Waiting for the weekend is harder than it's ever been.

Sanada begs his brother, pleads with him, and finally bribes him to leave the apartment. His brother accepts the rest of his savings, along with a promise to work all his week's shifts at the 7-11, and gives him a slap upside the head with a grin that pretends to be affectionate. He would have left anyway, he teases, since Genichirou is obviously finally going to stop being a cherry boy.

Sanada doesn't protest, because he's too embarrassed. Hiroto laughs, and doesn't give his money back, but he leaves. Sanada spends two days cleaning the apartment, washing every surface, every fabric, everything that can be washed with strongly-scented soap. Some of the linens aren't quite dry when he takes them down to avoid a quick typhoon, locking the sliding metal shutters down to wall out the worst of the moisture.

The power goes out, but that isn't uncommon. He knows where the breaker is, but doesn't bother turning it on until morning. Out of rebellion, he sets his futon on top of Hiroto's, and has a decent night's sleep for once.

There are only five trains coming into town on any given day. Sanada rides his bicycle to the train station at 4:57am on Saturday. If he has to check all five, it'll still be time well-spent.

Yukimura can spin a few very good lies on any given day.

Leaving the house obscenely early on the weekends isn't terribly unusual for him, though his parents are a bit more worrisome to deal with when it comes to long practice hours nowadays. He supposes he can't blame them, though it's annoying when he can't sneak out at midnight to catch the absolute earliest train. Most people don't practice tennis at midnight (or so he's been told).

The next train leaves at around five, which is good enough for him, and he's very sure that Jackal and Marui are grateful that they don't have to come along this time. Yukimura dozes on the train for about an hour before he's up, compiling lists of the upperclassmen that are still vying to be regulars over his own handpicked team, and it's sort of nice, to have so many talented possibilities to choose from.

Now if only he had a vice captain.

He finally hops off the train in the little station, tilting his head to the side to stretch out his neck. Sanada stands out as always-not just because of his height, but because it's Sanada, and those hours of irritating travel are so, so worth it.

Sanada doesn't leave his bicycle on a heap on the ground, but only because he tries hard. He doesn't run, but it's close, and it's a long-legged stride over to Yukimura. He doesn't bother thinking about the people around him, doesn't care, because Yukimura is in his arms, closer than he's ever been.

He doesn't say I missed you or I knew you'd come, because Yukimura knows those things. He pulls away after a long minute, ignoring the impulse to say It Isn't Enough, and slings Yukimura's tennis bag over his shoulder, getting on the bicycle seat. "Mind riding on the handlebars? We can go to my place this time."

"Ooh, so you got permission," Yukimura teases, and in one easy motion, settles himself into place, neatly balanced. "Try not to jostle my bag too much. I tried to pack it all in carefully, but Marui cooked a bunch of things for you and I don't want them to get messed up."

The idea of Marui's cooking after so long on vegetable stew and school food makes Sanada's mouth water. He's as careful as possible with the bag, launching them easily into motion with a single pump of his calves.

It's not too far by bicycle, and they're at the apartment in ten minutes, no matter how often Sanada wants to stop to nuzzle his face into the smooth belly right in front of it. The landlord had let him borrow a power hose as long as he promised to wash the whole building, so it looks better than usual outside. Still, there's no hiding the fact that it's a 16-apartment complex made out of gray concrete on a side-alley full of potholes, overlooking nothing but rice farms with millions of croaking frogs.

"It's nothing like you're used to," he says quietly, not meeting Yukimura's eyes eyes when he opens the door (unlocked, because Hiroto still won't give him a key). "But it's clean, I promise."

Yukimura gives him a look, takes about two steps inside (which is enough to shut the door, at least), and firmly grabs Sanada by the front of his shirt to shove him back into the wall.

"If you really think I care about where I get to see you," Yukimura breathes, wrapping his arms around Sanada's neck to yank him down, "then you are sorely mistaken." Kissing Sanada hard seems the logical follow-up, and if nothing else, it's a very much needed return favor for the last time in that shed.

All of Sanada's worries about the state of his apartment, his shame about the meager state of his housing, his nervousness about seeing Yukimura again all disappear in an instant. His breath leaves in a startled huff when his back collides with the wall, and the huff turns into a groan the next instant.

