puri". Yagyuu sniffs, almost laughing underneath a hand he uses to push his glasses up again. Niou shuffles and zig-zags along the sidewalk. The more they walk, the less his stomach cramps up from the food. The less the strain is on his belly.
Instead, his dick swells and hardens. Sweat slithers down his back and makes his armpits damp. He stinks of teenage boy and Chinese food and even some of the overpowering, girly roses in the park from before. Yagyuu, of course, smells good even though the tips of his hair dampen his t-shirt collar: deodorant and woodsy soap, and that ever-present citrusy shampoo that makes Niou's head float off and his belly pool with blood and desire.
The arcade is the same as ever, but the sign might be a little more dilapidated and the blaring techno anime music louder than Niou remembers. For a summer evening, it's not very busy, just a few overweight high school kids at the DDR machines and scattered guys their age or so at some of the gun and racing ones. Yagyuu leads the way to the back of the arcade. Niou looks into a UFO catcher stuffed with blue aliens. He smirks at them and taps a finger on the glass wall. The claw lights up, but he walks away.
"First person to bullseye wins?" Yagyuu asks. He deposits coins to play. Niou nods.
"What are we playing for?" he asks. His voice is thick, thicker than he thought and his mouth dries up when Yagyuu hands him a dart. His heart flutters around on doki doki wings, threatening to fly out his mouth if he opens it again.
"What do you want to play for, Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asks. He rubs the feathers of his dart, smoothing them between his fingers over and over, slow and steady as his eyes hold Niou's in a dark embrace.
A shiver runs down Niou's spine. His dick goes numb from the flood of pressure in his belly and his knees shake. He exhales a single shallow breath, then looks back up to Yagyuu. The dartboard blinks, the lights circling around the board and signaling to start the game.
His eyes drift down Yagyuu's neck, cocked to the one side. His eyes drift down Yagyuu's chest, down past his open collar to his t-shirt where Niou can almost see the shadow of Yagyuu's nipples, stiff and poking into the fabric. His own legs shake harder and his dick keeps throbbing, beating in tune with his flapping heart and stealing all thought from his mind.
You know what I want, Yagyuu…
Yagyuu clicks his tongue. With a sharp nod, he says, "Loser has five more laps during tomorrow's practice."
Niou can't do anything but agree. He throws first. Yagyuu leans on the coin machine and watches him, sending fresh shudders through Niou's body. Niou turns away, keeping his back to Yagyuu to stop the distractions. He chews on his tongue and shuts one eye, gauging the distance.
He throws.
And hits an outer white section.
Yagyuu claps politely. "Good throw," he murmurs. "But watch this." Yagyuu steps up and Niou switches places with him. Yagyuu drops his shoulders-
He leans back, swings his racket wide and rocks back on his sneaker. His back is straight stiff and his lip curled up with the faintest of sneers. Niou can see the muscles of Yagyuu's back and bum flex and he shivers, wincing at the ache in his dick. His insides knot up, anticipating the single word that will be his undoing-
Yagyuu throws.
He hits the iris.
Niou snorts a wad of mucus and swallows it, trying to ease the flighty feeling in his chest. His cock hurts, but he won't let himself think about how good squeezing and pumping his dick would feel right now. No, he mutters, "Puri" under his breath and gives Yagyuu a narrowed eye.
Watch me do better, he thinks.
The first girl sneaks over, darting from one game machine to the next, her eyes on Yagyuu. Niou can feel her presence prickle the back of his neck. His skin bristles. He aims and shoots and hits the iris too this time.
"Well done," Yagyuu says.
His shot hits the wire rim. It bounces off the edge of the board and hits the floor. Niou grins. Yagyuu frowns. Another girl comes closer, conspiring with her friend in hushed whispers. Niou catches one word "Hiroshi" and his blood congeals. Yagyuu turns to the girls when Niou fumbles with a dart.
He smiles at them and nods his head a bit. He addresses them by name and asks how they are. The first girl giggles. The second rushes over to Yagyuu, pushing Niou out of the way with her sharp shoulder and swollen chest.
"We haven't seen you in ages, Hiroshi," she says. She bounces on the spot, clutching Yagyuu's arm between her tits.
