Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Reason ❯ Reason To Digress ( Chapter 3 )

Title: Reason to Digress
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Author: Lethanon
Archive: www.geocities.com/lethanon
Pairing: TachibanaxIbu
Warnings: Angst,yaoi,
Notes: Takes place during and after Shinji's match against Echizen, follows a weird mix of the anime AND manga, and my own twisted storylines. Occurs after `Reason to Stall' and before `Reason to Worry'. This only got finished because flamesword kept poking me. Lol.

Kippei knew Shinji would lose. Not from the beginning; in the beginning anything is possible. It wasn't even halfway through, because there were signs of danger but nothing concrete. Nothing was wholly stone. No, he knew from the point when the possibility of danger turned into a certainty; when he realised the opponent was more persistent. Would not lie down and die like he was supposed to. And when there was blood.

Blood in itself would never deter Shinji. The fault with blood was when Shinji perceived it to be his fault, and there was no denying that the Spot was his construction; his ill-fated design. True, one could not have tossed the racket at that exact angle at that exact moment in time if they had tried on purpose, but Shinji was too calculating, too adept at seeing the whole immediately, that Kippei knew there would be no convincing Shinji once his mind was set.

So there was blood, and Kippei knew instinctively that Shinji's mind was stone. Set. To lose. To fail; to fall and while one small part of Kippei rejoiced that Shinji might finally learn the lesson himself, another part mourned. Because Shinji would never be quite the same; would never again contain that quiet disinterest. Nothing would ever bore him so completely again, because he would no longer be undefeated. He would fear…a great many things. More than usual.

He folded his arms over his chest as the game wore on, feeling each strike of the racket as if it were against his own person, knowing, on some instinctive level, that Shinji felt it too. That it was Shinji who made him feel it.

It ended, but it didn't hurt the way it should. Maybe he'd fought enough, maybe he hadn't cared as much as Kippei had thought. Whatever the reason, Shinji returned to Kippei with shoulders slightly slumped, apologised quietly, appeared reassured when Kippei told him it was fine, and then moved off to the side with a fantastically blank face and dressed quickly. Shinji didn't gulp down the water Akira offered him carefully, merely took it, had a few swallows and handed it back. It was…odd. Kippei watched closely, trying to figure what was going on behind the slate eyes, but they were blank, unreadable.

When they stood in their lines, Kippei couldn't see him, could not turn to evaluate, could not know that his head was bowed, staring at something only he saw. By the time he was able to turn and try to meet that gaze, it was still downcast, but was blank once again and though he put his hand on Shinji's shoulder for a moment it was not felt; there was no reaction.

The team was talking softly to Seigaku, asking after the injuries incurred and Kippei found himself wondering, why there was always pain when his team was involved. It was like a curse, only no on ever died, or was seriously injured physically. It was just pain, and hurt and scars no one ever got to see. It was a miracle, when he considered it, that there was a team at all. That they were people at all. That they played at all…

And it occurred to him that maybe not all of them played. Maybe tennis was something other than a game to his team. Maybe it was something else to Shinji that meant it didn't matter, if you won or lost and it really didn't matter how you played the game. It was simply a gage of pain; a measure of who could do the most damage in the given amount of time. It occurred to Kippei that even if he viewed the match this way, he still had no idea who had won. There were, as usual, too many variables he simply could not see.

Shinji stopped calmly at his side, not too calmly or not calmly enough. Perfectly so. He listened to what Kippei asked, and he obeyed, instantly. Like a well trained dog…But Shinji was no such thing and Kippei wondered if he understood that. If he understood that he was free to make his own choices, without fear of consequence. Kippei was not a replacement for what he had ridded them of. He did not want to be associated with the regime he had ended. Not now. Not ever. Not with him.

He said he was sorry, but did he mean it? When he switched the blame in his head so simply and made it Echizen's fault was that the sort of logic he used for all things? What did any of it mean to Ibu Shinji?

Echizen looked petulant, non-plussed and ready to skin Shinji alive if he didn't stop soon. It took his name, barked more harshly than he had wanted to shut the mouth, but it closed without comment, without complaint. Kippei wondered what that meant. To Shinji, and to him.

He wanted to be alone with him; wanted to get his hands on pale skin, to make it respond, to feel what he couldn't see and know everything was okay. Instead, he had to stand there and talk to Tezuka, and then the stupid reporter, who just would not leave him alone, and then the bus driver and the team, and the teachers when they got back to school. He had to try and explain a loss to a system that didn't want the team to exist at all. Had allowed them to continue on the condition they did as they said they would; make it to Nationals. They were walking a fine line. Finer, perhaps, than he thought.

