©Gold 2009

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-san or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis. It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-san or aforesaid entities.

Series: Meant to be a side-fic to Safe Harbour but morphed into its own story. Read as a stand-alone.

Pairing: Shiny and silver. For the unintiated, that means Ohtori-Shishido.

Rating: K+ for gay pairing.

Summary:

Uh... once upon a time, Ohtori stopped talking to Shishido. We go forth some four years and random months later, to watch Shishido confront Ohtori.

Author's Ramblings:

I've been away for some time, trapped under stress from work and close to a physical melt-down. But I'm back now and feeling much better, after a short vacation. Yay!

Notes:

It's a very, very difficult thing to say, that you like someone. It's a tremendous obstacle when all your life, you've only been brought up to show it, and not say it. It is a part of the heart and soul, and tremendously private, like the final secret. So private that when they finally surrender the keys to the last door in their hearts, then, and only then, can they say it.

Part 3 - Standing on a Bridge

Shishido and Ohtori walk in silence down the staircase, away from the street tennis courts.

"How's the shoulder?" Shishido asks, abruptly breaking the silence just as they reach the bottom of the staircase.

Ohtori ducks his head a little. "It's… all right..."

Shishido grits his teeth. "No, it's not all right," he growls, very irritably. He shifts the tennis rackets from his right shoulder to his left shoulder. "Look, how d'you get that injury, anyway? Playing tennis with Atobe?"

Ohtori's shoe scuffs the sidewalk. "…uh…well…"

The words run off Shishido's tongue about two seconds before they reach his brain: "Are you crazy? You played with Atobe—no, wait—" Shishido chokes suddenly, as the truth dawns on him in a blinding flash —"what the hell, did you let him use you as some kind of ball-serving machine?" he all but roars.

– Honestly, that is exactly what Atobe would do. Granted, it's not as if Shishido himself hasn't asked Ohtori to do that for him before—but this is Atobe, who should know better, especially after what he did to Tezuka Kunimitsu all those years ago!

Ohtori winces.

Shishido is so outraged that he can hardly speak without shouting at the top of his voice. "I'm going to kill him, the—"

"Shishido-san…"

Shishido, who's worked himself into a fine rage, halts in the middle of a string of colourful expletives and nearly bites his tongue in half. "What?"

"It's really not Atobe-sempai's fault, Shishido-san," Ohtori says as placatingly as he can, darting cautious glances at Shishido. "I haven't been practising as much as I used to, so I strained my shoulder a little." He adds honestly, "Besides, I'm responsible for myself, Shishido-san. I really can't blame anyone else for my decisions."

Shishido resists the urge to smack Ohtori's head, hard. "Well, stop making decisions like that!" he snaps, and the tennis rackets resting on his shoulder clash against each other in vehement agreement. "We don't all have to jump just because Atobe says frog and – oy, why are you smiling like that?"

Ohtori coughs lightly, looking away. "Well, it's Atobe-sempai…" he demurs, "…and I think we're all conditioned that way by now, Shishido-san."

There's more than a kernel of truth in that. There's probably an entire silo of kernels of truth in that statement. Somehow – maybe it's the way Ohtori's saying it, in that quiet, soothing way he has – it takes the edge off Shishido's fury, allowing his temper to cool. (Incidentally this saves Shishido from an early death by apoplectic rage).

"Tch, it's just Atobe." Shishido shoots a sharp glance at Ohtori. "So, did you see Atobe a lot when you were in Europe?"

Ohtori shakes his head. "Oh, no, Atobe-sempai is a very busy person… but I did get to watch him play at Wimbledon and the French Open."

Shishido's feet screech to a halt on the sidewalk and he spins round to stare at Ohtori. "You what? You went to both? What kind of luck is that?"

"It was amazing," admits Ohtori, unable to keep himself from grinning broadly. "I mean, I've always dreamt that someday I'd be able to watch a real tennis match at a Grand Slam tournament. But I never thought that I'd be watching Atobe-sempai play at Wimbledon and Roland Garros..." Ohtori takes a deep breath, his eyes shining with the memory. "It was just the best, Shishido-san! The greatest!The atmosphere, the tennis, the people, everything – it was like – like –" Ohtori pauses, groping wildly for the appropriate words. "It was like tennis heaven…"

"I can't see Atobe as a tennis angel," Shishido mutters gruffly, but there is a wistful note in his voice.

"Tennis god?" offers Ohtori.

Shishido shoots him a sidelong glance. "… okay, maybe," he concedes half-grudgingly. "That almost works."

Ohtori appears to be deeply interested in the edge of the sidewalk – or possibly the unremarkable row of trees they're passing. "… maybe… maybe we can go together next year…?"

