Notes: Written for haradamasatoshi over at tumblr who requested KuraMiyu for the prompt "meant no harm." xShiruko has very kindly translated this to Spanish here: s/11033105/1/Sin-intenci%C3%B3n (putting the url there, because I have yet to figure out hyperlinks in ) Do check it out!
Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace belongs to Terajima Yuuji.
didn't mean to
Two weeks into his first year at Seidou and Kuramochi has bruised knuckles, pain twinging in his arm, and what feels like a horrible scrape over his left knee. Miyuki's not faring any better—his cheek blooms red, is sure to darken over the next few days, and the cut on his lip is bright and angry.
"Twenty laps," the captain says, arms crossed and eyes blazing. "No rests."
The vice-captain shakes his head, deadpans, "Too easy."
"Thirty," he amends. "And if I'm still upset with you two, you're going to keep running until you drop. And then you're gonna get right back up and run some more. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," they both chorus in unison. When the captain points a finger at the field, Kuramochi scrambles to his feet, grits his teeth against the sting in his leg, and gets started on his first lap.
Even though this is technically punishment, Kuramochi can't quite help the thrill of pleasure shooting up his spine. Like this, the slap of his feet against the ground, the wind in his face as he picks up speed, his heart pounding in his ribcage—there is such raw, wondrous delight to be found in just running that he has to bite back the grin threatening to spill into his lips.
That is, until he remembers his fellow offender, and glances back to see Miyuki about a foot behind him.
He scowls, instinctively begins to quicken his pace, before he remembers that this isn't some three minute sprint, and if he exhausts himself before the end of thirty laps, there's no telling what else the senpai might come up with. Kuramochi slows down once more, resigned to his fate.
"Damn it," he mutters under his breath.
Beside him, Miyuki huffs out a laugh.
By the time the vice-captain finally relents, they've run thirty-eight laps.
Kuramochi collapses onto the ground in a boneless lump. His legs feel like jelly, and he's shaking all over. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Miyuki on his knees, gasping for breath.
"If this ever happens again," the captain warns. "If I ever hear of you two taking swings at each other instead of being the teammates you're supposed to be, I will kick you off this field. We don't have time to babysit delinquents. If you're not serious about playing, leave. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," they manage.
"Good. Now get cleaned up."
The senpai storm off, giving the two of them time to catch their breaths in a sudden show of mercy—or cruelty, Kuramochi thinks, as he glances sidelong at his classmate.
Miyuki pushes his bangs out of his face, catches him looking, and grins. "Well, wasn't that fun?"
"Says the guy who tripped over his own feet halfway through."
"Aw, were you worried about me?"
"Fuck off," he snarls, getting to his feet. There it is again, that rush of anger blossoming in chest that he can't quite explain, making his fingers twitch, and his skin hot. The one that makes him want to reach over, and bloody Miyuki's nose.
But he hadn't meant to. Sure, he'd been thinking about it—the entire time Miyuki had gone on and on about his hasty swing and rocky stance, Kuramochi had thought lovingly about what it would be like to punch the guy's face in. But that's all. He'd been thinking about it, with no intention of actually acting on it. It's just that somewhere along the way something snapped, and he just. Did it.
He stalks over, put his hands on his hips as he barks, "Get up, asshole."
Miyuki looks up at him, eyes widening for half a fraction of a second, before his smile goes taunting. "Why?" he drawls, not moving.
"Because I want to bathe sometime today, and you're still rolling around in the grass. Hurry up."
Miyuki blinks at him. His expression has turned completely blank, save for the surprise in his slack jaw, and the way his shoulders droop, loose. "You could always go without me," he says, tone flat.
"See, I would, except someone looks like he's five seconds away from passing out. And if the captain finds you here with your face in the mud tomorrow morning, he's probably going to blame me. I am not losing my shot at making the team because of you. So move."
Miyuki looks torn then, as if he can't decide if he wants to be angry or amused. In the end, he settles for some mild look stuck in between the two, wiping his palms on his pants as he stands. "Aren't you a weird one."
"Shut up," he hisses, but this time he keeps his hands to himself.
They walk back to the dorms without another word.