Disclaimer: Here's a random fact: Albert Einstein did not invent food, contrary to Jay/Jess' belief. Here's another random fact: I don't own Prince of Tennis, Konomi-sensei does. The Rikkai naming system (Marui as 'Maru', Niou as 'Haru', Yukimura as 'Mura' and so on) belongs to Sandileina. I own the rest.
Warning: this fic contains mature themes that include, but are not limited to, eating disorders, drug and alcohol abuse, self injury, and death, among others. This will also probably contain some shounen-ai, and quite possibly mature sexual themes. If you do not feel comfortable reading a story with this content please leave now.
A/N: Yes, I fail at continuing stories. Also, according to Taylor who edited this (who knows nothing about PoT - not their ages, relationships, etc.) Yukimura sounds like he wants to get into Marui's pants. Feedback on that?
Dedicated to everyone who has ever had to go through any of these, and to those who weren't quite so fortunate to make it out.
Coughing one last time, Marui wiped his mouth on a piece of toilet paper before standing up, flushing, and going to wash his hands. Outside the stall he could see himself in the mirror – the pale face with lank hair matted against his forehead, the tears that had formed and started a trail down his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. He didn't care. Rinsing his face, he headed back to start his afternoon classes and made a mental note to return directly afterwards; he needed to stay inconspicuous, needed the world not to notice him – not to notice this.
-----
Yukimura Seiichi knew everything. He saw, heard, and learned everything – he was one of those people who had a knack for life itself, The Child of God a very fitting title.
So he knew. He knew Marui Bunta and he knew what was going on, even though Marui didn't want him to know.
He knew exactly why the boy was late to afternoon practice, why there was a slight shake in his knees, why he was always chewing gum. (The same piece of gum, too; Yukimura knew that he was too afraid to switch to another, and he often chewed the same one for days on end.)
"Twenty laps," the captain ordered softly, and though his voice was gentle the team set off jogging near immediately. Marui followed close behind his teammates, preparing to ease into a jog.
"Not you Bunta." The tone was foreboding, a 'don't you dare' implication. Marui turned around but did not make eye contact, not quite sure what to expect. "Come here." A slim hand motioned for him, and Marui stepped closer. Yukimura patted the spot next to him on the bench. Reluctantly, Marui sat on the very edge.
"How are you?" the captain asked cheerfully. Marui mustered as much of a smile as possible, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Good," he said, his voice permeated with false cheer. Yukimura gave an equally fake smile, his eyes etched with concern.
"Good to hear. You're positive nothing's been bothering you though?" He tried this often, hoping Marui would come to him. So far it hadn't been working as well as he would have liked. Marui shook his head a tad bit too vigorously. Even he knew he was putting on a pitiful performance.
"Nope," he replied. "I'm absolutely positively fine." Yukimura gave him a harsh glare but he avoided it, knowing that he couldn't give in that easily. Finally Yukimura gave a slight nod, barely a tilt of his head, and dismissed the boy. It was Monday, which meant they had more meetings than anything – that was apparently what a 'plenary session' was. Sitting on the ground and leaning against a bench as Yukimura talked, Marui closed his eyes; he hadn't slept well in ages, and lack of food only added to that.
-----
Niou Masaharu groaned internally as he sat down that Monday for practice – he had had a bad weekend, and he really needed an outlet for all of his frustration. He'd probably end up hitting the street courts later and humiliating some small child or inexperienced and cocky teen, but then Yukimura would get mad and ultimately sit him out of the first matches of the season. Considering tennis was all he had left as the moment, he really didn't want that.
He sat down on the pavement, because Yukimura had decided last year that he didn't care what the other forty nine members of the tennis club did as long as they could hear what he, Sanada, and Yanagi were saying. The captain made announcements, something about working hard and keeping up and always making sure to do your best in everything because he was going to push you since this was Rikkai, but Niou didn't hear them. Really, he didn't care; if he listened it would just clutter his mind, and Yagyuu would always make sure to fill him in on the important details later.
"I am hoping for another great year," Yukimura finished, bringing Niou out of his thoughts. "I am sure you will all be working your hardest, and I know we can carry Rikkai through Nationals yet again." The team cheered and clapped, the few fangirls passing by and standing outside the courts swooning already. Niou rolled his eyes and got to his feet, not caring that Yukimura had yet to dismiss practice. He grabbed his things, spotting Marui on the way out, and headed off of grounds. A few moments later he caught up to the tensai, who looked relatively exhausted.