Yagyuu smiles at her. He says something, but Niou doesn't hear it. All he can hear is the sound of those girls and their laughter, multiplying and multiplying, exponentially deafening when two more girls come out and clap for Yagyuu, circling around him with their girlish cloud of perfume and long hair and curves and smiles that Yagyuu returns and-
Niou drops his dart.
He walks out of the arcade. His eyes sting and the dart's needle poked his fingertip. He doesn't notice until halfway to the bus stop when a man from an electronic shop shouts if Niou is okay.
Niou looks down.
A drip-drop trail of blood stains the sidewalk pavement, receding back into the distance toward the arcade. It looks like rain drops in the dark, nothing more than a brownish shadow on the ground. His finger hurts.
His chest aches. His stomach collapses onto itself and pushes scorching bile up his throat. He's not even hard anymore, his erection is slack and he can barely breathe for all the choking sob and acrid vomit taste in his throat.
Niou takes the first bus that drives by the stop. He shuffles home in the dark. Pots of pansies outside of homes on his street stare and mock him with their cheerful faces, yellow and black and smiling at him under the glow of streetlamps. He seethes through his teeth and bends down to shred one flower, but he stops himself.
It doesn't mean anything. It's just a stupid flower. Niou kicks a cement wall, then slinks home. He shuts his cellphone off and crawls into bed. His heart weighs so much that he chokes until he rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow.
A typhoon rolls in that night. Niou doesn't sleep at all.
Author: Ociwen
Rating: NC17 (eventual)
Disclaimer: Konomi owns all.
Summary: Niou, meet Yagyuu.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for everything.
Your family was nice. Thank you for dinner, Masaharu.
Niou can't stop looking at the text message. The LCD screen of his cell shines blue in the dark of his room. Niou's eyes prickle. His cock rubs the sheets, aching and hard as he sets his cell down with his right hand and grabs himself with his left. Niou bites his lips, but the shuddered sob still rises. His thighs shake. He comes, nearly untouched, with a grunt and desperate moan he can't hold back.
He lies there, hand tight around his soft dick, and breathes in the darkness. Yagyuu's cocky smile is burned onto his eyelids, teasing him with a wink and mouthed words Niou can almost-but not quite-understand.
How much time do you need, Yagyuu? he thinks.
You seem more than ready now…
***
Niou is having a good dream. Flickering monochrome images melding into colour and light and Yagyuu's voice whispering in his ear. "Masaharu…Masaharu…"
Niou smiles and buries his head deeper. Yagyuu's chest is soft and dry. Niou opens his mouth to lick his skin, but his tongue is sticky and his mouth tastes gross and stale. Would Yagyuu mind? Would he care? Niou rubs his face, his cheek pressed to Yagyuu. "Is this okay?" he mumbles.
"Masaharu!"
Yagyuu's chest moves. Niou's shoulder moves too. Lucidity swirls around his head, then thumps him on the arm. His eyes crack open and he sees the sleep blurred form of…
His mother.
Niou closes his eyes and falls back on his pillow with a groan. "Go away," he grumbles.
His mother yanks the curtains open. Blinding light floods his room, hot and cheerful yellow sun streaming across his bed. "I thought Yagyuu-kun said you two were visiting a sick teammate today," she says. "You could have told me sooner, Masaharu. We could have bought him something to wish him luck."
Niou rolls onto his stomach. He stuffs his face in the crack between his pillow and the bed. His head crawls. His legs are sticky with sweat and probably come, too. Stupid mother, ruining a good dream…
But his mother doesn't understand the important things. She pulls his sheets away from his body. Niou grunts. "Go have a shower," she says. "Your breakfast has been on the table for four hours."
The clock reads past noon. They're meeting at the hospital in two hours. Train ride: forty minutes. Bus to station: fifteen. Doing his hair: ten. Shower and quick jerk-off: five.
Niou throws his head back. "Puri."
***
He takes the train instead of the bus and changes for the subway to the main train station downtown to get to Tokyo. Niou runs through the underground arcade, breathing in the fumes of ramen and tonkatsu that make his belly rumble. The wilted salad and cold toast he had before don't seem as good when he runs past the displays of plastic food, all bright and colourful and advertising pork ramen that makes his mouth water.
Niou dodges pedestrians and weaves in and out of crowds of people streaming past. He pants hard and his sneakers slap the ground. The yen in his pocket and his metal chain jingle, but he's got enough money today after his mother slipped him a couple bills when he rushed out the door.
