Warning: DEATH! (hold your horses. It's minor a character, one we haven't even got to see so far)
Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. This story is based on characters and the universe of The Prince of Tennis, no money is being made from it.
Author's Notes: My first time poking at Prince of Tennis. Trying to put Shishido in a situation where he cries and is still believable.
Man's Best Friend
Shishido isn't at tennis practice in the morning.
Ohtori picks up balls and dumps them in baskets absentmindedly, getting yelled at several times because the basket's so full the balls are starting to roll out again, bouncing merrily away, causing mayhem on adjacent courts. Being a ball boy again is harder than he expected, especially since after last year. It takes more effort that it used to to smile at his senpai-tachi and apologize politely.
The pressing humid heat makes him even more irritable and the constant drone of the cicadas drives him to distraction. Sweat curls his hair in dark ringlets against his forehead.
He looks for a blue cap whole practice and is reprimanded and yelled at several times over.
Just as he is buttoning his uniform shirt in the clubhouse, Atobe comes up to him. "Where's Shishido?"
"Bu-" he catches himself just in time. Atobe is not his buchou any longer, even though he probably will be again next year, "Atobe-senpai. I have no idea. It's not like Shishido-san to miss practice."
Atobe glares up at him. And then glares even fiercer when he notices how much 'up at' Ohtori he has to glare, "He can't go around missing practice, with that attitude he'll never be a regular again."
He schools his features carefully, taking care to smile down at Atobe, "Maybe he's sick?" he offers. He knows his overly sweet smile isn't fooling Atobe one bit, but he can't help but feel defensive over Shishido. He probably is sick, since Shishido wouldn't skip tennis practice without a good reason.
Arching one of his brows haughtily, Atobe replies with a terse, "He better be back tomorrow."
Ohtori watches him leave with a small sigh. In Atobe's mind, he's as good as buchou again already.
And he probably is.
***
Before class he manages to type a quick one sentence text-message on his cellphone, asking Shishido whether he's sick.
There's no reply by lunchtime and Ohtori goes to wait by their tree, thinking that maybe Shishido overslept and hasn't checked his phone yet. By the time the bell rings for the next class, he still hasn't showed up and Ohtori hasn't taken one bite from his lunch.
His stomach growls all through classes, earning weird looks from the teacher and giggles from his classmates. Typing quickly under his desk he manages another one-line message to Shishido, but the teacher lurks around him for the rest of the lesson, watching him closely.
Still nothing after classes have ended.
During tennis practice he does his swings and exercises on auto-pilot and plays a game against a second year. Even though he's not completely there during the game and faults on two of his Scud serves, he wins. Practice is nearly over when a head of blonde curls catches his eye and Ohtori remembers that Jiroh is once again in Shishido's class.
When buchou calls to say practice has ended, Ohtori loses sight of Jiroh, since the massive numbers of the club swallow everybody up as they surge to the clubhouse. Showering and dressing in a hurry, Ohtori rushes out of the clubhouse with his hair still wet. He arrives at the bike lot and waits, shifting from foot to foot.
Jiroh nearly knocks into him, too busy rubbing his eyes and yawning, even though Ohtori calls his name two times.
"Ah, Ohtori-kun," he says, smiling as he struggles with his bike-lock.
That Jiroh can arrive in one piece day after day while braving the traffic with his eyes half-closed remains a mystery to Ohtori. He drops his keys and Ohtori picks them up for him, "Jiroh-senpai, was Shishido-san at school today?"
Scratching at his blond curls, Jiroh blinks slowly, "Eh? No, he wasn't. Are you looking for him?"
Ohtori says yes and thanks him, waving at him as he walks to the bus. On the drive home, he tries to call Shishido, but the phone goes on to voice mail. Shishido's voice tells him he's not available, but if he'll leave a message he'll try to call back.
He puts his phone away again.
***
His mother frowns at him when he asks if he can go to a friend's after supper.
"Don't you have any homework?" His father asks him, giving him a stern glance.
"History essay," Ohtori says quickly, "But I'm going over to Shishido-san's."
That stops further interrogation. After all, it was Shishido-san who pulled him through his history exams last year, tutoring him and beating the the dry pages filled with endless facts and texts and complicated intrigues into his head. He had an excellent mark for that exam. He lets his parents assume that he's going over to ask for help, even though he figures that if Shishido is sick, there will not be much tutoring.
For show, he stomps his history textbook in his tennis-bag and slips out with a hasty goodbye before they change their minds.
In the early evening the heat settles down even more heavily and his shirt stains dark with sweat where his tennis-bag rests. He wishes he'd taken out everything unnecessary before he left, but he's bad at lying to his parents and was worried they'd stop him after-all.
