Happy spring, tokyostory!
Title: A Lame Tale of Two Tennis Players
Recipient's name: tokyostory
Rating: G (GenFic!)
Pairing: Silver Pair friendship fic.
Disclaimer: I actually DO own Prince of Tennis and all the characters in it. Konomi and I used to be friends until he stole my ideas. I'll get him back someday. But for now, I'm writing fanfiction.
Warnings: Beware of those stinky tree air fresheners.
Author's notes: I'd like to thank my two SUPAR-ANONYMOUS betas and my recipient for her request of loveliness. I hope you like it. This was actually a fun and new challenge to write!
No one likes to play tennis in the heat. Despite being late in the afternoon, the sun seemed to rebel against setting, and decided that it liked being high in the sky better. The Hyoutei tennis courts, made from only the best clay in the world, appeared to only be better at absorbing the heat. The non-regulars whined but they were ignored. The regulars whined, but everyone who longed to be on the team knew that they would have to brave the heat to play their precious sport.
“I can touch the heat, Yuushi,” Gakuto frowned and crouched down, swinging his hand back and forth. The visible waves of heat floated up and around him, making a perfect Gakuto-shaped outline. “And see it.”
Oshitari pulled his glasses off his nose and held them up. He’d have admitted to also being able to see the heat if not for the fact that the lenses had entirely fogged up. “I see.”
Gakuto bounced up and scanned the court using his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. “Don’t Shishido and Ootori know they’re supposed to be here now? Where are those-heh!” He cupped both of his hands on the side of his mouth when he seemed to catch his target in sight. “Hey Ootori! How’s the weather from way up there? Is it hotter?!”
Gakuto’s ever-so-mature prod not only worked in getting the attention of Ootori but it was also quite successful in catching the attention of another.
“Hey!” Shishido called, waving his racquet in a threatening manner even though everyone knew he wasn’t about to beat anyone with it. “I heard that!”
“Yeah?” Gakuto called back, smirking as he yelled. “Your ears work! So what?”
“I’ll kick your ass!” Shishido yelled back, now moving on to pointing his racquet threateningly.
“Shishido-san.” Ootori intercepted before Shishido could go over and engage Gakuto in a devastating death match which could only end in tears. He thought quickly. “Do you think I should grip my racquet more tightly when I serve?”
Not quickly enough.
“Choutarou,” Shishido said, raising an eyebrow and turning away from Gakuto’s taunts. “Were you listening the other fifty times I said that?”
He reached out and took Ootori’s racquet from him, holding it upside down in front of him. Ootori smiled nervously and scratched the side of his neck.
“Maybe, Shishido-san…” he said with a shrug. Shishido pointed to the racquet handle.
“If you added better grip tape to your racquet, that would fix that problem,” he explained. Ootori nodded and agreed. If Shishido had told him to adjust his grip fifty times, then he had told him to use better grip tape a hundred times -- a hundred and one times!
“I have some at home,” he admitted. Then he thought for a moment.
Did he? There was his room and usually in his room, he kept things like that on the desk across from his bed. What was on the desk? A few pencils, a metronome, his mother’s ‘I’m proud of my Hyoutei Gakuen honor roll student’ mug filled with water, his math book…
No it wasn’t on the desk. The first drawer had thumbtacks, sweatbands from when he was a freshman and those were cool, some tissues…
Yup! Definitely high quality grip tape! Black.
Ootori never bought black grip tape - it must have been borrowed and never returned, but from who?
“Yeah, I know,” Shishido said, clearing his throat. “I leant you some a few weeks ago.”
Oh yeah.
“I forgot about it!” Ootori admitted, looking slightly sheepish.
“So I’ve been here dealing with your lame serves when you could have fixed them all along?” Shishido pulled his hat off his head and wiped his forehead off before using his shorts as a towel for his hand.
“I’ll put it on tonight, Shishido-san,” Ootori said with full intention of following through.
Shishido handed the racquet back. “Put it on and then give it back to me tomorrow.”
“Right, Shishido-san!” Ootori agreed with a nod. Shishido was about to open his mouth to say something else but there was a faint clicking noise and the two of them were oddly compelled to stop talking. Though the strange urge to end conversation was not too devastatingly odd, the two of them felt their attention drawn to the center tennis court where Atobe stood with his hand raised high in the air. The entire court was silent and Atobe wore a smirk that appeared a bit too natural.
“Damn Atobe,” Shishido muttered under his breath. Though it wasn’t exactly under his breath or a mutter considering nearby people happened to overhear him. A few of the braver ones made side comments but most of them were smart enough to remain silent.
“Something to say, Shishido?” Atobe asked, imposing himself on the entire Hyoutei tennis club. Some of the smaller and punier freshman collapsed due to the sheer power of Atobe’s presence while some of the closer players had to hold on tightly for balance to the umbrellas they toted around to shade their captain.
“I wasn’t talking to you, asshole,” Shishido scowled and averted his eyes.
