Ficlet Series (Tenipuri)

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again

March ended, and in the transition from Winter to Spring everything changed. The melting snow uncovered more than just hopeful young flowers, and as Akaya watched white turn to gray he could almost see the beginnings of a new year appear.

Yukimura was the first to say goodbye, only it wasn't really a goodbye, at a graduation that wasn't really a graduation.

"Congratulations, buchou," Yukimura said, and Akaya felt embarrassment overpower any kind of pride he might have had. Watching his feet shuffle with eyes downcast, he thought he could never think of himself as captain, wondered if he would be able to do Yukimura's job. Yukimura would always be his buchou... but Yukimura was leaving him, off to a land of planate tops and insomniac nymphs, to New York City and professional tennis.

Yanagi patted him on the head, and Akaya wondered why it was their graduation day had turned into an opportunity to give him assurances. He wasn't such a child that he needed so much support. Jackal shook his hand and muttered a casual 'see you later', and Akaya was never more thankful to his former baby-sitter than for that moment of lazy equality. He gave Marui a small cake, purples and pinks swirling together in the most saccharine way, and Marui gave him a hug that stuck to his skin even after Marui's fingers had left. He didn't bother looking for Niou or Yagyuu, because he would see Niou soon enough, and seeing Niou meant he would see Yagyuu as well.

He flittered an orbit around Sanada, waiting as his fukubuchou posed for stiff, awkward pictures with family members. Every step closer was a dare, but even his audacity had its limits, and disturbing the formality that cast an aura over the Sanada family was something he was not prepared to do. So he waited, and then Sanada noticed him, detached himself from his parents to exchange accolades.

"Congratulations." Akaya mumbled it, because he didn't know what else to say, and flutterings in his chest made it hard to concentrate. They were words, he knew, tangled within him, and though they tickled his throat he wouldn't let them spill out. He was eye level with Sanada's lips, turned down so minutely at the corners, and the memory of a sleep-drenched kiss was manifest in a light pink flush on Akaya's cheeks.

"You too," Sanada replied, and the tone of his voice was so harsh, so gruff, so typical of him. And, because he was Sanada, "Don't be careless."

"Yeah."

Silence that couldn't be called either awkward or companionable, and then Sanada was speaking again. "If you ever need anything don't hesitate to come find me."

Akaya nodded... the separation between Rikkai's middle and high schools existed only as a hallway and a courtyard, and the gates to the Sanada estate were always open to him. He looked up then, eyes ghosting over the strong planes of Sanada's face, green meeting brown, and he waited. Expectations that were unclear even to him, but he wanted Sanada to say something, to do something, and then Sanada's arm was lifting and calloused fingers were wrapping around his own. A handshake. Sanada's grip was warm and tight even after he let go, and Akaya's fingers tingled with lingering waves of disappointment.

Spring segued into Summer, breezes into humidity, lilacs into hydrangeas, and one by one Akaya's sempai-tachi quit tennis. Jackal was the first, trading in his racket for a football and a pair of cleats. Niou and Yagyuu soon followed to pursue their own interests (Niou's lied in various methods of slacking off, while Yagyuu's were purely academic, unless you counted keeping Niou out of trouble as an interest), and Yanagi took an internship that left little time for school sponsored club activities. Yukimura was of course still playing, but he was so far away it barely mattered, and e-mails were a poor substitute for tennis matches. Marui was the only one Akaya had to look forward to rejoining next year on the tennis team, but even Marui's interest in the sport was waning.

Even Sanada gave up tennis, turning instead to kendo once he was offered the position of vice-captain in the middle of his first year. It suited Sanada, and on those rare days that Akaya decided not to hold afternoon practice, he found himself stumbling towards the other side of the school to watch. Outside the open doors he'd stand with other fans, watched as the high school students sparred in billowing fabric, watched the clean lines of Sanada's hakama fold in and out of themselves as he moved in an almost dance. The sound of wooden swords clashing was almost rhythmic, and when Sanada barked orders and corrections at the other club members it reminded Akaya of their tennis team.