It hurts, to go from soft to hard so fast, and Sanada doesn't care. All he can do is rut up against Yukimura, helplessly trying to kiss him back, wondering vaguely if he should enjoy being shoved up against a wall so much.

Yukimura idly wonders if this is what distance does. In some ways, maybe the distance is a good thing, because it's only been now and the one previous time that he was here that he has been able to really see Sanada like this.

Either way, it's good, and Yukimura is mindlessly lurching up to kiss Sanada back harder, his teeth catching against his lower lip as one hand claws and paws at the front of Sanada's pants. "Let me," he breathlessly insists, his own eyes fluttering at how hard Sanada is underneath his hand, and there's no helping the groan that is just barely swallowed by their kisses.

Sanada nods-hell yes he'll let Yukimura do whatever he wants, when last time felt like that, and Yukimura's hand feels like that. "Yeah," he breathes, and his hands go tight around Yukimura's waist, feeling the lean strength of him, grateful for it, for the vibrancy and life and muscle of him.

He feels good, like his old self only taller, stronger, and best of all, here. His mouth tastes like familiar flavors, and Sanada can't drink in enough of the heady stuff.

Yukimura is fairly certain he wouldn't be able to stop even if Sanada had told him to. A request like that would have been a lie, anyway-a really big one, what with how Sanada throbs even harder in his grasp the moment he can actually get his hand down Sanada's pants to really touch him, and Yukimura shudders, biting his own lip as he squeezes slowly.

"You feel even better than last time," Yukimura groans, shoving his face into Sanada's neck to bite down, needing to mark him up again even though he can still see the marks from last time, not quite faded. His own hips twitch forward and he grinds himself against Sanada's hip. "When you come home, we're doing this all the time-"

Sanada thinks he nods. But really, it's hard to think anything when Yukimura is actually touching him, touching him like that, with his hand curled and stroking and pulling Sanada's brain out through his cock.

He lets his hands brace against the wall, holding him upright as Yukimura moves his hand, trying not to just pass out. He lets out a strangled noise at the press of Yukimura against him, and barely has the presence of mind to try and fumble shakily at the front of the other boy's pants, not very accurately.

"It's fine," is Yukimura's breathless, ragged insistence, and rather than help Sanada with that, he just grabs one of the other boy's hands, dragging it to his own mouth instead. He presses a wet kiss to his palm, then licks a messy stripe up one finger, a ragged shiver twitching up his spine as his own fingers squeeze tighter around Sanada's cock. He's not the most coordinated when it comes to getting Sanada off and doing other things, but that's fine, because Sanada doesn't seem to mind at all.

A finger slides past his lips with a slick pop, and Yukimura gently nips before dragging his tongue along the length of it with a low, rumbling groan.

Sanada lets out a noise somewhere between a croak and a whimper, and comes. Yukimura's tongue against his finger is unspeakably lewd, enough to make his mind stop functioning entirely, but his cock seems to have no similar issues. At least it isn't inside his school uniform this time, but against Yukimura's clothes, hot white stripes leaving them both a sticky, ridiculous mess.

He sinks back against the wall, staring hazily at Yukimura's face as he sucks, and his knees almost buckle. "T-take that off," he urges, a little dazed. "I'll wash it."

"In a minute," Yukimura dismissively huffs as he releases Sanada's hand, shoving it down between his legs in short order to grind against it with a breathy sigh. "Touch me first, I want to know what your hands really feel like, Genichirou-"

That sounds a lot better than doing laundry.

Sanada sinks slowly down to his knees, deciding to pretend that was intentional rather than admit his knees are buckling. He takes a deep breath, and with steadier hands, opens Yukimura's trousers, sliding one long-fingered hand inside to pull out his cock.

It feels good in his hand, firm and hot to the touch, straighter than his own, which curves slightly when he's fully erect, and the head looks painfully hard. Sanada squeezes, and strokes the way he likes it on himself, breathing in shallow pants, looking up at Yukimura to see if he likes it.

Like is a definite understatement.

