It began with a chance viewing, a squabble over a remote, and a hatred due to sibling rivalry
"I've got the rhythm~" A voice sang from the small black box sitting in front of three males. In the box, a red-haired male could be seen dancing along to the words spilling from his mouth, nearly inaudible over the sounds of girls screaming in the background. On the other side of the screen, the crazy black-haired male let out a sigh, one eyebrow twitching as he turned to the red-head beside him who was lazily popping a bubble.
"Oi. Marui. Why are we still watching this?" Kirihara asked, noticeably glaring at the other man as his only response was to blow another bubble.
"Don't be mad at him Akaya, after all, it was your sister who stole the remote, right?" the third male, hair shaved and skin tanned, pointed out. Simultaneously all three teenagers turned to look at the girl sitting behind them, occupying the entire couch. Karin twisted a long strand of black hair, identical to her brothers- albeit slightly better kept- before giving a smug smirk.
"Ehhhh~ But isn't he just dreaammmyyyyy Akaya? How could you wish to turn it off?"
Kirihara narrowed his eyes before rolling them at his sister, "but nee-san, he's not even good at singing! And we've been watching this for the past hour!" Akaya let out a dramatic gasp, "and the French Open is on! How on earth could this be more important?"
"He's not that bad at singing Akaya. And he's not all too bad at dancing either," Jackal spoke up, cringing slightly at the glare shot his way.
"Just whose side are you on?"
"Nobody's! It's just not as horrible as you're making it out to be."
"Che," Kirihara stood up, stretching lightly, before moving to leave the room.
"Ehhh~ Akaya? Where are you going?" His sister called from the couch.
"Out. Somewhere where maybe I can actually watch something worth watching," Kirihara grumbled before making his way out the door. Maybe Echizen will let me watch the Open with him. . .
And a homecoming
Kamio Akira let out a grin as his fans screamed around him. It was nice to finally be back in Japan again after spending the last year touring around. At the age of seventeen Kamio was already a successful pop star, his songs topping the charts as soon as they were released. Even those who disliked his singing were still able to admit that his dancing was something to be subject to envy. Walking backstage he gratefully accepted the water bottle passed to him before he was ushered off by his manager to a car waiting out the back of the building. Today's concert was the first of many that were scheduled to be preformed in Japan, spread over the time span of three months. Kamio was grateful of the time lapse in between performances as time alone was harder and hander to get these days. From inside the car, Kamio stared out the window at the country he felt he'd spent way too long away from.
He smiled as they passed by his old middle school, Fudomine. Everything looked the same- the old gate at the front, the brick building with the windows whose numbers Kamio had spent hours counting (he can proudly tell you that there is exactly 439 windows on the whole school, 441 if you count the three skylights on the top of the school that serve really no purpose other than having been there), and, if you squint one eye and tilt your head to the side, applying just a bit of imagination, the tennis courts were visible near the back left corner of the building, nets strung up tightly and courts tended to by tennis club members with care. Perhaps Kamio's biggest regret in middle school was that he hadn't joined the tennis club, tennis being a love of his since he was a child. He had, however, gone to as many matches as possible to see his friend Ibu Shinji play, and forced himself to be content with just that. He let his eyes slide over the school once more before the car sped ahead, leaving the memories behind. He was dropped off at his house with a smile and a wave from his manager, the driver handing Kamio his bags from the trunk before the car sped away to whatever hotel his manager was going to be occupying. Kamio let out a sigh looking at the dark house in front of him.
"Home sweet home. . . huh."
The house was dark and cold, the way Kamio had remembered it. It was always so empty and alone. But it was okay, really. No matter how vacant the house seemed, there was always spots of life if you looked in the right spots. There was the note, covered with multiple hearts and posted on the cabinet proclaiming: "I saw you're concert on TV! Wish I could've been there! You did great! Will be home late, hope to see you in the morning! - Mom". There was the two bowls sitting on the ground near the door where two impatient cats waited for their dinner. There were the pictures that littered the fridge of a happy family of three, and one solitary picture of a smiling man in a hospital bed. There was the faint smell of cookies in the air, and the pile of varying shoes sitting by the "welcome" mat in the doorway. Picking out a pair of sneakers, Kamio pulled them on, deciding it was still light enough yet to go for a run. And if Kurosaki-san, his manager, found out – well, it's not like she wasn't used to things like this anymore.
