Proportions [For Watermelontree]
AUTHOR: xianaasuka
RECIPIENT: watermelontree
Title: Proportions
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1665
Warning/s: slight language
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to find a place you belong.
Notes: I really hope you like this, watermelontree, and I hope it has a little bit of the school atmosphere c;? A-and I hope it makes sense D: D: D:
-
When Choutarou was 11, in the spring of his last year of elementary school, his friends Ogawa and Hiyoshi made him go to the junior high with them, to see what it was like and what they had to look forward to next year. They walked around together, ignoring the curious looks the older students gave them, marveling over how much bigger everything was. Choutarou wondered how people ever knew where they were going and didn’t get lost all the time. They looked at classrooms and hallways and the gym and the cafeteria, all much bigger than Choutarou thought they really needed to be. Were there really that many kids eating lunch here? Did they all really sit at desks like that? How?
Hiyoshi suggested they go outside and see the tennis courts. Choutarou was relieved to see that outside there were only normal-sized benches and trash cans and trees, but then they got to the tennis stadium. Tennis. Stadium. The only bigger one he’d ever seen was in England. They had Wimbledon there.
Choutarou rubbed his eyes, trying to make sure he was seeing it right. Ogawa asked him if he was allergic to something. Hiyoshi wanted to take a closer look. Choutarou followed slowly up the steps and gasped when he reached the top.
He was used to watching adults, but that was different. They were on such a higher level that there was really no comparison. But the boys in front of him… they were barely older than him, but they were so much faster and stronger and better than he thought he could ever be. He wondered if when you got into junior high, you just suddenly got better at everything, like leveling up in a video game or something.
By the time the match finished, he felt like he was going to fall over. He was going to be in school with people like this? He would be lucky if they let him pick up their tennis balls when they were done playing. Hiyoshi noticed how dazed he was and pushed him toward a nearby building, the tennis clubroom probably, and told him to go splash some water on his face and cool off for a bit.
After wandering around for a little bit, he found the taps and did as Hiyoshi said. When he was done, he felt a little better. He approached the clubroom slowly, noticing that a window was open. He stood on tiptoe and peeked in.
Junior high tennis lockers were at least twice as big as the PE ones he was used to, and there were so many of them lining the walls that he couldn’t even imagine that many people playing tennis at the same time. There were rackets and towels and clothes scattered everywhere.
Someone grabbed his shoulder roughly. “What are you doing?” Choutarou squeaked and his body tried to run away and turn around at the same time, which resulted in him tripping over his own feet and falling on his butt. He bit his lip and did his best to blink the tears out of his eyes.
“Whoa, calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you. You okay?” Choutarou was lifted to his feet and he looked up at one of the boys that had been playing. His face was covered in sweat and his long hair was tangled, but even through his look of concern, there was something incredibly proud about him, something so intensely determined that Choutarou couldn’t find any words.
“Shit, Ryou, what’d you do, kick the kid’s puppy?” His partner came up and patted Choutarou on the head. “Don’t worry, he won’t eat you. You lost or something?”
“N-no!” Choutarou stammered and ran back to Hiyoshi and Ogawa.
Ogawa asked him if he was okay and when he didn’t respond right away, said they were going home for the day and he should take a nap when he got back. Of course Choutarou told him that naps were for little kids, but secretly thought maybe it would be a good idea to just lie down for a little bit and think about stuff when he got back.
He wondered if he would ever feel big enough to stand alongside boys like the ones from today with any sort of confidence.
-
As a third year, Shishido didn’t think there was any part of the school he wasn’t familiar with. Shortcuts, semi-secret passages between classrooms… he even knew every inch of the rooftops (perhaps because he spent quite a bit more time there than most students did).
