[fic] never is a promise
why am I not studying Mandarin? I should be studying Mandarin. then I can read Chinese PoT scans!! and pass my tests, ah feck :/ oh well, it's done, I edit mistakes later, point out if you spot any :)
NEVER IS A PROMISE
level :: general
feat. :: Rikkai
spoilers :: Genius 215
summary :: Kirihara does good, for once.
------------------------
They walk away from each other and one looks like he's won a game, the other looks like his world is ending. No reassuring words for him, nobody in this team knows what to do when one of them loses; no 'try another day', because nobody in this team talks about the future much any more. Can't tell if it's tears or sweat shining slick on his cheeks, his eyes are still shut, he talks and his voice is the same, but the words are so painful to hear from him.
Nobody in this team likes to break promises.
And are they all thinking back to that cold moment in the hospital lobby when they were each wondering if they'd ever see their captain again? Yagyuu's voice, cracking at its smooth edges, telling them things they couldn't and didn't want to understand. On the way back, Yagyuu felt Kirihara tugging at his sleeve, dropping back behind the group, asking him hesitantly what did he mean, buchou might never walk again? Yagyuu said, it didn't have to be that way, but he wasn't sure and it must have showed in his voice, because Kirihara chewed on his lower lip for a while, unsatsfied. Yagyuu could tell he was looking for some kind of reassurance, casting for a question whose answer would make them both happy, because nobody in this team liked to break their promises..
"What about smiling? Can he still smile afterwards? He likes to smile, you know."
And Yagyuu had to take off his glasses and rub at his eyes before he said, "I know," and, then, "honestly, how old are you, Akaya?"
It's no fun playing any more, it hasn't been, the way it used to be. It was fun when the promise had eight people behind it, when you said 'we are going to win' and you saw the reflection of it in seven pairs of eyes (even Yanagi's, somehow he opened his eyes a little more often way back them). Now the warmest and strongest of them is gone, and the others have just gotten colder instead, and Yanagi's eyes seem to have shut forever. Shut tighter, maybe, all the more to hide the way his heart must be crumbling now, failure showing white in tight knuckles and the suddenly stiff line of his jaw. Nobody knows what to say, they just stand around, and it's terrible to see, Sanada's shadow looming over Yanagi, the last two pillars of their team threatening to collapse, just like that.
It's familiar to Kirihara, except that he's usually the one standing in Yanagi's place, everything fading away. He can guess what's going through Yanagi's mind now: every single shot you should have tried to save, every trick you shouldn't have tried to pull off, every miscalculation you made.
Or, even worse, no memory of anything you could have done better; when you gave it your all and it just wasn't enough, and Yukimura's eyes were sunk so dark in disappointment, as though your loss had hurt him on a deep and personal level, he'd thought you were a stronger person, and you just wanted to cry.
if I could be who you wanted
if I could be who you wanted
all the time, all the time..
Kirihara wonders if Yukimura would look that way at Yanagi, if it was him in charge as usual, instead of Sanada.. Then he realises, maybe, if Yukimura was here, Yanagi wouldn't have lost. Not because they're any less better with Sanada in charge, but it just isn't the same feeling any more.. It's that much different, the kind of team they are now, the kind of team they used to be.
"Is he going to.."
Niou knows what Yagyuu is thinking, knows that Yagyuu can guess his reply: yes, but god I don't want him to. Kirihara has a look on his face, like a child watching his parents fight, what's happened to all that was sacred in his world? Jackal and Marui can't move, either, they aren't part of that thing between Yanagi and Sanada and Yukimura, something too complicated for anyone else to intrude into. The three of them were friends longer than anyone can remember, longer than the Promise has lasted, and no one's ever seen them fight, or fall out, or strike each other, that's how strong they are..
And inside Kirihara's head, he's wondering, isn't friendship something like a promise, too?
