Title:Kirihara Akaya
Author:Stormy1x2
Prompts: 51 - 60
Rating: PG13 for language and alcohol
Word Count: Tallied after each fic.
Notes: Same as before. We've gone into AU land, and all those not happy with that decision can turn back now. Parts 51 to 56 were actually finished and posted on LJ two weeks ago, but it took time to get the last 4 done.
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051. Water
Breathing hard, Akaya stared at the hole he'd just punched through the wall with a tennis ball. Cracked glazing snaked outwards from the impacted center like scattered spider webs; shards fell like a sparkling waterfall on the blacktop beneath.
That last deadly hit had broken through the vision he'd had of the demon wearing his face, but he could still feel his muscles trembling from the strain of keeping it together. Part of him wanted to run, far and fast, like he'd tried to do inside his head, but the practical part of him also knew that you couldn't outrun the nightmares inside your brain. All you could do was try not to let them win.
The monster's voice was loud, cackling malevolently in his ear, but he ignored it, reaching over to pick up another ball. He would exorcise his demons one way or another – through sheer physical exertion if he had to. He would prove to the world that he was not who he used to be, and the demons could just kiss his a--
"Kirihara-san?"
Akaya looked up and saw golden eyes coolly watching him from beneath the brim of a familiar cap. He tilted his head, intrigued. "What do you want?"
An equally familiar smirk. "Play me."
Akaya breathed slowly as the demons shrieked for blood. Pushing them back, he returned the smirk with a nod.
Word Count: 231 / 15613
052. Fire
Ryoma watched Kirihara play against the wall. He was doing a standard drill, on he'd done himself a million times, but the Rikkai ace was putting a lot more effort into it. He slammed the ball harder and harder, his moves becoming quicker and more erratic. Ryoma's own eyes narrowed as he took in the near-frantic pace.
Kirihara interested Ryoma. He'd seen first hand how the Rikkai player tried to hurt his opponents in the match with Fuji, but his protective actions towards An didn't make sense. If Kirihara was truly an evil person like everyone claimed, then he would have turned An in. He could have been seriously hurt, but instead of taking revenge and having her sent home, he took the blame for the fall himself. Those were not the actions he would expect from the boy who maimed Tachibana, and who tried to break Fuji.
Suddenly, with a massive surge of energy, Kirihara hit the wall so hard that the tennis ball shattered the glazed surface with a crunch he could hear from across the court. The ball hung there for a minute, gravity seemingly suspended in a moment of shocked disbelief, before falling to the ground and rolling slowly to a stop.
Kirihara stood unmoving, breathing hard. Ryoma watched silently, seeing the myriad of expressions play over the boy's face, running the emotional gamut from fear, to anger and frustration. No. This wasn't the same boy at all.
Ryoma always did like interesting opponents. Kirihara, for whatever reason, didn't seem as scary as he used to be. There was a fire in his eyes now, a determination that hadn't been there before, a silent cry for acknowledgment on the battlefield that was the tennis court.
He would see for himself what this Kirihara was like. With a smirk of his own, Ryoma stepped forward to answer the challenge.
Word Count: 313 / 15926
053. Earth
It would be so easy to give in.
The ground fades away, his eyes narrow in on a familiar target and his hand twitches ever so slightly. One shot. That's all it would take. It would secure his win, ensure his dominance over his opponent.
But it wouldn't stop there, if he did that. If he didn't change here, now, he never would. Akaya snarled deep in his throat, rearing back, readying himself. He could hear screams and cries from the sides of the courts, shouts for him to stop, but it's too late when he's already in the air.
They have no idea.
Kirihara smashed his racquet, sending the ball hurtling down, down, past Ryoma, just inside the white line, and then comes back down to earth. The cries and hollers have been cut off; choked to death by what they see in front of them, even if they can't believe it.
"I thought you were going to hit my knee," Ryoma says, and the brat is stillsmirking at him. But past the cocky upper lip, Akaya can see genuine hints of a real smile, and he almost doesn't remember to wipe his own away.
"I don't need tricks like that to beat you," he sneers instead, and walks back to the baseline. He's calm, he tells himself; poised, ready to continue.