His cell buzzes in his pocket as he waits to buy a ticket to Tokyo. Niou's eyes flash to the train schedule. If he's quick, he can make it to the platform in time before the next one. Niou ignores the message and shoves in front of a couple gaijin tourists to buy a ticket first, then he runs for the platform: through the automated gates, down the corridor, jump to the side out of the way, dodge the mother pushing a stroller, then run up the steps two at a time.
Niou cuts past a few school kids and waits in line. The train pulls into the station on cue. He leans down on his knees and exhales. The swollen heat of summer is multiplied with his efforts to get here on time.
Normally, he wouldn't care.
But this is Yukimura. The team is dead as is, and Sanada will absolutely slaughter them if they're late. Niou almost feels bad for Sanada, because no doubt he will be the one to break the news to the poor crippled kid in the hospital. Niou thinks about it: like taking candy from a baby, or swiping the cane from an old blind man. Cruel, really.
He snickers and steps onto the train, pushing through some people to find a good place to stand. Niou grabs a handrail and the train jerks forward. He plants his feet wider to keep his balance, then he flips his cellphone out.
"Niou-kun!"
He looks up. Through the crowd, he can hear the distinctive sound of Yagyuu's voice and slowing, parting through the commuters with polite ducks of his head and muttered apologies, Yagyuu appears.
The A/C blasts overhead. The hairs on Niou's arms stick up, but his insides are hot and slither between his legs. He turns his body from Yagyuu to hide his reaction, but Yagyuu steps further down the carriage to grab the same hold.
"I sent you a message a little bit ago," Yagyuu says.
Niou nods and holds his cell up. He shoves it back into his pocket. "Didn't know you were on the train too," he says.
Yagyuu nods. "I waited to see if you'd come, but I only saw you when you got onto the train."
How many people have hair like this? Niou thinks. His eyes drift down the train and settle on a teenager with green hair.
Niou snorts.
On the train they don't talk, not about dinner, not about the switch, not even really about Yukimura. Yagyuu has a small bag with him, another department store purchase. The green tops of three bamboo stick out over the edge of the bag.
Lucky, Niou thinks.
But it isn't Yukimura who needs the luck or support. At the train station, where they agreed to meet-west exit 5-Sanada looks greenish. He matches the shade of his t-shirt. Niou doesn't even snicker, he just falls in line behind the rest of the team as they march to the hospital in a somber procession.
Even Kirihara has shut up. He scuffs his feet instead of skipping. Niou slaps him on the back and the kid stumbles. He glances up at Niou with a glare under his mop. "Chill, chibi," Niou says. It's not you who has to do the explaining…
Marui has a box of chococro. He nibbles on one as they cross into the hospital. But as soon as the receptionist sees them, he dumps his pastry into a bin. Niou raises an eyebrow. His stomach knots once, then loops over and knots twice when Yagyuu bumps him in the elevator.
Yanagi's head hangs. Sanada's throat bobs. Despite the shadow from his cap brim, Niou can see heavy purple bags under his eyes, pink at the edges. He frowns. Yagyuu frowns too and murmurs to Jackal that he hopes Yukimura-kun is up to their visit.
Footsteps clack down the corridor. Niou's sneakers squeak. Kirihara trips again, over nothing but his misery. Sanada's head is high, but his shoulders are tight and his eyes are glazed over.
Yanagi steps ahead of him, right outside Yukimura's room. A nurse with big tits walks by them-her chest bounces. Niou looks, but glances back to Yagyuu, who fixes his glasses. In a low whisper, Yanagi says, "Genichirou, it's my fault, I should-"
Sanada's hand flashes. Yanagi winces and jerks back. It's too fast for even Niou to see, but there's no sound of a slap, nothing except the slow slide of Kirihara's sneakers across the laminate floor as he crumples and shakes his head furiously.
Sanada says nothing.
The door swings open and Sanada enters. It shuts with a soft click. Niou leans with his back to the wall. Yagyuu is beside him and everyone else on the other side of the door. Niou sighs. The hospital smells of chemicals and it makes his nose sting, just a little. He sniffs. Jackal paces. Marui squats down next to Kirihara and mutters something.
For the longest while, Niou can't hear anything from inside the room. Maybe Yukimura is asleep. Maybe he's lying in bed sobbing because he already knows. Maybe the look on Sanada's face killed him and his body is going stiff with rigor mortis already.
