Title: Soaked
Section: Fanfiction
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Angst; Angst; More Angst
Pairing(s): Kirihara x Yanagi
Disclaimer: Tennis no Oujisama belongs to Konomi Takeshi-sensei.
Author's Notes: Soaked is a one-shot fic somewhat related to my other YanaKiri fic, Complex Frailty – which, unfortunately, I scrapped after thinking it was a bit too violent and sexual in nature.

Notes 2: And what did Kirihara do to Yanagi to warrant such repentance and angst? Hah. It's pretty much obvious, I'm guessing. Pay attention to the pairing sequence implied, if you can't guess.

As the rain descends in a heavy pour, the sound of water hitting against the hard, unrelenting ground slowly recedes to a dull pounding. The cars roar by, with their blinding headlights switched on. The arrogant speeds make pretty flares of rainwater arch in a graceful, silvery movement before flopping back to the ground, and wetting my legs.

Faraway figures hold their umbrellas above their heads like shields. I wonder, why are they so afraid of rain? The fresh pour creates a sweet smell of cleansed air, so why not bask in it? As I wonder, and wonder some more, I wonder what they think about me. What's with that wet idiot sitting on the curb?

My head aches painfully. Some idiotic sadist is trying to hammer nails into my brain. The pain reminds me of the time when my hair was yanked hard from behind. My scalp is on fire. But the rain makes it all better.

No, not really. What I've done can never be made better. Just the same way that what I did to him will never be forgiven.

What I did to him …

I can feel bile rising in my throat. It is fighting to get out; thrashing wildly against my self-control. It comes now; lodging itself stubbornly in my throat. I turn suddenly, and start barfing onto the already wet ground. It's humiliating; the posture I'm in, and I can feel accusing eyes burning through my back.

As my insides heave and toss about, my eyes cross, and my throat constricts from the gag reflex. For a moment, I think to myself, this is my just reward. What I did to Yanagi-senpai was so disgusting that I could not even accept that I had done just that.

Blindly my left hand reached out to grope something just as I felt I couldn't breathe. In a panicky moment my hand hit against the rough, chipped curb. And from there, I gather enough strength to pull myself away from the pool of vomit.

The taste in my mouth is disgusting. But somehow, it isn't so bad. The rain is washing it all away.

Reflexively my hand reach up to my lips to block the second wave of nausea.

And just for a moment I thought that someone had draped the warm and familiar comfort of a jersey onto my back. Renji's tennis jersey.

I snap my head around; just to see no one.

Then suddenly I am overwhelmed. Renji isn't here? Renji isn't here. Why would he be here? After what I've done to him, why would he?

"Renji." I allow myself an indulgent, petulant little whisper. "I'm sorry."

And I lose control.