“Pre-regulars are dismissed early for the day,” Atobe said with a wave of his hand. “Practice for the regulars will continue in the gym,” he added with a slight flick of his hair. “Unless, Shishido objects?”
Shishido’s silent scoff was answer enough for Atobe to give a nod of his head and then step to the side. Sakaki stepped out from behind Atobe where either no one had noticed him before or he had been cleverly hiding. It wasn’t as if Sakaki was the type to play hide-and-seek with his team so they all just assumed they hadn’t been paying him any attention and he had been there the whole time.
“Pre-regulars,” his voice was as drone as usual as he pointed two fingers out in front of him. “Itteyoshi.”
~*~*~
“-I just want to punch that lame mole off his lame face,” Shishido grunted, slowing down a bit.
“Five more, Shishido-san,” Ootori narrated, watching Shishido lie back down. He kept a firm hold on Shishido’s Hyoutei-brand sneakers complete with manly pink soles and double-knit shoelaces.
“Thanks, Choutarou,” Shishido said, halting his ranting session to polish off the last five sit-ups as quickly as possible. When he was down, he flattened out on the floor to catch a breather. He paused for a moment. “Where was I?”
As much as Ootori wanted to continue ranting about Atobe with Shishido, it passed the point of dragging on once Shishido finished belittling the shirt Atobe wore the other day and moved onto bashing his mole.
“It’s six, Shishido-san,” Ootori motioned toward the clock. “I don’t want to wait around until 7:00 for the bus.”
Shishido sat up and replaced the hat on his head, twisting it around backwards.
“That’ll only happen if those lame university guys take up all the seats again,” Shishido stood up and brushed himself off. “What are they even doing over there?”
Ootori shrugged and took a guess. “Orientation?”
“For classes?”
“Maybe?”
“Can’t they just drive there instead?”
“Shishido-san…”
Unlike a normal boys locker room that smelled of sweat, body-odor and pine-nuts, the Hyoutei locker room smelled of flowers. On top of sweat, body-odor and pine-nuts. The female janitor made sure that if she had to smell their adolescent stench, that at least it could be masked with a shroud of lavender and cherry blossom.
She also lovingly hung scented pine-trees on the inside of every locker that happened to belong to a member of a sports team.
“Stupid tree,” Shishido frowned, pulling the air-freshener from its comfortable place hanging on the hook inside his locker. Assuming he needed it more, Shishido stuffed it through the cracks of a nearby locker that belonged to a football player.
“I don’t mind them,” Ootori admitted, pulling his tennis bag out of his locker and unzipping it.
“You don’t mind your tennis stuff smelling like fairies and daffodils?” Shishido asked, reaching his foot out in attempt to trap an escaped tennis ball that had rolled out of his locker. The tips of his toes came just short and only grazed the ball before a second foot flew out and ceased the elusive tennis ball’s troublesome rolling.
“It’s more like that lotion my sister always uses,” Ootori said, bending over to pick the ball up before handing it to Shishido.
“Nice catch,” Shishido said, taking it and shoving it into his tennis bag. He paused for a moment, thinking back to what Ootori just said. “Why would you want to smell like your sister’s lame lotion?”
Ootori blinked and looked at Shishido before raising both of his hands up, waving them defensively.
“No no!” he said, laughing nervously. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Shishido’s raised eyebrow and slight smirk didn’t help the flailing Ootori create a more convincing argument.
“I was just kidding, Choutarou,” Shishido stuffed his hat into his tennis bag before slamming his locker shut. “Unless you actually do wear that lotion. Then that’s just lame.”
“No I don’t!” Ootori assured him, pushing his racquet into his bag. Shishido caught sight of the racquet.
“Don’t forget,” he said, pointing to the racquet. “Grip tape.”
“I’m not going to forget, Shishido-san,” Ootori said, closing his bag up and slinging it over his shoulder. He was happy to change the subject away from his girly lotion usage. Three times trying it doesn’t constitute using it regularly and no one was going to tell Ootori otherwise.
Shishido eyed him.
“Do I have to come over and make sure you do it?” he asked.
“You don’t have to do that, Shishido-san,” Ootori told him.
“I need the tape for my own racquet anyway,” Shishido held his own racquet up and then yanked on a loose piece of tape. Unable to tear it off on the first try, he tried sticking it back down before shoving it in his bag.
“Do you need the whole roll?” Ootori asked as the two of them made their way to the door.
“Don’t be lame, Choutarou,” Shishido frowned, shifting his bag over to his other shoulder. “What kind of failure tennis player uses an entire roll of tape on their racquet?”
Ootori nodded and smiled. It was kind of a stupid question anyway.
~*~*~
The only redeeming quality about the bus stop was that at least there was a place to stand for shade. Hopefully the bus would have the air conditioner on full blast.
The bus pulled up to the stop and it was not a good sign when every window was occupied. Shishido got on first.
“Damn university,” he mumbled with a bit more success than he had earlier at tennis practice. He turned back to Ootori.