Bile rises in his throat-he shouldn't think like that. After all, Yukimura did practically die. Niou bites the inside of his lip to keep quiet. Today of all days he doesn't want to make an ass of himself and regret something later.
And then he hears the low grumble of Sanada's voice-nothing clear, but it's talking. Niou sucks in a breath. Marui presses a hand to the wall and Yanagi squeezes his eyes shut.
It's sudden and grating and high-pitched, Yukimura's response. It's been forever since Niou has heard him say much without being out of breath or wheezing or whispering and it's almost not his voice, the person who shouts "GET OUT OF HERE! GO HOME!"
His eyes snap open. Niou's heart crumples to the floor along with everyone else. The door flies open and Sanada rushes out, slamming the door behind himself as he pants. Seven pairs of eyes look at him, but Sanada doesn't notice. He stands with his legs wide apart and his arms hanging at his waist as he stares across the hallway. His chest doesn't move. He's not even breathing.
The unintelligible scream that follows cracks Niou's ribs. He winces as his ears pop. Yagyuu cringes and hunches his shoulders. Kirihara sniffles and Yanagi mutters it's his fault, it's all his fault, he's the one to blame: a low, monotonous chant that rolls off his lips but does nothing to calm the mood.
Another nurse walks by with a patient, whose IV stand rolls along with them. She gives them a sad smile and asks if they are Yukimura-kun's friends.
No one answers her. She and the patient continue their shuffle.
The atmosphere is too tense. Niou squirms. No more screams come from Yukimura's room, nothing. Sanada doesn't move, doesn't breathe, he's a statue and dead the way Yukimura could have been. Jackal bites his lip. The bleach smells in the air mix with the deep-fried oil of the chococros, making Niou's stomach heave.
He opens his mouth, trying to think about something to say. "Well," he says. Then he stops. Anything and everything he could possibly think of is lame and redundant. Only Marui and Yagyuu notice anyway. Niou blows a raspberry and pushes himself off the wall. His arms peel off, sticky and faintly filmy with sweat. "We can probably talk some more when he comes back to tennis practice," Niou says. Finally. Lamely. It's all the same.
Marui nods. "Yeah, yeah, we probably can."
Yagyuu pushes his glasses up. He turns to the door, then looks at his bag, which he sets down next to Yanagi. He bows his head to the team and his eyes meet Niou's; they're soft around the edges and his smile wry. Come on, let's go.
Jackal murmurs something about needing a coffee. It's the excuse they all need. Reluctantly, Kirihara rises to his feet and Yanagi drags himself to the elevator, too. Marui leaves his chococro box beside Sanada.
Sanada doesn't follow them.
As the elevator doors close, Niou watches as Sanada sinks to his knees on the floor and bows so low to Yukimura's door that the nurses could walk over him. Niou's throat feels thick, but the lump at the base won't be swallowed down.
***
It's six, then four, then two.
People filter in and out of the coffee shop-a Starbucks, if Niou wants to be exact. Kirihara says nothing, but he hangs his head and his pockets. Yanagi buys him a Frappuccino, but the kid doesn't get wired, he just swings his feet more under the table. Yanagi drinks tea, stirring it until it's long gone cold. Marui chows down on his cake and Jackal sips an iced cap. Nothing unusual between them. They're old friends, old teammates and they have a comfortable camaraderie, even after Yukimura's outburst.
Niou has the summer tea special: it's red and herbal and sweet. Yagyuu buys a fruit juice and a sandwich from the counter. Everyone picks at it. Niou peels the cheese off the one side, letting the smooth, creamy texture fold over his tongue.
They talk about nothing, but everything too.
"He must be in good spirits," Marui says. "If he can yell that loud."
Niou snorts. Morphine drip, he thinks.
"Maybe he'll be back at school before the summer break," Jackal says.
Yagyuu shakes his head. Niou stops slurping on his straw for a moment to listen. "I don't think so," he says. "He'll need to undergo intense rehab in the hospital. It will take him at least a week."
"Nationals coming up," Niou murmurs. He plays with his straw, swirling the ice cubes in his cup around. Yanagi winces a little. Kirihara hits the table leg with his foot and jumps in his seat.
"The Nationals aren't for another almost four weeks," Jackal says. "He's Yukimura."
