Summary: For 30_kisses, pairing focus ToriHiyo. Theme #1 - look over here
Notes: First story set in an arc. Eventual pairing will be ToriHiyo. 1473 words.

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by Ruebert

The taste of salt-sweat and sugar on his lips was unpleasant; the calls of the birds overhead a passing annoyance which could be buried, however uneasily, beneath the chatters and murmurs of those gathered around him on the stands. He didn't need to look back over his shoulder to know who was sitting behind him, didn't need to look to his left or right to be able to identify the trainer perched on the edge of the row in front of them, or the bruises on the knee that jutted out just beyond his own, attached to a thigh which felt too warm. He didn't need to listen carefully to the thunder of a hundred young voices raised to the sky to hear his own lost in that cacophony.

Hyoutei had done well. There was no shame in doing well, despite their losses. They would persevere, because that was what Hyoutei did -- that was what the new Hyoutei would continue to do. It had been a year of firsts, but that was no reason to think that it would also be the first year that they felt regret. There was no giving up, and there was no turning back, and all that remained now was to look ahead.

Sometimes, one could find redemption. He disliked thinking of himself as a loser: he was never that. It was, as always, a temporary setback, and he would prove himself again. He always did. The fire could not be stamped out -- it would bide its time, smoldering beneath the dirt and dust until the proper time came for it to rage and roar free and consume all that stood in its path.

He liked that metaphor.

"It was a good match, Hiyoshi," the boy beside him said, and when he turned his attention from the games being played out down on the court below to look at him, his lips were pressed together in a tight line.

It had been a good match, and he would not deny that or claim false modesty. Even when the final score had been called out at the last, he had known it was a very good match. He hadn't needed his coach's nod to know that he would not be penalized for this loss, that it would not affect his status on the regulars. Though what status being a regular held now, after Hyoutei's defeat in the last Nationals tournament he would compete in during junior high school, he could not say. Training, and training more, for the high school team, if he chose to pursue that.

Of course he would.

"You don't need to worry that Sakaki-sensei will drop you from the regulars," Ohtori continued, and Hiyoshi felt a brief moment of confusion when a hand touched his shoulder lightly. Worry? He hadn't been worried. It was highly unlikely that their coach would drop him, Hyoutei's captain. Highly unnecessary as well, until the next captain was chosen. He'd managed to lead well despite the changes in the way the team was run, despite the loss of the flashy players that had once been Hyoutei's trademark.

Ohtori, with eyebrows drawn together and lips curled in a smile that was perhaps meant to be comforting but spoke more of nervousness, seemed more worried than Hiyoshi felt.

Ohtori had more reason than he did to be worried. But it had been a year of firsts for Hyoutei, and Hiyoshi doubted that Hyoutei's coach would drop Ohtori for a loss in the Nationals, either. They would both simply rise through the ranks again and beat all those who stood in their way, if that were to happen. Theirs were not losses without honor.

Match point. Hiyoshi turned his eyes to the court again, and he heard his own voice, unexpected, rise from his throat unbidden.

It was not a loss to be ashamed of when you lost to those of this level. It was a loss to be ashamed of when you did not attempt to rise afterward and beat them down later on. It was not Hiyoshi's Hyoutei any longer, but perhaps Ohtori had not yet realized that. Perhaps Hiyoshi's Hyoutei would return, but there was no guarantee of that.

"You did well," Ohtori said, and the words were nearly lost in the screams of the classmates who surrounded them, in their teammates' voices gone hoarse. Was he trying to reassure Hiyoshi? Hiyoshi needed no reassurances.

"You both did well," another voice came from behind them when the cheering died, and as one they turned to face familiar features, a smirk both knew well. "You took Hyoutei further than we got it last year, and that's not bad. Looking good, Choutarou," Shishido finished, his grin softening as he transferred his attention to his old partner.

"I have to keep up if we're going to play together next year, right?" Ohtori asked, and as they began to talk, as the groups in the stands began to gather and move, Hiyoshi turned away from his teammate and former teammate's reunion and reached down between his knees for his racket bag.

He had not expected to see Shishido here, though why that was he was not certain. Other past teammates had come to watch Hyoutei's matches and cheer them on, but Shishido had been absent to all but a few of Ohtori's matches. Hiyoshi had not made a habit of keeping track of his sempai over the past year, but Shishido's presence had never been one that could be ignored, simply for its effect on Ohtori's playing and demeanor.

It was none of his business if Ohtori and Shishido were planning on partnering again once they had all moved on to high school. Ohtori's best place was doubles. They would be a strong foundation for the high school team; they would secure the wins that would enable Hiyoshi to play singles with confidence.

It was none of his business, he thought as he straightened, slid his bag onto his shoulder, and turned towards the stairs, unwilling to clamber ungracefully over the long rows of benches to make his escape. What doubles players did had nothing to do with singles players, not when next year's Hyoutei would not be his team; Hiyoshi was not foolish enough to think that he would rise to a high position of responsibility as a freshman. Ohtori and Shishido's business had always been Ohtori and Shishido's business, and that perhaps was why he was caught unaware by them, why his eyes snagged on the scene and stayed there, why the logical workings of his mind were silenced.

No one else saw. No one else knew. He only knew this because his mind caught up to reality and noted that those around them had moved away, that no one was paying attention to the way that two teenagers leaned into each other, to the way that arms were latched around torsos in what was surely just a simple embrace between friends, between an older teammate congratulating and reassuring the younger.

Hiyoshi would have paid it no mind, would not have noticed it himself -- they had always been that way, always touched each other more in companionable ways, because that was simply the way that Ohtori was, and that was how Shishido was around Ohtori. It would have meant nothing, if he had not seen those fingers slide down from silvered hair, rough ruffle of unruly strands shift into caress of thumb across cheekbone, seen Ohtori's head swiftly turn and his lips brush across Shishido's palm.

It was a strange motion, and took Hiyoshi all of that long, startled moment to recognize the kiss for what it was; Ohtori's head jerked back, and Shishido's hand dropped like a stone, and both looked in opposite directions.

Hiyoshi didn't bother to look away as Ohtori's eyes latched onto his, as mild features set in a defensive mask; Shishido's gaze was more challenging, dark eyes daring Hiyoshi to say something.

He'd heard the rumors, but he'd always assumed them to be the stupid products of those who were weak, foolish attempts to discredit those who were strong. He'd never thought there might be any truth to them.

Seconds passed, and though around them the stands continued to empty, the words and voices of those other people did not pierce the shell of air around them, two breaths held, one breath released.

"You're in the way," Hiyoshi said, and then he stepped up onto the bench, moved into the row above them and continued towards the stairs which would lead away from the courts, the path that would lead him away from two pairs of eyes too many.

Footsteps on poured concrete a steady rhythm calming and summoning logic to return, he carefully put what he had just seen away in the back of his mind, and told himself that useless information was best forgotten.

It was none of his business, and it had nothing to do with him.

The End

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