It continued with a chance meeting
Kirihara called his goodbye's to the Echizen family as he left their house, figuring since he had to walk the majority of the way home before being able to catch a bus, he should leave while it was still light out. Luckily, Echizen had taken pity on him (well it was more like he found extreme amusement in Kirihara's predicament) and had let him into his house. Scuffing his foot absentmindedly on the road, Kirihara reflected back on the match they watched, mentally going through the different moves and strategies used by the players. It had been a good match and the outcome was difficult to discern until the very end. Kirihara let out a smile. It had been a good idea to ditch Jackal and Marui with his sister.
Lost in thought, Kirihara didn't notice where he was going until he ended up completely turned around. Spinning slowly in a circle, Akaya put one finger to his lips, eyebrows creased, as he tried to figure out just which way he had come from and where he needed to go. With a defeated sigh he resolved to turn and keep going to direction he was in the hope it would lead him to where he needed to go. He swiveled on one foot before widening his eyes in surprise as he caught sight of red hair and equally surprised brown eyes before his instincts caught up to him just enough to keep him standing. He looked over to the person he'd run into, surprised to find that they'd managed to keep on their feet as well. Initial shock wore off into anger as Kirihara glared at the man before him, the fading sunlight allowing him only to make out long hair and a slight frame.
"What the fuck?" Kirihara spat out, "why weren't you watching where you were going?"
A glare rivaling Kirihara's own was given in return, "You were the one standing around in the middle of the street like a lost puppy. I didn't expect you to suddenly turn around like that! Why don't you watch where you're going?"
Kirihara narrowed his eyes before turning away. This person was so not worth bringing back his bad mood from earlier. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Where am I anyway?" he muttered.
"That's a good question," the man from before spoke up behind him, causing Kirihara to jump.
"What the - ? I wasn't fucking talking to you," Kirihara sneered.
"Fine," the unidentified stranger shrugged, "I won't tell you where you are then."
At this, Kirihara whipped his head around, lip pulling up in a symbol of his displeasure. Don't do it. Don't do it. Fuck this Akaya, don't fucking ask him for - "Fine. Where am I?" Fuck you. Kirihara clapped his hands together, squashing the vision of a mini-Akaya before returning his glare to the stranger before him.
"Why don't you ask a little nicer?" The stranger asked, tilting his head into the light of the street lamps that began to fill in the darkness the sun left behind. Red hair was illuminated, bangs falling to cover one eye, along with a sharp face and pale lips. Fuck. A name came to Akaya's mind. A name he was not fond to be reminded of.
"Kamio Akira."
It then journeyed onward, carried by fists and insults
Kamio's head twitched violently before looking over to the street lamp accusingly, "yeah?"
"Fuck this. I don't need your help," Kirihara sent one last glare at Kamio before turning to walk away, mumbling "shitty singer" under his breath as he went.
Kamio's eyes flashed dangerously, "what did you just say?"
"You heard me. Shit-ty sing-er. A pretty bad dancer too-" Kirihara widened his eyes as a fist entered his vision, swung directly at his face. Shit. Barely managing to dodge, Kirihara turned to the sight of Kamio Akira, face flushed red in anger, knees spread slightly apart and bent, hands raised in front of him.
"Oh? Hit a chord did I?" Akaya let a devilish smirk raise itself on his face. Kamio's eyes narrowed before he dropped his hand before turning.
"Whatever," he mumbled, before giving a smirk of his own, "I have millions of fans that tell me otherwise, Seaweed Head."
"What did you just call me?" Kirihara seethed. Kamio let out another smirk before turned down the street he came from and ran away.
"What? Running away now, pretty-boy?" Akaya called out after the other. Kamio paused.
"Who the fuck is running away? Unlike you, I have places I need to be tomorrow. I don't have time to be engaged in petty fights with lame seaweed heads who can't find their way back home to their mommy's. Bye!"
Kirihara stood shaking, glaring at the man's back. How the fuck dare he – Kirihara took a deep breath, fighting back the red that threatened to appear in his eyes. With a huff he turned and continued walking. He'd get home without anybody's help.