Shishido considers the idea for a moment, then shrugs carelessly. "Yeah, why not? Going to cost an arm and a leg, though," he adds wryly.

"It'll be worth it," Ohtori assures him fiercely.

"Better keep in touch, then," Shishido says casually.

Ohtori's breath hitches briefly and he glances quickly at Shishido, but the latter appears perfectly matter-of-fact – and even follows up with a query delivered in a mild, prosaic tone.

"So, when are you going back?"

"Next Wednesday," Ohtori answers quietly.

Shishido makes a vague noise. "… hm."

"I think my shoulder should be fine by then," Ohtori tells him, too-optimistic as usual. "We can still finish that match… I mean, if Kaidoh-san is still in town."

The rackets over Shishido's shoulder clash noisily against each other as he adjusts his grip. "Okay." He frowns a little, as if considering something. "Hey, when was the last time you came back?"

Ohtori hesitates a little. "…January."

Shishido purses his lips. "Not so long ago, then."

Ohtori swallows nervously. "…uh, no…"

Shishido doesn't look at him. "Didn't hear from you."

Ohtori opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again – and shuts it again.

Just like that, neither of them says anything more.

They lapse instead into a silence that is anything but quiet, for it is a silence painfully fraught with more than four years of words unspoken between them.

"Look, this is stupid!" Shishido growls suddenly, abruptly stopping in his tracks. He's tired of the elephant in the room; it's been there for more than four years, and it's time something was done about it.

Shishido whips his head around sharply. "Let's get this over and done with. You." He glowers at Ohtori. "Four years. Talk – now."

Ohtori, his eyes wide, blinks rapidly, his mouth falling open as he tries to speak, but speech appears to be beyond him for the moment.

Shishido is having none of that. Granted, he has always had a much, much longer fuse (to the point of being nearly non-existent) where Ohtori is concerned, but after more than four years of absolute radio silence, Shishido figures that the entire fuse has pretty much burned away and Ohtori had better talk, and talk fast.

Shishido grabs a fistful of Ohtori's shirt and hauls the latter closer. Ohtori reels back, one hand automatically reaching out to close over Shishido's wrist so as to stop Shishido – but all it takes is a single second of contact, and then Ohtori jerks his hand back, as if the slightest touch is unbearable. The action is too obvious; Shishido's eyes widen for a stunned instant, and then narrow and darken with suffused anger and something else that flashes for just an instant – something akin, perhaps, to hurt.

"What the hell, Choutarou!" Shishido hisses, eyes snapping like live coals. "Four f****** years? How do I know what's wrong, what I did wrong, if you don't tell me!" Anger, accompanied by an edge of bitterness, accentuates Shishido's tones. "What, you can't be honest with me?"

Ohtori's eyes give nothing away. Or perhaps it's simply that Shishido cannot read them. He cannot see the way Ohtori's eyes are huge and glimmering, the way Ohtori's breath hitches grievously, the way the blood drains from Ohtori's face and then sweeps it again in a rising flood, staining Ohtori's cheekbones with colour – Shishido is too far gone to notice anything, except the silence.

Shishido's grip on Ohtori's shirt tightens. "Say something, dammit!" Something blurs Shishido's vision; he blinks, fiercely, and his vision clears. But his voice breaks instead, cracking with the weight of bewilderment and the devastating loss of Ohtori's friendship, ripped from him for longer than he cares to remember. "Say – something – " Anything.

Then –

"… Shishido-san…"

Shishido's name, softly spoken.

Shishido's fingers loosen their grip, almost immediately.

And Ohtori, looking straight at Shishido, mumbles something, very softly. It's such a simple phrase, but when he says it, colour floods his cheeks, lending a soft glow to the classic lines of his face and highlighting the brilliance in his eyes. There's an unusual expression on his face, in his eyes, in the way he's looking, half-recklessly, half-helplessly, at Shishido and yet not at Shishido. Shishido has seen that intense look before, fleetingly, a few times, when they were schoolboys, but never so clearly before—and never put into words before—

Is this what it means…?

Is it…?

The world is spinning round. Shishido feels like he's falling off the edge, because he can't quite believe his eyes and his ears. "Choutarou … say what…?"

Ohtori draws a shaky breath. He wets his lips a little, his eyes very dark. Shishido can feel him trembling a little. It's not surprising – this has taken courage. A lot of it. Possibly more than Shishido will ever know or can ever imagine… because it is not something that can be said lightly.

"Shishido-san…"

Ohtori's voice is still very soft and very low, but surprisingly steady.

"…I…like you…"