Summary: One half of Doubles for Fudoumine talk. And they're as straight as straight can be. And it's kinda sweet. I guess. Just read it, because the summary does no justice to it.
Time Frame: Today.
Sakurai stretched and yawned. Lunchtime was like always: long and a general waste of time, especially when you were the type who could eat in 20 minutes and did all your homework the night before. Today was different though, he was feeling rather lethargic and was almost pleased he had this free time. If he could only sneak around Kamio's persistent whine to lend him his notes etcetera, he could sneak onto the roof and sneak a nap or something equally stimulating, he thought, feeling in his pocket for the squished pack of cigarettes. Two left. Enough to while away the hour.
The look he gave Shinji was like a cue for the dark-haired boy to start mumbling, causing the redhead to turn his head and devote all his attention to try and get his opinion edgewise. That was the moment Sakurai made a break for it, calling out a stupid reason for his exit over one shoulder while he dashed up the stairs and onto the roof. Ah, safe.
And cold too, the wind was blowing today, strong but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. Yanking the smashed pack out of his pocket and digging for a book of matches, he quickly lit one and went to find a spot good enough where he could keep away from view of anyone who might barge in and give him enough time to get rid of the offending stick.
Ishida’s chest ached from the combo of cold wind and the amount of stairs. He could say to himself that, truthfully, this shouldn’t exactly have this kind of debilitating effect on him, and that he should probably be training harder if after ten steps, he was trying hard to gulp in even a breath of air. But what was he supposed to do, when he needed to see Sakurai and only caught a glimpse of that pomade-slicked head of his doubles partner bobbing it’s head towards the stairwell.
Hands pressing hard onto cold metal of the rooftop door, Ishida was finally able to calm his heart down to a rapid thump before emerging, cautiously, onto the long stretch of gravelly rooftop. A hand raising to adjust bandanna -- and to prevent sunlight from getting into his eyes, and making him fall in the worst case scenario -- he cleared his throat. “Sakurai? Hey, hey Sakurai, you here, right?” Ishida was worried that he may have mistaken someone else’s greased hair for the little guy he regarded as a brother type.
He'd been falling asleep but the voice had woken up and Sakura had to swat the cigarette away from his lap where it was going to burn a nice hole. "Oh…it's only you. You scared me, you fucking idiot…but hi." Good ol' Ishida. Sakurai wasn't feeling up to company really, but if there had to be, it was a good thing it was Ishida. The guy would stand for shit. With a smile that showed he wasn't guilty at all, Sakurai tossed the finished stub away and shifted to let Ishida sit next to him. "What's up?"
Fingers along white bandanna, and Ishida’s head tilted onto one side before he tried to dig around Sakurai’s pockets. He knew there was a pack of something or other hidden in them, and he had just thrown himself up stairs for this little punk. “ ‘Hi’? ‘What’s up’? Hey, is that all you have to say? Come on, what‘s on your mind?” Ishida grinned, pulling the crumpled pack of cigarettes out and holding it above as Sakurai appeared to snatch for it, quickly speaking from behind a filtered stick. “Ain’t everyday you head to a rooftop.” He paused, then, “Yeah. Not everyday.”
"What's on my mind…?" Sakurai laughed easily and lunged for the pack at the moment Ishida bobbed it nearer, snatching it and taking the last one and lighting it quickly before generously offering it to Tetsu. "Well…I'm bored and it's loud today. I mean, you must've heard Kamio lately…he's on Cloud 9 about finally being made captain and hasn't shut up once. Even though we all knew it was coming. So I thought the roof would be more accommodating. Why are you up here? Miss me already?" Sakurai wriggled his eyebrows at his double partner.
Ishida pushed at Sakurai’s shoulder, grin still plastered on even as he happily accepted the cigarette. “Of course, Kamio.. You know, he worries me. Like, what if he’s gonna try to be like Tachibana-sempai and just, I dunno, what if he ain’t gonna be himself? I don’t want to ramble.. But this whole year will have me on edge.” A single deep breath, then a puff of wispy smoke. “I came up here because I thought there was some general problem with you, of course.” Ishida turned in place, then leaned close to check out Sakurai, as if inspecting his entire self only through his eyes. He then nodded, and swiveled back. “Yep. You got problems. Big ones. In that giant head of yours.”
