Notes: This chapter is a little odd in spots. XD I don't remember what I was thinking when I wrote it.
Archive: NO.
Reviews: Appreciated. :D Thank you to the people who have been reviewing this story. I appreciate your thoughts and feedback.
Satisfaction
Chapter 16
By Miki
"Akazawa-buchou."Akazawa turned around quickly. "Oh, Yuuta, are you feeling okay?"
He hadn't been sure if Yuuta would turn up to the afternoon practice session, so he was a bit surprised to see him here. (Yuuta still being asleep when they'd all left the dorm in the morning.)
Yuuta nodded a little sheepishly, racquet grasped at his side. "Yeah, I just… needed to sleep, that was all."
Akazawa stared at him for a moment and then gave a nod, finishing tying his shoelaces and standing up.
"Do you still need to talk to me?" Yuuta asked.
"Not anymore," Akazawa responded. He gave a quick shake of his head and patted Yuuta's shoulder as he walked past to the door of the clubroom. "But if there's anything, don't keep it to yourself, okay?"
Yuuta opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Then he frowned, quickly turning and following his captain out of the clubroom before the others arrived.
(S)
Mizuki wasn't stupid. He at least wasn't as stupid as Yanagisawa, who kept banging balls carelessly back at Yuuta, asking him questions with every one.
"I bet it's a girl, isn't it, da ne?"
Yuuta smacked the ball back forcefully, a glare on his face.
"Where'd you meet her? What does she look like, da ne?" Yanagisawa continued, completely ignoring the look on Yuuta's face.
Yuuta returned the ball with even more force.
Behind Yanagisawa, Kisarazu Atsushi and Akazawa stood watching the warm up from behind the fence. They shared a look as Yanagisawa's questions continued.
"Is she tall? I like tall girls, da ne! But I don't like them too tall or I have to wear big shoes, da ne!"
Yuuta grit his teeth, running to return the ball, trying to ignore the urge to vault the net and put his own shoe in Yanagisawa's face.
Idiot.
Mizuki watched from the bench at the side of the courts.
Yuuta did look a lot better this afternoon he had to agree; probably the result of sleeping like a log for about fourteen hours straight, skipping the morning's lessons and then sleeping through his Maths class once he got there, but he still looked as though there was something bothering him.
Yanagisawa usually didn't get to him him as much as he was today. And Yuuta usually didn't go out of his way to aim his returns at his teammate's head either.
"You don't have to look so grumpy, da ne! I'm just asking, da ne!"
Mizuki watched as Yuuta's return flew past Yanagisawa's ear, banging into the fence right in front of Akazawa's face. The fence rattled, and Akazawa and Kisarazu stepped back from it, suddenly deciding that they had better things to do than watch other people practise.
(S)
Yuuta sighed a little as he rolled over on his bed.
Sighing didn't fix things; he knew that, but he didn't know what else to do either. He hadn't touched the books Atobe had lent to him, pushing the bag under his bed so he didn't have to look at it. It wasn't that he didn't want to think about… about what had happened. It was more that he just didn't know what to think anymore.
His chest felt hot when he thought about Atobe; like that same feeling from before, except… different. It felt sharper, like his gut was twisting and his chest was tight and he couldn't breathe; like his chest was suddenly too small for his lungs… His hands felt sweaty when he wondered what it all meant, and then when he thought about that moment again… When Atobe had kissed… When Atobe kissed… him…
Yuuta sat up quickly, pushing himself up off the bed and staring across at the wall of his room.
He couldn't understand why he felt like this; this feeling in his chest. It was like he was happy and miserable and anxious and hopeful and scared absolutely shitless all at once.
It wasn't even like Atobe had kissed him on the lips… What if he'd meant nothing by it? Was that possible? Was it just because he'd been sick and Atobe had taken pity on him or something?
Yuuta sighed again and bent forward to cover his eyes with his hands. There was something comforting about the darkness; as though if he weren't seeing anyone, they weren't seeing him either… Like when he'd been little and Aniki would hug him. Yuuta had hated it; hated the darkness of his face being pressed against his brother's chest; hated that suffocating hold… But now…
He felt scared. Scared that he wished it was what he thought. Scared that he wanted something more than just… friendship out of Atobe. Scared that maybe, just maybe, he really did like Atobe. Scared that maybe he liked Atobe in that way…
Scared that…
That… maybe he wasn't normal.
