InsaneJournal

[Fic]Hyotei and the Happy Panda 7-9

Chapter Seven: In which everyone deals with their avoidance issues

“Shishido-san, is it okay if we talk?”

Shishido shifted in his seat, checking the security of his safety bar. To his dismay, it appeared to be working just fine. “Sure, but ... this ride’s gonna drop any second, so we should probably wait for--”

“The ride isn’t going to drop for another ten minutes,” Ohtori stated. “I asked them to hold it.”

Shishido blinked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because every time I’ve tried to talk to you since the Fudomine match, you make up some excuse and run away.”

“That’s not true,” Shishido said nervously. “I mean, we can’t hang out so much now that I’m not on the regulars, but we talk. Yesterday, we were talking about those new shoes in that magazine. Damn dash wears mine down so fast, I have to keep blowing my allowance on new ones...”

"I know, Shishido-san, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about yesterday.”

“... because my tread is shot on this pair. I swear my mom’s gonna kill me if I ask for another though...”

“I’m sure she’ll understand, Shishido-san. But, what I was going to ask was--”

“...you really think so? Cuz after I bombed that bio test I’m not so sure. Hey how’d your English exam go?”

“I got an A, senpai.” Ohtori had switched from “Shishido-san” to “senpai.” That probably wasn’t good. And Shishido was running out of ways to redirect the conversation. “Thank you for your help studying.”

“Yeah, no problem. It was always kinda easy for me. Don’t know what Atobe’s problem is with it, though. He says he likes German better, now, but I think it’s just because he can’t control his accent in English. Honestly, that guy--”

“Shishido-san!”

“What?” Shishido pretended to be surprised by Ohtori’s sudden snap. If he kept acting ignorant, maybe Ohtori would give up.

“Do you like me, Shishido-san?”

Crap. “Uh, sure... I mean...”

“Are you moving to another school?”

That one was unexpected. He answered warily, “Not that I’m aware of...”

Ohtori took a breath. “Are you straight?”

Shishido was suddenly glad of the safety bar that kept him from falling out of the car. That wasn’t something people at Hyotei asked. I mean you guessed and hypothesized and snickered but you never actualy asked. And on the tennis team, most people made assumptions. The only person who might ... oh....

“You asked Taki, didn’t you?”

Ohtori studied his shoes. “I wouldn’t say ‘asked,’ but he told me ...”

At least Shishido could clear this up quickly. It’d even let him stall for some more time. “Last year, Taki asked me out, and I turned him down. He assumes things to make himself feel better.” Shishido couldn’t help the snicker that escaped.

“Why did you turn him down?” Ohtori asked, his eyes still locked in all seriousness on Shishido. The older boy studied the grafitti on the bottom of the car. “KA heart MB” “Jun was here”-- some people had too much time on their hands.

“Because I don’t really like him. Besides, I don’t know where he’s been.”

Ohtori exhaled. “So then the only reason why you’ve been avoiding me is that you were dropped.”

“I’m not avoiding you! It’s just ... it’ll be easier for you if we don’t hang out so much anymore.”

Ohtori nodded. “You’re right.”

Shishido wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected. Maybe some sort of valiantly chivalrous defense -- Ohtori always seemed the noble, self-sacrificing type. But agreement? That was ... strange. And extremely humbling.

Ohtori continued. “I want to play at Nationals this year, Shishido-san. And next year I want to be captain. And I know that school politics won’t let me unless I play by the rules. So I know I can’t go out with someone who’s been dropped.”

That didn’t hurt. Nope. Shishido was not going to act as if someone were twisting a knife in his sternum. “Yeah. Well, I’m glad you understand--”

“Which is why we should get you back on the regulars as soon as possible.”

So maybe Ohtori hadn’t learned as much about Hyotei as Shishido first thought. “People don’t get back on the regulars, Ohtori. I appreciate the thought, but it just doesn’t happen. It’s never happened.”

Ohtori smirked, an expression Shishido had never seen on him before. “Then we’ll make history, Shishido-san.”

“Sakaki-sensei won’t let me back on. Hell, even if he did, I doubt Atobe would allow it.” Shishido had put enough of a stain on Atobe’s name for one year, and the buchou didn’t forget when you failed him. Especially not when his slot had been given to Jirou.

“Not in your old singles spot, no,” Ohtori said, “but he’d let you in if you played doubles.”

Shishido felt as if the ride had already dropped out from under him. “Doubles? Ohtori, that’s ... look I’m really crap at doubles.”

“I could teach you, Shishido-san,” Ohtori hurried. “We could keep practicing together.”

