Author's Note: Perhaps somewhat off the beaten track, but Yanagi did have a rather 'interesting' haircut once and Yukimura is rather pretty for a boy, and I thought that those things ought to be addressed together. This one is set during their first year of middle school, and ultimate proof that those destined for friendship will find a way to bond over practically anything.

Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis does not belong to me. Yet.


H is for Hair

#

"Did you win?" inquired the boy waiting for him at the school gates.

Yanagi Renji nodded. He had. It wasn't even close. "I let senpai have the first game," he admitted. "His power shot was a little bit interesting."

The boy regarded him thoughtfully. "Don't mind them, Yanagi-kun," he said. "I think it suits you."

Yanagi smiled hesitantly. Although he had come to expect as much from the boy whose tennis constantly made his mind spin with new facts, revised statistics and just a little bit of envy, this hardly meant that they were friends now, did it?

But there was something about the boy's easy smile and his longish, wavy hair (and the fact that Yanagi was ninety-seven percent certain that the boy's mother would be no more forgiving about his staying out late after school, than would Yanagi's own) that somehow made his mouth temporarily bypass his brain and move without its permission.

"Renji," he suddenly found himself mumbling under his breath, immediately feeling unsure about it, because this was all highly unusual and totally unexpected.

(And once they were spoken out loud, words could never, ever be taken back.)

(He supposed that the same went for promises, but he would rather not think about that right now.)

The boy laughed, and Yanagi's heart collided with the soles of his tennis shoes. "…I'm really sorry, Yanagi-kun, but would you mind saying that again?" said the boy. "I didn't quite catch it the first time."

He sounded sincere, so Yanagi dared a furtive glance at the boy's face.

(His eyes were sparkling.)

"Renji," repeated Yanagi with a bit more confidence. "Please feel free to call me Renji from now on."

He had barely stopped speaking when a hand with five dainty, slightly calloused fingers latched on to his. It was a firm, honest and decidedly Western grip, which Yanagi supposed went at least some way in explaining the massive amount of topspin that the boy generated on his forehand, and he realized right there and then that a lot could be learnt about a person just from his handshake.

"Seiichi."

.

It was lunchtime, and unusually crowded, when their paths finally crossed in the middle of the hallway.

"Your hair," ventured Yukimura playfully as he effortlessly fell into step with Yanagi's longer stride, "it nearly touches your shoulders now."

Yanagi shrugged. So what if it did; it was just hair.

(Once upon a time, such a blunt observation might have bothered him. But not now. Not anymore.)

"You know, Renji—" Yukimura's voice was teasing, "—from the back you could easily be a girl."

Yanagi peered down at his friend curiously. It was unlike Seiichi to leave himself open to this sort of easy counterattack, but not unheard of. "Says he who gets mistaken for a girl on a regular basis," he replied mildly.

Yukimura frowned, too late realizing his mistake. "Renji, don't you dare—"

"From the front."