It infiltrated the lives of those close to them, unwillingly dragging them into the mess as well
"And then- can you believe that he said that?" The noisy voice of a certain red-head complained across the table and in between bites of a burger to his dark-haired friend.
"You sure are talking about him a lot Akira," Shinji pointed out, before continuing to mumble under his breath, "it's a good thing you didn't fight him though because then Kurosaki-san would've blamed it on me somehow since she doesn't like me for some reason, probably because she's always looking down that nose of hers, which really can't be good for her nasal passages, maybe that's why she's really closed-minded, after all it's hard to think clearly with blocked nasals, maybe she should see a doctor about that or maybe a psychiatrist, although I've heard that chiropractors are all the rage nowadays-"
"Anyways," Kamio interrupted impatiently, "just the nerve of some people. Ugh It makes me angry just thinking about it."
"Weren't you the one who crashed into him in the first place?" Shinji muttered, taking a sip from his soda.
"You – Shinji, you're supposed to be on my side!"
"Whatever. It's tiring hearing you go on and on about people. It's almost as bad as when Momoshiro stole your bike back in middle school. Although really, he had good intentions so I don't know why you persisted so long on that issue."
"He broke my bike! That-"
"Anyway, do you want to go play tennis? You have some free time, right? And it's probably been awhile since you've played," Shinji lowed his voice, resuming his muttering to himself, "Akira's probably really out of shape so I'll be able to beat him really easily, maybe I can coax him into a bet and get free food out of it, food's good, I've heard good things about that new ice cream shop, although Tachibana-san says athletes shouldn't be stuffing their faces with food, but he's just too stingy for his own good and. . ."
"Yeah, yeah Shinji, I'll play tennis with you," Kamio sighed, running his hands through his hair as he waited for his friend's mumbling to dwindle down to a stop, "Anyway, you know I can hear everything you're saying, right?"
This earned a growl from Shinji as he said slightly louder, "Akira always thinks so highly of himself as well with that freakish hearing of his."
Kamio rolled his eyes, "speak for yourself." Pulling out his wallet, Kamio paid the waiter, a nice looking girl who'd unfortunately been giving him funny looks the entire time due to his black hoodie and dark sunglasses. Whatever.
A second one-sided meeting raised questions and disdain
"What is he doing here?" Kirihara grumbled as he and Jackal made their way over to the street courts they had discovered not too long ago – courts preferred by the duo as they were often deserted, allowing them to play unhindered.
"Huh? Who?" Jackal asked, before looking at the side of the court occupied by a red-head, unaffected by the glare coming his way, "Eh! Isn't that Kamio Akira? I didn't know he could play tennis."
"Che. He's probably just some fancy rich kid who got taught as a kid," Kirihara said disdainfully, ignoring from his mind the little voice that reminded him how fast Kamio had been able to run at their fist meeting, "C'mon, let's go somewhere else."
"But Akaya! It's-"
"I fucking know who it is, now let's go Jackal," Kirihara's eyes flashed red before he turned around to walk away from the courts.
It was supported by fate
The person he was versing was tough. His tennis was tricky, surprising Kirihara with every ball sent toward him. Of course, it was nothing Kirihara could not handle, especially after being able to control his Demon Mode upon will now. Sure, when he was pissed off his eyes had the tendency to turn red, but other than that, really, it was under control. The match ended 6 – 3, and the opponents approached the net to shake hands. Kirihara raised one eyebrow at the other's consistent muttering – something about tomatoes? His opponent let go of his hand, and turned toward the stand, narrowing his eyes at something, before picking up a tennis ball and hitting it into the stands before anybody could blink. Ignoring the yells of the referee, he made his way to the stands. Kirihara looked curiously at where the ball had been hit and saw a sheepish looking Kamio Akira standing and holding it. Muffled laughter and an indignant, "you're late Akira" could be heard in the silence of the tennis court. Kirihara slowly made his way to the duo, positioning himself so he came up behind Kamio.
"I'm sorry I missed your match. How'd it go. Who was your opponent?" Kamio asked, lightly poking a disgruntled Shinji in the face.
"It was a sucky match," Kirihara said, causing Kamio to jump at the sudden voice behind him, eyes narrowing as he identified the male speaking, "he was weak and hardly worth the time it took to beat him."