“It won’t work,” Shishido stated, continuing to study the bottom of the car. Ohtori had to realize there wasn’t a force on earth strong enough to to sate Atobe’s pride when he felt offended. Maybe if Shishido wore a PoPo costume to school for a week...

“I can make it work,” Ohtori said with that certainty possessed only by the incredibly naive and the incredibly cunning. Shishido was still working out which group Ohtori belonged in. Maybe both. “Shishido-san, I can get you back on the regulars. And when I do... will you go on a date with me?”

For a second, Shishido felt as though his stomach had just dropped five stories. And then he realized it was because his stomach --and the rest of him-- was currently in the process of dropping five stories.
*****
Normally, Atobe considered himself fairly skilled at determining when Jirou was faking narcolepsy and when he was genuinely too bored to stay awake. However, at the moment his perceptive skills were being hampered by his inability to move a single muscle in his body. He couldn’t look down without being reminded of the ground. He couldn’t look up without remembering how high the top looked from the ground. He couldn’t shut his eyes without imagining himself much higher.

The only solution was to look at Jirou.

Jirou appeared to be sleeping peacefully, completely unconcerned with the force of gravity. Atobe did realize that it was more likely Jirou could sleep because he knew this damn ride was a set up. The thought was oddly comforting, since it meant Atobe would be getting down alive and able to exact retribution on the party responsible.

That thought calmed him down a little. His heart rate hadn’t returned to normal, but at least he no longer felt in danger of passing out from hyperventilating. He tried to move his eyes away, but found they were quite content watching a few wisps of hair dance next to the corner of Jirou’s lips. This, of course, only served to remind him of how those lips had felt pressed against his -- a sensation which was a little hazy in his mind. It made Atobe want to refresh the memory by trying it again, which was not an option.

Damn Jirou. He’d been like this for as long as Atobe had known him. Jirou didn’t believe in being afraid -- of heights or anything else. If something made Jirou feel anxious, he had two solutions: sleep until the problem went away or leap in and attack until Jirou’s anxiety went away.

He’d demonstrated the principle quite clearly in second grade when some bullies had picked on him for being afraid of a spider that crawled up the drinking fountain. Jirou had convinced his parents to buy him a pet tarantula, whom he named Gilbert and snuck into school the next day. Of course, even then Jirou was clumsy and tripped in the lunchroom, “accidentally” spilling the poor creature onto the lead bully’s lunch tray. None of the teachers blamed Jirou for the incident. They never did. He hadn’t served a day of detention in his life.

And now Jirou had to go and push Atobe to follow the same strategy. Atobe’s afraid of heights? Strap him onto a roller coaster. Atobe’s afraid of dating a teammate? Kiss him in public. Jirou just didn’t understand that the methodology was instrinsically flawed. And Atobe didn’t understand Jirou. At all. Ever.

He didn’t understand how Jirou could sleep through every practice and still be selected over Atobe to join the Newcomer’s Tournament. He didn’t understand how Jirou dealt with people laughing at him every game, even if it did throw the opponent off. He didn’t understand how Jirou could risk every bone in his body with his ridiculous volleys, lose a match, and still be content. More than content. Be ecstatic.

And most of all he didn’t understand how Jirou could risk his entire inheritance for one stolen kiss.

Jirou shifted, apparently annoyed by his inability to move his shoulders. One arm struggled to break free, only succeeding in brushing a hand over Atobe’s knee. Sleeping, of course. Still, removing the hand would require Atobe to let go of one of the safety handles, which he couldn’t do --which Jirou knew he couldn’t do. And that was the only reason he wasn’t removing the hand.

It was about then that Atobe realized he’d spent at least ten minutes thinking about and being frustrated with Jirou instead of remembering the unforgiving concrete below him. The only irregulariy in his breathing were occasional irritated huffs. His heart now only accelerated when Jirou’s hand occasionally twitched its way further up Atobe’s thigh. Once again, Jirou had snuck in a victory under Atobe’s nose.

If he were able, he probably would have stormed off at Jirou’s audacity and outright manipulation. As it was, he was forced to stay seated and contemplate the idea that the ride wasn’t really so frightening once he was on it.

And then the click of the release mechanism sounded above him, and Atobe changed his mind.



Chapter Eight: In which metaphors and the importance of safety are discussed.
Gakuto and Taki turned to stare at each other as the ride screeched to a halt.

“Was that you?” Gakuto snickered.

“No! I thought it was you!” Taki snapped

“It wasn’t me. It came from the other side!”

“Well you’re the only one I know that can hit that note.”

