In Sickness…

Midorino Mizu

Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama and all associated characters are the property of Konomi Takeshi

Author’s Note: This is probably the nicest Fuji I’ve ever written. He scares me. I mean, he’s being NICE. To AKAYA.

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His eyes were too bright.

Kirihara Akaya’s eyes were, of course, always bright. They were a bold shade of green set at an impish slant in a pale face, and they always seemed to glow with whatever emotion the Rikkaidai junior happened to be feeling at the time.

He had spent a great deal of time watching Kirihara’s myriad expressions flicker across his face, watching his eyes darken or lighten, depending on his mood. But right now, Fuji Syusuke thought as he looked across the tennis court, there was no real expression there; just a hot gleam in his eyes and bright flush across his normally pale cheeks.

Akaya was sick, he thought. Not seriously ill – likely it was no more than an early winter cold – but he was sick, all the same. He was almost certainly running a fever, and Fuji had seen him coughing earlier that day. The junior shouldn’t be practicing tennis in that state, but he was.

Sometimes, the Seigaku senior reflected with an amused twist of his lips, Akaya reminded him, a little, of Yuuta. They were both determined and single-minded when it came to tennis, and they both had a lamentable tendency to exclude everything else from their lives.

“Game and match, Kirihara,” he called as the other boy smashed the tennis ball across the court, right past the freshman player he’d been matched against that day. “Good match, Akaya,” he continued.

Kirihara didn’t say a word, just huffed out a breath, letting his arm drop to his side. Fuji’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps it was a little worse than he thought, if the other boy couldn’t manage either a smirk or a scowl.

“Akaya?” he inquired, leaping gracefully down from the chair as Kirihara just stood in the middle of the court, swaying just slightly. “Are you all right? Akaya?”

Kirihara jolted as he heard Fuji call his name. “Huh? Oh.” He blinked glazed green eyes at the Seigaku player. He didn’t bother asking Fuji why he was there, even though he didn’t remember the other boy showing up. It had gotten to the point, he thought hazily, where Fuji was just always there.

“I’m fine,” he finally muttered. “Just a little…hot.” He shuddered slightly. “And a little cold.”

Fuji’s bright blue eyes narrowed further, and he lifted a hand, brushing the damp tangle of black curls out of Kirihara’s eyes, and laying his palm across the younger boy’s forehead. “You’re running a temperature,” he stated simply.

“No, ‘m not,” said Kirihara in a half-hearted growl. He scowled as a knowing smirk spread across Fuji’s face. “What? I’m not! I’ve been playing tennis, and it’s hot out!”

Fuji just shook his head at him, amused despite himself. “Akaya,” he said. “It’s November. Come on, I’ll take you home.” He draped an arm across Kirihara’s back and propelled him forward. “You need to rest.”

“Don’ wanna go,” protested the junior. “Gotta practice for the winter tournaments.”

“Not today,” said Fuji. “Today, you’re going home.”

His voice had the sort of brisk finality that even Kirihara Akaya knew better than to protest. But he did protest, weakly, all the same. One last time.

“Sanada’ll be mad,” he muttered. He let his head loll to the side, dropping it onto Fuji’s narrow shoulder. He was hot, he thought, and he felt shaky; the adrenaline that had carried him through his afternoon practice matches had suddenly abandoned him.

He hated feeling like that, and he hated that he was leaning on Fuji Syusuke. But he couldn’t summon enough energy to move.

“Don’t worry,” said Fuji. He smiled as the younger boy’s head landed on his shoulder, his curls brushing against the skin at Fuji’s throat. “I’ll talk to Sanada.”

***

They were a strange pair, drawing stares as they half-stumbled, half-walked to Kirihara’s house. It was somewhat understandable, Fuji thought as he tightened his arm around Kirihara’s back; they were two junior high boys leaning on one another. They had to make quite the picture, he mused, a delicate and almost girlish boy supporting the more boyish Kirihara.

Kirihara, he thought as he struggled to open the other boy’s front gate, still managed to look a little dangerous, even like this. Like there was a tempest inside, always on the verge of unleashing itself.

