NOTES:
I planned to make this fic short, and it worked out. This is the last chapter. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!
Special thanks to sailorstarsun for pointing out that Hiyoshi and Ohtori are from the same year. I've replaced Hiyoshi's name with a random one. There are over 200 members in the Hyoutei tennis club, after all. I'm giving one of the non-regulars an identity and a bit part ;)
And to Violintide for pointing out that it's FUTON, not tatami :)
Regarding timeline: the story is set shortly before the ranking matches for the year's division tournaments. Ohtori isn't a regular yet. I dunno about Shishido, though...
Still "Angels and Devils" by Dishwalla.
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Coming Over (Part 2)
by MorphailEffect
Ohtori noted with much amusement that the formerly impossible black puppy liked being in Shishido's awkward embrace. There was no arguing that Shishido and Rambo deserved a little more time together. Ohtori smiled, sat on the front steps and started unlacing his rubber shoes.
"We're selling them, actually. They're big enough to be parted from their mother," he started to say, "but sempai can adopt Rambo if he wants."
Shishido seemed to ponder this. He looked down at Rambo thoughtfully. Rambo licked his chin. He jerked back in surprise, but grinned.
"...Nah, Mom won't let me keep him. Pets dirty up the house."
As he spoke, Ohtori reached over to unlace his shoes. Shishido let him, said "Thanks" in his usual flat manner as he stepped out of his shoes and entered the house after Ohtori.
The two were well into the house when it hit them, simultaneously, that it was actually a weird thing to have happened.
"Uh..." Shishido looked away.
To cut the awkwardness short, Ohtori stuck to a safe topic. "I've had all sorts of pets since I was little. But I've always liked puppies best."
"Heh. Makes sense. You're like a big puppy, yourself."
It would have been an insult, coming from anyone else. But the way Shishido said it, his face still glowing with affection for the trusting creature in his arms, made it sound like a real compliment.
His first compliment from a sempai...?
Ohtori didn't dare think of it like that.
"Remember to wash your hands before coming to the table," the two of them heard Ohtori's mother call out from another room.
"Alright mom," Ohtori called back, just as Shishido gave an alarmed cry.
"Sempai!! Doushita?"
Shishido was holding Rambo away from him with both hands. The puppy was panting adorably and waving its paws in the air in a feeble attempt to regain contact with Shishido and his...wet shirt. Shishido's face was frozen in an expression of shock.
Oh no... Ohtori quickly took the (happily relieved) puppy from Shishido before any harm could befall it. Shishido was grimacing, holding the damp shirt away from his skin with the tips of his fingers. Despite himself, Ohtori chuckled.
"Looks like you're going to have to wear some of my little brother's clothes after all." Ohtori wanted to laugh more, but he didn't want to add insult to injury. "This way to the bathroom, sempai..."
******************************
Shishido was extremely choosy about the shirt he was going to wear. He insisted that it had to go with the color of his hair. Ohtori didn't know what that meant, but he presented Shishido with nearly everything in his little brother's closet. Shishido-sempai was so vain.
Finally, more out of exasperation than any real liking, Shishido chose a gray long-sleeved pullover. Ohtori took time out to notice that it suited him well.
When they came to the dining table, Ohtori's mother and little brother were already sitting. Ohtori's mother welcomed them with a smile, but the little brother was not as pleasant.
"You guys sure took long!" the little brother admonished. "I'm starving!!"
"I know, I know. Sorry," Ohtori said emphatically. It was interesting for Shishido to note that even his little brother had a stronger personality than Ohtori did.
Shishido grabbed his chopsticks right off and made for the delicious-looking dumplings. He stopped in mid-air when he saw that Ohtori's entire family was looking at him with an amused expression.
"Uh...what?" He drew his chopsticks back.
Ohtori chuckled. "Nothing, it's just...we pray before meals."
"Oh." He put his chopsticks down prudently, more embarrassed than he was willing to show. "Well, then." He put his hands together and bowed so low his forehead almost touched the tabletop.
