Feeling like writing an angst, I decided to give it a shot that resulted in this one-shot KiriAn fic (yay this pairing!). Revised on December 2024.
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is not mine, obviously.
Once Upon a Bedtime
Am I supposed to be happy?
With all I ever wanted, it comes with a price
1
Her mouth was half-ajar, condensed breath escaping from it. At the same time, she gasped for oxygen, filling her lungs with the cold night air.
She eyed him with reluctant stare, not because she was unaware. It was all she could do with the rest of her power. His hand kept enveloping hers; she could sense his warmth transferring to her palm. She tried so hard to stretch even a small smile, assuring the man who held her that she was okay, even when her vision began to blur like reflections on water ripples.
Her right hand tried to reach his wavy strands, trailed his nape to the backside of his head, and then tucked his hair into the spaces of her fingers. It felt sticky as her fingertips touched it. The other hand stayed on her stomach, more covered by the typical red liquid. She slightly clasped his hand which was on hers to say sorry for staining it. They were glued, their hands. As if nothing in the world could separate them no matter how hard they tried.
She inhaled, and with all her might she finally voiced her feeling.
"I'm scared…"
"Don't be."
His whisper was a golden ray of sunshine, and his smile was an upside-down rainbow. She rested her back on his arm and leg that felt oddly more comfortable than her bed. He tightened his grip as silent support, now entwining her fingers, while his left hand stroked her tangled hair. He finger-combed it gently, and slowly, reminding her of her mother when she read her fairy tales in her childhood, protecting her from nightmares.
"You are strong, An." He said. "You can overcome this."
2
He always told her that she was his primary colors; his daily dose of red, yellow, and blue. She was multicolor, never monochrome-dull.
He ducked his head closer to her ears, "And you know that I'll always be there for you."
You are, she thought, but she was not quick enough to vibrate her vocal chords so he could hear her response. She wanted him to know that she was grateful to have him so devoted, but it only could be expressed by her return in holding hands.
She breathed, more heavily this time. He waited.
"I…" she tried again to speak. "I'm all right… but… brother…"
He hushed her, interrupting. His eyes alone told her that he did not have the heart to see her so suffering, to hear her trembling voice, to feel her freezing body lay vulnerably.
"They have taken him to hospital." He explained. "He will be treated well."
She let out a relief sigh. An indiscernible burden had flown to the sky from her chest, floating and then dissipating as the stars glistened stunningly. She lifted her head little by little to sneak a peek at Scorpius above them, silently thanking Heavens for saving the elder Tachibana.
He was still there, embraced her and gazed affectionately. "He will be saved. He's strong as you. He's the wings of Kyushu after all, right?" he showed his grin, attempting to add some cheer on her bleak sky. And unsurprisingly, he looked sincere. He was one of her brother's strongest opponents, and both of them did get even stronger now.
Her smile returned, and wider this time. He must have sensed her slight relief that he continued.
"When you hugged him, you felt his heartbeat, didn't you?" he spoke softly. "You could hear him talking, mumbling, whispering to you, am I right?"
She closed her eyes, still smiling, a replacement for a nod.
"Don't be scared. I'm here." He assured her. "You are not okay, but I know you will be."
3
The nigrescent blood on her shirt was indicated from her brother. And now, it started to dry out, and maybe would color it permanently as a mark of this day. On one summer, somewhere in Tokyo, two siblings suffered from a motorbike accident at nine PM sharp, heading towards a broken road while searching for an alternative route. They wore helmets, but the sister had anticipated first by jumping and rolling to the side while her brother hit the roadblock. Hard.
That was what the witness saw, before the girl collapsed and went unconscious for a while. He said upon not receiving her message and suddenly got the bad feeling, he rushed to wherever the news told him. He found her bloody, soaked by pain and worry. He grabbed her arms and put her on his lap, hastily but gingerly at the same time, the way only he could.
He was no paramedic but managed to notice no particular wound, though scars were seen on her arms, cheeks, and knees. But her left hand kept cupping the gut, so he just placed his hand on it and gave her the best he could to comfort her. He would have her safe and sound. They would live tomorrow in peace. Their routine would be back: challenging each other on a game, teasing each other in the midst of the match, and ending up sharing laughter—like what they used to do, like what they were supposed to do.