He squeezed his eyes closed, almost wishing… Wishing Aniki was here.
(S)
"Is something the matter?" Sakaki asked dryly, slipping off his blazer as he looked down at Atobe.
The boy had been bothering him all afternoon.
Most of the other players hadn't noticed it, he realised. One probably wouldn't, except that he'd known Atobe long enough to recognise the impatient flick of his hair and the way his eyes darted from court to court, barely acknowledging the players he watched, hardly noticing what was going on around him.
Atobe didn't respond to his question, and Sakaki repeated it, feeling his annoyance increasing. It was one thing to have a problem – personal or otherwise, problems were all problems – but it was another to not do anything about it and bother everyone around you. Had Atobe not been sitting down on a fixed bench, Sakaki would probably have been satisfied enough to tip him off his seat and give him a warning.
As it was, the boy didn't seem to have noticed him at all; something else which grated on Sakaki's ego rather more than it should have.
He decided to return the favour and ignore Hyoutei's captain.
Let him wallow in his misery, he thought, walking over to the centre of the court to halt Jirou's practise match with Hiyoshi.
Atobe was perhaps the only player at Hyoutei who didn't have to worry about tennis for the moment so let him worry about other things, Sakaki mused. It would probably do him some good to grow up a little and stop thinking he was the centre of the world.
Then he turned his attention to Jirou and Hiyoshi. "Hiyoshi, too much topspin on the ball," he criticised. "Jirou, stop straightening your elbow so much. Keep your attention on the ball."
From the sidelines, he felt Atobe's eyes on him and cursed the fact that somewhere along the way, he too had learned to pay far too much attention to Atobe. One sometimes forgot he was just as human as everyone else.
(S)
Kabaji stared at the courts, almost wishing he could play a match. It seemed like the perfect day for tennis today; the courts dry, the sun shining and a slight breeze. But Atobe was sitting on the bench in front of him, and Atobe was always Kabaji's number one priority.
Kabaji ignored the feeling of wanting to move; wanting to exercise his muscles, and instead watched the scene in front of him, taking it in. Jirou and Hiyoshi looked like they were having fun. Well, Jirou at least, looked like he was awake, and Hiyoshi didn't look too grumpy, though he had a habit of looking grumpy almost all of the time.
Oshitari and Mukahi were playing a doubles match against Shishido and Choutarou, and Sakaki was watching them from the side of the court.
The other non-regulars were sort of scattered around, and Kabaji felt an obligation to watch them, since it was pretty clear to him that Atobe wasn't paying any attention to them.
He didn't know what Atobe was thinking about. He didn't ask that sort of thing.
Atobe had been checking his phone continuously. He'd pull it from his pocket, open his inbox, check his call list, put it back in his pocket, pull it out again, check his inbox, check his call list, put it back again.
A couple of times, Kabaji had seen him open a new message. He'd start writing, and then he'd stop again, putting the phone back in his pocket again and fiddling with his hands or his pen, as though he needed something to keep them occupied.
He'd messed up his hair too. His always impeccable hair looked somehow wrong; strands hanging over his forehead as he played with it, and odd bits sticking out at angles like he had just gotten out of bed.
Kabaji didn't have to be told to be able to guess what, or rather, who, Atobe was worrying about. If Atobe wanted to tell him, he'd tell him. If he didn't, then he wouldn't. It was enough for Kabaji that Atobe was here.
(S)
Atobe swung his racquet violently; quickly, so that he felt the muscles in his arm twitch, protesting against the repetitive motion.
He hadn't warmed up properly; hadn't wanted to. He couldn't be bothered warming up. It took too long when all he wanted to do was bang the ball into the wall.
Again and again his thoughts returned to Yuuta.
He looked up at the cloudy sky and wondered if St Rudolph had finished training already, if Yuuta was back in his room doing homework, or if he was still on the court. Maybe he was at the library or maybe he was with Mizuki…
Atobe banged the ball into the wall more ferociously, his reflexes too slow to catch the ball as it bounced off and flew past his side, running away along the paved surface behind him.
He wondered what Yuuta was thinking and instinctively fingered his phone in his pocket. The only thing that stopped him from calling was the thought that maybe, just maybe, Yuuta wouldn't want to talk to him anymore.
Atobe stared at the ground, his eyes focusing on the patterns in front of them. He put his hand to the back of his head, grasping the hair there and gripping it.