Then he snuck into the backstage area of the auditorium to try to congratulate Choutarou after a concert and found himself proven wrong. It was only after ten minutes of stumbling around in the dark crashing into walls and weird machines and boxes full of stuff that no junior high could possibly need, that he finally, somehow, made it into a backstage dressing room. Of course, it happened to be a girls dressing room, but once they were done shrieking and throwing things, they were nice enough to tell him where the boys’ was, and it only took him a few minutes more to make his way over there instead.
Choutarou was the only one left in the room, fussing over his violin. He jumped when Shishido entered the room, smacking his head against a light fixture. “Mou, Shishido-san, don’t scare me like that,” he said reproachfully, rubbing his head.
Shishido crossed the room and rested a hand on Choutarou’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. You didn’t jump near as high as the girls did though.”
“You didn’t. Did you?”
“Yeah, sorta.” Shishido looked away. “It’s easy to get turned around when it’s dark, y’know?”
Choutarou made the non-committal noise he made when he didn’t want to tell Shishido he was wrong but totally thought he was. “You just have to know where to go,” he said eventually.
“Whatever. Like I’d even come here if it wasn’t for you.” He finally took his hand off Choutarou’s shoulder and used it to scratch the back of his head instead. “Good job tonight. I think. I mean, I don’t really know one way or another, but… it sounded nice to me.”
“Thank you, Shishido-san. Shall we, then?” Despite the amount of space in the room, they still ended up awkwardly bumping into each other as Choutarou tried to get to the door first without making it look like he was trying to lead and Shishido tried to let Choutarou lead without making it obvious that that was what he was doing.
“…Ne, Shishido-san. You know why they keep it so dark down here, right?”
-
Choutarou was too big for the junior high, too big for everything. His legs stuck out of his desk and he always almost smacked his head on the door frame every time he went into or out of the tennis clubroom.
This year he felt trapped in a way he hadn’t when he was a second year, restricted to the same old too-small classrooms, stuck walking the same old monotonous hallways between the same two or three rooms. Every moment he spent in that school irritated him like a mosquito bite on the back of his neck that he just kept scratching and scratching until it bled.
He spent most classes staring out the window, pretending he could see the high school. Afternoons, he was on the tennis courts, serving and nearly always winning. He felt a little out of place there as well, but somehow it was easier to ignore. Somehow, it was better to feel too small than too big.
-
“Hey. Good morning.” It’s not like they didn’t see each other last year, but it was different somehow, Choutarou being there all the time. Not having to call ahead. Not having to wait through hours of practice and stupid classes for a few minutes at a burger shop or the street courts. It leaves Shishido with an almost-pleasant, almost-painful feeling in the pit of his stomach when he’s out in the hallway and thinks about how maybe he’ll see Choutarou there too. It feels like he wants to laugh suddenly, loudly, for no reason at all, or maybe like he wants to punch something.
“Hey. Good morning, Shishido.” Somehow, it became habit to look suspiciously around the locker room, even though Shishido always got there by the time everyone else had left. A quick glance around, a quick kiss, and then practice.
Even though it was Atobe, he still insisted on making all the first-years, even Kabaji, pick up balls and practice their swings for a few weeks at the beginning of the semester before they were allowed to challenge for regular spots. Even though they weren’t playing together, even though they still had half a month to go before they would (and there was no way they wouldn’t), even though Choutarou was five courts down practicing his net dash and he was stuck partnered with some third-year, there was something different about being on the court. Something good.
-
“What do you have today? I’ve got salmon and egg.”
“Just riceballs today. Trade you one?”
“No way, my egg’s way better than your crappy combini riceballs.” He let him take it anyway and swiped a riceball when he wasn’t looking, tossing it into his bag for after school.
Lunch time was short, but it was still long enough to finish a bento and a math worksheet and still have enough time for Shishido to lay his head on Choutarou’s chest and watch the clouds while Choutarou ran his hands through his hair.
It wasn’t long enough to stay there as long as they would’ve liked, but it was hard to get too mad about it when they had tennis practice and a “study session” to look forward to. Besides, the way their hands fit perfectly into one another almost made the walk back to class worth it.