He remembers the times he's looked behind him, when he and Marui sneak off from practice early and Sanada and Yanagi and Yukimura are still there, just hanging out, but you find yourself wishing so hard you could be one of them. It's like, they don't have to do anything special, they have something special as long as the three of them are there. It's an old thing, fine and beautiful, they built it up slower than a secret over years and coincidences, and the more they hang on to it the more magnificent it becomes. Like a promise, really, it is a promise, that thing they have, and you can tell from Yanagi's face that he knows but he's too broken now to separate sense from pride, and Sanada, in all his upright glory, is far too rigid in his definition of black and white to deal with something as delicate as this..
Kirihara starts forward; falters as he remembers (eek!) how he promised to behave. Nobody on this team likes to break promises, but nobody who still believes in these things likes to see promises broken, and although he doesn't count himself or Jackal as any special friend of Sanada's, he can't think of Sanada without having Yanagi and Yukimura spring to mind as well. And he knows, if Sanada hits Yanagi, just once, the way he hits the rest of them, then he won't think that way any more. And that's one more thing gone, that he'd have liked to keep.
He couldn't keep his buchou with them because.. well, he's not a doctor, and he's not a god, and sometimes (quietly, at night, when he thinks about things too much and gets the ache to bite and punch his pillow a lot) he even admits he's just a kid who's a little good at tennis and Counterstrike, and speaks really bad English on the side. He couldn't even keep his promise not to lose (he winces at that, because, seriously, Ryoma?), and ever since then he's doubted himself just a little bit, allowed Seigaku just the teeniest bit of grudging respect. But he's always been fast, and he's always been strong, and he's always been on the receiving end of Sanada's hand anyway.
It's the one promise he can help to keep, even if it isn't his own.
'cause never is a promise
and you can't afford to lie.
------------------------
p.s. that wasn't an excuse for Renji losing, by the way. he lost for either one of the reasons Kirihara has so eloquently thought out above :P
p.p.s. the first set of lyrics are from Radiohead's 'Fake Plastic Trees' (acoustic version makes people cry), second is from Fiona Apple's 'Never Is A Promise'.
NEVER IS A PROMISE
level :: general
feat. :: Rikkai
spoilers :: Genius 215
summary :: Kirihara does good, for once.
------------------------
They walk away from each other and one looks like he's won a game, the other looks like his world is ending. No reassuring words for him, nobody in this team knows what to do when one of them loses; no 'try another day', because nobody in this team talks about the future much any more. Can't tell if it's tears or sweat shining slick on his cheeks, his eyes are still shut, he talks and his voice is the same, but the words are so painful to hear from him.
Nobody in this team likes to break promises.
And are they all thinking back to that cold moment in the hospital lobby when they were each wondering if they'd ever see their captain again? Yagyuu's voice, cracking at its smooth edges, telling them things they couldn't and didn't want to understand. On the way back, Yagyuu felt Kirihara tugging at his sleeve, dropping back behind the group, asking him hesitantly what did he mean, buchou might never walk again? Yagyuu said, it didn't have to be that way, but he wasn't sure and it must have showed in his voice, because Kirihara chewed on his lower lip for a while, unsatsfied. Yagyuu could tell he was looking for some kind of reassurance, casting for a question whose answer would make them both happy, because nobody in this team liked to break their promises..
"What about smiling? Can he still smile afterwards? He likes to smile, you know."
And Yagyuu had to take off his glasses and rub at his eyes before he said, "I know," and, then, "honestly, how old are you, Akaya?"
It's no fun playing any more, it hasn't been, the way it used to be. It was fun when the promise had eight people behind it, when you said 'we are going to win' and you saw the reflection of it in seven pairs of eyes (even Yanagi's, somehow he opened his eyes a little more often way back them). Now the warmest and strongest of them is gone, and the others have just gotten colder instead, and Yanagi's eyes seem to have shut forever. Shut tighter, maybe, all the more to hide the way his heart must be crumbling now, failure showing white in tight knuckles and the suddenly stiff line of his jaw. Nobody knows what to say, they just stand around, and it's terrible to see, Sanada's shadow looming over Yanagi, the last two pillars of their team threatening to collapse, just like that.
