Happy Santa_Smex, Longleggedgit!
To: longleggedgit
From: argentinaskies
Title: raison d'être
Recipient's name: longleggedgit
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Sanada/Kirihara
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Dearest longleggedgit, I hopelessly wish you would like this fic even in the slightest because I have had hallucinations of you being so disgusted with it and everything. To be frank, I was absolutely confounded by your preferred pairings, mostly due to my ineptitude at characterisation. They looked easy to tackle at first glance, but in the end I realised I couldn't write anything substantial for any one of them and it freaked me out. I know you adore Inui and Kaidou and Momo and I would have loved to write them for you, but it just didn't happen. I would say more but I feel self-conscious babbling so much in the A/N so here's to a merry christmas and a happy new year!
raison d'être
Sanada/Kirihara
for Lindsay
raison d'être. n. reason or justification for being or existence
(I) Sanada
They call him 'Emperor'.
You learn of this on your first day in the club.
The first time you meet him, he flanks the right of a dark-haired boy with skin pale enough to be mistaken for a ghost. He wears an invisible cape that sweeps across the floor. People worship the ground he treads on.
There are three prodigies in Rikkai Dai Fuzoku: God, Emperor, and Master. Their roles are immediately clear. God is with whom your religion lies, and to Emperor you swear fealty. Master is who you obey. For now you only know of the Emperor and you are already cynical.
There is a streak of rebellion in you that does not want to acknowledge his status. You are not convinced he is good enough to be worthy of high praise. They are merely rumours, words passed on by mediocre people who have too much time to spare. Someday, you think, someday I will debunk this myth.
*
It happens one week later. You are rallying balls with one of the first-years under the hot sun and he is walking past, the swish, swish of his cape announcing his grand presence without him saying a word. He has his hands behind his back, hawk eyes trained on a different junior at intervals.
"I wonder if it is all talk," you say audibly to your rally partner. "After all I've never played him before. I wonder if the hat is too big for him."
He stops in his tracks and adjusts his cap, line of vision still directed at another first-year who has his grip wrong. He walks toward that boy and takes his racket from him, shows him the correct way to hold it. You roll your eyes, mildly annoyed that he does not so much as glance at you. It affects you, somewhat. This nonchalance.
"You over there."
His voice is clear and it perks you up. Even if you cannot see him, you can sense him looking at you, piercing stare boring a hole into your back. You smirk.
"Pick up all the balls after practice."
*
The seniors start to whisper when you are around now, you start to notice more and more. It must be his way of getting back at you. How petty, you think. And you hit the ball so hard it leaves a black bruise on your opponent's eye.
Once, you hear the dark-haired boy say to him, "All that energy has to be channeled somewhere."
They have been walking around the circumference of the high green fences that surround the tennis court, casually surveying the juniors as they talk. Like a couple, it occurs to you as an afterthought, but you brush it away quickly. Even you are starting to find yourself ridiculous.
He singles you out two months later. You do not tell him two months is a fucking long time to wait. Instead, you scowl at him. The seniors take turns to scrutinise you, like you are an animal on the brink of extinction, caged in the circle they have formed around you.
"Kirihara Akaya. Class 1-4. Height 168cm. Weight 61kg. Type aggressive baseliner. Blood type O," one of them recites off his memory. "What do you say, Seiichi?"
"If he can pass the test," says Seiichi. "Genichirou, would you please?"
You widen your eyes when Seiichi says his name, as if he owns it. Genichirou, you repeat that name in your mind slowly and somehow commit it to memory.
"With pleasure."
Later, he beats you. You lose to him 6-3, but you think it is not entirely because he is better than you. Yet you find yourself drawn to the curve of his back or the bend of his knees, the swing of his arm or the sound when he breathes. In a way like you take to his nickname, you are enamoured with his tennis.
"Kirihara-kun, you are eligible to join the regulars," he tells you after that. You think he may have smiled.
