Chapter Eleven: Tick Tick Boom
Disclaimer: I do not own Eyeshield 21
Song Playing: Mission Temple Fireworks Stand
Theme 90: Bomb
Hiruma was like a bomb.
Tick.
She came to that conclusion one day during practice. She still wasn't sure what inspired this conclusion but the more she though about it the more it fit.
Tick.
She supposed that if she told people about her little thought they would disagree. They'd say he's too loud and out there to be compared to something as simple and common as a bomb. He's more like a sting of firecrackers going off one after another. Or a machine gun perched on top a grassy hill, ready to snuff out anything that moved. But they didn't fit. Firecrackers were too childish and short lived to describe him. The machine gun was way too cowardly.
Tick.
No. A bomb was a perfect description.
Tick.
It was a classic. Yet could be made out of so many things, adapted depending on the tools around. It could be an ingenious form of mechanics or as simple as something you cook up at home. But what sealed the deal was the anticipation.
Tick.
There was always that subtle and sometimes not so subtle feeling that something big was about to happen. That he was on a short fuse and he could lose it at any minute. Not in the normal rain of bullets way either. Oh, no something much bigger than that. When he exploded it was going to be huge. In a good or bad way she still wasn't sure but she felt it was coming. She had seen it some out in small isolated incidences.
Tick.
Each one went either way but both reminded her of how lucky they were to have the quarterback on their side and not on the opposing teams.
Tick.
Then it happened. The flame reached the end of its fuse.
Tick.
The only warning she got was a gruff use of her nickname, fucking manager, before she found herself completely engulfed by him. His arms wrapping around her form, pressing her to him in a tight embrace. One hand threading its fingers way through her short stands of hair. His lips crashing onto her own.
Boom.
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