Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama is the property of Konomi Takeshi and its licensers.
Author's Notes: This is written for Theresesaga.
Screening Bright Lights
By CalicoKitten
"Oishi."
"Hmm?"
"If you fall asleep here, you're going to miss our stop."
"No, I won't."
"…"
"I won't because you're here with me."
*
The first time they meet face to face after the tournament is in a diminutive café on the outskirts of a district quite far from his house. The small establishment opens that day, but he wouldn't have known that without entering the plain, glass door that stands out to him because of the large crack marring its surface.
Any other day, and perhaps any other time if certain factors are dispensed with, he sees himself at home right now, relaxing after a long day at school and depending on the time, feeding his multitude of fish at home. They never cease to amaze him, and the only time they truly disappointed him was when he was seven and the new fish he'd picked out had been eaten by an older one two days after he'd bought it. He didn't know it then, of course, but after he acquired another fish of the same species, he'd stayed up late to watch as the first fish nipped cruelly at the new one.
A fish tank sits in the far corner of the small room as he enters, and the first thing that comes to mind is that the light in the store is lacking. The door closes completely behind him, and, despite the transparent nature of it, seems more opaque as a shade is pulled over the sun and the light outside flares more brightly than the light inside.
The second thing that comes to mind is that it is the first time he'd ever missed his stop, and he hadn't known that one bus could travel so far in such a short amount of time.
He orders a mug of hot chocolate from the cashier, who quickly and efficiently places a warm cup onto the counter right after he puts his money down. The room remains dimly lit, as a fireplace is when the only lingering glow emits from the embers of a dying flame, so he balances his cup gently while traveling over to a window to sit next to it.
He has only sat there for about five minutes, slowly sipping his drink. Surprisingly delicious, the misleading image of dark cinnamon specks in the lighter liquid provide a rich flavor to the tip of his tongue, and he licks the top of his lip as he sets the ceramic mug down gently on the table in front of him.
As a shadow slowly creeps upon him, he doesn't turn around to look until a strong scent of coffee pervades his senses along with a barely substantial hint of vanilla. Its owner stops about a foot away from his seat, and before he glances up, he smells the vanilla stronger than before. The odors from the two drinks near him mix almost violently, like the smallest sample of pure sodium and water, and he pushes what is left of his drink away.
He looks into a silhouette of eyes, masked by a vacancy of light, and doesn't speak.
The face before him is expressionless in return, and the cup of vanilla-scented coffee is put to the newcomer's lips for him to drink before the tall boy sits down in the seat opposite of him.
Neither one of them regards the other directly, but the silence is imposing, and one of them speaks first to pacify it.
"Seigaku's fukubuchou Oishi Syuuichirou."
He disregards the other's seemingly dismissive nature by staring out the window calmly and replying, quite simply, "Hello, Rikkaidai's fukubuchou Sanada Genichirou."
Taking a sip of hot chocolate, he stops speaking after the straightforward, undemanding exchange of names, and they sit, carefully nursing their respective drinks in a silence that becomes far more than simply stillness as the time passes.
The only detail wrong about the atmosphere is that he thinks the lights in the café still shine less brightly than those on the outside.
*
The second time they meet, it is in the café across the street from the previous one. He has no idea why he has chosen it, only that he has missed yet another stop and will have to wait for the next bus to journey through.
He orders hot chocolate yet again, and this time, it is he who takes his drink and sets it on the table opposite of the Rikkaidai fukubuchou.
Sanada Genichirou dons his trademark hat today and barely spares him a passing glance as he slides into the seat across from the interim buchou of Rikkaidai. They hardly know anything at all about the other, and all Oishi hears about Sanada is in reference to the other's exceptional tennis capabilities, and he has also seen firsthand the delicate temperament Sanada displays to things that are not of his pleasure.
In many ways, they reflect opposite sides of the same coin. Sanada is great at tennis, and while he has played doubles before, he excels even more at singles. He, on the other hand, considers himself something of a doubles specialist, and when the Seigaku members get out of line, the thoughts of disciplining them with physical harm makes him almost as nauseous as Inui's juice does.