But as he gets ready to serve, his eyes catch sight of a familiar dark gaze on the sidelines, watching him from beneath the brim of a white cap. He freezes at the faint smile on Sanada's face. Stunned. Then Sanada leaves, and feeling rushes back into him, filling and energizing. Across the court, Ryoma is still grinning, and Akaya realizes he doesn't care about pretenses anymore.
The smile reaches full power as he throws the ball into the air, and serves.
Word Count: 305 / 16231
054. Air
An watched in disbelief as the tennis ball rolled to a stop at the far end of the court. He'd missed. Kirihara had missed. He'd had the perfect opportunity to attack Ryoma's leg, just as he had to her brother, and to Seigaku's Fuji Syuuske, but he didn't take it.
He really has changed, she realized. He'd changed, and she had not. She had still been angry, still harboring a need for revenge, and with that thought, she blushed a light red. Red for shame, shame for her own actions. By losing her temper and holding a grudge – something Kippei was always warning her about – she'd nearly severely injured one player, and could have caused the dismissal of another.
"I need to apologize properly to him," murmured Kamio, and An snapped her head to the side, looking at her friend in surprise. The redhead was watching the Rikkai ace and had a grin on his face, an eager look that An easily recognized.
He wants to play Kirihara. And not for revenge, she noted. Not anymore. She blew her breath out in a small huff, and moved closer.
An raised her hand, letting her fingers tighten around the thin metal wires, and made a mental note to make a formal apology of her own.
Word Count: 213 / 16445
055. Spirit
Kirihara lunged for the ball and made the return. It was a good one, enough to make Echizen curse and sprint to the opposite end of the court to get to it. Once Ryoma was in a rhythm, there weren't many people who could continue to surprise him. Akaya was absurdly proud of himself.
He knew that he was still grinning, and he made no effort to make it go away. For the first time in a very long time, he was having fun. No one was watching for errors. No one was shouting at him to hurry up, or to fix a step. There were no more shouts of dismayed horror coming from the sidelines, no coach or captains sitting with folded arms and narrowed eyes.
There was no pressure, and to be honest, Akaya couldn't remember the last time he'd played just for fun. He felt lighter somehow, like he could really leave the planet behind as he flew for a cross corner slice. Ryoma shot the ball back to him hard, and he had to tighten his grip to keep the racquet from flying out of his hand. A quick pivot, a sweeping backhand, and the rally continued.
A laugh – Kirihara didnot giggle – escaped him as he set himself up for Ryoma's return, and though he knew his moment of peace wouldn't last forever, he kinda hoped it wouldn't end anytime soon.
Word Count: 236 / 16681
056. Breakfast
Kamio trudged into the dining hall, yawning widely. No matter how many years he spent getting up early for practices, he would never be a morning person. He wouldn't even be up this early – six o'clock was really pushing it when Senbatsu practices didn't technically begin until eight o'clock - but Kajimoto's alarm had gone off at five, with the Jyousei Shounan captain heading outside for his own personal training not long after. And once Kamio was up, well, he was up for the day.
Clapping his hand over another jaw-breaking yawn, he halted just inside the doorway. He wasn't the only one awake at that ungodly hour. Kirihara Akaya was seated at one of the tables, flipping through a book. A half-finished glass of apple juice sat just out of elbowing range. For a minute, Kamio debated whether or not to go in, or go back out.
Well, I did want to apologize, Kamio told himself sternly. Now seems like the perfect time. With that thought in mind, he cautiously walked over to the other boy.
"Kirihara-san?"
The Rikkai player's head snapped up defensively. A wary look came over his face. "Kamio? What do you want?"
The lack of any sort of honorific would have been an insult coming from most people, but Kirihara's baffled and suspicious expression made Kamio grin. "I was just wondering how it's possible there are two of us stupid enough to be awake at this hour."
Kirihara snorted. "Don't you have morning practices at Fudomine?"
Kamio slid into a seat across from him. "Yes, but when I actually have the option of sleeping in, I usually try to take advantage of it. Don't you?"
