Ficlet Series (ES21)

Introspective


The football felt small nestled into the lengths of his fingers, cradled in his outstretched palms like some kind of offering. It wasn't as though he didn't now the factual logistics of his more than average size... he was taller, wider, heavier than most people. Though, Harao noted, he was one of the slighter members of his football team. At any rate, the fact that a football was made with lesser beings in mind had never been lost on him, and the fact that it was smaller than it should be when he held it was something he had always known as fact. But this was the first time he had actually felt it. This was the first time that a football had ever been anything other than absolutely natural in his grip.

The thought of it left a vile taste in his mouth, and he acted before he thought, tossing the ball onto the ground to bounce a few times in several directions before rolling to a stop near the gallon water bottles some one had carried out for practice. His hands moved to cup his face, wipe off sweat and push his hair back, as he leaned forward and focused on the grass that was growing up through patches of dry dirt. The sounds of his team practicing drifted to his ears as though from far away, though the distance that separated them was mere yards.

Did they think him petulant, he thought, did they think him histrionic… it had been a good fifteen minutes since he had left the field and sat down on this match, fifteen minutes while every one else had practiced. He looked up for a moment, taking in the heavily regimented routine that Banba had devised, scanning the horrific scars on Banba's face, long tracks of hard flesh that seemed to grow more numerous every day as a result of their practices. He watched as Banba glanced back at him, at the mixture of scorn and disappointment written in Banba's expression before the other boy turned away. Harao felt it flare something in him, felt a sudden anger propel him off the bench and back onto the field, without thinking to wonder if the emotions he had read were real or imagined. After all, when had Banba treated him with anything other than objectivity, outside of when he was outright indulgent?

Harao's reappearance on the field made every one stop for the moment, and they only stared at him as he started barking out orders to some of the members on his team.

"Harao," Banba started, his voice only calm, only unperturbed, "I was leading practice."

"It's not your practice to lead," Harao bit out, realizing how harsh his tone was, how angry he sounded, and he wondered why he had such a difficult time keeping his cool.

The air on the field was suddenly tense, the other members on the team either frozen or shifting awkwardly as they took in the strange power struggle. Because, yes, Harao was the captain, the one they deferred to, but really, hadn't Banba always been the one who was really in charge?

"You can work on defense," Harao continued, trying to make it sound like a most magnanimous offer, "but I'm in charge of offense and special teams."

The tense moment only grew tenser, until after what seemed like an eternity Banba finally said something that sounded like "if that's what you want", and the team separated to their respective areas to finish practice.

Harao lost himself in the physical exercise, took out his anger in the drills and routines they performed, and when they were done and Banba approached him, all he said was "leave me alone", because he knew Banba would listen. The rest of the team retired to the showers, but he grabbed his bag and walked off the school property, tying his hair back in a ponytail as he left. He was sweaty, he was tired, but he still wasn't done, so he headed to a portion of the beach that he knew would be empty.

Of course, it was fall, and the balmy, grey weather of late pretty much ensured that no one would be at the beach even if he had gone to a more popular area. The water was the type of cold that seeped into your bones, but as he stepped into it all he felt was relief. The current was strong, much stronger than usual, perhaps because there was a storm off the coast somewhere. Harao didn't know, didn't care enough to listen to weather reports. But he did know that the waves would be stronger, more violent, though not necessarily bigger or more fun to ride. As he padded out on his surfboard he forgot all about football and Banba, and then he was only focused on the waves and the pounding they gave him.

When he stopped the sun was already sinking into the horizon, and he crawled out of the water and sunk down into the sand. He was that content kind of tired, after you worked off all your energy and couldn't think about anything other than the endorphins running through your system. Almost like that brief period after orgasm, when nothing else seemed to matter very much.

The grey of the sky was colored purple in spots now, the clouds almost silver, and he wondered if it was going to rain. But he was tired, and when he felt his eyes closing, he didn't have the strength to fight it.

When Harao woke up again it was to the feel of silken cushions underneath his skin and the sound of a humidifier running in the background. He opened his eyes, shifted, and realized that his hair was shampooed and brushed, that his skin was swathed in sheer linen robes that smelled like jasmine. He was home.

There was a knock on the door before it opened, and Banba walked in carrying a silver tray topped with various foods. The larger boy carefully sat down on the bed beside Harao, and placed the tray next to him.

"Are you hungry?"

Harao shrugged, ignoring, for the moment, the meal. He wondered if Banba had followed him to the beach, had waited there until Harao had needed him, or if he had just known where to find him.

"Are you angry with me?" Banba asked, his tone of voice clearly indicating that he found it quite inconsequential if Harao was angry or not. At least, Harao thought, he was trying.

"You're not the captain of this team."

And Banba just looked at him, said nothing, like he knew that wasn't the reason why Harao was upset. Harao's eyes traced over the scars on Banba's face, wanting almost to lift his fingers and touch them, but he didn't.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" Again in that completely indifferent voice.

"No." And this time Harao did reach out, fingers ghosting over cold, hard skin. Banba's scars were a mark of his devotion, of his commitment to the sport. Really, Banba was so much better than him, so much better than any one on the team. "You think I'm a bad quarterback."

"No," Banba replied, but he turned away, Harao's fingers dropping from his skin as he turned to face the wall. Harao stared at his back, at his broad shoulders and wide girth, and he thought that there wasn't any other way for Banba to feel about him.

"I'm sorry," Harao said, the words foreign on his lips, and he wondered if he had ever apologized for anything in his life.

Banba turned to give him an almost quizzical glance, but it was hard to read Banba's expressions, so Harao didn't know for sure. "We lost as a team."

"You lost because of us." Harao could feel everything inside of him well up with the admittance, all the insecurities he had been suppressing. If Banba had been on a better team… if he had better teammates… as a quarterback, Harao had realized in the last season, he was nothing special.

"You're not a bad quarterback," Banba said, and something in his voice made Harao almost believe him. Then, after a moment, "This isn't like you, Harao."

Banba's hand reached out to push the hair from his face, and it felt large and awkward against his skin. It had always been that way, Harao thought, ever since they were children together. Banba leaned down towards him, closer, and Harao rested an arm around his shoulder. It was like the moment before a kiss, and Harao wondered why he bothered with all those girls, but then the moment grew too long and he started to feel awkward.

"I don't want to eat this," he said, moving back to lounge on his pillows and pushing the tray of food away with one delicate finger. "Go get me something else."

Banba hesitated for half a moment before picking up the tray and standing up. "Yes, Harao."

Harao watched Banba leave, content in the knowledge that he would be back in a few minutes. For the moment, he was feeling more like himself. And, perhaps, if he felt like it later on, he might give Banba the opportunity to kiss him again.

.end.