However, if he deems them as opposite sides of a coin, the common link is that they are still a part of the same coin.
He breaks the offensive silence this time, turning to address the taller boy with the politeness that complete strangers greet each other with.
"Good afternoon, Sanada," he says, and the fact that he does not use an honorary suffix to the other's name leaves his thoughts completely.
The reply given is short and similar to his own when Sanada replies, "Oishi."
Though it is barely noticeable in the tone, his deep voice rings thick with something he could only describe of as tension, and he can't help himself when he observes Sanada more closely and spots the fingers that grip the harmless white cup so hard that they lose most of their color. He stops looking when he realizes that staring may be rude, and he suspects that the other fukubuchou may not enjoy having his eyes upon him for so long.
So he gazes down into the warm brown liquid of his own drink and asks, quietly, "How is Rikkaidai's tennis team doing?"
Fingers nearly drop the pristine ceramic as his words echo into the silence, and he hears a throat clear itself as Sanada answers, indifferently, "Well, all things considered."
"And your own team?"
His words are blunt and spare Oishi no mercy as he sits there with his hands around his hot chocolate. Briefly, he recalls the Rikkaidai matches just a month before, and while he winces inwardly at his loss to the Yagyuu-Niou pair, it pales in contrast to his recollection of its aftermath where a piece of him disappeared yet again as a proverbial needle in a haystack.
If you ask anyone, he isn't a resentful person by nature, but he can't help it when the words leave his mouth.
"Just as good as your own, I suppose."
Sanada is not a person easily ruffled by nature, as Oishi knows, but it doesn't matter to him as he's had plenty of experience dealing with people in such a department. Closing his eyes, the cooling liquid tinged with chocolate pours down his throat, and as Sanada finally recognizes his presence by settling the full force of shadowed eyes on him, he reminds himself that they are not that different.
In his mind's eye, the mug breaks in each of their hands, and they are left to clean up the liquid while avoiding the broken shards of ceramic.
A response isn't given to his statement, but he never expected one in the first place. Sanada's eyes instead focus completely on him, but he risks nothing when his own do not rise in return. They remain seated, each silently finishing a lone cup of coffee or chocolate, and the speciously sociable tranquility between the two of them drains away as the last drop of liquid spills onto his tongue.
Swallowing silently, he places the cup carefully onto the table, the pristine color joining another on the glossy, ebony surface of the table. Although both of them have finished, neither one of them moves.
His eyes rise just then and catch a reflection in the veiled gaze of the other. It seems natural for him to do nothing but stare at an image of himself, though he never really spent much time watching himself in a mirror before.
Opening his mouth, the words that leave it differ from whatever else he wants say as the harsh noise of a vehicle outside blurs his thoughts. He accepts the distraction gratefully, standing as he takes his empty mug off the table.
"I have to catch my bus," he states quietly, carefully even.
He takes a fleeting look back at the other fukubuchou before he leaves, keeping himself from thinking about the inconsequential thoughts that cloud his mind at that very moment. He catches the slight nod sent his way before Sanada moves his eyes away from his to look out through the window to his left.
Laying the cup on the countertop of the store, he doesn't turn back as he grasps the handle of the clear glass door and leaves to catch his bus.
He doesn't want to miss his stop.
*
Instead of in a café, their next encounter occurs on the sidewalk of a relatively busy section of street. Although the place is different, he can't say anything about the time and prefers not to think about it.
As he weaves throughout the continuous flow of people, something jostles his tennis bag, and he stumbles to the side, accidentally bumping into another to maintain his balance. A set of hands accommodate him while he regains his bearings, and when he looks up to mumble a word of gratitude, he can't say that it surprises him to see who it is.
They fall into step easily beside each other amidst the chatter and palaver around them. The space around them seems timeless to Oishi, and he allows himself to fall back onto the familiarity of the situation. Molding the strange, almost unknown presence beside him into a familiar, calming figure, he gives himself one moment of deceitful bliss before dismissing the image entirely.