"Sengoku talks in his sleep," Kirihara said. He looked exasperated. "He asks girls out on dates and gets turned down and then blubbers about it. How the hell do you get dates when you're awake, but get turned down in your dreams?"
Kamio snickered. "I'm not sure."
"What's your excuse?"
"Kajimoto-kun. He apparently has a schedule he sticks to religiously, which involves a very loud alarm going off promptly at 5am every morning."
"And people say I'm sadistic?" Kirihara rolled his eyes. Then he closed his book, folded his arms on top of it, and cocked his head to the side, staring at Kamio with determination. "What?"
Kamio blinked. "What?"
"What do you want?" Akaya clarified. "You and I aren't exactly best friends. In fact, I seem to recall you threatening to kill me after I put your captain in the hospital. I realize we seem to have formed a sort of temporary peace for this camp – and because I didn't turn your little girlfriend in for making me fall down the stairs – but since when have you been up for small talk that didn't involve finding non-existent tennis camp criminals?"
Kamio scowled at him. "First of all, An is not my girlfriend. She's a friend that's a girl, but that's it. And second, I wanted to apologize to you."
The baffled look was back on Kirihara's face. Kamio held back a snicker. "Say what?"
"I wanted to apologize," Kamio repeated. "We – An and me, I mean – were pretty sure you were gonna target someone at this camp. We haven't exactly been thinking or saying nice things about it either. But you really have changed." Kamio relaxed back in his seat. "That match with Ryoma was proof. You've changed, and we haven't."
"One match doesn't mean a hell of a lot."
"When you're the one playing? Yes, it does." Kamio looked at him seriously. "You play to win, every time. You did this time too – but you did it without resorting to your old tactics." He shrugged. "So, I apologize for badmouthing you. I shouldn't have done it."
"Who are you, and what have you done with the real Kamio?" Kirihara demanded, still looking shell-shocked.
Kamio grinned and let the comment slide. "Also, I wanna play you."
"What?"
This was actually getting to be kind of fun. It wasn't often Kamio was on the delivering end of surprises – usually he was the one being targeted for shocks. Particularly with best friends like Ishida and Sakurai. "I said, I want to play a game with you. I want to play the real Kirihara."
Kirihara looked at him without saying anything for a long minute. Then he smirked and tilted his head to the other side. "What makes you think you're up to it?"
"I'm pretty sure I could give you a decent challenge," Kamio returned easily. "I'm one of the fastest people you'll ever go against."
"Too bad," Kirihara said with a wink as he stood up. "Sometimes slowing things down can be a lot more fun. But sure, anytime you're up for it." With that he winked, and sauntered out of the cafeteria.
Kamio blinked, flushing bright red, and was suddenly very grateful that no one was there to see it. It seemed in some arenas, Kirihara still wasn't opposed to playing dirty.
Word Count: 840 / 17521
057. Lunch
Kirihara was still surprised that Kamio had sought him out to apologize to him. Not only that, but to challenge him to what appeared to be a friendly match. Not many people had ever challenged Kirihara for anything other than revenge on behalf of someone Akaya had brutalized. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.
So when An plopped herself down next to him at lunch, he skittered to the edge of his seat, watching her with same wariness a field mouse watches a hawk. "What do you want?"
"To properly apologize to you," she said with a cheerful grin, and Kirihara groaned.
"First Kamio and now you? Have you been replaced with pod people? Are they brainwashing us one by one here or something?"
"You must watch too many bad science-fiction movies," she told him, propping her head up with one hand. "They rot your brain and make you paranoid, you know."
"So, you Fudomine people must watch them a lot," he shot back.
An smacked his arm lightly. "Would you shut up and accept my apology already?" Her eyes turned serious. "I mean it. You could have been badly hurt because I was being a brat." An lowered her gaze to the table. "I didn't mean for that to happen, you know."
"I kinda figured that," Kirihara muttered roughly. She'd reached out to hit him, sure, but he'd been the one to step backwards instead of taking it like a man. If he'd been paying more attention to where the stairs were, nothing would have happened at all. "Anyway, whatever."
"So you accept it?"
"Yes, fine already." Kirihara's ears were burning. "'Sides, it's not like it hurt or anything."