Yukimura strangles back a whine, fisting one hand against the wall as he sags forward, his own knees wobbling. "R… really good," he pants out in approval, trying not to think too much about how Sanada is on his knees in front of him, but, ah, that's really nice, almost as nice as how Sanada's fingers are stroking around him and squeezing just right and there's nothing he can do but thrust forward into that grasp-

He comes with a groan caught up in his throat, messily dripping over Sanada's hand, and Yukimura wobbles again, barely catching himself and dazedly wondering how he's on his feet still at all.

Sanada's chest tightens, and he's on his feet in an instant when Yukimura sways, catching him no matter the mess, no matter that he knows it's just because of an orgasm. "Don't fall," he says, heart thudding more than it would if anyone else had slightly swayed to the side. "Here, there's a futon."

He's not sure what to do with the mess on his hand, so he surreptitiously wipes it off on Yukimura's pants, which he needs to wash anyway, as he helps him to sit down. "Do you need food? Water?"

Yukimura instantly grabs at him, hauling Sanada down with him. "Just you," he cheerfully, albeit breathlessly says, flopping bonelessly backwards in short order with Sanada dragged after him. "Ahh, you're just really good at that. I think almost passing out because of orgasms is good, though, right?"

Sanada nods dumbly, toppling down on top of Yukimura and really, really not wanting to move. "Yeah. Good. You're…."

He nuzzles into Yukimura's neck, nibbling gently, enjoying the way the salt of his skin tastes. "You're good."

"A poet as always," Yukimura sighs out in praise, giving Sanada's back an affectionate pat as he lets his head loll back and remains contently squished beneath Sanada's weight. "Mm. No moving, stay there."

Sanada flushes pink, and butts his head against Yukimura's neck. "Sorry. I didn't think. Were you up to that? How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling great, Dad. My health is quite good recently, thank you."

Sanada had almost forgotten that nickname. He nips at Yukimura's neck, as an alternative to wanting to slap him. "I'm not there to make sure. Things can go wrong so fast." He pauses, then adds, "Right, Mom?"

Yukimura sniffs, and wraps his hands up into Sanada's hair, yanking his head back down. "I like it better when you're biting and not talking. Yanagi asks me on a daily basis how I'm doing, so he is picking up the slack in your absence, I assure you."

Sanada bites back a response that Yukimura obviously doesn't need him, in that case. That's unfit for him. Instead, he curls around him, breathing deeply to taste in every way he knows how. "I had thought we'd get here sooner."

"Mm? You're the one that put this sort of thing off, Genichirou." Yukimura finally finds the strength to roll to the side, nudging Sanada onto his back so that he can flop mostly on top of him. "I was pretty insistent on several occasions. You were the blushing innocent."

"I wasn't blushing!" Sanada looks rather put-out, but he lets himself be rolled, content to have Yukimura unprotesting in his arms. "I was…." Terrified. Confused. A little nervous and sick and excited and totally unready. "It's better that we waited. Now we know it was right."

"My bed would have been more romantic, but you've made up for it with all your poetry," Yukimura muses, nuzzling up underneath his chin. "I definitely won't throw it away."

"I wasn't….I didn't write it to get you into bed," Sanada says quietly. "It was just how I felt." There's no hurt in his tone, just a light rebuke, and his fingers card gently through the waves of Yukimura's hair.

"I know that. Don't be ridiculous." The thought of Sanada writing something to actually try and get him in bed is terribly amusing, and Yukimura scarcely stops himself from laughing. "… But you really did blush a few times before. I remember."

"Seiichi," Sanada protests, fingers tightening as he tugs Yukimura's head back, pressing an indignant kiss against his lips. He's not really sure if kisses can be indignant, but this one feels like it. "You should be grateful. Now you'll always know we waited until it was right. As right as it can be, between two men, at least."

Yukimura tries very hard not to roll his eyes. He settles for reaching a hand up and flicking Sanada squarely on the forehead. "Don't say that again. It's right because it's us; both of us being men has no consequence on it."

Sanada scowls. "You shouldn't be delusional. You'll get hurt." If I'm not there to protect you.

"I'm not delusional. It isn't as if I go around announcing it." Yukimura shoots him an irritated look. "My point stands, though."

Sanada thinks about that for a moment. "You think everyone else is wrong." The thought has occurred to him once or twice, but been dismissed as ridiculous. He doesn't really think about it too much, what it means that he feels for Yukimura what he never has for a woman. There's little to think about-it just is.