“Choutarou, I see a few seats in the back,” he pointed to the end of the bus and pushed his way there.
Unfortunately, the ‘few’ seats Shishido had seen turned out to be only one. He walked right up to it and stood next to it, not saying anything.
Ootori glanced at it.
Shishido put his hand on it.
Ootori looked up at Shishido.
Shishido frowned.
Ootori pointed to the seat.
Shishido continued frowning and didn’t move.
Ootori sat down without another word.
“Shishido-san…” Ootori started but Shishido cut him off.
“I’m in a standing mood,” Shishido said. It was obviously a lie.
~*~*~
Shishido and Ootori usually get off at the same stop when they exit the bus. Usually Shishido goes left and Ootori goes right but today there would be an exchange of tape so they both went right.
It had begun to get dark and the streetlights were flickering with indecision about whether not it was dark enough to turn on or wait a little longer. Shishido was explaining to Ootori why he thought the I-Formation was better than the Australian Formation and Ootori was nodding in agreement. Every now and then, he’d throw in his own input but Shishido was better at being loud so there was no question as to who spoke more.
By the time Ootori reached his front door, the streetlights were more on than off which was just as good because the door was locked and fishing for the right key in the dark would have proved most difficult.
“No one home?” Shishido asked, observing the locked door.
“I guess not,” Ootori said with a shrug, holding up the correct key. “My sister probably needed a ride to her flute performance.”
“Oh,” Shishido said, not really that interested in why. “That was tonight?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the rehearsal,” Ootori pushed the door halfway open and then faltered. “Or was that last night?”
“Does it matter?” Shishido reached forward and pushed the door open the rest of the way but allowed Ootori to go in first. The lights turned on when the switch was flipped on and Ootori turned to Shishido.
“The tape’s up in my room,” he explained while glancing over at the kitchen during a wordless pause. It was late and it is difficult for a growing boy like Ootori to survive on what he had at lunch. “Do you want a snack first?”
Even if Shishido wasn’t growing as much as Ootori, who was he to turn down a free snack?
Ootori pulled a bag of unopened chips from the cabinet and struggled to open the bag. It wasn’t that he was particularly incompetent at opening bags of chips, it was more that this particular bag was rebellious and sealed awkwardly. If the bag had its way, there would be no chips to be had.
“Let me try,” Shishido offered, noticing Ootori’s strenuous battle with the bag.
“I’ve practically got it!” Ootori announced ambitiously, moving to the next step of using his teeth to aid him.
“No that’s gross!” Shishido batted the bag down and then made a gesture with his hand. “Turn it around and try opening it from there.”
“I don’t want to open it upside-down!” Ootori continued wrestling with the bag.
“Choutarou, seriously,” Shishido nudged the bag. “The bag’ll be fine.”
Defeated, Ootori flipped the bag around and almost immediately had it open from the bottom. He offered the smirking Shishido the first handful which was taken generously.
“All right,” Ootori said, turning and going toward the stairs, reclaiming his tennis bag. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Ootori’s legs were long enough to take the stairs two at a time with his right foot but not long enough so that he had to reclaim himself by taking one at a time with his left. Shishido barely dignified each step long enough with his foot’s presence but he hit every one. Except the last one which he leapt over as he turned a sharp left to follow Ootori to his room.
“I'm hoping it won't be as hot at practice tomorrow,” Shishido said, scratching the side of his stomach. “I’d rather play on the courts than work out in the gym.”
“Yeah,” Ootori agreed. “Me too.”
Ootori flipped the light switch to his room, there was an abrupt flash and the light went out again.
“Just because Atobe doesn’t like getting sweat in his hair-” Shishido stopped talking abruptly
“The light burned out!” Ootori stated the obvious. “Don’t move!”
“I’m not going to trip and fall, Choutarou,” Shishido said. It was dark enough that they could see each other but too dark to see anything else.
“There’s a spare bulb in the hall closet,” Ootori disappeared out the door leaving Shishido to absently look around in the dark to occupy himself.
It didn’t take long for Ootori to return with a new light bulb.
“Choutarou, what are those?” came Shishido’s voice next to Ootori.
“Light bulbs?” Ootori asked, glancing in Shishido’s general direction.
“That’s not what I meant!” Shishido sighed.
“Then what?”
“Those.”
“I can’t see in the dark, Shishido-san.”
“Above your bed,” Shishido said. “On the ceiling.”
There was an awkward pause.
“The stars?” Ootori tried.
“Why do you have glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling?” Shishido asked, almost masking the laugh in his voice.
Ootori almost dropped the light bulb on his rug. “I put them there in second grade!”
“You’re so lame!” Shishido laughed. “Is that a constellation?”
“No, they’re just random!” Ootori said, frowning as he reached up and unscrewed the light cover.
“You have the Big Dipper on your ceiling, Choutarou!”
“No I don’t!”
“Where’s the North Star?”
