TITLE: Rebirth
PART: One-shot Drabble
AUTHOR: Simply Kim
WORD
COUNT: 1,005
CHARACTERS: Takakura Gen. Hiruma Yoichi. Mentions of Kurita Ryoukan and the other Devilbats members.
PAIRING/S:Implied Musashi x Hiruma
GENRE: Alternate Universe/Angst/Drama/ (A bit of) Humour
DISCLAIMER/S: never knew anything about American Football until recently, so no, I don't own Eyeshield 21. Just this story. ;
NOTE#1: Blah or Blah is for emphasis. /Blah/is for conversations over the phone or flashbacks (if any). /Blah/ is for the conscience or whatever inner voice there is talking. Blah is for thoughts or random Japanese words.
REBIRTH
"Don't you think doing this is too much?"
Hiruma Yoichi gave his companion a pointed glare before turning back to the field. Hefting his trusty machine gun and resting the barrel on a shoulder, he popped his gum and started vigorously chewing away. "Practice during weekends is never too much."
"They practice everyday already, all throughout the summer in fact."
"They shouldn't slack off. The summer games are just as important as the autumn." He retorted, eyes still fixed on the empty green playing field. "The bastard Takami is still out there and the other teams are still somewhat complete. There must never be room for error."
"Well, if you put it that way…"
"If you don't want to come, why did you?" Irritated, Hiruma turned and glared, hoping that somehow his nerves would also get frazzled. However, even as he intensified his glowering, the other man just stared back at him, unmistakeable humour twinkling in his eyes.
"You asked me to."
"I didn't." He bit back. "You just followed me here, you stupid old geezer!"
A small sound of amusement escaped Takakura Gen's lips, and just like countless times before, he felt the slightest bit embarrassed… well, as embarrassed as he could be anyway. And that wouldn't do, so he just resorted to sulking, trying hard not to resort to killing.
That wouldn't do at all.
"Hey, fucking old man." He murmured after popping his gum once again. "You think they're gonna come?"
Musashi smiled at him gently before fixing his gaze thoughtfully on the field – as Hiruma did a moment ago. "I'm sure they will."
"…"
He grinned. "When the parent calls, the children come running after all."
Hiruma gave him along look and shrugged. "Parents, ch'. The only parents I like are yours, fucking old man." He mused. "At least they're decent. I'd rather you said 'gunpowder beckons', or something cooler."
Musashi turned his thoughtful gaze to him, and a sudden light brightened his eyes. "You'll be a good one, fucking demon." He responded good-naturedly.
"Whatever do you mean, you stupid geezer?" Hiruma growled. "You're saying I'm a parent too? I'm nothing like my old man." He lowered his gun, making sure the barrel was pointing straight at him.
"I know." Came the soft reply. "I meant, you started all this, club, motto, everything. I think it is fitting."
"But the fucking meat bun was the one who recruited us initially."
"Yeah, Kurita did, didn't he? But you made the team."
There was a long moment of silence before Hiruma spit out his gum. In a sudden flurry of movement, he scooted close to Musashi and simpered up to him, gun poking the underside of his chin in an effort to frighten – even just a little bit.
But of course it didn't have any effect. His eyes slitted, gauging, analysing… waiting. But even if they sat, as if transfixed, he couldn't help feeling that this was one of his stupidest tactics yet.
Nothing good ever came out of doing this with Musashi in broad daylight. His last words that sounded so much like a compliment echoed up and down restlessly along his spine, and those familiar dark eyes gazed just as intently at him. It irritated Hiruma that there was that almost inconspicuous smile softening those normally disciplined lips, making them look fuller, like… "If you don't stop baiting me, I'm going to kill you." He murmured in irritation, digging the gun deeper.
Still, there was nothing, not even a flinch.
Musashi's eyes just smiled at down at him, understandingly… knowingly.
At that, a minute tendril of shyness touched his cheek with the palest red. "Damn you…" He started, forcing his eyes to stray away from his and miserably failing. "I really am. Right now's good..."
"You won't."
"What makes you so sure, fucking geezer?"
"Because you need me."
It was said so matter-of-factly that he couldn't find the proper snipe to counter. All he could do was try keeping his mind off the scorch of Musashi's cinnamon-flavoured breath against his skin and keep holding the gun… without accidentally pulling the trigger.
There was nothing to refute.
It was true.
Hiruma Yoichi needed Takakura Gen. And he had this premonition that this need wasn't going away for a long, long, time…
"Ah! Hiruma! Musashi!"
The unmistakeable sound of Kurita's joyful call spurred both of them to action, and they settled back to their former positions, eyes scanning the vast landscape of green, until they settled on the familiar portly figure of their friend.
"Haughhh! Musashi-san… Hiruma-san…!" He was waving below with his apprentice, Komusubi, and it was that robust, happy face that made Hiruma realise the true extent of his hard labour. A year ago, there were only three of them, and now –
"There they are! Hiruma-san! Musashi-senpai!"
"Hiruma-kun, Musashi-kun!"
"Ya! Musashi-nii! You-nii! What are you doing there? Come down and watch practice!"
Amidst the welcome noise, he couldn't help picking up the rustling of a crisp shirt and the series of soft thudding sounds. Musashi was standing now, looming over him like some god from an old civilisation and blocking the afternoon sun. "Come, they're calling." He said simply, holding out his hand, waiting for him to take it.
And as horrified as his pride was, he saw the pale thing that was his free hand reaching out to grasp the offered aid. "We've already graduated and you're still like this." He said snarkily, tugging his hand free and patting the dirt off the seat of his jeans. "Like you feel responsible for me or something."
"Not 'responsible', Hiruma." Musashi chuckled. "I'm a willing partner." There it was again, the soft smile playing on his lips. His hand reached out and tangled through soft blond locks, then giving a playful push before letting it drop back to his side.
Hiruma snorted. He hefted the machine gun back on his shoulder, cheeks slightly redder now. "You sound like a perverted old man."
"I know. That's why we have more than eleven children."
ENDE
A/N: First ever Eyeshield 21 fic. o Just drabble for now, nothing much. Hope you enjoyed reading and please drop me feedbacks.