Marui nods. Through a spray of cake across the table (landing on Niou's arm, no less), he says, "He's like…the child of God!"
Niou looks down at the cake splattered on his arm and he curls his lip up. Marui nods sagely when Yagyuu frowns.
Yanagi leaves soon after that. Kirihara follows ten, twenty minutes later when his cellphone goes off. Niou can hear the sound of a woman shrieking through the kid's cell as Kirihara cringes and turns away from it. With a huff, he says, "Yeah yeah, I'll be home soon."
They all look at the wonderchibi. He's drank maybe half his frap. "It was my mom," he mutters. When Jackal pushes his chair back, Kirihara forces a laugh. "I can walk myself to the station, senpais. Honest."
Five minutes later, not long after Marui swipes the dregs of Kirihara's drink and polishes it off with a satisfied pat to his stomach, Kirihara slinks back into the café.
"Um," he mumbles, "I can't remember which way the exit is." He kicks his shoe on the floor and the straw that Niou flicked onto the ground skitters across the floor and hits a standing bin.
Marui and Jackal leave with the kid.
Yagyuu and Niou are left alone. Not really, because there are a few salarymen and OLs littered around the seats, mostly by the window overlooking a Tokyo street, but beyond that, it's the cool A/C and them.
Niou leans across the table and sighs. His hair flutters in front of his eyes. Yagyuu blinks. "Yukimura-kun might be determined," he says, "but he's not supernatural. The human body can only heal so quickly."
Niou cracks a smile. "You just want to argue with the fatty, don’t you?" When Yagyuu turns away and doesn’t respond, Niou laughs under his breath. It's true, he thinks.
His stomach growls and Yagyuu glances down at his watch. The sun is low in the western sky, streaming through the shaded windows in a beam across the slate flooring. Niou looks around at the kitschy decorations on the wall, images of coffee beans and romanji names of exotic places: Brazil, Mozambique, Tanzania and Costa Rica.
To run away someplace like that, where the sun shines all year and the rains flood the ground and everything is saturated with unbearable humidity and livid green palms and birds the colours of rainbows…to be alone with Yagyuu in someplace like that…
Niou exhales. His chest pushes his chin up on his arms, then down again as he breathes out.
"Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asks. Niou glances up without moving from his spot.
"Let's get Chinese."
***
Yokohama's Chinatown is alive, bustling with people and glittering lights, red lanterns in front of restaurants that drip with BBQed ducks and pork slabs, all pink and sweating as they roast. Everything smells like five spice powder and the stink of too many people in the summer. Niou breathes it in and coughs.
He spent the train ride dissecting Yagyuu's words, wondering why Yagyuu called him Niou-kun instead of the Masaharu text from last night. Was the café too open? Are they too public now?
His head throbs. Yagyuu messes with it: leading him on, shoving him away, telling Niou he needs 'time'.
Time for what? he thinks. You're not a fag like me, Yagyuu.
Yagyuu motions ahead, three steps beyond Niou as he stands outside a restaurant. There are a hundred, three hundred places, all like this: red lanterns, signs in kanji and katakana, windows dripping with condensation and menus of noodles and congee and dumplings.
His stomach rumbles. Niou scuffs his sneakers and jogs forward, hands in his pockets. He nods to the door. "This place any good?" He can smell the fried rice already, making his mouth water in anticipation.
Yagyuu says, "I hope so."
It's supper time and the restaurant is packed. No place to run if something happens. No place to hide, either, not under the tiny plastic table, not when Yagyuu's knee brushes his. Niou stiffens and sits up in his seat. It's a tight squeeze-he's glad his tennisbag isn't here. One of the waitresses buzzing around, or even some of the Japanese tourists, would trip over it and probably break the strings on his Prince racket.
The menu is detailed, five pages of Chinese food, half of which sounds appetizing, the rest which sounds inedible. Niou runs his finger along the numbered choices, pausing over the BBQ duck section before turning the page. He passes the menu to Yagyuu. "Whatever you want," he says.
Yagyuu blinks. His glasses slip down his face a bit lower. Niou's collar is tight and the air hot-whether it's from all the people, or a lack of air conditioning, he isn't sure. He plays with the chopsticks (Chinese ones. Lovely…) and shrugs.
"If you want something, I can treat," Yagyuu offers.