There was another pause as Shishido’s figure seemed to move.
“Oh there it-” Shishido stopped talking and let out a snort.
“Hm?” Ootori glanced over at Shishido’s shadowy form.
“Is that a glow-in-the-dark cat?” Shishido asked, sounding almost appalled.
“It was my sister’s!”
“Then why is it in your room?”
“Shishido-san…” Ootori’s frown was almost audible at this point.
“All right,” Shishido said, stepping away from the wall just in time for Ootori to screw the bulb in and the light to turn on. Shishido glanced down at Ootori’s feet and then up at the light briefly. “You think you’re so cool, being tall.”
“You can’t reach?” Ootori asked, fitting the cover back on.
Shishido reached his hand up enough to graze the light with his fingertips.
“I can reach,” he insisted. “See?”
Ootori wisely chose not to comment on that and spun around, reaching into his top desk drawer and pulling out the roll of tape.
“Let me do it,” Shishido held out his hand. Arguments were a lot easier to avoid with Shishido than people gave him credit for. Ootori handed the tape over and then bent over to retrieve his racquet from his bag.
Shishido picked at the tape to start a piece as Ootori held out his racquet. The racquet was taken and Ootori reached for the bag of chips open from the bottom.
“How much are you going to put on there, Shishido-san?” Ootori asked as Shishido began to wrap the racquet’s handle up skillfully.
“Enough,” he said monosyllabically as if racquet-binding was a difficult task and interrupting him was punishable by death.
“Try that,” He held the racquet out.
Ootori took the racquet and held it out before shrugging. “Feels fine to me, Shishido-san.”
“Pretend you’re going to swing it,” Shishido instructed.
“With you standing right there?” Ootori took a step back and looked around his room. “My room isn’t big enough.”
“I didn’t mean really swing it!” Shishido said, leaning forward to examine the taping job that he so masterfully pulled off.
“Look okay?” Ootori asked. Shishido didn’t answer but instead bent over and pulled his own racquet out of his bag.
“I’m going to leave the tape here,” He said, ripping off a small square to stick the stray piece down before setting it down in his lap.
“Shishido-san, you don’t need to do that,” Choutarou assured Shishido but he was expectedly shut down.
“Like I’d let my doubles partner’s serves suck because of something lame like this!” Shishido snatched Ootori’s racquet from him and tipped it up on the end of his finger, balancing it with little to no thought. “Not that I’m saying your serves suck or anything.”
“I didn’t think you were saying that!” Ootori said, marveling at Shishido’s trick even though he had seen it a thousand times before.
“Good,” Shishido said, letting the racquet drop but catching it by the handle. “I’d be a lame partner if I let that guy from Seigaku beat you out.”
“Shishido-san-” Ootori started but Shishido handed him his racquet back.
“Just listen to me, all right?” he said, picking his racquet back up. Ootori nodded and smiled.
“All right, Shishido-san,” he said. “Any more advice?”
Shishido nodded and reached his racquet out, knocking the light switch with it.
“Lose the stars, Choutarou.”
“I meant with my tennis,” Ootori sighed, lamenting the fact that he was just out of reach to turn the light back on.
Shishido wore a look of contemplation that went unseen in the dark.
“Keep your head out of the stars,” he said finally.
There was a brief pause as Ootori sorted that out. Or attempted to. He could try to sort it out as long as he wanted but it wasn’t about to go anywhere.
“What?” he asked, shifting his body to turn the light back on.
“Yeah, I wasn’t serious,” Shishido smirked. He snatched the bag of chips and helped himself to a few more. “Don’t be lame, Choutarou. I’ll give you advice when you need it.”
Ootori took the bag from Shishido. “Thanks Shishido-san.”
“The same stuff like twisting your wrist and aiming around people,” Shishido shrugged, replacing his racquet in his tennis bag. In one smooth motion, he picked the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. “I gotta go, Choutarou. I didn’t tell-”
He was interrupted by a loud rendition of ‘It’s Peanut-Butter Jelly Time!’ coming from his tennis bag.
“Hah!” Shishido pulled his ringing cell phone from a smaller pocket up front, looked at the caller ID and frowned. “Yeah, that’s my mom.”
“You know the way out?” Ootori stood up. Shishido hesitated in opening his phone and nodded at Ootori.
“Down the stairs, take a left and out the front door,” he said, walking into the hallway.
“Take a right,” Ootori corrected, following him to make sure he didn’t get lost.
“That’s what I meant,” Shishido said suspiciously as he flipped his phone open and greeted his mother on the other line. He bounced down the stairs, waving his free hand with a distracted goodbye. “See ya, Choutarou!”
“Bye, Shishido-san!” Ootori called down the stairs before going back into his bedroom. He picked up his racquet, gripping its ‘new’ handle for a moment before returning it to his tennis bag.
He flipped the light off, turned to leave his room but paused in the doorway. His eyes wandered up to the ceiling.
Shishido was obviously lame for not liking glow-in-the-dark stars.