She rolled her eyes at him. "I heard you were afraid of the first aid kit."
"That's because that Seigaku brat was using acid to try and fix me up," he said scowling. "Shut up."
"Good." An smiled one last time at him, and stood up. "I have to go help serve the next group coming in. Bye, Kirihara-kun!"
Just as she was about to walk away, Kirihara swallowed hard, and reached out, lightly grabbing her wrist. "Why?"
"Why what?" She asked, looking down at where he gripped her arm, and then back at him.
"Why are you bein' so nice? Your brother isn't here because of me, remember?" Akaya stared at her, not completely believing that she was as pure in her intentions as she seemed.
An narrowed her eyes at him. "Trust me, that's not something I'm likely to forget," she said coolly. "But my brother is always telling me I need to learn to let things go." She snorted in a decidedly unladylike manner. "You know, he hasn't said one bad thing about you since it happened? The worst I think he said was to tell Fuji to be careful when he played you." An's cheeks flushed a faint red. "I think I need to start listening to my big brother more often. He's a lot more mature than me."
Kirihara let go of her wrist and watched her walk away. He hadn't been expecting an answer like that.
Sengoku suddenly appeared next to him. "Come on, Kirihara-kun!" he caroled. "Time to go! You can watch your little girlfriend later."
Akaya glared at him. "She's not my girlfriend," he snarled. "We were just talking!"
"Ah, but that's how these things start," Sengoku said, waggling his finger. He gave a huge mock-sigh, clasping his hands next to his cheek. "Young love is such a beautiful thing to behold!"
"You...I...GRRRR!" Kirihara leaped up from the table and chased the laughing Yamabuki player out of the cafeteria, grateful for the distraction. Two apologies in one day made him nervous, and smacking Sengoku's over-sized head off a wall or two sounded like a good way to work off tension.
Word Count:639 / 24160
058. Dinner
The dinner on the final day before the end of camp was a quiet affair. Everyone was on edge, knowing that the trials were over, and that in the morning, seven people would be chosen to make up the team.
Kirihara glanced around curiously. Most of his teammates had pensive, worried looks on their faces. The exceptions were Sengoku – did that guy ever worry? - and Seigaku's number one annoyance, Ryoma, whose expression never seemed to change anyway. Cocky brat.
Well, he was proud to say – if anyone cared to ask– that he wasn't the least bit nervous. He was going to get the Singles One position, no matter what. He could feel it. He'd worked hard for it, and it was going to be his. He smiled down at his dinner and picked up his fork, tucking in heartily.
"That's the spirit!" Sengoku grinned at him. "No sense worrying about who got picked until tomorrow – it's not a good enough reason to miss out on the important things in life!"
"Like stuffing your face?" Akaya snarked.
"Exactly!" Sengoku pointed his knife down the table where Momoshiro was digging into a bowl of rice that was bigger than his head. "Take him for example."
"I'd rather not," Kirihara said, rolling his eyes at the mess the second year was making.
Sengoku ignored him. "He's not letting anything get him down, right, Momoshiro-kun?"
Deep inside his rice bowl, Momoshiro apparently couldn't hear. Ryoma could, however, and the youngster leaned forward. "Actually, he eats more when he's nervous."
Sengoku pouted, his theory shot down. "He does?"
"Mmhmm."
"Loser," Akaya muttered. He finished his own food and pushed the bowl away, feeling nice and full. Standing up and stretching, he sketched a quick wave to Sengoku and left the dining hall, pausing long enough to hand over his tray to the first year with the bowl cut, who was apparently in charge of that night's cleanup.
Stepping outside the mess hall, Akaya took a deep breath and stretched again, reaching his hands out towards the stars overhead. The contentment he'd been feeling grew stronger, the confidence he had in his abilities swelling through him.
There was no way he wasn't getting the Singles One spot. No. Way.
Whistling cheerfully, he headed back to the dorms.
Word Count: 382 / 24542
059. Food
As it was with dinner, so to was it within the ranks assembled in the parking lot. Everyone stared ahead at Sakaki-Sensei like if they tried hard enough, they could actually read through the back of the paper he held. Kirihara bit back a laugh at the pathetic puppy dogs all begging for a scrap to be thrown their way.
