Author's Note: So, What I Like About You was always supposed to be a one-shot (and I honestly meant to keep it that way), but then I started thinking and it all went downhill from there. This is it, though. There will be no more. (Probably.)
Set after Seigaku defeats Rikkai Dai at the Nationals, and even though you don't have to have read WILAY, it helps.
Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis is not mine, folks.
Maybe You're Not So Bad After All
-#-
It's not as if she goes out of her way to look for him (she isn't even trying, and that's a fact!), so when she slips outside to get away from the crowd, it's definitely not her intention to actually find him.
But even with his back turned, sitting on the narrow steps leading up to the arena, alone and hunched over like a soggy mustard pretzel, his body language transmitting almost unholy levels of 'fuck off, I'm sulking', Kirihara is sort of really hard to miss.
(And all that stupid seaweed hair on his head doesn't exactly help, either. Boy really needs a haircut.)
She hesitates. She doesn't owe him a thing, except for maybe a good kick to the shins for all the trouble he keeps making, but now that she has seen him it seems wrong somehow to just leave without saying something first.
"Hey."
She doesn't sit down, because that would make them equals (sort of) and she doesn't think she's ready for that just yet. But she stops close enough to make it clear that the greeting is meant for him.
Kirihara doesn't look up. In fact, he doesn't seem to react to her presence at all, and she has almost given up on it completely when he mutters, "If you've come here to gloat, I'm not in the mood."
He tries to sound his usual, snarky self, but it's a hollow effort. Kirihara sounds small and angry and defeated, and An decides that she likes him better this way.
"You really hate losing that much, huh," she observes matter-of-factly.
He snorts. "Doesn't everyone?"
An wisely refrains from arguing that point. After all, she willingly surrounds herself with some of the planet's sorest losers on a nearly daily basis, and even her own brother's much admired kindness doesn't quite extend to letting her win at cards.
"So what are you doing here, anyway?" she asks, casually looking around for other yellow uniforms but spotting none. "Your team finally saw the light and ditched you?"
That has him looking up, and she can feel the resentment roll off of him in thick waves, but she meets his glare head on. If Kirihara wants to feel all sorry for himself like a little kid, then that's fine. Just not on her watch.
"Yeah, you wish, Tachibana," is his lame reply. But at least he is trying, and that makes his eyes look a little less empty.
She humours him with a snort of her own, if only because he slipped up and actually used her real name for once.
(He must be in even worse shape than she thought.)
She shrugs off a sudden twinge of sympathy and decides that by interrupting Kirihara's pathetic one-man pity party, she has accomplished her good deed for the day. Her work here is done, and she is just about to make her excuses and go back inside, when he unexpectedly opens his mouth and somehow manages to string together two whole sentences that are neither openly demeaning nor rude:
"I'm waiting for the bus. We'll be heading back in a bit."
An blames it on a severe case of what-the-heck-was-that when she plops down on the step above his.
"…that was some final," she says at last, just for the sake of saying something. She doesn't have any experience in being civilized around Kirihara, but she figures that since they have some common ground in tennis, she might as well try that. "Especially the last match. Yukimura-san was really something else."
Kirihara gives her a long, scrutinizing look. "First time?" he guesses, and for some reason he doesn't even sound condescending.
"Well, yeah."
(Honestly, it freaks her out a little just how normal it feels talking to him like this.)
"Heh. This wasn't even his best, you know," he confides in her, in a low voice. "You should've seen him a year ago. Today doesn't even come close."
(It almost makes her smile, the way he comes alive as he brags about his captain – colour seeps back onto his cheeks, and his gestures become animated. There is a sparkle in his eye, and she could swear that even his hair looks bouncier – and An can't help but to wonder if perhaps she has been wrong about him. Perhaps Kirihara was human all along.)
"Trust me, today doesn't compare. Buchou—" He stops. "You'd never guess that he was dying in a hospital bed just a few months ago, would you?" He looks away. "That Echizen put on a heck of a show, but buchou… Buchou deserved to win."
An looks at him curiously, and suddenly she gets it.
All this. Everything. It was never about winning or losing the Tournament.
Kirihara, who is the most selfish, arrogant, infuriating person she has ever met in her life, would have thrown away his school's chances at clinching the Championship for his captain winning a single match.
(And he would have done so happily, and with pride.)
It's a realization that hits her hard, and she doesn't know quite what to do with it.
Luckily, Kirihara's phone rings.
"Moshi moshi."
(She is unsurprised to find that his phone case is black and yellow with little red stars scattered all over it. Honestly, what a dork.)
"Hai, senpai. I'll be right there."
Kirihara puts the phone back into his pocket. "The bus," he explains, getting to his feet.
An nods and stands up, too. "I think we'll be staying for a while," she says, dusting herself off. "You know, Seigaku…"
She's asking for trouble now, and she half-expects him to ruin everything by saying something mean. But if Kirihara harbours any particular thoughts on Fudomine's good relations with the tournament winners, he keeps them to himself. As it is, he slips the strap to his tennis bag over his shoulder and starts walking off in the direction of the carpark.
He's leaving her behind like the big jerk that she knows he is, but something tells her that she shouldn't let him go like this.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" she calls after him, frantically digging into her backpack. "Kirihara, catch!"
She throws the iced coffee (lukewarm coffee now, she supposes) from the day before at his head, and he gets a hold of it without any difficulty.
"I told you that I hate coffee, right? But my bother always says not to waste food." An flashes him a confident, toothy grin. "One for the road, okay?"
The look on Kirihara's face when he finally recognizes the can is absolutely priceless.
Then, he smiles back.