Recipient's name: tokyostory
Rating: G (GenFic!)
Pairing: Silver Pair friendship fic.
Disclaimer: I actually DO own Prince of Tennis and all the characters in it. Konomi and I used to be friends until he stole my ideas. I'll get him back someday. But for now, I'm writing fanfiction.
Warnings: Beware of those stinky tree air fresheners.
Author's notes: I'd like to thank my two SUPAR-ANONYMOUS betas and my recipient for her request of loveliness. I hope you like it. This was actually a fun and new challenge to write!
No one likes to play tennis in the heat. Despite being late in the afternoon, the sun seemed to rebel against setting, and decided that it liked being high in the sky better. The Hyoutei tennis courts, made from only the best clay in the world, appeared to only be better at absorbing the heat. The non-regulars whined but they were ignored. The regulars whined, but everyone who longed to be on the team knew that they would have to brave the heat to play their precious sport.
“I can touch the heat, Yuushi,” Gakuto frowned and crouched down, swinging his hand back and forth. The visible waves of heat floated up and around him, making a perfect Gakuto-shaped outline. “And see it.”
Oshitari pulled his glasses off his nose and held them up. He’d have admitted to also being able to see the heat if not for the fact that the lenses had entirely fogged up. “I see.”
Gakuto bounced up and scanned the court using his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. “Don’t Shishido and Ootori know they’re supposed to be here now? Where are those-heh!” He cupped both of his hands on the side of his mouth when he seemed to catch his target in sight. “Hey Ootori! How’s the weather from way up there? Is it hotter?!”
Gakuto’s ever-so-mature prod not only worked in getting the attention of Ootori but it was also quite successful in catching the attention of another.
“Hey!” Shishido called, waving his racquet in a threatening manner even though everyone knew he wasn’t about to beat anyone with it. “I heard that!”
“Yeah?” Gakuto called back, smirking as he yelled. “Your ears work! So what?”
“I’ll kick your ass!” Shishido yelled back, now moving on to pointing his racquet threateningly.
“Shishido-san.” Ootori intercepted before Shishido could go over and engage Gakuto in a devastating death match which could only end in tears. He thought quickly. “Do you think I should grip my racquet more tightly when I serve?”
Not quickly enough.
“Choutarou,” Shishido said, raising an eyebrow and turning away from Gakuto’s taunts. “Were you listening the other fifty times I said that?”
He reached out and took Ootori’s racquet from him, holding it upside down in front of him. Ootori smiled nervously and scratched the side of his neck.
“Maybe, Shishido-san…” he said with a shrug. Shishido pointed to the racquet handle.
“If you added better grip tape to your racquet, that would fix that problem,” he explained. Ootori nodded and agreed. If Shishido had told him to adjust his grip fifty times, then he had told him to use better grip tape a hundred times -- a hundred and one times!
“I have some at home,” he admitted. Then he thought for a moment.
Did he? There was his room and usually in his room, he kept things like that on the desk across from his bed. What was on the desk? A few pencils, a metronome, his mother’s ‘I’m proud of my Hyoutei Gakuen honor roll student’ mug filled with water, his math book…
No it wasn’t on the desk. The first drawer had thumbtacks, sweatbands from when he was a freshman and those were cool, some tissues…
Yup! Definitely high quality grip tape! Black.
Ootori never bought black grip tape - it must have been borrowed and never returned, but from who?
“Yeah, I know,” Shishido said, clearing his throat. “I leant you some a few weeks ago.”
Oh yeah.
“I forgot about it!” Ootori admitted, looking slightly sheepish.
“So I’ve been here dealing with your lame serves when you could have fixed them all along?” Shishido pulled his hat off his head and wiped his forehead off before using his shorts as a towel for his hand.
“I’ll put it on tonight, Shishido-san,” Ootori said with full intention of following through.
Shishido handed the racquet back. “Put it on and then give it back to me tomorrow.”
“Right, Shishido-san!” Ootori agreed with a nod. Shishido was about to open his mouth to say something else but there was a faint clicking noise and the two of them were oddly compelled to stop talking. Though the strange urge to end conversation was not too devastatingly odd, the two of them felt their attention drawn to the center tennis court where Atobe stood with his hand raised high in the air. The entire court was silent and Atobe wore a smirk that appeared a bit too natural.
“Damn Atobe,” Shishido muttered under his breath. Though it wasn’t exactly under his breath or a mutter considering nearby people happened to overhear him. A few of the braver ones made side comments but most of them were smart enough to remain silent.
“Something to say, Shishido?” Atobe asked, imposing himself on the entire Hyoutei tennis club. Some of the smaller and punier freshman collapsed due to the sheer power of Atobe’s presence while some of the closer players had to hold on tightly for balance to the umbrellas they toted around to shade their captain.
“I wasn’t talking to you, asshole,” Shishido scowled and averted his eyes.
