For: Week 5 @ iron_tennis.

by sublimeparadigm

It's strange sometimes, how the smallest incidents, the events that normally just pass you by unnoticed, can suddenly smack you right in the face. I don't mean like getting a tennis ball going 200 km/h right smack in the face, because believe me, I know what that feels like. It's like, how out of seemingly nowhere, something usually inane will take on this whole new meaning.

Choutarou got this anonymous love letter. That in itself, is a small incident; all the regulars get love letters, usually at least a few times a week, and a lot of them tend to be signed anonymously. I always show mine to Choutarou, he always shows his to me, and we have a laugh about it. (Because, jeez, some of the crap these girls come up with! "Bottomless orbs"? "Silky raven hair?" What the hell are these girls on?)

But anyways, this one Choutarou got was . . . well, it wasn't particularly special - it was bad, mind you, but not any worse than usual. It was just something this girl wrote . . . "chocolate eyes."

Immediately, I laughed. It sounded totally stupid! So I laughed, like I usually would, and I expected Choutarou to laugh with me, like he usually would, except . . . he didn't.

He looked like he was about to cry.

I hate that look. I can't exactly explain why, but whenever Choutarou gets upset, it makes me want to stomp on, maim, and destroy whatever is making him upset. It's like a sempai looking out for his kouhai, you know?

So I stopped laughing (obviously) and stared. He tried to put on this little smile for me, then fake a laugh, to hide that he was upset. Choutarou is a terrible, terrible liar, I'll just make that clear right now. Just looking at him, you can immediately tell what he's thinking. Well . . . at least I can.

"I'm sorry," the words were an automatic reaction.

He pretended to look confused. "There's nothing to be sorry about, Shishido-san!" Another fake laugh.

Well, fuck. Didn't I just feel like the world's number one asshole? Then, there was this part of me feeling inexplicably jealous, like how dare this chick write something that would actually affect my Choutarou? Then, I realized, that in my mind, I had just called him MY Choutarou, which was alarming, to say the least. Which, in turn, led to a whole strew of thoughts that (to make a long, complicated train of thought short) ended up at the conclusion that maybe I was a little . . . possessive of my partner, and maybe I cared about him more than was considered strictly appropriate. Now, see what I mean, about minor incidents turning into much, much bigger things? All of sudden, I was seeing him in this new light, which sounds really stupid and lame, but well, it's true.

So, I looked at him. I mean, I was looking at him anyways, but now I really looked at him and at his eyes. Chocolate . . . yeah, okay, I suppose. But, the description was really lacking, you know?

"Hot chocolate." Oh yes, it was official: I, Shishido Ryou, was an enormous dork with absolutely no flair for poetics.

Luckily, Choutarou, being the exceptional human being he was, didn't notice that. He looked up at me and just, holy crap, he looked like he'd just won a trip to Hawaii or something.

"Thanks, Shishido-san," he spoke softly, and then blushed. He blushed over my incredibly lame-ass compliment.

I was never going to be able to drink hot chocolate, ever again, without feeling like a class A dork. Which, in retrospect, wasn't such a bad thing.

The End

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