Nothing ever appears to come to either one of their minds when it comes to something to say. In everyday life, people tend to overanalyze and scrutinize each specific detail, but when there lies something that rationalization only disrupts, there remains not much else to say, and when that happens, the only things left to bring up are something random or something forbidden.
He chooses the latter option when it becomes unbearable.
"Is Yukimura-kun doing well?"
An obvious assumption hides beneath the surface of his question. Sanada's shoulders stiffen before he speaks, his tone different to hear as if resembling an older, more weathered person than the boy before him.
"The doctors seem to think he is."
He turns to him then, and a shiver runs down Oishi's spine despite the warm weather, and he accepts the retaliated question with no ill will as Sanada asks, "And how is Tezuka-kun?"
Oishi smiles, albeit a bit bitterly at the question, and stops at a small bench at the edge of the sidewalk, resting the bag of tennis rackets against the arm of the chair, leaning against it. He doesn't expect Rikkaidai's fukubuchou to stop with him, but Sanada does, halting at Oishi's back as he faces away from him.
"He's in Germany again."
He feels rather than sees Sanada tense yet again, but says nothing else when the bus arrives early, and as he boards it, he discovers the contemplative expression on the other's face in the reflection of the glass on the bus door.
*
They chance upon an unusual pairing on their subsequent meeting. Granted, it's one that needs little explanation, but the sight appears so unseemly in many aspects that the small talk the two of them had progressed to stops immediately.
The action reciprocates itself when Inui and Yanagi catch sight of them. As they stand in front of them, Oishi can't begin to imagine what passes through their hidden eyes as he looks down to see if the tiny park bench can fit any more people on it.
It can't, and Inui says, "Oishi", while Yanagi politely tips his head to acknowledge his own fukubuchou.
"Out on the town?" Oishi asks, contemplating the casual ambiance between the two and wondering exactly how close childhood friends they used to be.
Yanagi smiles without opening his eyes and says effortlessly, "You could say that."
Inui nods slowly, the customary notebook gone from his hands and the normally wicked grin turned into something softer and friendlier than what Oishi is accustomed to. Sitting next to him, Sanada's eyebrows crease inwards, and while the data specialist looks content standing next to Seigaku's own analyst, Sanada's countenance reveals his displeasure at seeing the two of them.
"Yanagi," he finally speaks, crossing his arms sternly. "This won't affect your performance, will it?"
"I can assure you, it hasn't," Inui responds instead, and the careless way he places his arm on the brown-haired boy's shoulder only makes Sanada's frown deepen.
"If anything, I believe I'm getting better," Yanagi adds and walks a few steps to place himself in front of Sanada, the corners of his mouth and eyes curving upward. "But you would know that better than anyone, wouldn't you, Genichirou?"
A warning flickers across the motionless air like lightning from Sanada to Yanagi, and taking his cue, Yanagi turns to Oishi and bows down slightly, a surprising act of respect from a boy around the same age as he.
"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Oishi-kun," he says, and the whites of his eyes gleam softly as Oishi echoes the sentiments.
Inui inclines his head at the both of them as well, and without further delay, they continue their walk along the park trail as if neither party had encountered the other.
There's something that Oishi sees in them as they walk away, but he keeps silent as their figures grow smaller in the distance.
They stop talking as Inui and Yanagi leave.
*
Considering the wide usage of cell phones by people everywhere, it's surprising when the fifth encounter is the first when one of their phones rings.
It sounds low in the crowded corner of the subway, and it takes Oishi only a second before he realizes that the familiar tone comes from a different pocket than his own. He doesn't deign to glance back at the other when their conversation stops and Sanada answers the phone before it rings again.
"How are you doing?"
The habitual greeting that people give when answering the phone vanishes when Sanada speaks. He wonders, briefly, if Sanada glanced at the number on his phone beforehand to recognize the person, or if he'd known all along and was expecting a call that day.
"That's what you always say. Tell me the truth."