Ohtori could tell that Shishido had never said mealtime prayers before. Still, he felt honored that his sempai would exert the effort to go along. Most of the people he had invited over for meals had none too subtly conveyed that his family's customs were "weird."
Prayer and the meal commenced without incident. Ohtori's mother asked quiet, unassuming questions about Shishido, which Shishido answered straightforwardly. Ohtori became worried that Shishido would resent the questioning. He knew for a fact that this particular sempai was a terribly private person, who hated prying. He'd had several chances to prove that.
But there seemed to be no indication that the questioning made Shishido uncomfortable. In fact, he seemed more relaxed than ever. He even beamed noticeably when Ohtori's mother pointed out how well he took care of his "lovely" reddish-brown hair.
Ohtori's little brother -- a tall grade-schooler with a frown permanently fixed on his face -- didn't resemble him, except around the eyes. The eyes made him look gentler. Shishido assumed his features took more after Ohtori's father.
"By the way," he said outloud, "Where's Choutarou's father?"
Ohtori's mother gave a small smile, strangely sadder and at the same time sweeter than the one she always wore.
"My husband has been dead for ten years," she answered.
Shishido's face went blank. He looked away, fell silent.
"Sometimes Uncle Jirou sits there," Ohtori's little brother supplied, nodding to an empty seat beside his mother. "But my dad used to sit there. I don't remember him much."
Ohtori was hoping his sempai wouldn't feel unsettled. They were used to discussing his deceased father with guests.
But Shishido let nothing else slip until he finished his meal. Then all he said was "I need to study now," with his usual haughtiness.
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They retired to Ohtori's room. Ohtori let him have the desk. He said he was just going to do his advanced reading on the bed, since he didn't have exams the following day. Sempai needed the desk more.
Grimly, without even thanking Ohtori, Shishido took his seat, took out his books and notebooks, and tied back his hair. He was ready to begin.
Silence lay between them. Ohtori quickly got used to it. Shishido-sempai did not give out a naturally unwelcome feeling. For that, at least, he was grateful...
"So," Shishido said, close to an hour later, "how'd it happen?"
The question startled Ohtori. "Huh?"
"How'd your dad die?"
Ohtori paused briefly.
"Accident. Plane crash."
"Oh." Shishido turned the page. He had not looked away from the notes he was reading. "He must have been a good man."
Ohtori nodded. "He was. I remember. He used to play with me a lot. And he loved dogs..."
Shishido listened quietly. After a while, he put his pencil down, spoke softly to himself:
"It doesn't make any sense, does it."
Ohtori waited for him to continue. His patience was soon rewarded.
"My dad died four years ago. My mother remarried. I have to call that asshole my 'Dad' now. I can't stomach it." Shishido turned in his seat to face Ohtori who was lying on his stomach on the bed, though he still didn't meet his gaze. "She says she can't stand him either. Says he only married her for her money. But she won't leave him."
Ohtori nodded slowly.
"Sempai is an only child?"
Shishido smirked. "Yeah. She says she'll never have another kid. I'm too much trouble all by myself."
There was arrogance in that smirk, tainted with grief. Fresh grief. Ohtori felt it knocking inside him like something forgotten.
Ten years was a long time, for Ohtori -- enough time to move on. But he could still recall how hard it had been when it had just been four years. Or even six or seven.
"Everybody else says I look exactly like my real dad. He even wore his hair long, like this." Shishido touched his hair absently, throwing his head back and looking farther away from his companion. "He liked making people laugh. And he liked playing tennis. More than anything else."
Shishido was about to say something more, but he caught himself. A bitter, angry look came upon his face, which made Ohtori sit up in worry. At last, Shishido met Ohtori's gaze...and Ohtori was startled by the determination that burned in his sempai's eyes.
"I shouldn't have come here."
Ohtori felt as if he was struck across the face.
"Sempai...!"
"This is the last time I'm going to take anything from you, Choutarou," Shishido was saying in a cold tone. "I need to be strong. I need to be able to handle this crap. I'm going to finish school, become an athlete, and make it on my own. I have to. If I can't even stand my ground at home, how can I hope to be stronger than that selfish prick my mother married?"
