Theme : Location
Title: Inner sanctum
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Wakato/Kajimoto
Summary: Even the Pretender needs some time away from himself.
When the laughter and the cheers died down; when the sun cast its last vermillion rays over the skyscrapers; when the curtain fell down for the last time, he though he found solace, away from the prying eyes who constantly threatened to rip him to shreds.
His teammates didn't know. He thought some of them suspected. A precious breath of air before diving back in the crowd like a rock star, an idol.
He relished the attention, the petting, the small gestures : that much he couldn't deny. But the girls were in love with an image, an ideal of perfection he strove to maintain.
He had always preferred fairytales to the cold, harsh and ugly truth anyway.
The turning point came when he realized being himself wasn't good enough. He decided he would become somebody else, and over the years he perfected the façade, adding more and more facets until all that could be remembered of him was the faces he borrowed, the moves he mimicked.
Wakato Hiroshi was caught at his own game.
For even now, he found himself carving and adding yet another name to his repertoire : he fancied he saw the chips of /self/ detaching from his personality to crumble into nothingness. He shook his head. Time to get back to practice.
Another round of coins in the machine, another set of parameters, speed and frequency to match the face of the day. Another couple of scrapes on the elbows : Boris Becker's diving acrobatic volleys were by no means easy to replicate.
Wakato was glad, then. Glad for the small tennis court he had had found by accident one day. It was a little bit too small, a little bit too dark and always empty, but to him it was perfect. The old manager rarely spoke, and he found it refreshing.
Thud.
He should have been paying attention more. He narrowed his eyes –the ball machine was slightly erratic at times, which might explain the reason no one ever came to practice here.
Thud.
He took a deep breath. Today's practice was not going well. He dimly felt it, an intrusion in his sanctum.. Nonsense. He wasn't about to lose it and start blaming his problems on vague sensations of uneasiness. He gripped his racquet tighter, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Thud.
"You should adjust your swing if you want your volley to be more efficient."
Wakato froze, still in the process of getting up from his last fall. He was starting to hug the ground too much for his liking. He distantly noticed the grit underneath his fingernails, and the darker spots on the ground where beads of sweat fell.
Footsteps approaching, resolving into the familiar shape of Kajimoto. He extended a hand, concern marring his features as he took in the state of the other player.
Words refused to come. Wakato felt something more acute than the pain of his numerous scratches. In a moment, his fortress of solitude came crumbling down around them : it became no more than an old battered tennis court in which he was struggling to come to terms with the fact his buchou had seen him at his most vulnerable.
He attempted a grin, accepting the proferred hand and feeling like he was chewing on broken glass. /self/ seemed like a place he would rather not inhabit right now. Unfortunately, the Pretender's talents did not go so far as to incorporate social graces outside the tennis court.
But Kajimoto just smiled. "Let's practice some more, okay?"
Wakato nodded. Maybe he could share his sanctum today.