a story of love! mystery! peculiarity!
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"'Explain to me how it happens that the daughter of the governor of the province of Yamashiro happens to be a fox,' said the monk, 'for I have never seen eyes like yours on a human face.'"-The Dream Hunters, Neil Gaiman
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Monday, July 20
It was July, and unusually warm; the air twisted with heat. It wasn't humid, but nonetheless the blue of the sky was unyielding enough to be distinctly uncomfortable. Atobe discreetly wiped the traces of sweat from his face.
"Practice is over for today," Atobe announced in his full team captain mode. People moved rapidly for the clubhouse, eager to get out of the heat. Atobe watched them expertly - the charismatic overseer, he thought to himself - as he put his racket in his bag and sipped some cold water flavored lightly with lemon.
Fingers poked gently at his arm. Atobe turned, slightly miffed, and saw Jirou looking speculatively at him, still alert from a game. "Come get some ice cream with me," Jirou offered. The edge of a grin hovered faintly on Jirou's lips.
An unusual request. Atobe was normally too busy, and the neighborhood ice cream wouldn't exactly measure up to his refined palate, either. He opened his mouth to reply and Jirou grabbed his wrist impatiently, heading to the clubhouse, and Atobe forgot to refuse.
"It's too hot to do anything today," Jirou grumbled, as they entered the relief of the air-conditioned building. Ootori waved as he and Shishido passed on their way out; most of the other club members were finishing up, and kept out of their way.
"You never do anything except sleep in any case, Jirou," Atobe remarked logically. When he thought about his schedule, he realized he was less busy today than he had been yesterday, or would be tomorrow - or, in fact, for the rest of the week. Jirou was lucky to have chosen the one day Atobe could afford the time to eat a leisurely ice cream. It wouldn't hurt; it was only Jirou, after all.
After he changed, Atobe found Jirou by the door, just beginning to droop. Almost everyone had left, though pockets of activity in scattered corners remained. As Atobe approached, Jirou blinked and perked up, following Atobe's movement with steady eyes. Sometimes, more frequently in recent days, Jirou would raise himself from napping to watch Atobe play tennis - the exciting games, at least. Atobe was not surprised, and he knew that his games were the only ones Jirou awoke to see. It was only fitting that it should be so.
They walked together to the closest ice cream shop, three long blocks away. A long line awaited, and chilled sweetness permeated the air. Atobe hated lines; he sighed and glanced at Jirou with discontent. Jirou only looked at the list of flavors, probably testing the name of each out in his mind. "There's a line," Atobe pointed out in a voice hinting at indignities, trying the subtle approach.
Jirou's brow drew together, and laid his hand briefly on Atobe's shoulder before he turned back to the flavor list. "We've come all the way here already," Jirou said thoughtfully, mind already turned back to his ice cream options.
Atobe had known the subtle approach was worthless for Jirou, whose skin was a few centimeters thick. Jirou, after all, had years of practice ignoring subtlety when people tried to wake him up. Atobe opened his mouth for a more direct attack, and Jirou asked cheerfully, "What are you getting, Atobe?" and Atobe only said, "French vanilla," with perfect poise.
Far too long a time passed before they reached the head of the line, yet Jirou was still in the agony of indecision. Jirou chewed on a thumbnail and mourned, "I don't know what to have!"
"He'll have a medium cone, one scoop strawberry and one scoop sweet cream," Atobe told the girl behind the register, imperiously. "I'll have a small cone of French vanilla."
"Coming right up, sir," the girl replied.
"Oh, thanks," Jirou said to him, countenance slightly sheepish as he looked at Atobe. "How'd you know what I like?"
Atobe lifted an eyebrow. "It's hardly rocket science," he said, returning the look with only a minimum of mocking in his eyes.
Soon enough they were handed waffle cones overflowing with ice cream. Jirou insisted, laughing, on paying for his own. (Of this, Atobe approved.) They took the cones outside. Jirou wandered aimlessly ahead, and Atobe really had little choice but to follow. He sighed; it was too hot to scold Jirou seriously and he was reluctant to simply walk away. Jirou was known to drowse in the middle of streets when left to his own devices.
They wandered down to the river. By the flowing water, Jirou located a bench under a shady tree, and sat on it. The dizzying buzz of cicadas overhead filled the air with the thick taste of summer. Atobe seated himself next to his teammate, licking carefully at his ice cream. It really was a very nice day.
While the ice cream was decidedly inferior, Atobe resignedly accepted it just this once. Jirou kept darting glances at him, quick flashes and then turning back to his own ice cream.
They talked about tennis-
"Your pacing could be better."
"But I get so excited! And then afterwards I'm too tired for footwork. I never sleep enough at night."
