[wip] knew you in the harsh realm - yk/ak
Aug. 13th, 2021 06:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rhodochrositein celebration of my 1 year tennis anniversary here is a yukiaka snippet from one of my earliest tennis wips ie my yukimura0_thesis, idk if i'll ever finish it but i still really like this part. premise is that several years in the future yukimura unlocks being 右 thanks to 201 tipsy unrepression session and then generously lets kirihara top as a reward for captaining rikkai to victory and obviously sanayuki is the endgame but the yukiaka is kind of like the most important part. to me. ok it's technically akayuki here but this is the only time they will reverse TO ME
--
“I beat Marui-senpai,” Kirihara announces abruptly. “When we played.”
Kirihara does not look as pleased about this as Yukimura would expect. “Is that so? It wouldn’t have been the first time,” Yukimura says.
“But it was easy,” Kirihara says. The sheet crumples between his fingers. “It isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s Marui-senpai.”
The schedule of a freshly-debuted and hotly-demanded idol leaves little time for regular human activity between all the photoshoots and variety shows and performances, let alone tennis. It’s hardly a wonder that, for all his wealth of natural ability, Marui a year out of the rigorous Rikkaidai training regimen can no longer keep up with Kirihara. Yukimura does not begrudge Marui the realisation of his dream but he can’t help the sorrow; he doesn’t like to see potential wasted. The gradual dispersion of his team. Distance between their lives: easier than ever, harder than ever.
Yukimura sets his hand to the crook of Kirihara’s elbow. “Come on,” Yukimura says. “Let’s play a match.”
“Huh? Like, right now?” Kirihara is already sitting up, fumbling for his shirt, the obedience instinctive.
“Yes,” Yukimura says. He sits up, too. Kirihara glances sideways at him, arms halfway through the sleeves of his shirt. “I want you to show me everything you’ve learned.” Yukimura smiles. “But I don’t think it’ll be enough to win against me.”
Impossible to miss the heartbreaking gratitude that flashes over Kirihara’s face, even as he’s saying, defiant, exactly the same way he’d called out to Yukimura on the Rikkaidai tennis courts that first time, “Just watch me! I’ll prove it to you.”
Yukimura cups Kirihara’s face in his palms, brings their foreheads close together, though not yet touching. Startled, Kirihara blinks, trying to refocus on Yukimura. His eyes shine like something chemical. All the volatile potential Yukimura has hammered out of him into a tangible weapon over the years currently inert and docile between Yukimura’s hands, slip of paper between the reactive components, but it’d barely take a flick of the fingers to detonate him. Kirihara has always been meant for greatness teetering on the verge of complete ruin.
“You haven’t beaten me yet,” Yukimura says.
--
“I beat Marui-senpai,” Kirihara announces abruptly. “When we played.”
Kirihara does not look as pleased about this as Yukimura would expect. “Is that so? It wouldn’t have been the first time,” Yukimura says.
“But it was easy,” Kirihara says. The sheet crumples between his fingers. “It isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s Marui-senpai.”
The schedule of a freshly-debuted and hotly-demanded idol leaves little time for regular human activity between all the photoshoots and variety shows and performances, let alone tennis. It’s hardly a wonder that, for all his wealth of natural ability, Marui a year out of the rigorous Rikkaidai training regimen can no longer keep up with Kirihara. Yukimura does not begrudge Marui the realisation of his dream but he can’t help the sorrow; he doesn’t like to see potential wasted. The gradual dispersion of his team. Distance between their lives: easier than ever, harder than ever.
Yukimura sets his hand to the crook of Kirihara’s elbow. “Come on,” Yukimura says. “Let’s play a match.”
“Huh? Like, right now?” Kirihara is already sitting up, fumbling for his shirt, the obedience instinctive.
“Yes,” Yukimura says. He sits up, too. Kirihara glances sideways at him, arms halfway through the sleeves of his shirt. “I want you to show me everything you’ve learned.” Yukimura smiles. “But I don’t think it’ll be enough to win against me.”
Impossible to miss the heartbreaking gratitude that flashes over Kirihara’s face, even as he’s saying, defiant, exactly the same way he’d called out to Yukimura on the Rikkaidai tennis courts that first time, “Just watch me! I’ll prove it to you.”
Yukimura cups Kirihara’s face in his palms, brings their foreheads close together, though not yet touching. Startled, Kirihara blinks, trying to refocus on Yukimura. His eyes shine like something chemical. All the volatile potential Yukimura has hammered out of him into a tangible weapon over the years currently inert and docile between Yukimura’s hands, slip of paper between the reactive components, but it’d barely take a flick of the fingers to detonate him. Kirihara has always been meant for greatness teetering on the verge of complete ruin.
“You haven’t beaten me yet,” Yukimura says.
kiri 1..... FOR ME?!
Date: 2021-08-13 01:10 pm (UTC)Re: kiri 1..... FOR ME?!
Date: 2021-08-14 12:34 am (UTC)