It's familiar to Kirihara, except that he's usually the one standing in Yanagi's place, everything fading away. He can guess what's going through Yanagi's mind now: every single shot you should have tried to save, every trick you shouldn't have tried to pull off, every miscalculation you made.
Or, even worse, no memory of anything you could have done better; when you gave it your all and it just wasn't enough, and Yukimura's eyes were sunk so dark in disappointment, as though your loss had hurt him on a deep and personal level, he'd thought you were a stronger person, and you just wanted to cry.
if I could be who you wanted
if I could be who you wanted
all the time, all the time..
Kirihara wonders if Yukimura would look that way at Yanagi, if it was him in charge as usual, instead of Sanada.. Then he realises, maybe, if Yukimura was here, Yanagi wouldn't have lost. Not because they're any less better with Sanada in charge, but it just isn't the same feeling any more.. It's that much different, the kind of team they are now, the kind of team they used to be.
"Is he going to.."
Niou knows what Yagyuu is thinking, knows that Yagyuu can guess his reply: yes, but god I don't want him to. Kirihara has a look on his face, like a child watching his parents fight, what's happened to all that was sacred in his world? Jackal and Marui can't move, either, they aren't part of that thing between Yanagi and Sanada and Yukimura, something too complicated for anyone else to intrude into. The three of them were friends longer than anyone can remember, longer than the Promise has lasted, and no one's ever seen them fight, or fall out, or strike each other, that's how strong they are..
And inside Kirihara's head, he's wondering, isn't friendship something like a promise, too?
He remembers the times he's looked behind him, when he and Marui sneak off from practice early and Sanada and Yanagi and Yukimura are still there, just hanging out, but you find yourself wishing so hard you could be one of them. It's like, they don't have to do anything special, they have something special as long as the three of them are there. It's an old thing, fine and beautiful, they built it up slower than a secret over years and coincidences, and the more they hang on to it the more magnificent it becomes. Like a promise, really, it is a promise, that thing they have, and you can tell from Yanagi's face that he knows but he's too broken now to separate sense from pride, and Sanada, in all his upright glory, is far too rigid in his definition of black and white to deal with something as delicate as this..
Kirihara starts forward; falters as he remembers (eek!) how he promised to behave. Nobody on this team likes to break promises, but nobody who still believes in these things likes to see promises broken, and although he doesn't count himself or Jackal as any special friend of Sanada's, he can't think of Sanada without having Yanagi and Yukimura spring to mind as well. And he knows, if Sanada hits Yanagi, just once, the way he hits the rest of them, then he won't think that way any more. And that's one more thing gone, that he'd have liked to keep.
He couldn't keep his buchou with them because.. well, he's not a doctor, and he's not a god, and sometimes (quietly, at night, when he thinks about things too much and gets the ache to bite and punch his pillow a lot) he even admits he's just a kid who's a little good at tennis and Counterstrike, and speaks really bad English on the side. He couldn't even keep his promise not to lose (he winces at that, because, seriously, Ryoma?), and ever since then he's doubted himself just a little bit, allowed Seigaku just the teeniest bit of grudging respect. But he's always been fast, and he's always been strong, and he's always been on the receiving end of Sanada's hand anyway.
It's the one promise he can help to keep, even if it isn't his own.
'cause never is a promise
and you can't afford to lie.
------------------------
p.s. that wasn't an excuse for Renji losing, by the way. he lost for either one of the reasons Kirihara has so eloquently thought out above :P
p.p.s. the first set of lyrics are from Radiohead's 'Fake Plastic Trees' (acoustic version makes people cry), second is from Fiona Apple's 'Never Is A Promise'.