The only thing worse than being regarded as the enemy, Ohtori decided, was being regarded as dirt. Something of his was reaching out to Shishido, and Shishido kept hitting it to one side.
He saw, in his mind's eye, this Shishido-sempai being hurt, being hit by someone larger, stronger, older. He remembered the hard and angry look that often came into Shishido's face during practice. It was like a knife to the heart, the way things made sense...
"Demo, sempai!" Ohtori said, in a slightly louder voice. He told himself not to be too excited, lest he disturb his mother, who was getting ready to sleep in the adjacent room, "you don't have to take on everything by yourself. People are strong for each other. That's what makes them stronger!"
Shishido's eyes were hard now. Gleaming.
"Well, that probably works for you, Choutarou. Not me. What it all boils down to is that I'm the only one who knows what I'm going through. Nobody's there for me." He turned back to the books on Ohtori's desk, shutting off everything else, closing all avenues for argument.
"Nobody."
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Later that night, Shishido lay on the spare futon facing the wall, his back to Ohtori.
Ohtori lay on his own mat facing his sempai. How difficult it must be to live without trusting anyone.
But how did it happen that the stories of their lives came pouring out like that? Why did Shishido-sempai nod wordlessly when Ohtori said it was too late to go home, and that he should sleep over?
Did it mean Shishido-sempai trusted him, at least to some extent?
When Ohtori thought back, he couldn't remember a single time when Shishido asked anything of him. Or forced him to do anything, invoking his power as an upperclassman.
...No, there was one time. The only time. And it was earlier that night, when he told Choutarou to bring his bag.
Even then, it didn't seem so much a demand as it did a cry for help.
Why wouldn't he believe that Ohtori wanted to help? That Ohtori understood? What else did he have to do?
"Choutarou."
Shishido saying his name in the dark roused Ohtori from bleak thoughts. "Sempai...?"
"Why did you invite me to your house?"
Ohtori took time to form his words, spoke slowly and with deliberate gentleness. Shishido-sempai, I wish you would look at me. "Well...because...you needed to be somewhere else... And it was getting late... And mine was the safest place I knew..."
He paused for a response. There was none.
"And because...well...I guess...I wanted you to come over, too, sempai..."
"Choutarou." A note of sternness.
"Huh?"
"Don't call me 'sempai.' You can do that, right?"
"What?" Ohtori's wide eyes blinked. "Why?"
"Don't lump me along with those idiots who push you around. I won't make you do anything you don't want to."
...
Ohtori couldn't say anything.
He didn't think anyone else cared that he was being pushed around. Much less an upperclassman.
It always seemed like a private pain.
A sad, grateful smile came to Ohtori's face. He never wished so badly for his sempai to turn around and meet his gaze. But Shishido never did.
"...Alright. So what do I call you, sempai?"
Shishido groaned. "Damn it. Ryou's okay. Give it a shot."
"Ri -- you." Ohtori chuckled in embarrassment. "It doesn't feel right."
"Haa, fine. Just Shishido, then."
"Shi...shido...san?"
No answer from the other futon. Finally Shishido shifted position, still facing the wall. "...At least it's not 'sempai'," he mumbled. "Maybe I can visit Rambo here sometimes..." He might have been talking to himself.
Ohtori felt warm inside. He was probably blushing, but he didn't care. "He'd like that, too."
He never noticed how he was able to keep that wistful smile on his face until Shishido started snoring softly, mere moments later.
He was going to have to apologize tomorrow. He couldn't imagine himself calling Shishido as anything but "sempai." He figured that in the long run, it wouldn't matter.
Ohtori's last thought, as he himself fell asleep, was that this was the first time in his life he felt like he could take on anything. That he could be a Hyoutei regular. That he could be tougher. That no one was ever going to order him around again.
That nothing he allowed himself to do had ever been in vain.
That, having come this far, he was worth something.
To someone else...
Someone who cared about him.
And who, admit it or not, needed what he had to give.
(THE END)