Shinji wasn't waiting after school. There was no tennis practice and even though Akira stayed to walk with An, Shinji was gone.

"Shinji?"

Kamio merely shrugged, a faintly bemused expression on his face as he replied.

"Left a while ago." Had followed no one home. Had taken his own way, for whatever reason. Just gone. As simply as that.

Kippei frowned staring at the school gates as if Shinji might magically appear. His brain knew it could trust Kamio but his heart, he supposed, did not trust anyone. Had failed to trust anyone since he reached the top and realised there was nothing there worth having.

He walked slowly, a while behind An and Akira, watching the way they gestured wildly together, swapping headphones and cameras between them as they discussed the latest music, video, evaluated the match, tore the day into tiny pieces and ripped each one to shreds with minds that were too eager and too obsessed. They were on a different level. To them, the game was just as important as the team; the team mattered just as much as winning. To them, all that mattered was that they played and that what they played could be recorded, written down, taken to pieces and improved on. They lived for the building. Kippei wondered if there was something to be learnt from that. If in fact he didn't care for the same thing after all. If maybe, just maybe, they were learning it from him.

The house was darker than usual. An was already in her room, loading the video, getting it ready to watch as Kippei went to the kitchen to grab their dinners. His mother and father were sitting together by the radio, preferring it to the television, the news playing softly as they ate around a red candle. It almost made him smile.

"Rough day?"

Kippei nodded once, putting the dinners in the microwave to reheat.

"We came second."

His father watched him carefully, his mother merely smiling as if she already knew the outcome of the conversation and maybe she did.

"But you didn't lose," his father noted quietly and Kippei considered it. No, they had not lost…

"The team didn't." He leant against the bench, listening to the soft hum of the microwave, the gentle clatter of knife and fork on porcelain. Sounds that were so familiar, yet did nothing for him. They were not the thunder of feet, the crack of the racket as it collides with the ball…they were not soft grunts or the sound of skin on skin…

"Did you?" His father didn't watch for his answer, merely shared a knowing smile with his mother as the microwave beeped.

Kippei thought about it all the way to An's room. He had not even played, but had he lost? He didn't know; would not know until tomorrow. So he gave An her dinner and he ate his own and they watched the games. Together. Sifting through the information, scribbling the familiar notes and pausing it just to stare at that moment when Shinji's eyes went wide as the racket slid from Echizen's hand. It hadn't even left the Seigaku Freshman's fist and already he knew; understood exactly where it would go. If that meant something, however, Kippei had no idea what it was.

"The team played well," An noted and Kippei had to agree, but something nagged at him as he showered, and dressed and went to his room and lay on the bed. He didn't sleep that night, didn't dream. He just thought, the little concepts running in tight circles around his brain, trying to decide. Had he won? Had he played with the team? Had he done his job? Had he won.

His father gave them a lift to school in the morning. An hopped out of the car eagerly and raced off to speak to Ishida and Sakurai, who were already marching in the school gates and heading toward the tennis courts for some early morning practice. An had a lot to tell them; a lot to assist in improving the game. Maybe if she explained it to them he wouldn't have to.

His dad didn't put the car back into drive, merely sat there, watching him, as if evaluating something. As if waiting for something. Kippei just raised a brow and waited.

"Your mother's making a small banquet tonight. You should bring a friend."

And that was that. He put the car into drive and sped off, leaving Kippei to stand on the curb and wonder how his father managed to know so much when people said so little.

He went to the courts. He helped An show Sakurai and Ishida a new formation. He helped Mori and Tatsunori with a new move they wanted to try. He ignored the fact neither Akira or Shinji showed, and he went to class pretending he was not worried. Pretending it didn't bother him. Pretending a lot of things.

By the time lunch came with still no sighting he didn't want to pretend anymore, so he headed out to where he knew An liked to sit with some of the team. She was there, with Mori, just talking quietly, heads bowed over a textbook and he recalled something about them being paired together for an English assignment.

"How's it coming?"

Mori looked up at him and grinned. An just sighed, rolling her eyes and Kippei knew she already knew why he was there. Maybe Mori did too, the way he seemed to almost be laughing but holding it in. Laughing with lavender eyes that never missed a beat.

"It's fine, Kippei, and no we have not seen Shinji because he didn't come to school today. Akira left a while ago, since we have English all afternoon and he's paired with Shinji for the assignment."

