Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own.
Warnings: Very slight spoiler for Chapter 333. Also, this is yaoi.
Summary: Five occasions on which Hiruma Yoichi left someone speechless. And one where he didn't.
Kobayakawa Sena is a fucking brat.
Cowardly, spineless, and too easy to push around, no fucking question why he's every bully's bitch wherever he goes. Short, scrawny, nothing to him but a pair of legs, and this fucking brat should get on his hands and fucking knees and praise God every fucking day that at least he has one thing to save him from being a walking, talking flaw.
All big, watery eyes, always leaking. A voice that's permanently set to whine. Yoichi wonders sometimes how he can stand it. He has to grit his teeth when Sena is talking to him, has to bite down hard on nothing and keep his hands to himself, because he wants to just—just reach out and wrap his fingers around Sena's fucking neck and—
All this fear. All this uncertainty. How does Sena get out of fucking bed in the morning? How does he manage to keep breathing? Does Anezaki chew his food for him too? Does she dress him in the morning? Pick out his clothes, all things she probably bought him, drag him into sitting position on the bed, his hair tousled and his eyes still soft and dreaming, pull the shirt he wore to sleep over his head and—
Fucking brat. Fucking idiot, a brain incapable of serious thought. Without capacity for strategy, tactics, concentration, discipline, guile, lies, spite, malicious intent, scheming—
Useless. So uselessly open. As if that fucking brat doesn't have anything to hide, like he thinks honesty and kindness and that hopeless, crippling hunger for the happiness of others will actually get him somewhere in life.
Yoichi won't say that he needs Sena. Because he doesn't. Sena is just—useful. Convenient. His running is what's important, that distinctive, superhuman run, honed to a sharp, whetted edge, the only thing about him that Yoichi can stand to think about. He doesn't think about Sena any other way. He doesn't think about Sena's address, the house that Mihae and Shiyuma Kobayakawa bought twenty years ago when Shiyuma was promoted at work and Mihae was pregnant with an older brother Sena didn't get to have. He doesn't think about how Sena keeps a cat because he was too afraid of dogs as a child, how his favorite sweet is dorayaki and he is the kind of idiot who actually offers to help creepy obaasans cross the street. He doesn't think about the streets Sena takes to school, or the route along the river where Sena jogs every day, a route that is becoming suspiciously crowded with other amefuto players. He doesn't think about the girl in Class 4 who leaves cute packages of cookies in Sena's shoe locker every now and then, cookies that Sena doesn't know about because—
Yoichi doesn't think about any of these things, because the very idea of Sena makes him nauseous. Sick. He can't think about Sena without his fingers tightening into fists, he wants to knock some sense into the fucking brat so fucking much.
Then Shin Seijuro tackles Sena to the ground.
A flawless block. The look of shock on Sena's face, that he can't hide. The expression on Shin's face, somewhere between determined and brainless.
Shin's arms around Sena's waist. Shin's body, larger and heavier, pressing down against Sena's, the weight pinning Sena to the ground.
A—glimpse—of something, then, on Shin's face. Something different. Something newer.
And murder, a teeth-gnashing whisper of violence and intent to hurt, crawling down Yoichi's arms, to clench his hands into white-knuckled fists.
No, Yoichi says to himself.