"Mm. Absolutely. I certainly don't feel guilty about any of this, nor do I think I should feel that way at all." Yukimura folds his arms, resting his chin atop them as he peers up at Sanada. "So if we're the ones in the wrong, then I suppose I really am a delinquent."

"And I'm the one responsible, I suppose." Sanada can't feel too bad about it. Yukimura frequently turns it into his fault, when he wants to misbehave. He turns his head, giving Yukimura a slow kiss. "I don't care if it's wrong or not. I'd still be here."

Yukimura hums contently against Sanada's mouth, stretching up to kiss him back properly. "Good answer. I bet my headband even makes you look like a delinquent. That's for the best, really."

"I don't understand how that could possibly be for the best."

"Well, otherwise, you'd look completely ridiculous. I warned you that it would look bad on you; at least this way you look marginally intimidating. Maybe."

"Hmph. Everyone's already intimidated enough by me up here."

"I've been wondering how often you have to slap them around."

"Too often. Well," Sanada concedes, "maybe I don't need to."

"So long as you don't lose your touch. Or find someone you like to slap more than me."

"You're not my favorite to slap. Be concerned when I find someone I like slapping more than Kirihara."

"I don't know, you certainly seemed to like it that one time. Or maybe it was the comforting me afterwards part that you seemed very engrossed in…"

"You're tempting me now, Captain."

"Ooh. I wasn't aware I had done something worthy of it." Yukimura beams at him. "Also, I've been informed I'm delicate, so you should be gentle if you do it."

Sanada's eyes narrow, and he leans up to gently bite Yukimura's ear. "I didn't say you were tempting me to violence."

"Then, logically, don't be gentle about it," Yukimura lowly returns, smirking as he tilts his head to nuzzle at Sanada's cheek. "I'm selectively delicate."

Sanada's hand comes up to Yukimura's face, cupping it gently. "I'm not quite sure what you want me to be ungentle about," he admits, even though it pains him to.

Sanada needs to stop being so obscenely… cute? Naive? Any of the above, really, except not at all, because Yukimura likes him that way. "I'm just teasing you," Yukimura gently dismisses, turning his head to press a kiss to Sanada's palm. "Besides, you said it yourself. It's better if we don't rush things; everything has to be right."

Sanada blinks once, then twice, then a third time. "I don't…." He frowns. "But we've already done it. It was right, wasn't it?"

Yukimura's head tilts a little bit more. "Ah. Well. We did some things. Those were definitely right."

Sanada starts to suspect that Yukimura is teasing him and trying to confuse him on purpose, and he goes quiet, hand stilling in his hair.

Oops. Now he's mad. "There's just-hmm." With Sanada, being blunt with this sort of thing is usually the best course of action, even if Sanada ends up a blushing mess (even if he denies it later). "If I were a woman," Yukimura lightly, diplomatically begins, with the state of Sanada's pride in mind, "there'd be a lot more than kissing and me touching you, right? It's the same thing with us both being men."

"But you aren't a woman. And neither am I," Sanada points out, a little worried by how often he's had to point out that they're homosexuals today. "Sometimes I think you forget that."

Yukimura rolls his eyes again. "I really don't forget that at all. There are just other ways for us to have sex that we haven't yet; that's all I was saying."

Sanada scowls. "Do you think this is funny?" he demands. "Why won't you speak in plain terms? Do you just enjoy knowing more than I do?"

A shrug follows-really, if Sanada wants to know details that badly, then it can't be helped-and Yukimura makes a calm, albeit firm grab for the curve of Sanada's ass. "I'm talking about putting my cock up in here-or you can put yours in me, I don't care. Either is fine." Don't suggest he had a lot of time for educational reading while I was in the hospital, now is not the time, don't do it.

Sanada's face flushes dark. He doesn't dare pull away, not when he'd bothered Yukimura to get this far, and he can't chance looking like a coward now. He meets Yukimura's eyes, trying to quell the little thrum of nervousness (and surprising excitement) going through him. "Fine," he says quietly, a challenge in his voice.

Yukimura peers back at Sanada for a long moment before giving his rear a swat and flopping down with a long, exasperated sigh. "We don't have to do it now. I was just mentioning it, for future reference and everything. It wouldn't be very romantic when you're glaring at me like that."