A moment passed as the two boys contemplated what this meant. Then, they fumbled with their seatbelts, Gakuto laughing as Taki’s refused to disconnect, keeping him three steps behind as they raced over to Atobe’s car.

The buchou’s complexion was about the same as the tasteless, odorless oatmeal Gakuto’s aunt still prepared when his family visited. Atobe’s hair wasn’t fairing much better. Gakuto and Taki both had to cover their mouths with their hands to hold back their snickers, though Atobe regained lucidity quickly enough to shoot a laser beam glare at Taki, who foolishly pushed in front of the smaller Gakuto. Check. Not laughing.

From the other side of the ride, Shishido came racing over, looking like the devil was at his heels. Confirming Gakuto’s suspicions, Ohtori followed at a trot. He was going to kill the second year for this. Kabaji followed accompanied by an offended looking Yuushi. However, Gakuto didn’t have time to contemplate his doubles partner at the moment.

Next to Atobe, Jirou’s eyes twitched as he tried to stretch, then blinked in confusion. “Is it over? What was that noise?”

“Kabaji!”

“Uhs.”

The hulking second year efficiently unhooked the safety bar over Atobe and Jirou. Atobe managed to get his belt unbuckled and tentatively test his legs while taking very slow breaths and using Kabaji’s arm as a bolster. Once he was sure he was not going to completely humiliate himself, he smoothed down his hair.

It was Shishido, of course, who asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. “Atobe, was that girly scream you?”

Atobe’s eyes seemed to gain a reddish tinge to them. He glared at Shishido, then at Ohtori, and then surprisingly turned to Jirou who had just fumbled out of the seat and started to babble. “You guys, I missed it! We have to go again! Come on, somebody ride with me!”

Atobe grabbed Jirou’s wrist with one hand, raised the other in the air, and announced, “Ore-sama declares this outing over!” He snapped his fingers and dragged a confused Jirou out of the ride’s gates.

Ohtori watched them leave with the expression people got when they realized they were pretty much guaranteed being kicked off the regulars. “I’ll just... go make sure they get out okay,” he mumbled hurriedly, dashing out. Shishido shouted his name and followed.

The four remaining regulars watched the exodus. “Great,” Gakuto muttered. “Don’t suppose anyone remembers we came in Atobe’s car?”

“I give up,” Taki sighed, the first sensible thing Gakuto had heard him say in well over a year. “You guys want a ride home? I’m calling my mom.”

Yuushi adjusted his glasses. “That would be lovely.” Then he looked at Gakuto, an eyebrow raised, “Provided ...”

Gakuto really hated it when Yuushi just expected him to know what his crazy tensai brain was thinking. “Provided what?”

“Provided you ... aren’t still ... mad at me?”

Gakuto fumed. “I wasn’t mad at you! Jeez, Yuushi, you can’t even tell the difference between when I’m pretending to be mad and when I’m really mad?!”

Yuushi backed up a step. “I just wasn’t sure...”

“Well, see if you can tell now! Let’s go, Taki!” Gakuto grabbed Taki’s arm and dragged him off.
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Oshitari shook his head. Gakuto was beyond the analytical abilities of even someone possessing his extraordinary IQ. According to precedent, however, he would have forgotten about this incident by 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. So instead of worrying, Oshitari turned to Kabaji.

“It’s still early yet, and I doubt my sister has left for the show. I can call and see if she can pick us up if you’d like to accompany us. I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on the soloist this evening.”

“Uhs.”
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Jirou couldn’t fathom what had gone wrong. He’d followed the instructions in every shoujo manga he’d ever read. He picked the right setting, made the first move so Atobe didn’t have to, allowed him time to think. It should have worked! Maybe it only worked on girls, Jirou thought belatedly. But surely Atobe was enough like a girl for it to work. Or maybe he’d underestimated Atobe’s acrophobia. But Jirou’d done his research thoroughly. Atobe shouldn’t be angry with him.

Jirou stumbled after the hastily retreating buchou, his wrist still locked in Atobe’s grip. He was left apologizing to the throngs of people Atobe disregarded as they flew out the amusement park gates and toward the waiting limousine.

Atobe pointed at the door, ordering Jirou in without a word. Enough of that. Jirou resorted to his usual defense when plans went awry. He started laughing.

“What?” Atobe snapped.

“I’m sorry, Atobe, but I can’t take you all angry and serious when your hair looks like that.” Jirou clutched at his stomach as Atobe’s face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarassment. Jirou watched the two emotions fight it out while he giggled. Eventually, the latter won, and Atobe huffed into the car with an, “Are you coming?”