"Whatever," Niou says. Sweat dribbles down the side of his face. He pushes the beads back into his hair line. There is sweat on Yagyuu's top lip, glistening under the harsh yellow lighting. Niou shifts in his seat. His shorts are hot and sweat; his dick twitches. He's hungry and the tea he had earlier churns in his stomach, turning to acid.
Yagyuu ordered dumplings and the fried beef noodle special, chicken and mushroom rice and tofu with vegetables. "And," he says as his long fingers rove across the laminate menu, "the BBQ duck. Extra large size."
Niou can feel his mouth hang open, just long enough to make Yagyuu's lips quirk. Yagyuu nods and says that's all.
The waitress repeats everything back in a heavy accent. She shuffles off in mincing steps. "Typical Chinese wetback," Niou mutters. His face burns, but the mirrors on the walls only make things feel warmer.
Yagyuu clicks his tongue. "Don't be rude," he says.
Niou avoids his eye. He takes a chopstick and pokes Yagyuu in the arm. Yagyuu sighs and peels his arm off the table, away from Niou. Niou scrapes his chair across the floor in an attempt to stop his leg from touching Yagyuu's, but he backs up into another customer. Inwardly, he groans. His dick keeps pounding. The waitress brings a pot of tea-Jasmine.
His leg falls asleep and his calf starts to cramp up. He can't sit like this, squashed into his seat at an awkward angle, but each time he moves an inch, Yagyuu's leg is there, blocking him. Niou clenches his jaw. He moves his legs left, pressed together so tight that his cock hurts worse. His foot cramps up too.
The teapot clinks on the cup when Yagyuu pours the tea. Niou wiggles. Yagyuu slides a cup across the table to him. It's too hot for hot tea. The air is steamy enough. Niou sweats and squirms until something hard and blunt shoves between his knees and pries them apart.
Yagyuu's leg.
His eyes fly up to Yagyuu's. Yagyuu's gaze is firm and dark. He pushes his glasses up. "I already know," he murmurs.
Niou doesn't breathe.
"So just…relax, please," Yagyuu says. "You're making the table shake, Niou-kun." He pushes his tea cup around. A puddle around the base gleams.
Niou hunches his shoulders down. Oh.
Now he feels like a moron.
In perfect timing, the food arrives and the tension dissolves into the sizzling food. Niou digs into the duck. The sweet sauce and crispy skin melt in his mouth and the knots in his stomach unfurl as Yagyuu dishes up noodles and rice and everything, telling Niou to try this or that, or "Here, Niou-kun, do you want this last shrimp dumpling?"
Chopsticks with a dumpling hang in the space between them. Yagyuu waves it around, too close to Niou's face for him to grab the dumpling with his own chopsticks. The Chinese chopsticks are clumsy and bulky and the noodles he was holding slip back onto the plate.
Niou swallows. Do I…just…eat it from him?
Yagyuu tilts his head. "Do you want it?" he asks. His voice is nearly drowned out by the conversations of the rest of the place: pots clanging and the door chiming, people talking and waitresses shrieking their undulating Chinese gobbledygook to the cooks.
Niou swallows the rising lump in his throat, then he opens his mouth.
He can feel the dumpling on his tongue, and Yagyuu's chopsticks on his lips. Niou bites down, wishing he wasn't thinking-right now-how those chopsticks were in Yagyuu's mouth just a moment before, how those chopsticks caressed Yagyuu's tongue and lips and now they are moving over his own.
A shiver runs down his spine.
Then the chopsticks are gone and Yagyuu grabs another tofu piece for himself. Niou starts to chew, slow and deliberate. His chest flutters, all doki doki and the dumpling bursts in his mouth, shrimp and oil and garlic and onion sliding over his tongue. It's better than the other dumplings he had.
But not as good as Yagyuu's tongue would be.
Niou looks at the plates of food on the table, packed so tight that they hang off the edges and the waitresses have to dart around them. His stomach is warm, his skin burns alternately with flushes of hot and cold sweat and his cock is harder than ever, stealing his attention whenever Yagyuu asks him something. Niou nods. He grunts. He slurps noodles and pathetically picks at the rice. His chopsticks fail. He purses his lips and curls the upper one.
Puri!
"Here," Yagyuu says. He offers a bit of rice.
This time, Niou leans forward first, mouth already open.