"Really?" You stare at him in genuine disbelief. You are so happy you could have grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug.
"Y-Yes," he says, taken aback. "And you can let go of me now."
(II) Yukimura
It is not easy to be the youngest on the team. You cannot be too good, you have to save some face for the seniors. But more than anything, you cannot be not good enough. You realise this the afternoon you watch him and Yukimura play. Marui-senpai says they are not even half serious.
"But don't worry, Akaya," says Marui, petting your head with his racket. He stretches an arm muscle. "Even if you lose, there's still us."
"Senpai!" So you catch up with Sanada after training, slightly out of breath. "Is it okay if you give me extra practice?"
He looks at you for a moment, contemplating your proposition.
"Since the kid asked, you might as well oblige," says Marui as he sidles over, taking off his wristband.
"I don't want to lose in the tournament." You make a face at Marui-senpai and he laughs, a kind of laughter an older brother laughs when his younger brother does something silly.
"Okay," he says finally. You don't know why it makes you happy.
But you know you are not going to lose.
*
The tournament draws near. You train with him day in day out and get a little excited when he tells you, that's right, good, keep it up.
Once, you beat Marui-senpai in an unofficial match by a small margin and he tells you, "Dear me, Akaya. If you keep getting better at this rate you're gonna surpass me."
"Of course." You toss the ball at him and grin, a little smug, a little arrogant.
"What do you think, Marui?" Sanada walks over, puts his palm on your head and says matter-of-factly, "He's my protégé, don't you know?"
*
It is evening that day. He is hitting balls at you and you are switching back and forth between forehand and backhand. You are sweating buckets but you are not ready to stop. Suddenly, the balls stop coming.
You look up and see Yukimura and Yanagi three courts away. Yukimura is bent over with laughter, bending into Yanagi as Yanagi holds him by the arm. Then Yanagi leans close to Yukimura's face and says something else, and Yukimura jabs a finger at Yanagi's forehead with a mock expression of annoyance. Throughout, Yanagi looks as calm as a lake.
"Akaya! You're losing focus," he hollers over the court.
The balls are coming again, each one harder than the one before.
*
Months pass. By now, you are a national champion. When Yukimura wins, the team leaps from the spectator stand and rushes toward the court. Niou crashes into Yagyuu hard enough to hurt; Jackal elbows you and winks, mouthing "Not bad, kid" over the noise; Marui jumps from behind and knocks the wind out of you when he slaps his arms over your shoulder and Jackal's.
You spot him in the midst of the celebration, pushing his way through to Yukimura and touching his forehead to the captain's. Yukimura grabs Yanagi close, too, and for one wild moment you think the three of them are truly what the rumours claim them to be. Prodigies placed on altars.
(III) Yanagi
Winter is when Yukimura is hospitalised. Everyone gathers outside the operating theatre and the cogs in their watches are ticking too loudly. The air is so thin it is difficult to breathe.
When you are finally permitted to see Yukimura, he is lying on the bed, paler than he has ever been and deathly still. Only the heart rate monitor beside him indicates he is alive.
Niou is the first to leave the room. "This is fucking unbearable," he had muttered under his breath.
Yagyuu watches the door swing after Niou had left. When it stops, he says, "I'm going to check on him. Excuse me." And he is gone, too.
Silence is beginning to fill the room, like someone blowing an invisible balloon until it is so huge its skin is pulled over your face, suffocating you.
"It's fine. I can stay with him," says Yanagi suddenly. "You guys go on ahead. I'll call you if there's anything."
Sanada looks like he wants to say something, but he only manages an exasperated expression.
"We'll leave it to you, Renji," he says, sounding tired.
Jackal puts a hand around your shoulder and shuffles you out along with Marui.
Before Sanada closes the door behind him, Yanagi stands up and walks toward him.
"Take care, Genichirou."
Sanada thinks Yanagi seem exceptionally brittle, like a beautiful ceramic vase perched on a pedestal in an art museum.