Ugh.
He was such an idiot! What on earth had he been thinking? What if Yuuta was angry about it?
Atobe hadn't even stuck around to find out. He hadn't wanted to know how Yuuta would react so he'd turned around and left him there… And what if Yuuta refused to see him now? What if he was completely grossed out and didn't want to spend time with Atobe ever again?
Atobe's head was spinning with all the possibilities… All the horrible ways Yuuta could react. And seriously, when he thought about it… He wondered what he'd expected in the first place. He must have been such an idiot to think… That Yuuta even liked him like that.
Atobe turned and walked back to pick up his tennis ball, gripping it tightly in his hand.
Yuuta… wasn't a person who liked to be pushed. Atobe knew that. Now he was wondering… What if he'd pushed him too far?
Dropping the ball and hitting it with his racquet, Atobe began the familiar rhythm again. Back and forth the ball went, faster and faster and faster until he was breathing quickly; eyes following the motion, muscles protesting it and sweatdrops forming on the backs of his knees.
He just wished he knew what Yuuta was thinking.
(S)
Yuuta didn't know what to think.
Mizuki was currently standing in front of him wearing what looked like a pair of stockings. "What do you think, Yuuta?" he asked, lips curling a little as he pushed his hip out.
"Er…" Yuuta hesitated, trying to buy time.
He knew Mizuki, and he knew that when Mizuki was asking for an opinion, he really was not asking for an opinion. He was asking you to tell him what he wanted to hear because if you told him anything else, you'd end up with fifty laps or a bruise on your body.
And Yuuta really wasn't that fond of laps.
"Well, what do you think of the colour," Mizuki snapped. "I mean, should I have bought the neutral ones or the beige? Does it make a difference?"
"I…" Yuuta rubbed his head. "I don't know," he offered, hoping he could perhaps plead ignorance and it would pass. It apparently didn't because Mizuki raised an eyebrow and then walked over to grasp his shirt.
"Do I have to put my legs in your face before you'll pay attention, Yuuta? This is an important question!"
"No! That's… that's not necessary!" Yuuta protested, moving his arms in front of him just in case Mizuki tried it.
"Then give me an answer," Mizuki demanded, stepping back and crossing his arms.
Yuuta obediently looked from Mizuki's left leg to his right leg, trying to spot the difference between the two. He rubbed at his forehead a little, squinting. They looked the same.
They looked like… suspiciously un-hairy teenage boy legs covered in girl's stockings.
Personally, Yuuta thought both legs were just as bad as each other, but he was sure they weren't the same to Mizuki.
"The left one," he said finally, wondering if that was the right answer.
"What about the left one?" Mizuki questioned, his hands now on his hips as he looked down at his stocking-covered legs.
Yuuta swallowed. ."Um… It makes your leg look… nice?"
Mizuki was silent for a moment. He turned around and walked so he was standing in front of Yuuta's full-length mirror and then walked back again. "You're right," he finally declared, twirling some hair around his finger and looking thoughtful. "I'm rather partial to the neutral myself, but in a certain light, I think the beige is a little more flattering."
Yuuta breathed out a sigh of relief.
When Mizuki had stormed into his room, declaring an emergency and demanding Yuuta give him his full attention because this was a life or death matter, Yuuta probably shouldn't have taken him seriously.
"Mizuki-san…"
"What?" Mizuki responded, turning around from looking at his reflection in the mirror again.
"Why are you actually wearing stockings?"
Mizuki gave Yuuta a surprised look, pursing his lips when he realised Yuuta was asking him a serious question. "Should I not?" he demanded in return, turning his head back around again.
Yes, Yuuta was right. His left leg seemed somehow… slimmer… than his right.
He was glad for Yuuta's opinion on the subject. As a general rule, Mizuki Hajime had always found it hard to endure the company of other boys of his age. Yuuta was just the exception to the rule.
Somehow, he always knew when to say exactly what Mizuki wanted to hear.
(S)
It was already Thursday morning by the time anyone had the guts (or stupidity in Mukahi's case) to bring up the topic of Yuu-chan.
Atobe had been waiting for it all week. Unfortunately for Mukahi, that meant Atobe had also been thinking up appropriate punishments all week, and had rather a large repertoire of ideas to choose from.
"Mukahi," he smirked, eyes narrowing a little. "You remember those applications for Ore-sama's fan club, don't you?"