Was it wrong, to feel jealous about such a small thing? Was it wrong to want to be the one going over there, seeing him, just being near him, maybe…touching him? His mind taunted him with a memory of Shinji pushed up against the bathroom door, head tilted back, eyes finally empty of anything but need for Kippei…The thready moan was still echoing through his mind.

An pinched him. Hard. On the thigh. His glare had never really affected her, but it made him feel a little better. She shooed him away with an unsubtle flick of her wrist after that, which left Mori's laughter in his ears, but he supposed that was okay. Maybe he was being a fool, maybe he was just jealous. Maybe he was tired. It was hard to say when you realised you were slightly afraid. Because Shinji didn't seem the type to take a sicky.

He didn't leave school. He waited, none too patiently, sitting through the last few hours of classes, taking the notes he knew he would need later. He went to the courts and set up for practice, because it was his responsibility. Because he had promised them all he would, not just one. He scowled a little at Akira when he arrived, a little late and out of breath and he would have made him run laps but it was rather obvious he had already run half the length of town.

"Shinji?" De ja vu. A little. But he hardly noticed.

Akira just shrugged and rushed off to play against Sakurai, who was waving impatiently. Kippei watched them all a little too carefully, aware that in some small way they were watching him; waiting for something and he wasn't sure what. Maybe they knew, maybe they didn't. He supposed he was a little hard on them that day, but it didn't hurt them. In the long run it would probably be good for them. You didn't get to Nationals without a little hardness.

No one waited for him as he packed everything away. Akira went outside to talk with An, the others filed out in their usual haphazard way, and Kippei felt slower than usual as he folded his uniform and put it away in his bag, the rackets returned gently to their place, balls packed neatly away. But something was missing and the empty space in the doorway would never be enough to replace it. What could one do with space?

So when he went outside and met up with An and Akira he told them to go on ahead, and even though An looked at him a little oddly and Akira had a soft smirk on his face, Kippei didn't mind. It didn't matter what they thought, what they thought they knew, or what they knew. What mattered was space.

He had never really thought about where the team's players lived. He had a vague map in his head of the streets as they would appear on paper and little red marks where he had placed their houses, but he didn't really go to them. They came to him. As he walked he wondered about that. It seemed odd, that he had not seen the pattern before, that he had not stopped to wonder…Where do they live. How do they live. Why do they live. And why had they chosen to share what they lived with him? They were questions without answers, that would remain without answers perhaps for all time. And yet he continued asking them.

It was not a part of town he was familiar with. He knew Akira lived nearby, had been to Akira's house on several occasions and it struck him as odd that he had never gone that extra bit to Shinji's house. It occurred to him he had never been invited, and that hurt in an odd way. The houses were just ordinary places, each one similar but not identical, created from the same plan and then altered, anything and everything attempted to make it in some way unique. As they passed they only looked more similar, each one forcing itself into the same mould in its attempt to anything but. And then he was there, and it seemed too mundane a place for how he was feeling.

It was just a house. A small, two story place with a not-so well kept garden, an empty driveway and a small cat on the porch. Nothing out of the ordinary, in either a good way or a bad. Just a house. So why did it make his heart sink?

Kippei took the steps one at a time, pausing on each as if to remember the feel of them, though he couldn't feel them at all through his shoes. There was a screen door before the real one, so he pulled it open, raising his hand to knock, but the wood gave way, creaking open and even in the darkness he saw a flash of pale skin before Shinji turned and walked off back into the house, leaving the door open.

It was dark inside. None of the lights were on yet there was an eerie filtering of sunlight through shaded windows, as if even it questioned its right to be there. Shinji was already out of sight, but Kippei walked straight down the main hallway and up the stairs visible at the far end of it, again the steps one at a time, until it smoothed out and then it only took a glance to know that the open door was the one he wanted. That small pool of light that managed to escape; dared the dark.

He leant on the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest as he examined it all, much as Shinji had once examined his room. At first it was almost sad in its anonymity. It was an androgenous room; an empty room, in a lot of ways. But it was a room much like its owner, and it wasn't until you looked that you realised it didn't stop talking to you.

The small calendar on the wall was marked in with nothing but tennis games. The desk was piled high with history books. There was something growing on the windowsill. There was an overly large spider in the right hand corner of the ceiling that didn't look agile enough to have caught that much food. The bed was covered in dark blues, the rice paper blind had holes in it covered by grip tape. There were crates piled high in one corner, a small television sitting on top of them, videos neatly at its side. There was a book open on the bed; How to Play Tennis. It was odd, and rather ironic and Kippei wondered what Shinji was actually doing with it.