Those times, those memories, now flashed before her coffee orbs.
4
"A… kaya…?"
He was startled yet deadpanned. He stopped from scrutinizing the imaginary lines on her face in the darkness and questioning what word would exactly describe the contraction of her eyes and cheeks muscle. Agony. Why did it still remain there?
"Yes, An?"
She chuckled, loudly, her suppress of its release looked totally futile. He had no idea where this unknown force of laughter came from, but he was glad that it eased his mind.
"I like how original you are… you still wear your tone and… and expression at time like this." Her eyes made crescent shape—partly to hold back her tears and partly to show a joy.
A miscellaneous feeling illustrated his face. "You—" he sneered. "—and you still annoy me even though you almost can't take a breath, huh?"
They both acknowledged the joke, and the truth behind it. The air surrounding them seemed to get thinner every time she struggled to catch it. She could hang on longer, right? She would survive this, right? Then what was it with her blinking eyes?
"An? Hey, An."
Tears started to drop and roll down her cheeks. His thumb quickly caressed it, biding his time with each swipe and touch and hope.
Her blood-tinted hand grabbed his, begging him to pause.
She cried in ache.
That moment, he recognized it—she was protecting, or rather, covering a medium gash. Crimson fluidly flowed from the flesh; her own flesh. Words failed to describe everything that fell upon him. That could not be. The one who was injured was a girl in his arm, the sister, and she was here, hiding the truth all along.
"An, it's not funny."
Her smile faded and fainted.
5
"Look at me, An. Look at me." His emerald eyes went unfocused. "Tell me it's a lie. It's just a dream. We—we wake up after this and—and—"
"Akaya." was all that she said. His name. The way it rolled from her mouth was firm and frail at the same time. Instead of looking at him directly, she strived to tell by her gaze that if she was the one in the ambulance, the rescue was in vain. She had met her parents. She saw her brother in good hands. All she now was eager to do was spending her remaining seconds with him. And when he came, she actually wanted no more.
Distance. That kept them hollered through cellphones. She avoided calling it problem anyway, because they still lived on the same earth and the same country, too. It was merely between Kanagawa and Tokyo. That must have not been a big deal. Plus, comparing to other planets, the blue marble was a pixel dot. It was not about mis- or lack of communication.
It was about listening to his chatter live that had more effect to her than just seeing his 'haha' text. She liked it when she was sweating buckets after smash-attacking him with serves and whatnot and he instead complimented her tennis and how hot she was. There was nothing more serene and peaceful than just laying down on the grass, sharing towel and her water bottle, listening to the chirp of birds and his complaining, or achievement, or adoration. And he listened to her complaining, or achievement, or adoration. Just the two of them, together. Like tonight.
"Don't kid me!" he yelled. "I'll call them again. We will be okay—"
"No…"
"What do you mean by no?" His voice elevated an octave at first, but as the tears started leaking from his eyes, he weakly protested, "You can't leave me like this, An. You just… can't…"
Sobbing, he drew her even closer. Could he hear her heartbeat? Could he feel her warm breath against his skin? She would not leave. He would wake up from this nightmare very soon.
"An… I…"
But this coppery smell of blood, this chilly wind that pass them ragingly, hot tears that dripped to her shirt blending with blackish red splotches, even his hoarse voice from dry throat undeniably felt real. And so did her fingers that shifted from his head to his face, softly tracing the tears stream. Scarlet fingerprints painted his fair skin.
She whispered, somewhat unclear at the last syllable. "Thank you…"
You said, you said that you would die for me
You must live for me, too
Before her eyes were shut, her hand slung on his lower arm to support her weight and got up a bit. She was shaky all the way so he leaned in and tilted his head. She pressed her freezing pale lips against his and mouthed three heartfelt words as her grasp loosened.
His reply, the exact same words, was met with silence.
When I wrote this, Cat and Mouse from The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus played by itself in my mind, so I also don't own the lyrics which was in italic.
Thanks for reading! Double thanks for also reviewing! *wink wink* #rhymes