Oishi doesn't have to guess at who Sanada is talking to – he knows instinctively when the disposition inherent in the other's voice changes. Perhaps not too drastically, but it changes nonetheless. Looking away from Sanada not just to grant the other privacy, he despises the part of him that cringed the first time the phone rang.
It makes him feel selfish in a way, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it as the next words confirm the identity of the person connected to the other end of the call.
"Seiichi. Don't say things just to appease me."
The obvious anxiety rolls off Sanada in waves. He can't help but admire the ability of Rikkaidai's buchou to calm the sudden mood transformations that the taller boy is susceptible to, and maybe it's because of his nature that he harbors no opposing feelings towards the hospitalized buchou and instead wishes him well.
He thinks it's more geared towards the fact that when he stares at it, it's just the same as peering into an inverted looking glass.
A small chuckle emerges from the lips of the ever stern Sanada, however, and when the subway passes two more stops and slows towards the next one, he takes a hold of his bag.
When it arrives and comes to a complete stop, he silently gets to his feet, and neither one of them pays much heed to the other as he leaves. The doors close loudly behind him and provide a material separation to the spaces between them.
*
Again, if you ask anyone, he isn't a resentful person by nature, but when his cell phone rings during their sixth meeting and the vibration of his phone garners his attention more than the low ringing that captures Sanada's own, he answers it.
"Moshi moshi, Oishi desu."
Pleasantly surprised at the low voice that responds, he allows a small smile to grace his face and relaxes the slight building of tension in his muscles. Whenever he receives such a phone call, it always brings an unexpected reaction that is constantly welcome.
"I'm okay. How about you?"
A minor shifting of the table passes through his awareness. It only serves to amuse him as he realizes that he still calls his best friend by the last name, and vice versa. Of course, he assumes that if they started calling each other by the more intimate first name, it would just produce an air of unfamiliarity between the two of them.
"Don't avoid the question. Is your arm getting better?"
Worry lines mar his face for a second as a multitude of unpleasant situations play themselves out in his head. He imagines that the doctors have told Tezuka that his arm will never recover and that he will never be able to play tennis with his left arm again. He worries even more about the scenario where he does make a full recovery, and when, or if, this happens, he's afraid that Tezuka will stay in Germany and never return.
"Aa. I'm glad."
He holds the phone to his head like it is the only thing connecting him to Tezuka, and in a way, it is. Listening while the voice speaks across the world and into Oishi's ear, he plays idly with the small piece of apple pie on his plate, pushing the crumbs around until they pile haphazardly together.
"I know, I know."
Pausing momentarily, he spears a portion of the apple filling with his fork and chews slowly, carefully.
"No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault about the phone. I'm just glad you called."
He stares out the window into the sun and props his chin up on his free hand.
"I'll try calling you later if you're still having phone problems."
The words that travel through his cell phone next bring a small pang of something that had been missing for some time within him, and almost immediately as they are said, he is suddenly very happy and only slightly wistful.
"I miss you too."
Pushing the button to end the call, he slides it carefully back into his knapsack, storing it where nothing can damage or break it. He puts it gently down beside him and continues to pick at his food, neglectful of the time, before a voice interrupts his musings.
"Who was that?"
He glances up at Sanada. This time, the fukubuchou's eyes are clearly seen beneath the cap that normally shadows them, and they are piercing and inchoate, making Oishi blink once before turning his gaze away, refusing to answer the question.
A short breath leaves his lungs as a strong hand grabs his wrist firmly and makes him drop the fork it had been holding. It clatters on the fragile porcelain plate, and he's reminded of what Rikkaidai's Yanagi said before about improving, and the fact that this is the first impinges upon him in ways he'd rather not think of. The grip is tight, almost painfully so, and as Sanada strengthens his grip, Oishi knows that it will leave a bruise.
"Who was it?"
Ignoring the sting in his wrist, he meets Sanada's gaze unflinchingly when the other twists it slightly to make him answer.
"I didn't ask you that question."
And Sanada drops his wrist like it scalds him. The expression in his eyes doesn't quite border on bemusement, but it's close enough, and when Oishi rises to slip his jacket on, they share only a fleeting, nearly curious connection through a short-lived glance before Oishi grabs his tennis equipment and leaves.