“Pre-regulars are dismissed early for the day,” Atobe said with a wave of his hand. “Practice for the regulars will continue in the gym,” he added with a slight flick of his hair. “Unless, Shishido objects?”
Shishido’s silent scoff was answer enough for Atobe to give a nod of his head and then step to the side. Sakaki stepped out from behind Atobe where either no one had noticed him before or he had been cleverly hiding. It wasn’t as if Sakaki was the type to play hide-and-seek with his team so they all just assumed they hadn’t been paying him any attention and he had been there the whole time.
“Pre-regulars,” his voice was as drone as usual as he pointed two fingers out in front of him. “Itteyoshi.”
~*~*~
“-I just want to punch that lame mole off his lame face,” Shishido grunted, slowing down a bit.
“Five more, Shishido-san,” Ootori narrated, watching Shishido lie back down. He kept a firm hold on Shishido’s Hyoutei-brand sneakers complete with manly pink soles and double-knit shoelaces.
“Thanks, Choutarou,” Shishido said, halting his ranting session to polish off the last five sit-ups as quickly as possible. When he was down, he flattened out on the floor to catch a breather. He paused for a moment. “Where was I?”
As much as Ootori wanted to continue ranting about Atobe with Shishido, it passed the point of dragging on once Shishido finished belittling the shirt Atobe wore the other day and moved onto bashing his mole.
“It’s six, Shishido-san,” Ootori motioned toward the clock. “I don’t want to wait around until 7:00 for the bus.”
Shishido sat up and replaced the hat on his head, twisting it around backwards.
“That’ll only happen if those lame university guys take up all the seats again,” Shishido stood up and brushed himself off. “What are they even doing over there?”
Ootori shrugged and took a guess. “Orientation?”
“For classes?”
“Maybe?”
“Can’t they just drive there instead?”
“Shishido-san…”
Unlike a normal boys locker room that smelled of sweat, body-odor and pine-nuts, the Hyoutei locker room smelled of flowers. On top of sweat, body-odor and pine-nuts. The female janitor made sure that if she had to smell their adolescent stench, that at least it could be masked with a shroud of lavender and cherry blossom.
She also lovingly hung scented pine-trees on the inside of every locker that happened to belong to a member of a sports team.
“Stupid tree,” Shishido frowned, pulling the air-freshener from its comfortable place hanging on the hook inside his locker. Assuming he needed it more, Shishido stuffed it through the cracks of a nearby locker that belonged to a football player.
“I don’t mind them,” Ootori admitted, pulling his tennis bag out of his locker and unzipping it.
“You don’t mind your tennis stuff smelling like fairies and daffodils?” Shishido asked, reaching his foot out in attempt to trap an escaped tennis ball that had rolled out of his locker. The tips of his toes came just short and only grazed the ball before a second foot flew out and ceased the elusive tennis ball’s troublesome rolling.
“It’s more like that lotion my sister always uses,” Ootori said, bending over to pick the ball up before handing it to Shishido.
“Nice catch,” Shishido said, taking it and shoving it into his tennis bag. He paused for a moment, thinking back to what Ootori just said. “Why would you want to smell like your sister’s lame lotion?”
Ootori blinked and looked at Shishido before raising both of his hands up, waving them defensively.
“No no!” he said, laughing nervously. “I didn’t mean it like that!”
Shishido’s raised eyebrow and slight smirk didn’t help the flailing Ootori create a more convincing argument.
“I was just kidding, Choutarou,” Shishido stuffed his hat into his tennis bag before slamming his locker shut. “Unless you actually do wear that lotion. Then that’s just lame.”
“No I don’t!” Ootori assured him, pushing his racquet into his bag. Shishido caught sight of the racquet.
“Don’t forget,” he said, pointing to the racquet. “Grip tape.”
“I’m not going to forget, Shishido-san,” Ootori said, closing his bag up and slinging it over his shoulder. He was happy to change the subject away from his girly lotion usage. Three times trying it doesn’t constitute using it regularly and no one was going to tell Ootori otherwise.
Shishido eyed him.
“Do I have to come over and make sure you do it?” he asked.
“You don’t have to do that, Shishido-san,” Ootori told him.
“I need the tape for my own racquet anyway,” Shishido held his own racquet up and then yanked on a loose piece of tape. Unable to tear it off on the first try, he tried sticking it back down before shoving it in his bag.
“Do you need the whole roll?” Ootori asked as the two of them made their way to the door.
“Don’t be lame, Choutarou,” Shishido frowned, shifting his bag over to his other shoulder. “What kind of failure tennis player uses an entire roll of tape on their racquet?”
Ootori nodded and smiled. It was kind of a stupid question anyway.
~*~*~
The only redeeming quality about the bus stop was that at least there was a place to stand for shade. Hopefully the bus would have the air conditioner on full blast.
The bus pulled up to the stop and it was not a good sign when every window was occupied. Shishido got on first.
“Damn university,” he mumbled with a bit more success than he had earlier at tennis practice. He turned back to Ootori.