He tries to mop up some sweat with the edge of his shirt, but it's no use. By the time he arrives at Shishido's house he knows he looks rumpled and smells like rank teenage-boy, but there not much he can do about it. He presses the buzzer. He says he's here to see Shishido-san and that he's a team-mate from the tennis club.
The gate opens and he walks up to the house and nearly breaks his neck on a rubber ball from Shishido-san's dog, Mochi. Shishido's house is not very large, but they do have an impressive backyard. The walk up the drive is long with heat-waves radiating from the concrete and he's happy to duck inside when Shishido's mother opens the door.
"Ah, Ohtori-kun," she says, and smiles at him.
Like that, Ohtori knows something is up. Shishido has a really beautiful mother (it's easy to see see where Shishido-san got his good looks from), but today she seems only half as bright as usual. He tenses.
"I'm sorry for disturbing, Shishido-san," he says, "but I was worried when Shishido-senpai did not come to practice today, is he sick?"
Shishido's mother smile wavers, "Ah, no, Ryou's not sick, but," she makes a strange grimace, "no, I'll let him tell you if he wants. Maybe it's good that you came over Ohtori-kun, he needs a friend right now."
He wants to burst out and ask what is wrong, but as Shishido's mother seems to think Shishido-san should tell him himself...
She must see something on his face, because she gives him a somewhat genuine smile, "I'm not sure he's in is room though, you should go and check, but he's around here somewhere."
He thanks her and goes up the stairs, worry sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. Shishido is not in his room, even though the blankets are mussed and two cups of cold tea and an uneaten sandwich sit on his desk. Next to it rests Shishido's cellphone with '7 new messages and 3 missed calls' on the display. Most of those are his. What's going on? He passes Shishido's brother room. The door is open. Shishido's brother, Sho, is sitting against his bed with a game controller in his hands, but he's starting vacantly at the screen which is stuck on the game-over menu.
When Ohtori makes a noise, he jerks, blinking as if from coming far away.
"Yo, Ohtori-kun," he says. He looks like hell, eyes thick and puffy and drooping, "Ryou's in the tree-house, has been all day," he turns back to staring at the screen.
Outside the heat slaps him in the face like a solid wall. He walks up to the tree that has a wooden platform high up in the branches. There's not much 'house' about it. He can barely see it through the thick foliage, though, so it's an excellent hide-out. "Shishido-san?" he calls up.
No answer.
He starts up the rope-ladder, which creaks ominously under his weight. He pokes his head through the hole and struggles with getting his tennis-bag through the narrow gap.
Shishido is sitting with his back to him, legs dangling over the edge (Ohtori wishes he wouldn't do that). His hair, longer again, is tied sloppily back, only the top secured, the rest covering his neck and shoulders which are hunched.
"Shishido-san?" he tries again.
Shishido jumps so violently that Ohtori is afraid he'll go over the edge and fall. He doesn't, though.
He glances at Ohtori, very briefly over his shoulder and looks away again, "Choutarou," he says, an arm coming up over his face, "what are you doing here?"
Ohtori's eyes narrow, "You weren't at school today, and I tried calling you but..." he trails off, feeling very unsettled suddenly.
He can't see anything from his friend's face, his back resolutely to him and dark hair shielding the sides and the arm over the eyes.
"Shishido-san," he says softly, setting his bag down and kneeling, "Shishido-san are-are you... crying?"
"No!" is the instant reply, like a snarl. Only his voice is thick and he is definitely dragging his forearm over his face, "I'm not," he adds, but it gets ruined by a sniffle. Shishido curses softly.
"What's wrong?" he asks. His mind is reeling. Never has he seen Shishido cry. He's hardly the type to cry, either. Even when he was kicked out of the regulars, Scud-served at until he had scars, been on his knees begging and butchered his beautiful hair he didn't so much as sniffle, let alone tear up. Shishido endures. For him to cry...
Shishido takes a breath to say something, but apparently gets over-taken with emotion again and falls more or less silent though he occasionally mutters angry expletives at himself under his breath. Ohtori catches 'weak' and 'like a lame girl' and 'totally uncool' and sighs. He digs for a clean tissue in his bag and carefully makes his way over to his friend. Slipping his legs over the edge makes him supremely uneasy and the coarse wood digs into the back of his thighs.
He gives Shishido the tissue.
It's accepted with an unintelligible mutter.
They sit for a good fifteen minutes in completely silence as Shishido struggles with himself, both with tears and humiliation. He's beet red and frowning, embarrassed. Ohtori would like to do something, touch him maybe, but doesn't quite dare. Even though he's not even half as arrogant as he used to be, Shishido is still proud.
Neither of them are very good a talking about their feelings either.
He watches Shishido cross and uncross his legs at the ankles, wearing flip-flops that dangle loose on his feet. Eventually he goes motionless.
"Mochi died this night."