Not him, though. Kirihara kept his smirk small and unobtrusive, but he couldn't get rid of it completely. Atobe and Sanada were givens. Fuji, well... Akaya shuddered. Much as he hated to admit it, the Seigaku Tensai was probably going to make it too. Rokaku was out though – their players were jokes. Same for Fudomine. The Echizen brat was probably on the list though, and maybe that cue ball-headed guy from Jyousei-Shonan. There was probably at least another Hyoutei player, and he was even willing to bet Sengoku had made the team too – the redhead was not only a returning player from last year, but he had shown off a huge improvement in front of the coaches during their practice matches.
Sakaki-opened the paper and cleared his throat, before raising a bored glance over the nervous players.
"Sanada Genichirou !"
"Atobe Keigo!"
"Oshitari Yuushi!"
"Sengoku Kiyosumi!"
"Kikumaru Eiji!"
"Fuji Syuuske!"
Kirihara closed his eyes, feeling the smile grow on his face as he waited, just knowing...
"Kirihara Akaya!"
Anyone watching him would have thought he didn't give a damn about making the team, as he stood there, head bowed slightly, eyes closed and a smirk on his lips. But his fist tightened by his side, and felt the excitement course through him as he eagerly looked forward to the next step in his tennis career.
Word Count: 288 / 24830
060. Drink
Kirihara stood outside his door, tennis bag in hand. The camp had been a nice break from reality, but all good things must eventually come to an end. Akaya straightened up, strode forward, knocked once, and entered his home.
Inside, he blinked. The scent of alcohol was overpowering. Dropping his bag, he followed his nose into the living room. His father was slumped over in his recliner, glaring balefully at the TV. A bottle of Reeb dangled loosely from his fingers, and the room itself was littered with numerous dead soldiers – proof of a very definite binge.
Akaya swallowed hard. This was very dangerous territory. "Dad?"
His father's head slowly tilted to the side until he was more or less looking in his direction. "...'Kaya?"
"Yeah. Um... I'm back." Akaya didn't move from the safety of the living room door. If his dad decided to chuck the bottle at him, he could duck behind the wooden frame. "I didn't think you'd be home."
"Not gonna be," his dad garbled. "Leavin' tomorrow fer 'conf'rence."
Akaya shrugged internally. This was nothing new. Though his dad had a mean temper, an even meaner right hook, and now apparently issues with drinking, he was also a high-level executive with a brilliant marketing mind, which had put him in demand with top companies years ago. He'd begun his own consulting business soon after graduating university, and clients were constantly flying him places to handle problems they couldn't. He didn't like his dad a whole lot, but he could respect him for that alone.
"Where's mom?" he asked. It was weird that she wasn't there, complaining about the mess.
His father laughed harshly, making Akaya wince. "Gone, boy. Good for nothing, lazy fucking woman, don't need her anyway..." his voice trailed off into mutters, his eyes rolling back to watch the TV screen.
Akaya blinked. "What?"
His father snorted, obviously on the verge of passing out.
"Dad, what do you mean Mom's gone? Gone where?"
It was no use. His dad was unconscious – hell, Akaya was probably lucky he'd seen him awake at all, if the empty bottles scattered about were an indication of how much he'd had recently. Akaya stepped forward cautiously, and saw a piece of paper on his dad's stomach. It was on the pale green stationary she sparingly used for thank you letters to the neighbours. It had been a gift from Akaya four years ago on Mother's Day. It had been the first present Akaya had saved up for and bought with his own money.
Leaning over his dad, he reached down and carefully picked it up, backing up to get out of range in case his dad woke up swinging. Opening it, he read it carefully:
Goodbye.
It was signed in his mother's handwriting. Akaya felt like something cold and hard had punched him in the stomach. The paper fell from his hand, fluttering lightly to the ground, and he followed it, sinking to the floor as abruptly as a puppet with its strings cut.
His mother was gone.
Suddenly, winning the Singles One spot didn't seem as exciting anymore.
Word Count: 515 / 25345
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End