"Renji." He hopes the strength he puts in saying Yanagi's name reaches him.
"Goodbye."
*
Two weeks later on a Friday, Sanada goes to visit Yukimura. Yukimura has woken a week ago and a bit of colour has returned to his cheeks. Sanada has not seen him for seven days. Seeing him is nearly equivalent to asphyxiating, he sometimes thinks.
When he reaches the ward, there are three things Sanada hears when he puts his hand on the knob of the ajar door:
One, fingernails clawing against the wall.
Two, someone breathing like a fire victim with an oxygen mask.
Three, Renji, Renji, Renji.
Yagyuu texts all the club members on Sanada's behalf: No practice today. The tournament is over. Winter break is next week. Many clubs have already stopped their activities. It all seems very normal.
You have chemistry lab practical until seven o'clock in the evening and on your way home you spot a tall figure striking balls against the wall at the tennis courts. You lean your face into the fence, fingers clinging onto the wire wound in diamond shapes. You realise it is him, and his shots are erratic and confusing, as if the balls are all rebelling by veering off course. He looks strikingly lonely and, for a long time, you watch him.
Then, it pours.
It is maybe about eight forty-five now. You let yourself into the courts and dash toward the figure, but stop short a distance away from him. You don't know if you are allowed to stand too close. Or if you have a right to.
"Senpai! Let's get into the clubroom. You'll get sick if you're drenched!"
Rain gets into your mouth and you cannot articulate properly. Sheets of water slip into your collar, soaking your school shirt. Cautiously, you inch nearer and touch his shoulder. He doesn't move, still holding his tennis racket loosely in his hand.
And then he is pressing his chest against yours, arms tightening, tightening around your body until your lungs cannot expand anymore. You think of saying something vague like, it's okay, it's okay, but you think it is not going to help; he is seriously going to crush your bones. You are not sure what to do, hands hanging limp by your side, and you cannot breathe.
Water rushes down the side of your face, your arms, your chest. It feels like standing under a waterfall. You shiver a little in the cold and he holds you closer, as if trying to see if two bodies can be melded together. Or something. It is cold. It is hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.
This is who they call Emperor. Even if he has a whole empire beneath him, he still believes in God.
(IV) Kirihara
You are not supposed to lose to Echizen Ryoma. Or anybody for that matter. That is the rule.
Your face stings.
"I don't get it," you say in a soft voice, trembling.
The weight of his stare is heavy on your shoulders.
"Even if we don't lose, buchou can't play tennis anymore, can he?"
He grabs you harshly by one shoulder and turns you to face him. "What did you say?" His voice is measured, controlled, restrained fury.
"It's the truth. That's what the doctors said."
"I don't allow you say that of your captain."
"Don't you get it, senpai? It's a fool's hope! And you are the fool. You keep waiting and waiting, but he's already got his tongue in Yanagi-senpai's mouth and you still keep waiting -"
This time, he pushes you against the fence and punches you, grabs your collar.
"Shut up," he says, very, very quietly.
Kirihara is breathing shallowly, chest expanding and collapsing against the cloth of his shirt. Sanada knows what Kirihara said is most likely true but he doesn't know why he refuses to acknowledge it. It doesn't so much has to do with Yanagi hooking up with Yukimura than it has to do with the way he can't stop fixating on Kirihara's shirt stretched across his chest. This, he thinks, is the crux of the problem.
"I can kiss better than buchou," says Kirihara, purposefully defiant, yanking at Sanada's tie as if it is proof.
Sanada grabs Kirihara's hand and pins it above his head. He thinks he is sliding down some slippery slope argument against himself as he leans all his weight on Kirihara, not caring if the fence wire is cutting into Kirihara's flesh.
"Show me."