"How rude. I believe I was having a conversation with Akira, not you. People these days, seriously, have they no manners? Isn't it common sense to wait until one is done talking before interjecting your own conversation? More than that it was just petty insults, that really mean nothing, since they're petty and that's what petty means, at least I'm pretty sure it means something like that, or if it doesn't it should, and isn't petty such a petty word, I'm sure that. . ."
Kirihara and Kamio looked at Shinji, one with confusion and one with amusement.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Kirihara asked, narrowing his eyes at the red-head who glared back at Akaya.
"I came to watch Shinji, isn't that obvious?"
"Do you even understand tennis?"
Akira bristled, "Of course I do! I do play, you know."
"Oh really."
"Don't say it like you don't believe me, bastard!"
"Fine then~ You and me. Tomorrow at the street courts you and your friend were at the other day."
"You're on! Wait how did you-"
"See ya then, loser."
And by multiple chance meetings
Kamio glared at the boy before him.
"Stop following me!"
"Don't make me laugh! Who would want to follow you?"
"Oh I don't know, maybe some crazy black-haired creep who keeps showing up everywhere I go?"
"It's not like it's intentional! Besides, how do I know you haven't been following me?"
"Don't be ridiculous, why would I do that?"
"I don't know! Maybe you've been captured by my fabulous tennis skills!
"Now you're just talking crazy. You're lame tennis is nothing to be awed by."
"Says the guy who just runs back and forth across the court!"
There was a silence in which the two boys stared at each other, nearly blinking, while the store attendant nervously flickered her eyes between the two of them, nearly jumping out of her skin when they simultaneously said, "tennis courts. Two hours," before turning and walking off in opposite directions.
It lingered over the tennis courts where fights occurred frequently in through both sport and fists
"That ball went in!"
"In your dreams Akira~ it went completely out!" Kirihara mocked, watching the reactions of the man opposite him. Somehow, along the way, more than getting annoyed by red-head's constant anger and insults, he was amused by the different reactions he could get. He watched with a smile as Kamio's face slowly turned red from anger, and maybe slightly embarrassment as he called back, "don't call me by my first name, idiot!"
"Why not? A-kir-a?" Kirihara slowly enunciated, eliciting a growl from Kamio.
"I never said you could!"
"Eh~ But Akira has such a nice name!"
"Stop calling me that!"
"Akira~"
"Bastard!"
It softened through shared pain of loved ones lost
Kamio sat on the grass by the tennis court, leaning his head against the old tree that has stood in that same spot for years, and would still stand in years to come. It was on these tennis courts that a young Kamio had been taught to play tennis by his father, and it was under this tree that they would take shelter from the beating sun. It was also under this tree that Kamio came to reminisce once a year, on the day that his father had passed. Sighing, he looked at the picture in his hand. It had been taken under this tree, one of the few times his mother had accompanied them to the courts. It had captured the smiling face of Kamio's father, tennis racquet in hand, looking slightly uncomfortable to be the sole subject of the picture.
"Oi! Akira!" Kirihara's voice called across the courts, sounding surprised to find him there. Kirihara came closer as Kamio kept silent, not wishing to get into a fight, not on this day. Kirihara slowed down, noting that Kamio kept his head down, and creased his forehead in thought.
"Akira? Are you okay?"
Kamio merely shook his head, before lifting up the picture to show Kirihara, before letting his hand go limp, picture trailing off to his side. Realization dawned on Kirihara as he crouched down in front of Kamio.
"How long?"
"Seven years, today."
Kirihara nodded, unsure of what to say. Sympathize? Apologize?
"Mine too," he said instead.
"How long?"
"Left the day I was born. Never came back."
"Sorry."
"Don't be."
Kirihara shifted so he sat next to Kamio, leaning against the tree. Carefully, he put an arm around Kamio's shoulders, the weight heavy and comforting on Kamio's slender frame. Kamio leant into Kirihara gratefully, forgetting, for a second, that this was the person he was perpetually mad at and accepted the strange friendship that had bound them together during Kamio's return home. Relaxing into the warmth offered, Kamio let out his tears, while Kirihara stayed until they stopped.