***
They roll themselves out of the restaurant. Yagyuu pays the bill. Niou doesn’t feel guilty-after all, yesterday he did help pay for some of their conbini snacks. His waistband strains, his stomach feels painfully distended, but the food was too good to stop. He's stuffed and horny and the night is beautiful.
There is a park along the harbour that they walk through. Crickets chirp a continuous strain and Niou ambles, waddling back and forth to ease the pressure of his shorts. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, sniffing the air. Everything smells like a rose garden here. He looks around and heavy bushes drip with flowers, petals scattered across the green lawns that muffle their footsteps.
In the West, the towers of the MM21 district light up the sky, all blinding white and blue and yellow beacons. Closer, the Marine Tower thrusts bright into the sky. Even at this hour, with the water blackened and the sky alive with flashing airplane lights and skyscrapers, Niou can see people taking photos of the tower and the harbour. Pairs of lovers, arm in arm, stroll along the bay, mostly.
Niou watches two people lean close against a fence rail. When they start to look at each other and kiss, he makes a gagging noise. Inside, his stomach seizes with a bloom of cold jealousy. He picks strings of duck meat from his back molars. Yagyuu walks underneath a tree and touches the trunk, turning around to look at Niou.
"Do you want to go to an arcade?" he asks.
Niou stops in his tracks. A ship on the harbour rolls past them, smooth in the velvet water. Yagyuu jumps down off a tree root and walks up to him. Niou steps back, moving towards a fountain. The water bubbles and beds of daisies crowd around the edges of the pool. Niou leans down and pulls the heads off one flower, then two, then three. He chucks the flowers into the pool and they float, drifting towards a gushing burst of water that cuts off whatever Yagyuu says next.
Niou sucks on his tongue. The BBQ sauce from supper has gone stale, but the taste of garlic remains. He breathes into the air and stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets, pushing his shorts down.
"Okay," he says. "Got nothing better to do anyway."
The subway station is close and the trains packed with commuters, all going home. The A/C is cool, but this many people make the carriage swelter. Niou stuffs his face close to his shoulder and breathes in his garlic breath until Yagyuu moves and they get off the train, five, maybe six stops later. He hasn't counted, but it's not near either of their homes.
It's near the arcade instead. That arcade where Niou visited a long time ago. His undiscovered place, until he found that megane dork playing darts at his board. Niou smirks at the memory. He was so paranoid then about Yagyuu, and hating him for no good reason. Now, faint worry gnaws at his chest for a different reason.
For five, maybe ten minutes they walk through a shabby shopping arcade and cement-filled district. There is a big pachinko parlour, the clinking, rushing sounds of hundreds of machines spilling out onto the street. Yagyuu doesn't talk much. Niou doesn't say anything. They walk and sweat and the air ripples with scooter engines and frying food stands and cheap electronic shops with too-bright lights and stands advertising the latest idol DVDs and soft-core porn.
Niou's eyes drift over the ads. Buxom girls with glossy lips and long hair, hands spreading their thighs open in invitation or half-covering their round, fake tits. He sneers. Yagyuu looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "Niou-kun?"
Niou shakes his head. He swallows any half-assed witty retort in favour of "Puri". Yagyuu sniffs, almost laughing underneath a hand he uses to push his glasses up again. Niou shuffles and zig-zags along the sidewalk. The more they walk, the less his stomach cramps up from the food. The less the strain is on his belly.
Instead, his dick swells and hardens. Sweat slithers down his back and makes his armpits damp. He stinks of teenage boy and Chinese food and even some of the overpowering, girly roses in the park from before. Yagyuu, of course, smells good even though the tips of his hair dampen his t-shirt collar: deodorant and woodsy soap, and that ever-present citrusy shampoo that makes Niou's head float off and his belly pool with blood and desire.
The arcade is the same as ever, but the sign might be a little more dilapidated and the blaring techno anime music louder than Niou remembers. For a summer evening, it's not very busy, just a few overweight high school kids at the DDR machines and scattered guys their age or so at some of the gun and racing ones. Yagyuu leads the way to the back of the arcade. Niou looks into a UFO catcher stuffed with blue aliens. He smirks at them and taps a finger on the glass wall. The claw lights up, but he walks away.
"First person to bullseye wins?" Yagyuu asks. He deposits coins to play. Niou nods.
"What are we playing for?" he asks. His voice is thick, thicker than he thought and his mouth dries up when Yagyuu hands him a dart. His heart flutters around on doki doki wings, threatening to fly out his mouth if he opens it again.
