Akaya is disgusted.
He isn't willing to believe the truth. Well, it's not the truth. No truth could be so ugly.
Even if the world shouts at him that the fuku-buchou is dating his sister, his older sister, he's just going to close his eyes. Actually, ears. Block them. So tight that not even the whispers around the lockers could be heard. Maybe even tighter.
He's against it. 'It' being what people claim is a relationship, of that kind, between his respected (mostly) vice-captain and his respected (sometimes) sister.
A third-year middle-schooler dating a first-year high-schooler was a status-boost for Sanada fuku-buchou, but Akaya wasn't innocent. He knew about rumours and teasing, having gotten his fair share because of his so-called 'demon mode'.
He knew his sister was getting shit at high-school because she was dating a younger guy. Even if said guy looked older than her.
Luckily, he never thought too much about it, or else he'd glare at fuku-buchou much more than necessary. He shivered, because if he did then Yukimura-buchou would see, and then he'd be running laps - sometimes, he was jealous of buchou giving Sanada fuku-buchou special treatment.
Anyway.
Not only that, but some things you just don't want to think about – and as the baby of the Rikkai family, thinking about Sanada Genichirou kissing his sister was like thinking of his dad kissing his - stop. Akaya doesn't even want to finish that trail of thought.
Ever.
He shivers again, and wishes he could turn his brain off, just for a while.
'How', he muses, walking aimlessly around with his tennis gear slung over his shoulder, 'did they get together anyway? You'd think that as the brother of one half of the two -', Akaya quickly catches himself, because there is not a two, there will never be a two.
Reluctantly, he thought that it could've been worse. It could've been Marui-senpai or even Niou. He gagged – yes, there were definitely worse people than Sanada fuku-buchou.
'Somehow', Akaya realises, 'these thoughts are more tiring than wracking your brain for an answer to put on your empty test paper.'
He blinked, taking in his surroundings, and his brooding vanishes - he had instinctively gone to a street tennis court.
Grinning, he quickened his pace towards the familiar sound of rackets hitting felt-on-rubber.
Time for some stress relief.
A/N: My goodness. How long has it been since I've actually written anything? I'm sorry that the first thing I submit after temporarily coming out of hibernation is this extremely short one-shot.
The idea just came to me, and I was compelled to write it.
Prince of Tennis does not belong to me.