RECIPIENT: watermelontree
Title: Proportions
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1665
Warning/s: slight language
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to find a place you belong.
Notes: I really hope you like this, watermelontree, and I hope it has a little bit of the school atmosphere c;? A-and I hope it makes sense D: D: D:
-
When Choutarou was 11, in the spring of his last year of elementary school, his friends Ogawa and Hiyoshi made him go to the junior high with them, to see what it was like and what they had to look forward to next year. They walked around together, ignoring the curious looks the older students gave them, marveling over how much bigger everything was. Choutarou wondered how people ever knew where they were going and didn’t get lost all the time. They looked at classrooms and hallways and the gym and the cafeteria, all much bigger than Choutarou thought they really needed to be. Were there really that many kids eating lunch here? Did they all really sit at desks like that? How?
Hiyoshi suggested they go outside and see the tennis courts. Choutarou was relieved to see that outside there were only normal-sized benches and trash cans and trees, but then they got to the tennis stadium. Tennis. Stadium. The only bigger one he’d ever seen was in England. They had Wimbledon there.
Choutarou rubbed his eyes, trying to make sure he was seeing it right. Ogawa asked him if he was allergic to something. Hiyoshi wanted to take a closer look. Choutarou followed slowly up the steps and gasped when he reached the top.
He was used to watching adults, but that was different. They were on such a higher level that there was really no comparison. But the boys in front of him… they were barely older than him, but they were so much faster and stronger and better than he thought he could ever be. He wondered if when you got into junior high, you just suddenly got better at everything, like leveling up in a video game or something.
By the time the match finished, he felt like he was going to fall over. He was going to be in school with people like this? He would be lucky if they let him pick up their tennis balls when they were done playing. Hiyoshi noticed how dazed he was and pushed him toward a nearby building, the tennis clubroom probably, and told him to go splash some water on his face and cool off for a bit.
After wandering around for a little bit, he found the taps and did as Hiyoshi said. When he was done, he felt a little better. He approached the clubroom slowly, noticing that a window was open. He stood on tiptoe and peeked in.
Junior high tennis lockers were at least twice as big as the PE ones he was used to, and there were so many of them lining the walls that he couldn’t even imagine that many people playing tennis at the same time. There were rackets and towels and clothes scattered everywhere.
Someone grabbed his shoulder roughly. “What are you doing?” Choutarou squeaked and his body tried to run away and turn around at the same time, which resulted in him tripping over his own feet and falling on his butt. He bit his lip and did his best to blink the tears out of his eyes.
“Whoa, calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you. You okay?” Choutarou was lifted to his feet and he looked up at one of the boys that had been playing. His face was covered in sweat and his long hair was tangled, but even through his look of concern, there was something incredibly proud about him, something so intensely determined that Choutarou couldn’t find any words.
“Shit, Ryou, what’d you do, kick the kid’s puppy?” His partner came up and patted Choutarou on the head. “Don’t worry, he won’t eat you. You lost or something?”
“N-no!” Choutarou stammered and ran back to Hiyoshi and Ogawa.
Ogawa asked him if he was okay and when he didn’t respond right away, said they were going home for the day and he should take a nap when he got back. Of course Choutarou told him that naps were for little kids, but secretly thought maybe it would be a good idea to just lie down for a little bit and think about stuff when he got back.
He wondered if he would ever feel big enough to stand alongside boys like the ones from today with any sort of confidence.
-
As a third year, Shishido didn’t think there was any part of the school he wasn’t familiar with. Shortcuts, semi-secret passages between classrooms… he even knew every inch of the rooftops (perhaps because he spent quite a bit more time there than most students did).
Then he snuck into the backstage area of the auditorium to try to congratulate Choutarou after a concert and found himself proven wrong. It was only after ten minutes of stumbling around in the dark crashing into walls and weird machines and boxes full of stuff that no junior high could possibly need, that he finally, somehow, made it into a backstage dressing room. Of course, it happened to be a girls dressing room, but once they were done shrieking and throwing things, they were nice enough to tell him where the boys’ was, and it only took him a few minutes more to make his way over there instead.