Sanada slumps down onto Yukimura, letting out a breath in a huff. "Sorry. It took me by surprise. I never thought….I just thought it was this. Like by yourself, but with more hands."

"Even if it was just that, I wouldn't mind." Yukimura gently sets his teeth to Sanada's shoulder before rubbing his cheek there after the fact. "We don't even have to do it if you don't want to. It would just be good to try once, I think."

Sanada picks himself up onto his hands, hovering over Yukimura. "I wasn't complaining," he says quietly. "I just thought we were already….finished." He leans down, brushing a kiss over Yukimura's lips. "Let's save the rest for when we're back in Tokyo, then. Both of us."

"Exactly my thinking, then," Yukimura murmurs, smiling as he leans his head up to kiss Sanada again. "It'll be better that way, and we'll have even more to look forward to."

Sanada can't think of anything he's ever looked more forward to in his life. Already he aches to be home. He starts to say something, only to be drowned out when his stomach rolls over and gurgles embarrassingly loudly. He flushes, and suggests, "Can I see what food Marui sent?"

"Oh, there's a lot. Some of your favorites from Jackal's family's restaurant, too." Yukimura wriggles out from underneath Sanada, stripping out of his pants and down to his boxers when he gets up before grabbing his bag and dragging it over. "Marui thinks you're getting skinny, and was apparently horrified at the quality of food you have up here. Which reminds me," Yukimura adds with a roll of his eyes, passing Sanada a specially made bentou first and foremost, "Niou's new favorite past time is pinching Marui's thighs. It was amusing at first, now it's just pathetic. He lifts a hand and Marui sort of curls up like an armadillo."

Sanada snorts, trying not to tear open the bentou box. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and bowing over it first, murmuring his gratitude before setting his chopsticks to the food, feeling his stomach unclench in satisfaction. "He's always been a problem. You're too gentle with him. It's because you think he's funny you give him leeway. Here, eat," he urges, handing over a second pair of chopsticks.

"Says the man that let Akaya get away with everything, especially while I was in the hospital," Yukimura mildly returns, stealing one of his own favorite pieces quickly before savoring it with a long, thoughtful chew. "If Marui didn't react so openly, Niou would stop. Or, you know, Jackal will hit him and then he'll stop. Whatever comes first, at this rate."

"Jackal retaliates too hard sometimes," Sanada warns, having dealt out several peremptory slaps himself. "And Niou doesn't get bored nearly fast enough. You're setting yourself up for more headaches." He chews, then adds, "At least this might get Marui to cut down on the sweets before his teeth rot out."

"False on all counts. The entire team is a headache as of late." Without you around is unspoken, unneeded, and so is the everything is a headache. "Maybe if they fight to the death, that would be for the best. And Marui will never stop eating sweets and you know it. He baked you a whole cake, but I could only fit half of it in here."

"It was thoughtful anyway." Already Sanada is wondering where he can hide most of this food to keep Hiroto from eating it while he's at school. Ah, well. He'll just eat all he can now.

With that in mind, and the knowledge that everything is transient, he eats swiftly, thoroughly enjoying every bite. "You're all good to me. I'll repay the favor when I get home."

"You coming home will be enough," Yukimura tells him around a mouthful of cake, wiping the crumbs from the corner of his own mouth. "Here's something funny to think about, at least. Seigaku has worse doubles than you do, or so I've heard."

Sanada snorts so hard a bit of ginger goes up the wrong way, a truly horrifying experience. When he finally finishes sneezing, he nods, wiping tears from his eyes. "That would be quite a feat. I'm not sure mine even know which end of the racket to hold."

"We should go watch some of their matches together," Yukimura says, perhaps a little too gleefully. "I bet they won't be able to pull through on their singles matches all the time, they don't have the discipline."

"I give him one match before he goes to another school," Sanada says dismissively. They both know who he's talking about. "Let's see how much team spirit he has when they lose for him."

For once, Yukimura scowls, and stabs a cherry right off the top of the piece of cake he's been prodding at for awhile now. "What sort of brat goes and plays in the US Open and then goes back to play middle school tennis? He's just patronizing at this point."