Shinji himself had moved to the desk, taking the chair, just sitting on it, as if he was in school still. As if he expected…something. Kippei couldn't begin to guess what. He moved into the room, moving over to the bed, sitting on the edge, just watching Shinji, studying him carefully. Measuring him.

"You missed training." Not to mention school.

"No I didn't," Shinji noted softly, head nodding slightly toward the book. Kippei frowned, studying the open page. How to Serve. Was it an attempt to go back to basics? What did Shinji see in his mind when he read these words? What did he feel by touching the paper? Could it possibly compare? Could he make it? Questions.

"I missed you at training," Kippei amended.

Shinji didn't really have an answer to that. Kippei reached out, snatching the leg of Shinji's pants and pulling him closer, the chair rolling across the floor to nestle in the side of the bed.

"Did you miss me?" Kippei asked softly, leaning in until he could feel the vague inhale and exhale of Shinji's breath through slightly parted lips. Shinji's eyes lowered, looking down his nose at Kippei's lips as they moved, voicing words that Kippei hoped he wanted to hear.

"I lost."

Kippei pulled back a little, studying Shinji carefully, trying to do as he did. Watching the lines, watching the expressions, the way light and shadow shifted. The whole of it. The whole of Shinji. He looked smaller than usual, like he had that first day in the change rooms. Beaten somehow. But the visual wasn't what eventually struck Kippei, rather it was the aural, or its lack thereof.

Shinji wasn't saying anything, but he was speaking nonetheless. Longer and louder than usual.

"Is that a bad thing? Akira lost too. Mori and Uchimura lost. But we all won too. Does Seigaku matter that much to you?" Kippei didn't think it was a bad thing, but what did Shinji think? What did Shinji want…and could he give it to him.

"No. But…I didn't want to lose."

Kippei chuckled, hand reaching up to tangle his fingers in the long, dark strands, marvelling at the blue tinge to it all. He tugged playfully, feeling the unease untangle from about his spine the closer he got.

"No one ever wants to lose, Shinji. We just do. That's what makes playing interesting."

It was impossible to know, if he took it to heart or if it went in one ear and out the other, but Kippei didn't really mind because one minute he was just sitting there, looking at Shinji and the next minute there were lips against his own, grey eyes open, staring into his own, challenging him. Waiting to see what he would do. And it was rather obvious Ibu Shinji had once again switched tracks in the maze of his mind.

Kippei's arms snatched at the knees bent around the chair and pulled him closer, running up lean thighs to grab at the hips, kneading gently as he lunged further into the kiss, never blinking, holding that steel gaze. Meeting it; challenging right back.

It shouldn't have been such a relief, to watch the lids flutter shut, to feel Shinji's quiet exhalation slide down his throat, to be allowed to snatch that breath away. But it was. It told him things, as it whispered its way from one body to the next; told him Shinji was till his. His monster, win or lose. But it also told Kippei he needed to take a step back. Not from Shinji, but from what he was building; from the tennis he was establishing. He was headed in the same direction, had at some point gone backwards…to then. He had trained Shinji to be exactly what he was running away from and he was not blind enough to imagine it hadn't almost cost him everything.

Kippei didn't let go. He leant closer, letting his hands slide around Shinji's waist and pulling him onto his own, never letting go of the lips as he encouraged the legs to wrap around his waist before he stood and stumbled to Shinji's closet, wrenching open the doors. It was enough to startle Shinji's eyes open and he glanced over his shoulder to see, blinking at his piles of clothing, legs tightening a little instinctively. Kippei took the moment to reach out and snag a black polar fleece jumper, slipping it between them as he leant in once again, taking everything Shinji was willing to give, which he was fast coming to the realisation was…everything. And it was a terrifying thought. Just what did Shinji consider to be everything?

A sobering thought. Enough to make him let go, to lean back and let Shinji slip his feet back to the ground. Shinji didn't say anything, just watched him, that wary, closed off look in his eyes again as he let Kippei put the polar fleece on him, like some strange live puppet with no strings. Geppetto's masterpiece, right there in his arms.

Shinji's hand was cool but strong as he took it. Familiar already, though the calluses were worn thicker, still hard and raw after the match. It had cost more than Shinji had let anyone know. Kippei wished he knew how much, even if it was just to know how far he needed to take Shinji before Nationals. Because they were going, of that he had no doubts, and he would know. But for now, going a little closer to home would be more than enough.