Jirou wiped tears out of his eyes. “Aren’t we gonna wait for everyone else?”

“No.”

The volley specialist shrugged, unsure of this development. In a soundproof limousine, Atobe either wanted to scream at him or make out, and Jirou was rapidly losing hope for the latter. Still, he didn’t have any other way to get home, and he supposed after everything he put Atobe through today, he probably deserved this. Shoulders slumped, Jirou slid into the seat across from Atobe.

Atobe didn’t look at him, not directly anyway. Instead, the buchou spent a good ten minutes staring at the mirrored walls of the limousine, repositioning his hair into its usual style. Jirou considered offering to help, but didn’t feel like being yelled at again. He also considered pretending to sleep, but Atobe knew he couldn’t actually sleep with this much tension in the air, so he instead opted for surreptitiously observing Atobe by watching the walls.

Once satisfied, Atobe called the driver on the intercom, ordering him to drive to the Atobe estate. Jirou blinked; why weren’t they going to Jirou’s home first? He didn’t have time to analyze this, however, before his captain turned to him.

“Your metaphor is flawed,” Atobe began, pointing a finger at Jirou.

“I had a metaphor?”

“Your little heights metaphor. It’s flawed.”

“Oh, that. That wasn’t my metaphor. I borrowed it from Ohtori-kun.”

Atobe looked a little confused at this, but shook his head quickly. “Either way, ore-sama will not be participating in such a ridiculous diversion again. There are perfectly sane means of entertainment a person of status can engage in that do not result in severe cases of nauseau. And as for ... this,” Atobe gestured to the space between him and Jirou, “whatever this is, a lifetime of riding those damn contraptions doesn’t compare to the degree of foolishness acting on this would imply. It’s dangerous and we stand to risk everything...”

Jirou sulked as the monologue continued, naturally causing him to tune out. In the years of their friendship, Jirou had learned to pick out the Cliff’s Notes version of an Atobe speech. If Atobe didn’t want to go out with him, that was fine. Jirou didn’t want to date someone that cowardly anyway. Even if that someone was the only one perceptive enough to see through Jirou’s guises. Even if that someone was the only person at school who didn’t brush him off as an eccentric narcoleptic. Even if that someone had eyes the exact color of a hurricane. It didn’t matter if he was too cowardly to face his own emotions, Jirou told himself. Atobe could have fun listing his excuses. Again.

“... so you are going to be extremely careful, and there will be no more of these amusement park stunts, ah? I’d rather my parents not find out via some peasant tabloid.”

“Huh?” Jirou blinked. According to his estimate, Atobe should only now be getting to to his parents disowning him and his life of delivering ramen to commoners to survive.

Atobe pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Honestly, Jirou, how is anyone supposed to confess if you can’t stay awake long enough to hear it?”

“I’m awake,” Jirou rushed. “I just ... thought maybe I wasn’t. You’re not scared?”

Atobe moved to sit next to Jirou. “We’re both intelligent people. I believe we can avoid getting caught.”

“I didn’t mean just about our parents,” Jirou said, looking Atobe in the eye. “I meant all this,” Jirou repeated Atobe’s gesture, “too.”

Atobe closed his eyes and pulled one hand back through his hair, completely ruining the damage control he’d just performed. Then he returned Jirou’s gaze. “Terrified.”

The kiss that followed did not imply fireworks or lily fields or anything else overzealous manga-ka chose to draw in the backgrounds of first kisses. In fact, by what standards Jirou had, the kiss was executed in a rather sloppy manner with a bit too much saliva and not quite enough aim. It was not the way someone as awe-inspiring as Atobe was rumored to kiss. It was, Jirou realized, much closer to the way one might execute a first kiss: rushed, blind, and adorably inexperienced.

Atobe pulled back, completely failing to hide his insecurities as Jirou snickered, though he did try to be as discrete as possible in wiping his lip.

“You know,” Atobe huffed, “this would be much easier if you would quit laughing at every romantic gesture.”

“I can’t help it!” Jirou giggled.

Atobe raised an eyebrow. “If you tell anyone...”

Jirou decided it was about time he put his agility skills to the test, pouncing to sit on a very surprised Atobe’s lap. “I’m not gonna tell anyone and no one in the club will say anything and our parents won’t find out until we’re eighteen and can cash in our trust funds and run away to a tropical paradise in Guam.”

Atobe’s eyes widened.

“I’m kidding,” Jirou assured him, though Atobe didn’t appear to believe him.

“And until then?”

“We practice.” Jirou leaned in to properly aim a kiss when the limo lurched to an abrupt stop, tumbling him off of his perch and onto the floor.

