Disclaimer: Whistle! belongs to Higuchi Daisuke.
A/N: My first Whistle! fic.
Succession
An endless sheet of green grass blanket covering the firm earth mattress provided the best comfort and support for their bodies, heavy with fatigue. The gentlest of spring winds stroke their sweat-glossed faces like an affectionate mother caressing her child. It soaked its fingers through their drenched shirts gently and carefully, so it does not threaten the serenity that possessed them with a violent chill.
They lied there, side by side, his left arm inches away from the smaller boy's right arm.
If he reached out just slightly, without extending his arm to its maximum length, he would be able to touch his hand, succeeding in skin-to-skin contact.
But he does not.
And he knows not whether it was fatigue or fear for the unimaginable outcome that chained down his arm.
Instead, he turned his head quietly, eliminating all extraneous movements having the possibility to cause unnecessary commotion.
The entirety of the other's fair side profile and light tan skin set aflame by the setting sun became the image imprinted upon the surface of luminous onyx depths.
And his wholehearted gaze, polished by admiration, captured only his companion's reflection and no other.
Without faltering and keeping his blinks to a minimum, he held his image there.
He wished, too, that the other would grasp him with his soft, melted chocolate pools.
Yet, his eyes only grasped the faraway, distant skies.
In the boundless horizon he saw within those orbs, the star glittering the brightest was the goal the devoted soccer player pursued.
It was in those same eyes that he could not see his own reflection.
Burning passion filled every last corner in those depths. Once his sight intersected his, and he, becoming the beholder of something so pure, could no longer peer into his admirers' eyes, contaminated by superficial adoration, without squirming inwardly…
…even when their gazes remained loyal to his image.
He disregarded all their given attention.
The other's eyes trailed after soccer balls, big and small, polished and dirty, and a tiny piece of him managed to squeeze itself into his sight only when he possessed the ball.
He could not, would not, disregard any chances given to him to seize the other's attention.
All the cycles of recognizing his presence and then unrecognizing again, spiraled down almost endlessly.
And at the bottom, in the end, was soccer.
Always.
" Ne, Mizuno-kun, can you play me again tomorrow?"
In the end, soccer always became the puppeteer pulling the strings of the puppet called Fate, and controlled all the outcome of events.
Without soccer, Kazamatsuri Shou would have never came to Sakura Josui.
Without soccer, Mizuno Tatsuya would have never met Kazamatsuri Shou.
Without soccer, there would have never been a different Mizuno Tatsuya today, the Mizuno Tatsuya who liked Kazamatsuri Shou.
"Of course." As much as he dislikes that soccer was the main purpose of their meetings, he never declines.
He knew, without soccer, nothing else would be possible.
Nothing.
" Thank you, Mizuno-kun. I'm glad I have a good friend like you." The other replied with his usual heartily lift of lips.
For a moment in time, however fleeting it may be, he sees his own reflection surface in those shiny, dark ambers.
And he feels a sudden tide of satisfaction rise, and crash down inside and wash away the last few traces of irritation and regret from before.
Author's Crap:
This is my second Whistle! OTP... Unfortunately, I don't have any ideas for my first OTP yet...
So, what did you think?
