Details
He doesn't know why it started, only that it did. One day, he walked into school and things were just different; when their hands touched, there was a definite tingle. When Oishi leaned in to whisper something to him and he felt the warm rush of breath against his cheek, there was an unmistakable flutter from his stomach, and an insane urge to move closer, to feel those softly moving lips against his skin, his mouth.
He notices things now, details he never picked up on before.
The subtle rippling of muscles across Oishi's back as he pulls on his jersey. How long and lean and strong his legs are, the muscles coiling and releasing as he stretches for practice with one foot propped on the changing bench. The way his eyes shine when they play. The way Oishi's hand feels as it claps onto his shoulder after a good match, the fingers squeezing lightly as he smiles.
His smile.
He puzzles over these new discoveries for a long time, wondering why it is that everything Oishi does is suddenly attracting his attention—why he's suddenly seeing his partner as if for the first time, and memorizing all these new details as if there's going to be a test someday. As if his very life will depend on knowing what song Oishi hums to himself as he showers, or what rhythm his fingers drum out on his racket when he's waiting to play, or just how many teeth show when he smiles.
He wonders if maybe he's going crazy, but Fuji says no, so he decides to trust Fuji and instead focus on getting things back to normal. It shouldn't be that hard, he thinks; all he has to do is just stop noticing, stop watching—stop staring. Then things will be normal again, and they can go back to being the Golden Pair like they used to be.
Because ever since he's started noticing, it's been hard for him to talk to Oishi, or to act comfortable around him, because he's always so aware of what Oishi is doing and saying and how he's moving that it's like the words just clog up in his throat and he can barely even speak, and he knows that Oishi has noticed and is hurt by it, but he can't help it. Just seeing Oishi can steal the breath from his lungs sometimes, and so saying much of anything is out of the question.
So he'll just stop noticing.
It's easier than he thinks. He's proud of himself, in the changing room before tennis, that he doesn't notice the supple bend and flex of Oishi's fingers as he unzips his duffel bag. He also doesn't notice the way Oishi swats the hair out of his eyes with a slightly disgruntled look, as if even he is starting to think that growing out his bangs was a bad idea.
Similarly unnoticed is the way Oishi's undershirt clings to his chest and stomach as he pulls it off, the ridges of ribs and abs clearly visible through the thin white fabric. The material is peeled away as Oishi tugs it over his head, and for a moment all he can see is tanned, muscled flesh and the silver chain Oishi has taken to wearing tucked under his shirt. The skin is smooth and taut, bathed in a fine sheen of perspiration from the heat, and when Oishi finally manages to wrestle the shirt off, his hair comes out of the encounter tousled and messy, a few dark strands clinging to his forehead.
But Eiji doesn't notice at all. And because he doesn't notice, he rewards himself by allowing his gaze to linger on Oishi for as long as he likes, even though it's getting late and he really should be changing for practice…
"Eiji?" Dark green eyes blink at him, puzzled and concerned, and he forces himself to meet their gaze—to not glance downward to the glitter of metal on Oishi's broad, bare chest, or upward to the tangle of hair he suddenly longs to run his fingers through. "Daijobu? Don't you feel well?"
He swallows. His mouth tastes like sand, and again there is that sensation of not enough breath in his lungs. His voice, when it finally emerges, is soft and a little hoarse. "D-Daijobu, Oishi." He holds up two fingers in a "V," because it feels almost normal, but Oishi isn't buying it.
Suddenly, the other boy is sitting right there beside him on the bench, so close he can smell the clean scents of soap and sweat on his skin. A gentle hand presses against his forehead.
"You look a little flushed," Oishi says after a moment, drawing his hand away. "I don't think you have a fever, but we probably shouldn't risk it. Do you want me to take you to the nurse?"
His thoughts are clicking along too slowly, but it's hard to think with Oishi so close—why does he have to be so close? "But…practice," he manages.
"I'll tell Tezuka you're not feeling well. He'll understand. We can't take chances with your health, Eiji—not when we're getting so close to Nationals. Come on." And before Eiji can protest, Oishi has slipped a strong arm around his shoulders and is helping him onto his feet, and the suddenness of the contact is so dizzying that he actually does need help getting up.
He wants to tell Oishi that he's fine, or at least suggest that Oishi put a shirt on before trying to take him anywhere—but the words dry up in his throat, and he feels something inside of him give. So instead he relaxes into the embrace, loving the warm press of Oishi's body against his, and lets his partner half-carry him out of the room and back towards the school building.
Somewhere along the way, he realizes that his bag is still back in the clubhouse, but as if Oishi has read his mind, he offers a soft, "I'll get one of the freshman to bring you your things later."
Oishi always takes such good care of him. He finds himself smiling, and unconsciously settles a little more deeply into the crook of the other boy's arm.
His skin is still tingling when Oishi leaves him with the nurse, and it's no stretch for him to tell her that he's feeling dizzy and hot. She gives him a cool compress for his head and tells him to lie down for awhile, and even though he doesn't mean to, he ends up drifting off while laying there. In his dreams, Oishi lies on top of him and kisses him until his lips are swollen, and when he wakes up, his breath is coming fast and he's extremely grateful to find that he's alone in the room—the nurse is at her desk in the adjoining office, and Oishi, thank goodness, is nowhere in sight.
He sits there in the half-darkened room for a long time, his legs dangling off the edge of the cot, the compress seeping warm drops of water through his fingers. He finds himself licking his lips as if searching for some lingering taste of Oishi, but of course that was just a dream, and so all he tastes is strawberry chapstick.
japanese glossary:
daijobu - are you all right/ i'm all right