There was no questioning. No answering, and no need for either all of a sudden. Shinji simply walked, didn't even bother to lock the door on his way out, just walked away and finally…finally Shinji was following him home again. There was still that space, but it was around them and not between them and when he looked at the door there was more than a vague shadow. There was breath.

An answered the door. She was dressed nicely, in dress jeans and a blouse. Kippei didn't miss the way she glanced down at his hand, wrapped tight about Shinji's. She didn't say anything though, just snatched up Shinji's other hand and dragged him inside, forcing Kippei to follow.

The table was set, with a tablecloth and candles and a series of small bowls of floating flowers that glowed in the soft light. Several bowls of rice were already laid out and his father came through the door carrying a platter of stir fried vegetables. He glanced up and the smile on his face was genuine. The kind Kippei rarely saw a year ago.

"Ibu-san," he inclined his head and it seemed to amuse him that a faint blush crept over Shinji's cheeks. Kippei just watched it all with an amused little smirk of his own, letting An drag Shinji to the table while he went to the kitchen to help his mother. She kissed him on the cheek when he came in. She hadn't done that in years.

"Welcome home, Kippei."

He supposed she was right, in a lot of different ways. And it was nice, to know she knew it, understood it, accepted it. To know he was succeeding by digressing.

Dinner was an interesting affair. Kippei spent it delighting in the way Shinji's mouth didn't stop moving, wether it be around food or words it didn't matter. Especially since one hand was always under the table, wrapped tight in his own.

Shinji, to everyone's surprise, insisted on washing up. An did the wiping, leaving Kippei to clean up the table, but he didn't mind. Shinji seemed to find An amusing in some way. He would watch her from the corner of his eye as she wiped and chattered away and a faint smile played on his lips. Not Shinji's interested smile, just…amused. It fascinated Kippei and he found himself sitting down in the kitchen at the table just to watch them. Watch him.

"What was so funny?" He had to ask Shinji, as soon as they were alone, clean after a each had their turn in the shower and he could just sit on the bed and watch Shinji by the window rubbing the towel over his wet hair. The smile still hadn't faded.

"It's like talking to Akira, only as a girl. She talks like he does, and she's obsessed like he is and they like the same things and its so obvious they spend so much time together because they tell me the same things even when they're not together…its like they have secret conversations or something, or are from a different planet even though that's not really possibly or very likely…I'm almost jealous, but not, because it's just…amusing."

Kippei almost wanted to laugh, because it was mundane and ridiculous and…amusing. Instead of laughing he put his hand out, palm up, and just waited. Shinji came slowly, but his fingers curled around Kippei's and they seemed a little warmer than usual and the grey eyes weren't closed to him, or challenging or waiting. They were just there, with him, and that was what mattered.

A gentle tug was all it took to pull Shinji onto the bed beside him and he kicked back the covers without much effort, rolling away and walking to the wall to switch off the light. There was enough light coming through the window from the night to see a softer version of Shinji; the one Shinji stupidly thought looked better somehow because people always looked better in the dark. Kippei didn't care. He liked Shinji just the same in any light, but he understood that this was where Shinji was comfortable.

He was more than a little surprised when Shinji snatched at his hands, sliding a thigh between his legs and shifting until he was hovering over him in the dark, tips of lanky, wet hair trailing over his cheek and shoulder. Kippei could feel it; sense the weighing and he held his breath, waiting for the decision.

"I…want more." He hesitated, leaning down to rub his lips softly against Kippei's. It wasn't a kiss, just an affirmation of words; of what he wanted. "More, like yesterday."

Kippei's hands came up of their own accord. Yesterday…when there had been no time, when they had moved forward after stagnating for so long. When he had rushed it, needing to bind Shinji to him, remind him what he was doing and why and hopefully who for. He had thought he'd failed.

They'd asked him if he won.

They'd made him explain why they lost.

He'd wondered if he lost.

Shinji's body was hot and tight and lean and supple and everything he'd wanted but never realised he longer for. Shinji was quiet, but not silent, and the soft nothings he whispered in his ear were meaningless yet laden with feeling and want and desire and everything Kippei had ever wanted answers to without him ever having to ask. It was a reason to take a step back, to look at life, his life, and keep trying. To realise that sometimes the best way to take a step forward was to take a step back.

To digress.