It grew over meetings that no longer relied on coincidence or the excuse of a tennis match
Kamio: Hey wanna meet up later? I've got some free time so if you don't have anything we could get something to eat? I'm starved but my manager won't let me leave :(
Kirihara: Awww is the poor multi-million pop star hungry? Sure, I'm up for it, as long as you're buying.
Kamio: Stingy bastard. I always pay.
Kirihara: You're the rich one here.
Kamio: So?
Kirihara: It's only logical. Meet you 'round eight?
Kamio: . . . did you just use the logic card on me? I think hell must've just frozen over. And yeah, that sounds good.
It blossomed over sunsets
Kirihara let the wind sweep through his hair, cooling the sweat that had accumulated on his face. Kamio and him had just finished up yet another match of tennis, not realizing the slowly decreasing sunlight. Climbing up into the branches of the tree that overlooked the courts, Kamio and Kirihara sat on a limb, watching the sun set in the sky. Kirihara glanced over at Kamio. . . and froze. The wind lightly danced around Kamio's hair, lifting and tugging it. The last dregs of sunlight played off of the leaves in the tree and reflected off of Kamio's face, giving it a glow Kirihara had never noticed before and turned red hair into fire. A serene look was settled on Kamio as he faced the sunset, eyes wide and full of awe, as though he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
Kirihara would have to agree.
It floundered over confusion and arguments
Kamio walked sullenly down the street with a frown. Kirihara had, for the past two weeks, been ignoring him. Every time Kamio contacted him about hanging out he would be turned down – or worse, not answered at all. Shinji had grown tired of his whining, telling him that if he missed him that much go tell it to him. Kamio nearly ripped out his hair in frustration. How can I tell him that if I can't even find him? Not to say that Kamio did miss him, just that he did enjoy Kirihara's company (maybe a bit more than he should) and it would be appreciated if the other boy would just stop ignoring him and talk to him already. Frown deepening, Kamio hurried forward with his head down, stopping suddenly with an "oof" of surprise as he crashed into something solid. Managing to keeping his footing, Kamio looked up to apologize before the words died in his mouth. Across from him Kirihara wore a similar expression. Happiness at seeing Kirihara again quickly faded back away into the anger Kamio was previously feeling toward the boy.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Kamio spat out with a glare.
Kirihara narrowed his eyes, "why do I have to explain myself to you Kamio?"
"Because you've been ignoring me for two weeks! I think I deserve an explanation!"
"Well it's none of your fucking business! It's all your fault anyway!"
"How is this my fault! I haven't done anything!"
"Che. Your presence is enough to irritate me."
Kamio's eyes narrowed dangerously as he ground his teeth together, "Fine. Don't expect to see me around here anymore anyways." Kamio spun on one foot and strode off, not once turning around to acknowledge the stare he felt burning into his back. He had a flight to catch after all.
It struggled through distance
"He what?" Kirihara screeched at the male before him, not caring that the entire tennis team – no, the entire school could probably hear him.
Shinji sighed impatiently, "he's gone. His tour resumed about a week ago. He was going to tell himself but he just kept grumbling to himself about "stupid Kirihara" and he looked pissed off at the airport so I assumed that he wasn't able to tell you himself hence why I'm here to tell you. Really, Akira should appreciate the things I do for him more, after all, I came all the way to your school and the people here really aren't all too friendly and they keep glaring at me because I'm an outsider and they should all just stop looking down their noses at me because it's annoying and they should all eat more pickles because they're delicious and obviously they aren't eating enough because none of them are happy. . ."
"So. . . he. . . left. Akira's. . . gone." Kirihara stated, looking around in shock, as if expecting the red-head to pop up behind his talkative friend at any moment.
"Yes, that is what I was saying. He was only back in Japan temporarily you know. He does have a job that he needs to do. Anyway, I did what I came here to do. I'm leaving now. Bye."
Kirihara watched Shinji walk away with a slightly dazed expression, ignoring the curious looks of his tennis team members and various onlookers. Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone Akira is gone.
What have I done?