Choutarou was the only one left in the room, fussing over his violin. He jumped when Shishido entered the room, smacking his head against a light fixture. “Mou, Shishido-san, don’t scare me like that,” he said reproachfully, rubbing his head.
Shishido crossed the room and rested a hand on Choutarou’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry. You didn’t jump near as high as the girls did though.”
“You didn’t. Did you?”
“Yeah, sorta.” Shishido looked away. “It’s easy to get turned around when it’s dark, y’know?”
Choutarou made the non-committal noise he made when he didn’t want to tell Shishido he was wrong but totally thought he was. “You just have to know where to go,” he said eventually.
“Whatever. Like I’d even come here if it wasn’t for you.” He finally took his hand off Choutarou’s shoulder and used it to scratch the back of his head instead. “Good job tonight. I think. I mean, I don’t really know one way or another, but… it sounded nice to me.”
“Thank you, Shishido-san. Shall we, then?” Despite the amount of space in the room, they still ended up awkwardly bumping into each other as Choutarou tried to get to the door first without making it look like he was trying to lead and Shishido tried to let Choutarou lead without making it obvious that that was what he was doing.
“…Ne, Shishido-san. You know why they keep it so dark down here, right?”
-
Choutarou was too big for the junior high, too big for everything. His legs stuck out of his desk and he always almost smacked his head on the door frame every time he went into or out of the tennis clubroom.
This year he felt trapped in a way he hadn’t when he was a second year, restricted to the same old too-small classrooms, stuck walking the same old monotonous hallways between the same two or three rooms. Every moment he spent in that school irritated him like a mosquito bite on the back of his neck that he just kept scratching and scratching until it bled.
He spent most classes staring out the window, pretending he could see the high school. Afternoons, he was on the tennis courts, serving and nearly always winning. He felt a little out of place there as well, but somehow it was easier to ignore. Somehow, it was better to feel too small than too big.
-
“Hey. Good morning.” It’s not like they didn’t see each other last year, but it was different somehow, Choutarou being there all the time. Not having to call ahead. Not having to wait through hours of practice and stupid classes for a few minutes at a burger shop or the street courts. It leaves Shishido with an almost-pleasant, almost-painful feeling in the pit of his stomach when he’s out in the hallway and thinks about how maybe he’ll see Choutarou there too. It feels like he wants to laugh suddenly, loudly, for no reason at all, or maybe like he wants to punch something.
“Hey. Good morning, Shishido.” Somehow, it became habit to look suspiciously around the locker room, even though Shishido always got there by the time everyone else had left. A quick glance around, a quick kiss, and then practice.
Even though it was Atobe, he still insisted on making all the first-years, even Kabaji, pick up balls and practice their swings for a few weeks at the beginning of the semester before they were allowed to challenge for regular spots. Even though they weren’t playing together, even though they still had half a month to go before they would (and there was no way they wouldn’t), even though Choutarou was five courts down practicing his net dash and he was stuck partnered with some third-year, there was something different about being on the court. Something good.
-
“What do you have today? I’ve got salmon and egg.”
“Just riceballs today. Trade you one?”
“No way, my egg’s way better than your crappy combini riceballs.” He let him take it anyway and swiped a riceball when he wasn’t looking, tossing it into his bag for after school.
Lunch time was short, but it was still long enough to finish a bento and a math worksheet and still have enough time for Shishido to lay his head on Choutarou’s chest and watch the clouds while Choutarou ran his hands through his hair.
It wasn’t long enough to stay there as long as they would’ve liked, but it was hard to get too mad about it when they had tennis practice and a “study session” to look forward to. Besides, the way their hands fit perfectly into one another almost made the walk back to class worth it.