Ohtori blinks. He knew he was missing something as he was looking for Shishido. Usually Mochi jumps up at him to try and lick his face, an empty effort if there ever was one since he's even taller than in middle school.
Shishido's voice is strangled, fighting against more tears, "I know it's stupid... she-she's just a dog, but..." and he's gone again, one sob coming through before he freezes up in an effort to stop himself.
Swallowing, Ohtori assures him quietly, "It's not stupid." It really isn't. Shishido's had Mochi since he was about two years old and he really loved her. He curls his hands around the edge of the platform to restrain himself from reaching out and doing something stupid that'll embarrass Shishido even more.
"How..?" he doesn't manage 'die' since he's a bit shocked as well. Mochi has been around ever since Ohtori has known Shishido and while he isn't really a dog-person himself, he can't quite get even with the idea that she's gone.
Catching his breath and sounding choked, Shishido answers, "Old age. She was dead in the kitchen when I came down to go to practice."
Ohtori closes his eyes, the image of Shishido finding his beloved dog stiff and cold making him feel faint.
"Okaa-san says that she doesn't think Mochi suffered much, but it's not like we'll ever know." He's taking care to form his words, despite them sounding thick with tears, to not to stutter.
Ohtori feels his heart clench painfully. The need to touch him and comfort him is almost a physical ache. "It's alright to cry," he says, "I won't tell and I'm not going to think less of you, if you do."
"I'm not-" Shishido starts, sounding almost indignant, but just like that he starts sobbing in earnest. Cringing away from the the sound of his own crying, his hands cover his face.
It's useless to try and stop himself. He moves until he's right next to Shishido, the length of their legs pressed together and puts an arm around him. Expecting anger, frustration and maybe even disgust, he holds himself woodenly, his arm awkward around Shishido's shoulders.
He doesn't expect Shishido's head to drop on his shoulder.
He's not taking advantage of the situation, Ohtori tells himself. He's not. He's comforting his senpai. And he is. And he really wants to be a good friend and partner and do just that and nothing more.
It's just that because of the crying, Shishido feels really warm to touch and a bit damp. His breath comes in hot gusts as he keeps struggling to refrain from making any noise. The tears make him smell sharper, muskier and salty.
Squirming, he thinks, Ohtori, you're an awful friend. He squirms some more but doesn't quite risk crossing his legs because that would be obvious. Most ridiculous of all is that his body is acting completely on its own accord even though his heart throbs painfully when he sees his friend's misery.
Sunlight filters through the leafs and casts dancing dapples on their bodies and turns Shishido's hair into a play of light and dark. It's not as long as it once was, a little over his shoulders now. Neither is Shishido as considerate and patient with it as he once was. Having short hair spoiled him. He lacks the patience to treat it with conditioner and comb it thoroughly. He smothers it under his cap.
Right now it is soft and thick against his neck and collarbone and between his fingers. It takes him a moment to realize that he is petting Shishido like one might pet a... dog. Ohtori squeezes his eyes shut.
"She most likely died while she was sleeping and didn't feel anything at all," he says softly. It's an empty assertion and he knows it.
Shishido knows it, too. But he nods and straightens up again. Ohtori drops his arm. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes Shishido drags the tears across his cheeks and into his hair, tendrils sticking wetly against his temple.
Clearing his throat and sniffing, he nods some more.
Ohtori watches him carefully. His face is tear-stained and his eyes are red and puffy. He sniffles and drags his arms forcefully over his eyes again.
"M'sorry," he growls suddenly.
Restless, his hands twist around the the hem of his shirt and then skitter down to pick at the thick padding of band-aids over his knees. Shishido always seems to be covered in band-aids somewhere and usually is, since Ohtori is the one who sticks them on even though Shishido always rolls his eyes and tells him to stop mothering him and it's fine Choutarou, it's just a scratch.
"What for?" he asks.
Shishido's nails pluck at the filthy edges of the band-aid. "I'm your senpai, I shouldn't... I shouldn't cry all over you like a-" his jaw works angrily and he rips the band-aid off without so much as a intake of breath.
Ohtori frowns at the dark, twisted scabs and red and purple bruises. Shishido-san's skin is probably still sticking to the clay courts at school if he went to look. Nudging him with an elbow, Ohtori says, "I'm not just your kouhai."
Arching one of his slanting eyebrows, Shishido looks a him. A tear rolls down over his cheek.
Before he can stop himself he lifts his hand and stops it with a sweep of his thumb.
"I'm your friend, too."
-fin-
Reviews, comments and constructive criticism always appreciated!
Also; people breezing over wanting a new Harry Potter update and having been sorely disappointed, never fear, it's coming. Keep an eye on my new journal (it's in my profile) for updates and teasers! And more Prince of Tennis fics, too!