It swam through denial
"Hey, Akaya, I though you said you didn't like Kamio Akira?" Karin said, looking at the TV screen where Kamio could be seen preforming somewhere in the US. Kirihara sat in front of the screen, unwilling to take his gaze away from the boy that had become his friend over the last few months and who he'd come to feel perhaps a bit more than friendship toward. Kirihara let out a sigh as he remembered the absolutely brilliant way he'd handled his feelings.
"I don't like him nee-san," Kirihara ground out, eyes still fixated on the screen.
"Really?" Karin raised one eyebrow, "because you've been following all his concerts since he left Japan and have been stealing my copies of his old performances," at Kirihara's startled look she smirked, "what? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Kirihara scowled, "I'm watching them so I can hate him more accurately."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"Whatever," Kirihara grumbled, turning off the TV as Kamio's concert came to an end and moving to leave the room.
"Oh~ And Akaya! Next time you make friends with an incredibly popular pop star who I happen to adore, make sure to let me meet him okay?" Karin called after him, causing Kirihara to halt in his quest out the door.
"Me? Friends with someone famous? Don't be ridiculous nee-san."
Sighing, Karin pulled up a picture on her phone of Kamio and Kirihara at some fast-food restaurant. It seemed they were in the middle of one of their arguments, Kirihara laughing while Kamio's face was red and he appeared to be shouting something.
"Now! Why don't you sit down and tell your onee-san how this came to be."
It survived a five month gap
Kirihara was too distracted for tennis; his feet dragged as he was asked to run and his racquet felt like lead in his hands. At every hint of red he turned, hope evident on his face before his smile fell and he let his head fall again. He spent most of his free time in the tree by the tennis courts, waiting, just waiting.
Kamio was too distracted for singing; his voice broke randomly and he was constantly off-key. He lacked an energy onstage that was luckily not picked up by anybody besides his manager, who merely shook her head at him and told him to snap out of whatever it was that got him down.
Thus the days passed; one by one they droned on and on and on, until four months, three weeks and two days had passed.
"Kamio-kun, in five days we fly back to Japan."
"Akira really owes me big time for this one, returning to this place after last time, the things I do for him, really. Kirihara, Akira's coming back to Japan in five days.
It was given form in an airport
Kamio stepped out of the terminal, searching for his driver so that he could get home as quickly as possible. He was dead tired after the long flight, and wanted nothing more than to crash on his nice, soft bed and wake up to the smell of his mother making breakfast. Scanning the airport, his gaze stopped on a head of crazy black hair. It couldn't be. . . Kamio watched as the hair bobbed up and down in the crowd as its owner slowly made it way over to where Kamio was standing.
"Hey Akira," the long-missed voice called out, a smile playing upon pale pink lips. Akira's eyes settled into a glare as the shock of seeing Kirihara wore off.
"You – you can't just waltz back in here after what you said and ignoring me -"
"Hey Akira," Kirihara said, amusement evident, "you're cute when you're mad."
"Wha-"
Kamio found his words cut off as Kirihara's hand made it's way to the back of his neck, giving a gentle tug to pull Kamio closer to himself before crashing his lips down on Kamio's.
"Hey Akira," Kirihara said, pulling away and resting his forehead on Kamio's, "I missed you."
And it persisted
Throughout their time apart, phone calls were made, emails sent, and even the occasional letter was mailed. Eyes remained glued to a TV screen while a sister laughed in the background. Songs were dedicated to a lover back in Japan while fans sighed across the world. Managers weeped over newspaper articles and school administrators shook their heads at the youth nowadays.
While they were together they were inseparable. Some questioned the legitimacy of their relationship, however, as more often than not the couple would be seen arguing, yelling insults at each other over a table in a restaurant or over a net in a tennis court. But when they weren't arguing, it was obvious to anybody with eyes what they had with each other. Lingering touches could be seen as they walked side by side, a horribly made scarf never left the pop star's shoulders during the winter, and cups of hot coco would be shared under a single tree by the tennis courts, where the duo could be seen most nights sitting on the limbs and watching the sunset.
It was their love. It was strange, and not many could understand how it came to be, but that was okay. Because it was theirs, and theirs alone.
A/N: Hello! I apologize if Kamio and Kirihara were completely out of character. This is the first fan fiction I've ever wrote, and I'm not quite sure if I was able to get their personalities down correctly : / Anyways, I hope you liked it :)