"There's something peculiar about your metabolism if you sleep thirteen hours a day and still..."
-and school-
"What'd you get on the history test? It wasn't as hard as everyone said it was, I thought. The essay was annoying though! It was so restrictive."
"Of course I got full marks."
"It's so unfair, Atobe..."
-and diverse other things of mutable character.
"Well, it was clearly stirred too rapidly. Otherwise there would be fewer air pockets, and as a result you'd have much richer ice cream."
"Hnnn... Atobe, have you ever tried making your own ice cream? I mean, do you have one of those hand-cranked mixers?"
"I'm sure we have one."
"You should definitely use it! It's probably the best kind of ice cream of all..."
Soon, despite the shade that blocked the lazy warm sun, Jirou clearly began to drift. Jirou's entire body moved slower, his tongue languorous when it crept over the strawberry ice cream. He gave a jaw-cracking final yawn as he ate the last bite of cone, slumped, and fell utterly asleep on Atobe's shoulder.
Atobe nibbled reflectively on his own ice cream. Though he had gotten a smaller cone, he ate with refinement, slower than Jirou's sloppy enthusiasm. Atobe considered his options.
One (his cleanly organized mind explained to himself). He could call Kabaji on his cell phone and have him carry Jirou back to school.
Two. Atobe could, with doubtlessly strenuous effort, wake Jirou up.
Three. He could leave Jirou be - it was a safe enough neighborhood. The idea was tempting. Atobe wasn't terribly cruel, not to teammates, not to Jirou - but often he wondered if it mattered at all.
Nonetheless, the French vanilla was tolerable, if barely. He had to finish eating first. Meanwhile he looked at Jirou, asleep. Atobe wondered absently where Jirou went when he was sleeping. Certainly the gently breathing, limp mass on his shoulder wasn't quite all there. Visions of Jirou's spirit temporarily leaving through the sleep-slackened mouth, traveling anywhere and invisible to the eye, went through Atobe's mind, though he discarded his vaporous thoughts soon after having them. He mulled over Jirou's thin eyebrows and thin nose and thin wrists, and unthinkingly forgot to call Kabaji.
Inertia overcame him, or he chose to allow it. After all it was pleasant, and the air was thick and resisted movement.
A glimpse of animal movement on the far bank caught his eye, making him catch his breath in surprise. It revealed itself to be a fox, unusual for showing itself during the day in the city; it peered at them from across the water. In a few minutes it ducked and was gone. Serenity sweetened the day, with the cicadas singing a curtain. He was as of yet not sufficiently cynical to be unaffected by the sight of wildness. Atobe was amused to think of it as a parallel world, a spirit world. No humans but Jirou and himself. It was something to get possessive over.
Cars drove by occasionally, barely audible over the cicadas, and the water never quit its soft noise, but Atobe listened for the huffs of breath that ghosted out of Jirou's lips. The fox did not return.
Unexpectedly there was pressure on Atobe's arm. Jirou's slim fingers grasped Atobe's forearm loosely. An indescribable sound borne of the state between sleep and wakefulness escaped Jirou's throat as he miraculously woke up. It sounded like: "Nnghkk."
Jirou blinked owlishly, wiped his eyes, and looked Atobe in the eye, in rapid order. His hair had left imprints on his cheek, red and feathery. Atobe sighed inaudibly, for there wasn't much to be done about Jirou, and he was an excellent tennis player.
"We should go back now," Atobe explained firmly. He stood and pulled a groggy Jirou up with him.
"Ohhhkay," Jirou murmured and ran a hand through his messy hair. He followed Atobe along the sidewalk. Atobe, focusing on the road, was startled when Jirou's arm slung over his shoulder, heavy and warm.
Uninvited invasion of personal space, his mind advised him. Within a few moments he settled on a faintly offended expression and opened his mouth for mild invective, but then the arm was gone. It left a slight breeze against the back of his neck in its wake.
The sun hung low in the sky and even Atobe felt somewhat sleepy from the heavy warmth and orange light.
Jirou spoke. "It was so nice today. I hope tomorrow's like this too."
Somewhat surprised, Atobe glanced at Jirou by his side. It was unusual for Jirou to talk on his own when he was tired.
"The heat was inconvenient," Atobe said, mind wandering. "Though it builds character."
"I like it. That's what ice cream is for," Jirou replied with a sleepy smile.
That was true. Thinking of it, because it had been beautiful, Atobe told Jirou about the fox that lived by the river. One didn't often see animals. Jirou didn't believe him upon the first telling, then was slowly converted into regretful longing. Just looking at him, Atobe could tell that Jirou was making elaborate plans to come and search for a glimpse, and also that Jirou would never be awake long enough to put a scheme into action.
Atobe said nothing. He only considered.