“Choutarou, I see a few seats in the back,” he pointed to the end of the bus and pushed his way there.
Unfortunately, the ‘few’ seats Shishido had seen turned out to be only one. He walked right up to it and stood next to it, not saying anything.
Ootori glanced at it.
Shishido put his hand on it.
Ootori looked up at Shishido.
Shishido frowned.
Ootori pointed to the seat.
Shishido continued frowning and didn’t move.
Ootori sat down without another word.
“Shishido-san…” Ootori started but Shishido cut him off.
“I’m in a standing mood,” Shishido said. It was obviously a lie.
~*~*~
Shishido and Ootori usually get off at the same stop when they exit the bus. Usually Shishido goes left and Ootori goes right but today there would be an exchange of tape so they both went right.
It had begun to get dark and the streetlights were flickering with indecision about whether not it was dark enough to turn on or wait a little longer. Shishido was explaining to Ootori why he thought the I-Formation was better than the Australian Formation and Ootori was nodding in agreement. Every now and then, he’d throw in his own input but Shishido was better at being loud so there was no question as to who spoke more.
By the time Ootori reached his front door, the streetlights were more on than off which was just as good because the door was locked and fishing for the right key in the dark would have proved most difficult.
“No one home?” Shishido asked, observing the locked door.
“I guess not,” Ootori said with a shrug, holding up the correct key. “My sister probably needed a ride to her flute performance.”
“Oh,” Shishido said, not really that interested in why. “That was tonight?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the rehearsal,” Ootori pushed the door halfway open and then faltered. “Or was that last night?”
“Does it matter?” Shishido reached forward and pushed the door open the rest of the way but allowed Ootori to go in first. The lights turned on when the switch was flipped on and Ootori turned to Shishido.
“The tape’s up in my room,” he explained while glancing over at the kitchen during a wordless pause. It was late and it is difficult for a growing boy like Ootori to survive on what he had at lunch. “Do you want a snack first?”
Even if Shishido wasn’t growing as much as Ootori, who was he to turn down a free snack?
Ootori pulled a bag of unopened chips from the cabinet and struggled to open the bag. It wasn’t that he was particularly incompetent at opening bags of chips, it was more that this particular bag was rebellious and sealed awkwardly. If the bag had its way, there would be no chips to be had.
“Let me try,” Shishido offered, noticing Ootori’s strenuous battle with the bag.
“I’ve practically got it!” Ootori announced ambitiously, moving to the next step of using his teeth to aid him.
“No that’s gross!” Shishido batted the bag down and then made a gesture with his hand. “Turn it around and try opening it from there.”
“I don’t want to open it upside-down!” Ootori continued wrestling with the bag.
“Choutarou, seriously,” Shishido nudged the bag. “The bag’ll be fine.”
Defeated, Ootori flipped the bag around and almost immediately had it open from the bottom. He offered the smirking Shishido the first handful which was taken generously.
“All right,” Ootori said, turning and going toward the stairs, reclaiming his tennis bag. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Ootori’s legs were long enough to take the stairs two at a time with his right foot but not long enough so that he had to reclaim himself by taking one at a time with his left. Shishido barely dignified each step long enough with his foot’s presence but he hit every one. Except the last one which he leapt over as he turned a sharp left to follow Ootori to his room.
“I'm hoping it won't be as hot at practice tomorrow,” Shishido said, scratching the side of his stomach. “I’d rather play on the courts than work out in the gym.”
“Yeah,” Ootori agreed. “Me too.”
Ootori flipped the light switch to his room, there was an abrupt flash and the light went out again.
“Just because Atobe doesn’t like getting sweat in his hair-” Shishido stopped talking abruptly
“The light burned out!” Ootori stated the obvious. “Don’t move!”
“I’m not going to trip and fall, Choutarou,” Shishido said. It was dark enough that they could see each other but too dark to see anything else.
“There’s a spare bulb in the hall closet,” Ootori disappeared out the door leaving Shishido to absently look around in the dark to occupy himself.
It didn’t take long for Ootori to return with a new light bulb.
“Choutarou, what are those?” came Shishido’s voice next to Ootori.
“Light bulbs?” Ootori asked, glancing in Shishido’s general direction.
“That’s not what I meant!” Shishido sighed.
“Then what?”
“Those.”
“I can’t see in the dark, Shishido-san.”
“Above your bed,” Shishido said. “On the ceiling.”
There was an awkward pause.
“The stars?” Ootori tried.
“Why do you have glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling?” Shishido asked, almost masking the laugh in his voice.
Ootori almost dropped the light bulb on his rug. “I put them there in second grade!”
“You’re so lame!” Shishido laughed. “Is that a constellation?”
“No, they’re just random!” Ootori said, frowning as he reached up and unscrewed the light cover.
“You have the Big Dipper on your ceiling, Choutarou!”
“No I don’t!”
“Where’s the North Star?”
There was another pause as Shishido’s figure seemed to move.