"He thinks he has team spirit. Team spirit," Sanada says gravely, "is still believing in your team when you lose, and you should have won. Not when you always win no matter what."

Yukimura's head inclines, and he nibbles slowly on the skewered cherry. "I hope he comes to our high school. He might learn a proper lesson in humility with our guidance."

Sanada has a few things to say about proper humility, especially when Yukimura is nibbling like that. He finds his eyes kind of fixed on those swollen lips. "Ah. Yeah."

Yukimura's eyebrows lift, and he pops the cherry into his mouth, stem and all. "You blushed earlier, by the way," he says, chewing slowly and swallowing. Another moment, and then he sticks his tongue out, plucking the now apparently knotted stem off of it and handing it to Sanada triumphantly.

Sanada swallows hard. "You're being…." His brain falters. He takes the stem, and tries to breathe. "You are." Did that make sense?

"Uh huh." Yukimura stretches out a leg to poke him with his toes. "Try again."

Sanada shakes his head to try and clear it, banishing the image of Yukimura sucking on his finger. Unsuccessfully. "You're very cruel." Subject, verb, object. Definitely a sentence.

Yukimura paints a very successful picture of innocence. "Me? But I even gave you a present. You can keep that cherry stem and think of me. It's sort of poetic, don't you think?"

"I always think of you when I think of cherries." And sunsets. And rivers. And the sky. And falling leaves.

"You're too perfect sometimes." Yukimura leans in, stealing a quick kiss. "I almost feel bad teasing you because of it."

Sanada blinks. "How did that…." But he leans into the kiss anyway, because there's never enough air to breathe. "You never feel bad teasing me," he accuses sort of breathlessly.

"I did say almost." Yukimura scoots over in short order, deposits himself into Sanada's lap, and kisses him again for good measure before stealing a last piece of sushi.

"You taste like sushi." It's far from a complaint. Sanada hooks his chin over Yukimura's head, and huffs out a breath. "Eat more."

"It's for you, you eat it." Yukimura curls himself into a surprisingly compact ball, snuggled tightly against Sanada's chest. "You're skinny. That's not allowed."

"Am I?" Sanada asks, surprised. He hasn't spent much time looking at himself in the one-foot mirror above the bathroom, not with how quickly it fogs up. He sighs, finishing off the rest of the bentou. "I miss practicing kendo. I wish you brought a sword."

"I'll bring one next time. And anything else you want, make a list." Yukimura idly pokes at Sanada's chest, then trails that finger down to his ribs. "You're definitely skinny, Marui was right. I'm going to weigh more than you at this rate."

"Stop that. If you start pinching me like Niou does to him, I'll treat you like I would Niou." He won't, of course. "And all I need is my sword. I can keep it at school. They don't even have a kendo club here."

"I'm not pinching, I'm just checking." Yukimura wrinkles his nose. "And that sounds so… wrong, somehow. What school doesn't have a kendo club?"

"A very small one." Sanada shrugs wearily, curling his arms around Yukimura, noticing for the first time that the difference in their sizes, unlike their heights, is growing more narrow. "It only had a music club and a baseball club. I started the tennis club."

"Well, you won't have to put up with that for much longer." One way or another. Yukimura rubs his cheek slowly against Sanada's chest. "The club seems to be trying to come up with ideas after the singles one spot offer, but there's nothing good. Yet." He frowns, and adds begrudgingly, "Niou suggested I speak to Atobe. How dangerous do you think that is?"

"If you think this is a problem that can be solved with an insipid smile and a pile of money."

"… Well… at this point…"

Sanada grits his teeth. "I suppose he couldn't make it any worse."

"That," Yukimura agrees, "would be difficult." Honestly, he's a little desperate at this point, and anything would be good news. "I suppose I'll call him this weekend, then…" It's still hard to be excited about it.

Sanada makes a face, and nearly gags up his sushi. "I really don't like asking him for anything. I can't stomach the idea, don't tell me unless something pans out. And don't owe him anything if you can help it."

Yukimura can only imagine owing someone like Atobe in a situation like this. The idea makes him unnecessarily annoyed, and so he shoves it out of his mind by shoving his face into Sanada's neck and breathing in the scent of him. "We should play tennis while I'm here. Or you should call up your team if you think they'd come, and I can teach them or a thing or two. It'll be fun."