"You mean… that pile in Sakaki's office?" Mukahi ventured, looking a little wary. "From those idiot fangirls? The ones outside right now?"
"The ones who chased you into the bathrooms," Oshitari murmured, looking amused.
Atobe gave him an irritated stare and continued on. "Well, the pile's grown since you last saw it, but yes, that's the one," he corrected, ignoring the urge to twitch. Clearly there was nothing idiotic about his fans. Obviously they didn't compare to his own genius, but it did take some intelligence to recognise Ore-sama's talents for what they truly were.
"At any rate, it doesn't matter whether you think they're idiots or not because you're going to file every one of those applications today, so you can look forward to knowing all those idiot fangirls exceptionally well."
The way Mukahi scowled gave Atobe a sense of satisfaction; a small sliver of enjoyment in an otherwise exceptionally average day. Then he flicked his hair, turned on his heel, called Kabaji and made his escape. One could only take so much of Mukahi Gakuto on any given day.
(S)
"Yuuta?"
"Huh?" Yuuta spun around.
"It's not 'huh'," Mizuki corrected, annoyed, "it's Mizuki."
"Y-yes… Mizuki-san," Yuuta sighed, tapping his racquet against his shoulder.
Mizuki thought he was looking tired again, but Yuuta had said he'd been sleeping, and the number of times Yuuta had been late to breakfast this week seemed to suggest he'd been sleeping rather too well, so Mizuki didn't think that was the problem. It annoyed him to think though, that perhaps the problem was a certain Hyoutei player whose limo had been noticeably absent this week…
Still, Mizuki liked to draw lines, and at the point that Yuuta was pouring apple juice into his soup and dropping food in his glass, Mizuki was rather inclined to think he'd already crossed it. He yelled to Yuuta to hurry up and take his position on the court, and stepped back to the baseline to serve.
The first ball he hit was a perfect ace.
Mizuki opened his mouth to tell Yuuta off, but the sheepish look on Yuuta's face told him he didn't have to say anything.
The second ball bounced directly in front of Yuuta and flew through his legs before he'd moved his racquet.
Mizuki twitched at that and irritably pulled another ball from his pocket, bouncing it quickly against the court surface. "Yuuta," he snapped, "are you or are you not on a tennis court? Hurry up and get your head out of the clouds already!"
"Yes, Mizuki-san…" Yuuta mumbled, rubbing at his head, cheeks pink.
Mizuki made a noise of displeasure and watched Yuuta for a moment, about to turn back when Yanagisawa's voice cut through his thoughts.
A thump, a bump, a thud and an "ack, da ne!" later, Mizuki realised Yuuta had hit a ball.
With his head.
Or was it, that the ball had hit him?
Once again, Yanagisawa's frantic yells were too much for him and he covered an ear, walking quickly around the net.
"I think I've killed him, da ne!" Yanagisawa was wailing, leaning over Yuuta's body.
Mizuki noted with irritation that everyone else had stopped practising and that there was a crowd forming from a distance – close enough to gawk but far away enough that if Yuuta woke up, he wouldn't be able to reach them.
"Oh for goodness sakes," Mizuki snapped, "You didn't kill him, idiot! He looks the same as he's looked all week."
He gave a kick to Yuuta's arm, frowning down at him. Honestly, how annoying did Yuuta want to be?
Yanagisawa scooped up Yuuta rather dramatically, glaring up at Mizuki. "You have no respect for the dead, Mizuki-san! How can you be so cruel, da ne!"
"He's not dead," Mizuki pointed out, waving his racquet at the two of them.
Idiots. He was surrounded by idiots.
Yanagisawa looked at Yuuta and found himself staring at a pair of angry eyes.
His cheek was throbbing, his head was throbbing, his arse was throbbing, his back was throbbing, and Yanagisawa was hugging him.
"You're not dead, da ne!" Yanagisawa declared happily, stating the obvious.
People didn't die just because weaklings with shitty serves and even shittier aim hit them in the head, Yuuta thought.
"But you are," he replied, grasping his teammate's shirt and pulling.
Yanagisawa reflected afterwards that maybe he should have followed Mizuki's example and left Yuuta on the ground. He also hoped that Yuuta would hurry up and fix things up with that girl because he was getting weirder by the day, and really, what was Yuuta's problem, da ne?
.tbc.