“Oh there it-” Shishido stopped talking and let out a snort.
“Hm?” Ootori glanced over at Shishido’s shadowy form.
“Is that a glow-in-the-dark cat?” Shishido asked, sounding almost appalled.
“It was my sister’s!”
“Then why is it in your room?”
“Shishido-san…” Ootori’s frown was almost audible at this point.
“All right,” Shishido said, stepping away from the wall just in time for Ootori to screw the bulb in and the light to turn on. Shishido glanced down at Ootori’s feet and then up at the light briefly. “You think you’re so cool, being tall.”
“You can’t reach?” Ootori asked, fitting the cover back on.
Shishido reached his hand up enough to graze the light with his fingertips.
“I can reach,” he insisted. “See?”
Ootori wisely chose not to comment on that and spun around, reaching into his top desk drawer and pulling out the roll of tape.
“Let me do it,” Shishido held out his hand. Arguments were a lot easier to avoid with Shishido than people gave him credit for. Ootori handed the tape over and then bent over to retrieve his racquet from his bag.
Shishido picked at the tape to start a piece as Ootori held out his racquet. The racquet was taken and Ootori reached for the bag of chips open from the bottom.
“How much are you going to put on there, Shishido-san?” Ootori asked as Shishido began to wrap the racquet’s handle up skillfully.
“Enough,” he said monosyllabically as if racquet-binding was a difficult task and interrupting him was punishable by death.
“Try that,” He held the racquet out.
Ootori took the racquet and held it out before shrugging. “Feels fine to me, Shishido-san.”
“Pretend you’re going to swing it,” Shishido instructed.
“With you standing right there?” Ootori took a step back and looked around his room. “My room isn’t big enough.”
“I didn’t mean really swing it!” Shishido said, leaning forward to examine the taping job that he so masterfully pulled off.
“Look okay?” Ootori asked. Shishido didn’t answer but instead bent over and pulled his own racquet out of his bag.
“I’m going to leave the tape here,” He said, ripping off a small square to stick the stray piece down before setting it down in his lap.
“Shishido-san, you don’t need to do that,” Choutarou assured Shishido but he was expectedly shut down.
“Like I’d let my doubles partner’s serves suck because of something lame like this!” Shishido snatched Ootori’s racquet from him and tipped it up on the end of his finger, balancing it with little to no thought. “Not that I’m saying your serves suck or anything.”
“I didn’t think you were saying that!” Ootori said, marveling at Shishido’s trick even though he had seen it a thousand times before.
“Good,” Shishido said, letting the racquet drop but catching it by the handle. “I’d be a lame partner if I let that guy from Seigaku beat you out.”
“Shishido-san-” Ootori started but Shishido handed him his racquet back.
“Just listen to me, all right?” he said, picking his racquet back up. Ootori nodded and smiled.
“All right, Shishido-san,” he said. “Any more advice?”
Shishido nodded and reached his racquet out, knocking the light switch with it.
“Lose the stars, Choutarou.”
“I meant with my tennis,” Ootori sighed, lamenting the fact that he was just out of reach to turn the light back on.
Shishido wore a look of contemplation that went unseen in the dark.
“Keep your head out of the stars,” he said finally.
There was a brief pause as Ootori sorted that out. Or attempted to. He could try to sort it out as long as he wanted but it wasn’t about to go anywhere.
“What?” he asked, shifting his body to turn the light back on.
“Yeah, I wasn’t serious,” Shishido smirked. He snatched the bag of chips and helped himself to a few more. “Don’t be lame, Choutarou. I’ll give you advice when you need it.”
Ootori took the bag from Shishido. “Thanks Shishido-san.”
“The same stuff like twisting your wrist and aiming around people,” Shishido shrugged, replacing his racquet in his tennis bag. In one smooth motion, he picked the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. “I gotta go, Choutarou. I didn’t tell-”
He was interrupted by a loud rendition of ‘It’s Peanut-Butter Jelly Time!’ coming from his tennis bag.
“Hah!” Shishido pulled his ringing cell phone from a smaller pocket up front, looked at the caller ID and frowned. “Yeah, that’s my mom.”
“You know the way out?” Ootori stood up. Shishido hesitated in opening his phone and nodded at Ootori.
“Down the stairs, take a left and out the front door,” he said, walking into the hallway.
“Take a right,” Ootori corrected, following him to make sure he didn’t get lost.
“That’s what I meant,” Shishido said suspiciously as he flipped his phone open and greeted his mother on the other line. He bounced down the stairs, waving his free hand with a distracted goodbye. “See ya, Choutarou!”
“Bye, Shishido-san!” Ootori called down the stairs before going back into his bedroom. He picked up his racquet, gripping its ‘new’ handle for a moment before returning it to his tennis bag.
He flipped the light off, turned to leave his room but paused in the doorway. His eyes wandered up to the ceiling.
Shishido was obviously lame for not liking glow-in-the-dark stars.