"What do you want to play for, Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asks. He rubs the feathers of his dart, smoothing them between his fingers over and over, slow and steady as his eyes hold Niou's in a dark embrace.
A shiver runs down Niou's spine. His dick goes numb from the flood of pressure in his belly and his knees shake. He exhales a single shallow breath, then looks back up to Yagyuu. The dartboard blinks, the lights circling around the board and signaling to start the game.
His eyes drift down Yagyuu's neck, cocked to the one side. His eyes drift down Yagyuu's chest, down past his open collar to his t-shirt where Niou can almost see the shadow of Yagyuu's nipples, stiff and poking into the fabric. His own legs shake harder and his dick keeps throbbing, beating in tune with his flapping heart and stealing all thought from his mind.
You know what I want, Yagyuu…
Yagyuu clicks his tongue. With a sharp nod, he says, "Loser has five more laps during tomorrow's practice."
Niou can't do anything but agree. He throws first. Yagyuu leans on the coin machine and watches him, sending fresh shudders through Niou's body. Niou turns away, keeping his back to Yagyuu to stop the distractions. He chews on his tongue and shuts one eye, gauging the distance.
He throws.
And hits an outer white section.
Yagyuu claps politely. "Good throw," he murmurs. "But watch this." Yagyuu steps up and Niou switches places with him. Yagyuu drops his shoulders-
He leans back, swings his racket wide and rocks back on his sneaker. His back is straight stiff and his lip curled up with the faintest of sneers. Niou can see the muscles of Yagyuu's back and bum flex and he shivers, wincing at the ache in his dick. His insides knot up, anticipating the single word that will be his undoing-
Yagyuu throws.
He hits the iris.
Niou snorts a wad of mucus and swallows it, trying to ease the flighty feeling in his chest. His cock hurts, but he won't let himself think about how good squeezing and pumping his dick would feel right now. No, he mutters, "Puri" under his breath and gives Yagyuu a narrowed eye.
Watch me do better, he thinks.
The first girl sneaks over, darting from one game machine to the next, her eyes on Yagyuu. Niou can feel her presence prickle the back of his neck. His skin bristles. He aims and shoots and hits the iris too this time.
"Well done," Yagyuu says.
His shot hits the wire rim. It bounces off the edge of the board and hits the floor. Niou grins. Yagyuu frowns. Another girl comes closer, conspiring with her friend in hushed whispers. Niou catches one word "Hiroshi" and his blood congeals. Yagyuu turns to the girls when Niou fumbles with a dart.
He smiles at them and nods his head a bit. He addresses them by name and asks how they are. The first girl giggles. The second rushes over to Yagyuu, pushing Niou out of the way with her sharp shoulder and swollen chest.
"We haven't seen you in ages, Hiroshi," she says. She bounces on the spot, clutching Yagyuu's arm between her tits.
Yagyuu smiles at her. He says something, but Niou doesn't hear it. All he can hear is the sound of those girls and their laughter, multiplying and multiplying, exponentially deafening when two more girls come out and clap for Yagyuu, circling around him with their girlish cloud of perfume and long hair and curves and smiles that Yagyuu returns and-
Niou drops his dart.
He walks out of the arcade. His eyes sting and the dart's needle poked his fingertip. He doesn't notice until halfway to the bus stop when a man from an electronic shop shouts if Niou is okay.
Niou looks down.
A drip-drop trail of blood stains the sidewalk pavement, receding back into the distance toward the arcade. It looks like rain drops in the dark, nothing more than a brownish shadow on the ground. His finger hurts.
His chest aches. His stomach collapses onto itself and pushes scorching bile up his throat. He's not even hard anymore, his erection is slack and he can barely breathe for all the choking sob and acrid vomit taste in his throat.
Niou takes the first bus that drives by the stop. He shuffles home in the dark. Pots of pansies outside of homes on his street stare and mock him with their cheerful faces, yellow and black and smiling at him under the glow of streetlamps. He seethes through his teeth and bends down to shred one flower, but he stops himself.
It doesn't mean anything. It's just a stupid flower. Niou kicks a cement wall, then slinks home. He shuts his cellphone off and crawls into bed. His heart weighs so much that he chokes until he rolls onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow.
A typhoon rolls in that night. Niou doesn't sleep at all.