Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Eyeshield 21, no characters, nothing.
Author's Note: Weeee! My first fic in a while! Enjoy HiruMamo Fans!
It's been happening for a couple days now.
Mamori Anezaki, manager of the underdog football team, Deimon, has been bringing Musashi boxed lunches.
Ever so often during his break, the motherly manager would visit the construction sites where Musashi worked and delivered a cute bento with pink lacing for his consumption. Musashi's jobs revolved around the ongoing revitalization of the football clubhouse/add-ons, each time the principal had "agreed" to reward the Deimon Devil Bats with each win. The sight of these two together exchanging a few laughs and stories reminded many old couples happening to pass by, of their invigorating youth and beginning stages of dating. Oh how youth was so grand and ever progressing.
In the distance a smack of gum echoed with the sound of the rustling trees.
Youichi Hiruma doesn't get agitated easily.
Mamori and Suzuna sat on the bench sweating up a storm. The sun was unforgiving today, the rays left everyone on the practice field dehydrated within a matter of minutes. There wasn't any particular match coming up for everyone to be working so hard, not this hard. 200 laps around the school, abruptly random pop quizzes of passing routes and techniques (with many consequences had one missed a question), and flashes of bullets penetrating the ground on which the members of the Deimon football team stepped, this was training hell MAX.
"Does Hiruma seem a bit off to you, Sena?" Monta lagged behind Sena during their lap on the track.
Sena slowed to a halt, Monta mirroring his movements, and tried to sneak a glance at Hiruma's face, the everpresent intimidating aura surrounding his figure masked his expression, "Well, now that you mention it-"
"Did I say that you two could take a break, damn twerps!" Hiruma loomed over the two boys with a hand clutching a blazing gun that was spraying bullets into the sky and one very intimidating Cerberus in another. "Get back to practicing!"
Youichi Hiruma definitely does not get agitated easily.
What was he so annoyed for? Deimon's progress was skyrocketing into realms reserved for aliens! The success of formulating a well-organized team should have been what dominated his thoughts, as well as the inching contest towards the Christmas Bowl. Not some, some girl. Still, there was still something that lingered within him. A certain uneasiness that grew every time he stepped within arms length of Mamori.
After working his entire team to the near edge of death, Hiruma sighed under his breath. He didn't want to admit it, but maybe, just maybe, his agitation drove these practices from hell a bit too far. "Hey, ladies, go home." Everyone stared at the expressionless quarterback, a mental cinderblock colliding from above. The implication of an early day off was scary. "What did I say? Get moving dammit! I'll change my mind if you'd prefer an extra 50 laps!" Everyone yelped an "EHHHH?" noise, and were long gone within seconds.
An expressionless Hiruma stepped into the clubhouse and to his inconvenient dismay, he found Mamori Anezaki with a wooden spoon in one hand and a nice little bento in the other.
"What do you think you're doing, damn manager?" Hiruma asked dangerously with a vein forming on his temples.
Mamori glared at him as a response to the reoccurring nickname but snapped back to reality, remembering he had asked her a question.
"Huh? Oh I was getting ready to bring Musashi his lunch-" Mamori explanation was abruptly cut off when a large frame arched over hers with curiously hungry eyes.
"Why are you making lunches for that damn old man?" Hiruma's words were blunt, his stomach slightly twisted at the sight of her innocent face and her bento.
Mamori stared at the lean figure before her, her cheeks smoothly transitioning into a soft pink, and replied, "I think you have it wrong, I didn't make this for Musashi. This is for Sena."
What?
Hiruma's ears twitched with confusion, "Than why do I see you with Musashi during his lunch break, delivering him boxed lunches?"
Mamori's face turned a brighter shade of pink, had he been watching her? "Musashi gives me some money to pick it up, Hiruma. I visit the little instant lunch vendor across from where he works."
The thickening weight of the whole world was lifted from the quarterback's shoulders. All agitation left his being. He was free of this unknown hold that left him in a scowling mood for a prolonged period of time. Hiruma grins from ear to ear and reveals his sharp shark-like teeth, "That makes sense, there's no way a sinless indulger of cream-puffs could score with someone like him, kekeke."
"Hmph, you're such a jerk, Hiruma," Mamori stuck her tongue out at Hiruma.
Hiruma turns around to face the door, after smacking his gum he asks, "Next time, make me something to eat, damn manager."
Thanks for reading!