"Wanna play a match?" he asked the boy. Marui shrugged weakly, running a hand through his hair. Niou was slightly alarmed at the haggardness of his appearance, but shook it off.
"Sure, whatever," he muttered, heading off in the direction of the street courts. Niou nodded, satisfied; at least this way he wouldn't get into trouble with Yukimura, and could still work off his irritation.
-----
Sitting down on the bench in the locker room, Yukimura Seiichi gave a small sigh. It was Monday, the first real Monday of the season, but he had nothing interesting or important to really tell the team at the moment – most Monday sessions he normally had more, as odd as that was. Shaking his head slightly, he leaned backwards and rested his head against the bottom shelf of a shoe locker. The team had split up fairly quickly after practice, Niou and Marui slipping out before he could have a word with either of them, and Yagyuu had done the same though he had headed in the opposite direction. Akaya had run off to follow a few of the upperclassmen who had been taunting him and Jackal had trailed him, hopefully keeping him out of trouble; Sanada had gone off to finish his school work so he could practice kendo for a longer period of time tonight; Yanagi had gone off to read.
Yet despite the fact that he was alone, Yukimura didn't want to let his guard down. He was afraid, really, that somebody would see it – that the moment he put down the Cheering Captain routine somebody would pick up on the way his hands were shaking or the way his foot sometimes stuck. They would pick up on the way he jostled his limbs constantly to keep them from going numb. They would notice the slight catch in his voice the next time he talked, not because he was stumbling for words mentally but because his throat would physically not allow them to come out no matter how calm and collected he was.
Clenching his fists so hard that the nails dug into the palms of his hands, Yukimura held his chin high; there was nobody there to see it, but the act of defiance was all he needed.
He could do this. He wouldn't let whatever this thing was take him over, wouldn't let it disrupt his life, wouldn't let people worry over his petty problems when they all had their own very serious ones as well. He could beat whatever was thrown his way.
Standing up, Yukimura grabbed his racket from the bench and headed out to the courts most hidden from view. If extra training was what it took to make sure his muscles didn't forget how to do what was so natural to him, then he would do it, whatever the cost. As long as he didn't collapse again, crumpled on a crosswalk in the freezing December weather, he would be perfectly okay.
He knew it.
-----
"Why wouldn't Mura let you run?" Niou asked while kicking a pebble, sending it skidding towards Marui's shoes. The question was posed with curiosity and innocence, but Marui knew better than to let Niou try and fool him.
"Oh, just things like muscle cramps. The usual." The tensai waved a hand in the air in a nondescript direction, signaling that the reason was no big deal. Niou's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, but he didn't say anything more as they arrived at the street courts; the school day still hadn't been out that long, and practice was insanely short today so they had no trouble claiming the secluded court they preferred.
The play was nothing hard: a warm up, a few friendly rallies, pulling out a signature move just for the fun of it when they could. But Niou was keen, an observer: he always had been, that was how he played tennis. He caught the way Marui wasn't as fast as he used to be, the way the uniform seemed too baggy, the way the fingers that tightened around a racket handle were thinner – too thin, far too thing, the veins popping out of the skin even when the hands weren't clenched. He seemed to be withering away, right before Niou's eyes.
It scared him slightly, really taking in the fact that his friend had deteriorated so rapidly over the past year – over the past few months, over the last two weeks when they had all been on Spring break and nobody had seen each other. But at the same time it was comforting, to know that at least he wasn't the only one suffering – misery loved company after all.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, he raised a hand in a kind of stand-still agreement, cutting off the match and heading home without another real word.
-----
Marui took off after his match with Niou, walking at a steady rate just until he was out of Niou's sight, though he wasn't sure if the other teen was really paying attention. The second he knew he would not be spotted he broke into a run, an uneasy feeling washing over him.
It wasn't long before he was home, the silence echoing eerily in his mind. He knew Kenji was home, because the elementary school chess club didn't have practice that day, but the lack of a second pair of shoes in the entrance hall displayed that Akio had yet to return, probably because soccer practice had started up again that day, just as tennis had.
Not bothering to kick off his shoes, he headed for his room, quickly locking the door behind him. He headed for the closet, planning to change and going for a run, when his vision swerved. Marui reached a hand out, bracing himself on frame of the closet door with one hand as he squeezed his eyes shut, his other hand pressed tightly against his forehead. After a few moments the dizziness stopped, but a light-headed feeling remained, causing Marui to back up and fall backwards onto his bed, before settling into a dreamless and uneasy sleep.
Feedback appreciated.