Atobe sighed. “Seatbelt, Jirou.”

“Haaaaiii.”
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The EllipsesBandit...'s continuing inside jokes and commentary:
1. I'm stealing the image of Atobe delivering ramen from Kamen Rider: Kabuto. And I'm perfectly comfortable admitting to stealing from a sentai series.
2. Guam is fun to say.


Chapter Nine: In which the Silver Pair finally deliver some fan service.
“Ohtori!” Shishido shouted, though not entirely sure why he was shouting. Nor did he know why he was following Ohtori at all, but his legs wouldn’t stop moving. He wasn’t running; that would be undignified. Besides, at a run Shishido could overtake Ohtori, but power walking as they were, Ohtori’s longer legs kept him ahead. The second year pushed through a gate marked “Employees Only.” Growling to himself, Shishido followed. He shouted Ohtori’s name again, and when that failed, he tried, “Choutarou!”

That stopped him. Ohtori turned about six feet away from Shishido, eyes wide.

Under the force of that stare, Shishido found whatever he wanted to say deserted him. Shishido averted his own eyes, stammered for a few seconds, tried to look at Ohtori again, failed, sputtered another few syllables before finally managing, “Look, you’re not going to like it.”

Ohtori tilted his head, confused.

Shishido tightened his ponytail, just to have something to do with his hands. “For me to get back on the team... it’s not going to be easy. You know I’ll have to beat one of them, right?”

Ohtori took a few eager steps towards him. “You could beat Taki-senpai, easily, Shishido-san. He’s better at doubles than you right now, but we could train--”

“But it might not be Taki,” Shishido sighed. “Atobe could say I have to beat anyone, even him. Even you. And even if he doesn’t, I have to train like that’s what I’m trying to do. And if you want to help, you have to listen to me, even when you don’t want to. And there’s going to be a lot of times when you don’t want to.”

Ohtori nodded, his eyes now wary, as if he was still trying to process Shishido’s words.

“And even then it still might not work.” Shishido paused, but he had to know the answer to this now. “What happens if it doesn’t work?” He tried to cover the anxiety in his voice. Until today, he never would have believed Ohtori was the type to date for status, but today kept throwing nasty surprises at him. And he didn’t want to get involved in something like that. He’d seen Taki pull crap like that too many times.

But Ohtori smiled, his eyes softening enough that Shishido couldn’t look at them directly. “Shishido-san, if you decide you want to get back on, then you will. There isn’t any doubt. That’s why ...” Ohtori’s face reddened as he looked away, “That’s why I like you, Shishido-san. Not because you were a regular or because you will be again, but because you’re probably the only person who can become a regular again.”

Damn. Good answer. Shishido fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. “I’m really bad at this stuff, Ohtori. I’m not saying that to get you to leave me alone, but you should know. I forget birthdays and I hate telephones and I’m just ... I’m really bad at this.”

Ohtori closed the distance between them. “Why don’t you let me decide that, senpai?” And Ohtori kissed him. Shishido could have stopped it. He knew on some level he probably should stop it. But he also knew he didn’t want to stop this taste that was part thrill, part hormones, and part the cherry cola he’d bought Choutarou earlier.

And all too quickly, it was over. Shishido blinked a few times, sure for a second that Ohtori was wearing that odd smirk from earlier. Then it was gone, replaced by the usual mix of innocence and good intentions.

“We’ll start tomorrow, Shishido-san,” he grinned, fighting down a blush and starting to move away.

“Hey,” Shishido stuttered as he grabbed Ohtori’s wrist before the taller boy could get too far. “You don’t have to go right now, you know. I mean, we could hang out if...”

Choutarou smiled. “We made a deal, Shishido-san. After you make the regulars.”

Shishido blinked. The second year was much craftier than the rest of the team gave him credit for. “Tell me one thing,” he began. “After the SkyDrop, why did you run back here?”

Now, Choutarou positively beamed, “So you’d follow me, Shishido-san.”

Shishido put one hand to his forehead. “I thought so.”

With a soft chuckle, Ohtori disappeared out through the gate.

Part of Shishido wanted to smack himself for getting into something that was obviously going to be as messy and fraught with peril as this relationship. However, the rest of him was too busy trying to wipe the stupid grin off of his face before someone saw to notice.
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The EllipsesBandit...'s continuing inside jokes and commentary
--Actually this chapter is pretty self-explanatory. I do occasionally get the almost uncontrollable urge to yell "CHOUTAROOOOOOOOOOOU!!" at the top of my lungs, but who doesn't? Right? *cricket noises* ...right?