Today Akaya did have afternoon practice, and he found it just as awkward and strange as it had been since every one had graduated... he had never asked to be captain, had never really wanted such a position, and though he had attained his goal of becoming the strongest player on the team it was an empty victory. He had little talent for encouraging others, and trying to be both fair and commanding at once tired him... on more then several occasions he had to stop himself before any of the more arduous club members came to actual physical harm by his hands. Still, exhausted as he was, he took a detour on the way home, walking around the school grounds towards a familiar room.

It was raining, a hot summer rain that did nothing to quench the heat, and as he walked the pittar patter of it muted all else. As he drew closer to the auxiliary room he could hear the knocks of wood and wood, but they were distant and few, and as he approached the entrance way Sanada was already leaving.

"You're wet," in lieu of a greeting, and Akaya became aware of water weighing down his curls and pushing cloth against his skin. But Sanada had an umbrella, he always had an umbrella, and as quick as the words were out it was overhead of Akaya. The rain danced a kendo battle on the black fabric, and Sanada's arm was a solid presence around his waist. It was more efficient that way, Akaya knew, it kept both of them within the small tent as they started their trek home, but he could pretend it was something more than just rational. Derring-do welled up inside of him, as much as it could when Sanada was concerned, and he bought his arm up to rest against Sanada's waist, pressed his cheek against the side of Sanada's chest. The cotton of Sanada's dress shirt was rough against his skin, but he could feel the warmth underneath, and he was content in Sanada's obliviousness.

Akaya had asked Niou about it once, about Sanada and about Yukimura, and Niou had teased him over his bad taste. It had everything to do with sex and tennis and the past, and Niou asked him if he was jealous, a question which earned a quick kick in the shins. Why do you like some one who's constantly yelling at you, Niou asked, and Akaya couldn't really answer. But Sanada's words and actions were always so warm despite their tone, and besides... Sanada had kissed him once, maybe, a fragment of a memory from the Senbatsu camp, and Akaya was half asleep on his dorm cot.

A memory so vague and strangely colored that he thought now it must have been a dream... a piece of wishful thinking, or some figment of his imagination. Yet he could feel it so clearly even now, a strong hand pressed against the muscles of his stomach, a fleeting touch of lips against his temple. It was so real that it was almost tangible, but the more he tried to grasp onto the feeling the more it struggled from his reach, and then it was gone, and the absence of its warmth made him feel that much colder.

Akaya pushed it out of his head, tried as best he could to concentrate on his tennis team and the fall tournaments. But Rikkai wasn't Rikkai without the troika, and fall ended too soon. Before Akaya had even noticed any golden and crimson leaves the trees were bare, and though no white fell from the sky the smell of snow hung stagnant in the air. It was a season of heavy coats and scarves, and as a third year his participation in tennis became second to academic pursuits (though not by Akaya's own choice).

Akaya's detours to the kendo club room grew more and more in frequency as the air grew more and more chill. Wrapped in dark pea coats, matching scarves tangling together in the wind, they would walk home together in silence. Each day and Akaya's nameless emotions came closer to overflow, until one day boldness pushed him forward and he reached out the only way he really knew how. A folded piece of paper, torn clumsily from his school notebook, and that silly cliché sprawled out in big, messy characters. He slipped it into Sanada's jacket as they walked home, and waited for a reply.

Spring, summer, fall, winter, and spring again. Akaya was graduating, and the only ones that could make it were Niou and Yagyuu. But this graduation didn't count anyway, really, because he was only graduating from junior high and not from high school, and he would see all of them soon enough any way. When Yagyuu wasn't looking Niou slipped him a fake id, and a promise to go drinking later on. His parents smothered him with hugs and took him home, where he collapsed in bed from the exertion of the day. On his desk was a small piece of paper, clumsily torn and crumpled up, discarded in the corner with accidental care. Though the top was obscured, small, precise characters peeked out from the bottom, and six little words could be read: I wish I felt the same.

.end.