He can't bring himself to look back.
*
"If you believe in God, they say he made the world in six days."
"Who are 'they'?"
"Hm. I don't know. Everyone, probably. Anyway, that's not the point."
"You missed a day. He made the world in six days, but took a rest on the seventh, and that's why we have a seven-day week."
"I don't like to count the last day."
"…You're silly."
"No, I'm not. He didn't take a rest the last day. He left the world to fend for itself, and when that happened, everything fell apart and the world crashed into itself."
"…That's why we're here today, you know."
*
On the seventh day, it reminds him of the conversation that the Seigaku regulars team had once about religion. During the discussion, he had feared that it would divide the team unnecessarily, as strongly held beliefs usually did, but to his relief, it had only led to safe banter and thoughtful dialogue.
He isn't exactly sure who said it – though he has a very firm suspicion that the perpetrator is Fuji, as Fuji holds a personality that is sardonic yet introspective and meaningful at the same time – and he considers it a bit morbid to look at the world in that way, with the first being the creation and the last being the end of it. Fuji has never told anyone about his religious orientation, and Oishi isn't sure, but he thinks that sometimes, Fuji can see everything about anything, and that is why comments like those often come from his mouth.
Though the place doesn't suit him well, he stops outside of the little café and the first thing he notices is that the crack marring the surface of the glass door is fixed. Noting the difference of times, he enters the store for no reason other than the fact that he has an urge to drink the cinnamon-specked hot chocolate again.
Standing in line, he detects nothing out of the ordinary until he orders his drink and hears the jingling of the new bells above the glass door signal its opening. He doesn't see anything until a shadow falls across him and that familiar presence hangs around him yet again, and it orders coffee with a splash of vanilla and is told that the drink will be out in a few minutes. The coffee and chocolate machines are malfunctioning that afternoon, so the cashiers report.
A light touch to the arm indicates that Sanada knows he is here, and he manages a quiet response when the taller boy greets him softly.
"How are you today?"
"I'm fine," he says faintly, cordially. The cashier places his hot chocolate on the counter before him then, and he wonders if ordering it to go was the best thing to have done.
Sanada eyes him conspicuously. Oishi watches as the other removes a hand from his coat and takes off the ever present baseball cap, and he sees the contours of the fukubuchou's eyes clearly. In some ways, it's more than what he'd ever thought he'd see.
The boy across from him stuffs the cap carelessly into his left pocket, seemingly not minding if he bends it at all. A breath inhaled, and Oishi counts this as perhaps the second time he's witnessed such ardor in the other's actions. It nonetheless surprises him when a roughened hand reaches up and gently touches beneath his chin in a recognizable, affectionate manner.
He can't place the expression on Sanada's face when the other boy stares into his own eyes and says, "Wait. Don't leave."
There are thousands of words that could have been left off the ending of that one sentence, and there are thousands of reasons why the taller boy might have said that. It makes him clutch his hot chocolate closer to him, and he's not prepared for what comes next.
"Have coffee with me next week."
It's the first time that plans are ever mentioned, and he doesn't know how to react as the intense gaze the other holds upon him increases. His first thought is that he doesn't drink coffee – doesn't like the unnatural feeling of being awake when he shouldn't be – and he jerks back from the touch as if it stings him, his thoughts becoming empty as he steadies himself.
"I…" He tries to speak but stammers over his words. "I have to…I have to catch…"
"Your bus." And Sanada's face is indifferent to his disjointed words, but his eyes remain locked as he continues, "You don't want to miss your bus."
His words strike a chord in Oishi, and he stops in his steps. It's overwhelming to him – the odor of vanilla in the air and the screeching of the bus outside. It's the first time he's ever wanted to miss the bus, and it's ironic because it isn't the first day but the seventh. He shivers as he realizes that it's the first time he wants to miss his stop, and it blinds him.
Inside the darkened room of the café, the flickering candles are strangely lambent, and the lights burn more brightly than anything outside.