Sanada doubts it will be fun for his team. Still, it would be fun….if only. "Sorry. No public tennis courts out here, and the school is locked up tight. We could play on the road, I guess. No one ever drives up here."

"I can draw a court for us," Yukimura determinedly says. "I haven't done that since we were in elementary school. It'll be refreshing."

"That's one word for it," Sanada mutters under his breath. Then, he hesitates. "Do you have two rackets? I don't trust….I keep mine at school."

"Of course I do." More than ever, Yukimura wants to drag him out of this hellhole and back home. He burrows closer for good measure. "You can play with my favorite one, even, if you want."

"Definitely not. I want to beat you at your best, or not at all." Unlike that Ryouma child, of course. But to some, winning will always be everything, even above and beyond winning honorably.

Yukimura snorts. "We'll scare your team off if we play seriously."

"You scare everyone when you play seriously, sooner or later."

"All I'm doing is playing tennis."

"And everyone is afraid for no reason?" Sanada remembers too well how it feels to play a serious Yukimura.

"I didn't say that. Just that people are a little overdramatic about it," Yukimura sweetly replies. "No one's immune to dramatics, I suppose."

Least of all, you. "Give me your clothes, I'm going to wash them while we play."

"Do I get to wear one of your jerseys in the meantime?"

Sanada agrees immediately. Clothes are at least one thing Hiroto leaves alone, seeing as how his brother is a good six inches shorter than he is. He opens the closet, then shuts it quickly. "Look away," he orders, hiding the broken gaming systems and dirty magazines that usually cover the floor of their apartment stuffed into the closet.

Yukimura tries not to roll his eyes as he does as he's told, diverting his gaze to a very empty wall. "I really don't mind if things are a mess, you know. We've seen Akaya's room, after all."

"But this is my room. I don't expect anything more from Akaya." Sanada stuffs his arm inside, fishing out a couple of jerseys, and stripping off his own clothes without thinking much of it, tossing the other to Yukimura. "Just toss them in the washing machine, it's in the kitchen."

"I don't mind if you're a mess either, though," Yukimura tosses over his shoulder, stripping as he rises and throwing everything into the washing machine as he pulls Sanada's jersey over his head. "Honestly," he wistfully says as he shakes out his hair, "preferences aside, living in a place like this wouldn't be bad, if it were both of us. As long as you're there, I don't care what it looks like or where we are."

"It's not the space," Sanada agrees quietly, turning to lean back against the wall, watching Yukimura move. "It's how far it is from you. You know I could live in a hut in the middle of a rice field, I don't care how many restaurants are nearby."

"Living in the middle of nowhere wouldn't be bad at all, actually," Yukimura muses, turning to face him with a careful stretch of his arms over his head. "Maybe we can do that at some point-you know, when we inevitably get sick of everyone and want to become recluses that even grow all of their own food."

"The solitude is nice, sometimes," Sanada admits, reaching out to tug Yukimura closer with one finger in his collar. "And I'll show you the stars tonight, you've never seen so many. I'd live on a mountain with you."

"We can get snowed in entirely and curl up underneath a kotatsu together," Yukimura happily agrees, obliging Sanada by slinking closer and draping his arms loosely over his shoulders. "I don't need much of anything else."

"You know better than to sleep under a kotatsu like a foreigner," Sanada reprimands gently, leaning down to brush their lips together. "You'll get dehydrated and die. I'll keep you warm."

"I won't sleep under it. I just said curl up, there's nothing wrong with curling up," Yukimura defensively replies, gently nipping at Sanada's lower lip. "But you can keep me warm anyway."

"You," Sanada rumbles, arms curling around Yukimura's lower back, "are making me care less about going to play tennis and more about curling up with you. Is this a new tennis trick?"

"Mmmn, maybe." Yukimura is sure that he regrets nothing. He leans up onto tiptoe to properly hook his chin over Sanada's shoulder. "We can curl up instead. Tennis and tormenting-I mean, properly schooling your team can happen later."

Sanada reaches back and flips the washing machine on before sinking down to the futon, kissing Yukimura thoroughly for several minutes before finally releasing him. "We can play tennis later," he murmurs, "on a real court."