Snapshot: Fuji Syusuke and Kirihara Akaya

Midorino Mizu

Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama is property of Konomi Takeshi

***

Kirihara Akaya woke to a click and a flash, and he blinked open sleepy green eyes.

“What’re you doing?” he grumbled sleepily, pushing a thatch of curly black hair out of his eyes. Really, he thought as he squinted up at Fuji Syusuke’s loose hair and genial smile, it was too early in the morning for anything.

Particularly anything involving Fuji and his camera.

“Hmm?” murmured Fuji as he adjusted the lens and peered through the viewer. “I’m just taking your picture. You can go back to sleep, if you want.”

The Rikkai student glared. “Why are you always taking pictures of me, anyway?” he said. “You always have that thing in your hands.

Fuji smiled, his usual, deceptively gentle smile, and lowered the camera. “I don’t have many pictures of you,” he answered. “I have pictures of everyone else.”

“Oh.” Kirihara fell silent then, and watched as Fuji set the silver and black box on his knees, before bending over to pick up something from the floor next to his bed.

The older boy had gotten redressed, putting on the khaki pants he’d been wearing when he’d shown up at Kirihara’s house earlier that day, but forgoing the shirt. Kirihara could see the muscles move and flex under Fuji’s pale skin as he bent over, and he wondered how any one ever thought that the Seigaku player was weak.

Fuji Syusuke was slender, of course, and he looked delicate, but only fools overlooked the core of pure steel.

He wasn’t a fool, Kirihara thought as he started to tug the sheet higher. He’d underestimated Fuji the first time they had played, but he had never thought he was weak.

He just hadn’t thought that he was that strong.

“Don’t do that,” the older boy said softly, a reprimand in his voice as he pulled the pale cotton sheet back down again. “I wanted it where it was.”

Kirihara wrinkled his nose, making a face at Fuji. “I’m cold,” he lied. He didn’t really mind having his picture taken, and he thought it was kind of funny how Fuji got bossy when he had a camera in his hands.

But he liked to be difficult, and he still hadn’t figured out how to irritate Fuji yet.

Fuji shook his head in amusement, his light hair brushing against his cheeks with the movement. He raised the camera to his eyes again, focusing the lens as he leaned over the younger boy. “Just close your eyes, Akaya,” he murmured. “I’m almost done…just a few more shots.

“Whatever.” Kirihara huffed out a breath and let his eyes drift shut, his hair falling across his face as he leaned back against the pillows again.

He drifted off again as the sun rose, with the soft click of Fuji Syusuke’s camera lulling him to sleep.