Kirihara kisses on tiptoes like a savage starved for months. Sanada does not need to have kissed Yukimura to compare. He kisses back, rough, brusque, pushing and pushing against Kirihara until their combined weight causes the fence to bulge outward under pressure.
It tastes like betrayal.
You are sucking at his chest now, mouth shaped like a goldfish breathing - open, close, open, close - as you lick his nipple through the fabric; an ice-cream mouth. He shifts, shifts against you, and you shift back; angles his knee between your legs and you ride it, tilt your head back and let him tongue your neck, collarbone, unbutton, unbutton, come undone.
His hands are large, calloused from the racket grip over the years, fingers aligned on your ribcage. The fence is embedding its diamond pattern into your back. You grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him toward you, stick your free hand into his pants and palm him, uncouth, raw, crass. He bites into your flesh, claws his fingers into your back, and you knead him, stroke and pull and squeeze and grope, and he drives his knee deeper against you, sucks your jaw, your mouth, tongue an eel and teeth razor sharp. The fence creaks in protest as he pushes his hands against it. Then your feel your hand become warm, wet and warm; he collapses into you.
"Sei-Seiichi," he breathes. Pulls your face toward his and tries to draw your soul from your mouth. Soul-sucking vacuum.
(V) Sanada
Everything changes and it seems like nothing has changed. That is the most terrifying thing of all.
*
Timeline: Third year
As the Seigaku school song echoes in that cavern of a stadium, the Rikkai delegation stand as still as statues. They are all golden statues akin to those commoners would worship. The day they don the colours of Rikkai they had sworn their philosophy to that of a king's and a king's pride is what they wear on their backs.
But at the end of everything, Sanada thinks, this is really the end. Three years of total domination and three years of firm reign over the Japanese junior tennis world. Everything has come to an end.
They file out the stadium one by one and board the coach solemnly. There is a light gale and Yukimura's jacket flaps wildly in the wind. Yukimura frowns. Sanada suddenly has a strong urge to touch him and smooth out the creases between his brows. Then, Yukimura hoists himself onto the bus and the jacket falls off his shoulders.
Sanada and Yanagi stretch out their hand at the same time to catch it before it touches the ground. Even if they had lost, they are still stubborn about their pride. Stubborn, golden pride. Between their hands is a layer of jacket cloth and Sanada can feel Yanagi's fingers through it.
"Let go, Sanada."
Yanagi untangles the jacket from Sanada and climbs the steps into the coach. Yukimura has seated himself at the first window seat to the left, arms crossed in front of his chest and eyes closed.
"Seiichi," says Yanagi, but Yukimura does not stir. And Yanagi sits down. Sanada merely moves to the seat behind them.
Yagyuu follows quietly behind Niou as they make their way toward the last row of seats. Niou promptly lies down and naps. Yagyuu only adjusts his spectacles and takes one of the outer seats at the second last row. Marui and Jackal opt to sit diagonally in front of Yagyuu. No one wants to sit too close to Yukimura, because Rikkai has never lost before and now that they did, they don't know what to do.
Kirihara is the last to board the coach. He sits at the window seat to the right in the same row as Sanada and looks out of the window, propping his face against his palm.
As the engine revs, the coach vibrates. Then it roars into life and speeds down the road. Through the slit between the seats, Sanada can see Yanagi draping the jacket over Yukimura, but Yukimura pushes Yanagi's hand away and lets his head fall onto Yanagi's shoulder instead.
The coach hums.
Kirihara can see Sanada's expression reflected clearly on the UV filter sticker plastered across the window pane. It is a withering look.
*
Sanada sweeps the courts alone on the last day of school. Kirihara sits at the bench and watches him sweep. When he is done, he keeps the broom in the clubroom and shoulders his bag. He starts out on his way home. Kirihara gets up from the bench and follow him. They walk side by side, never touching. When they reach Sanada's place, Kirihara says, Next year. Next year I will lead Rikkai to the championship. Sanada removes his cap and puts it on Kirihara's head, says, good.