Fuji rested his hands lightly on the younger boy’s shoulders and pushed him forward. “We’re almost there,” he said briskly. “Just a bit further, and we’ll have you in the door. Your mother can make you soup, or something.”

“Not home,” mumbled Kirihara. “Business trip. Sister’s back at college, too.”

“Oh,” said Fuji. “Well, I guess I’ll make you soup, then.”

Kirihara mumbled something unintelligible about not needing any help, and Fuji probably couldn’t cook anything anyway. Fuji chuckled softly.

“Now, Akaya,” he said as he toed of his shoes and pressed Kirihara up the stairs, where he knew the other boy’s room was. “Don’t be silly; someone needs to take care of you.”

Kirihara sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Whatever,” he managed as he shuffled into his bedroom. “I just want to sleep.”

His bed looked so inviting, he thought. Maybe he could just collapse and forget all about tennis and Fuji Syusuke and the fact that he felt like he was dying.

“In a minute, Akaya,” Fuji said mildly, turning the other boy around to face him. “First, take off your pants.

Bright green eyes blinked owlishly at him. “What?”

An amused smile tugged at Fuji’s lips. “Take off your pants,” he repeated. “You can’t sleep in your tennis uniform.”

Kirihara glared up at him, opening his mouth before letting it shut again with a snap. “Fine,” he muttered. His shaking hands pushed ineffectually at the waist of his track pants before he sighed. “Can’t,” he grunted. “Tired.”

“I see that,” murmured Fuji. He brushed the thick thatch of black curls out of Kirihara’s glazed eyes and smiled, before dropping his hand and neatly pushing the other boy’s shorts to the ground. “Step out of them,” he said as he reached up to pull the mustard-colored jersey over the junior’s head.

“There,” he murmured. He smiled again as Kirihara plopped down on the bed. “You can’t sleep like that, either, Akaya.”

“Why not?” the younger boy muttered. He stretched out across his mattress and let his eyes drift closed. His head hurt, he noted absently. “You made me come home. Let me sleep. Go away.”

Fuji chuckled. “In a minute,” he claimed. He reached over Kirihara’s head, grabbing hold of the soft pajamas tangled there. “Lift up, a little. I need to put the shirt on you.”

He slipped the soft flannel over Akaya’s shoulders, sliding his arms into the sleeves and slipping the large buttons into their holes, before shaking the loose pants out and slowing sliding them over the junior’s legs.

It was almost a shame, he thought as he brushed his fingers against the tops of Kirihara’s thighs, watching as the other boy’s pale skin disappeared under the dark blue flannel. Ah, well. He could play with Akaya later.

And he would.

“There,” he said softly. “Get under the covers.”

Kirihara mumbled again as he obliged, pulling the sheets up to his chin and tossing his head to the side. Fuji smiled, leaning close.

“What was that?” he asked as he straightened the other boy’s blankets and fluffed his pillow.

Kirihara turned his head, opening heavy-lidded eyes. “Can you stay?” he asked again.

Fuji nodded, his smile widening a little. That request…he hadn’t expected that. “Yeah,” he said. “I can stay. For a while.”

“Good,” muttered Kirihara. He burrowed into his pillow, closing his eyes with a ragged sigh.

Fuji stayed where he was for a moment, leaning over the sleeping Rikkaidai junior, before stepping back and settling on a cushion on the floor. He picked up a manga from the pile next to him and flipped it open, absently scanning the pictures and words without really reading it.

He’d stay, he decided, at least until Akaya’s father got home; it wouldn’t be good to leave the younger boy alone like that. But after that, Fuji thought, glancing up at the still figure on the bed. After that, who knew what he might do? He couldn’t predict his own actions with Kirihara, which was something strange, something that he didn’t think had happened before.

Almost all of his actions were carefully weighed and calculated. Fuji had always thought and planned things perfectly before he decided to act. But with Kirihara, it was a little different. Sometimes, with the other boy, he found himself doing things that were…unexpected. Not all the time, but sometimes. Often enough, Fuji thought, that it was strange.

Even after all these months, he continued to himself, his lips curving into a smile, there was still something very interesting about Kirihara Akaya.