"Akira is a spaz. He's going to fine. Tachibana wouldn't choose him if he didn't think he couldn't handle it and he shouldn't try to be Tachibana-san…that's twisted. He'll lead fine if he's just himself." Sakurai laughed at the worry comment and stared Ishida straight on, as if to assure his much bigger friend. "Eh…sure, dad. You worry too much." Sakurai made a face and reached for the cigarette for another puff, artfully making a smoke ring and then lifting a finger to poke at it. "My biggest problem, at the moment, would be that I have no problems. Nothing to do, just finished student rep responsibilities, exams, tennis has barely started. I'm feeling a little restless, is all, really…I need to be working or…or…doing something with my hands…or…something." Sakurai playfully shook his hand at the sky as if to will the gods: give me something to do!
“Well, we all know that he’s a spaz. I mean, isn’t that what all redheads are? And we have one as buchou, so that says a lot about our team, so we’d be linked as spazzes, too..” Ishida rambled on, worry settling in and hand raising to quickly turn the smoke ring to simple air. That same hand came down to rest on Sakurai’s shoulder, his other hand raising with just his index finger held up. “Right, Sakurai Masaya, you’re working yourself all up. ..That’s worrying, too. I mean, having a doubles partner, who needs to do all this stuff to keep himself interested or whatever.” Ishida shook his head, then fell back onto his elbows to become more comfortable -- though that in itself was hard, as this was a roof, and those generally are not the most comfortable of places. “It’s like having a junkie for a partner. Only cutting out all that need for drugs thing. ..Wait, are you on drugs? Dammit, Sakurai! You know better!” A tennis shoe kicked at the gravel on the rooftop, and a frown settled into Ishida’s worry-face.
"What?! Are you insane?" Sakurai scowled at him. Heck, he wouldn't touch the stuff if he was paid. Well, he would touch it but it sure as hell wouldn't get inside his body. The body he worked hard at to keep fit and things. "I don't do drugs. There are other legal ways to feel great. Caffeine, chocolate. Chocolate covered donuts. Sex." And work, Sakurai added mentally. Why not? Workaholism wasn't a bad thing. "Why are you so uptight, man?" Sakurai patted Ishida's head in an affectionate buddies kind of way. "…hey, you wouldn't happen to be on drugs, wouldya? Because you're jumpy." Sakurai teased.
Ishida flinched, then pushed away Sakurai’s hand as it came in contact with his head, making a face at him. “I wouldn’t do anything outside of cigarettes, and donuts are disgusting and bad for your body. You’ll get fat!” He grinned, then held his hands out at either side and tried to puff out his cheeks, to imitate Sakurai. “Mm. Donuts. I will eat me yet another one, and become big name on sumo circuit. Mm!” His grin became smug, and he rose a hand to scratch the bridge of his nose. “You’re such a little prick. You don’t even know what sex is like, anyway.”
"You do not diss sumo wrestlers, man! I've met one and he wasn't soft. It was like running into a truck." Sakurai winced at the comical image of being squashed by a sumo fighter. "And don't ever make that face again!" He laughed easily and copied Ishida's face. "You look stupid. Now, I could make it look good." Sakurai smoothed his hair back carefully. "Who's the prick who brought up drugs in the first place? Sex would be better but you know..yeah…you're right and…aw, whatever." He laughed and scratched his own nose, embarrassed at having to bring it up. "Neither of us have experience…unless there's something you're neglecting to tell me. Your best friend in the whole world." Sakurai gasped dramatically and rolled his eyes.
“Well, I have- .. No, no, it is not for virgin ears to hear.” Ishida waved it off, like some kind of irritating bug, and kept his grin firmly on his face, looking away and digging the burning cigarette into the rooftop. It was easy to see why Sakurai never got girls, what with trying to pull off that suave thing with his hair, and trying to act like coming from a public school gives him all right to smoke and probably buy asahi from one of the vending machines. They weren’t thugs or anything. They played tennis - and Ishida was starting to think it was the gayest thing since visual kei.
"You loser. You probably haven't anyway." Sakurai tried to look pouty. "I'm too busy at the moment anyway. I don't have time for a girlfriend." He added. "School, student council and tennis…plus I just got that part-timer at the conbini. I start later…good thing it's not too far from my house." He mused outloud, for the benefit of keeping his partner informed, while he reached up to run his hands through his hair again. When he was a kid, it was nail-biting, which he only did now when deadlines ran close for him. Nowadays his hair was his only fixture on his appearance but it was just as bad, he supposed.
Ishida stuck out his lower lip - the closest thing to a pout that his body could perform - and then rolled his eyes, before slapping a hand down hard upon Sakurai’s hair. “If you keep doing that.. I’ll have to remind myself to sneak superglue into your hair gel. It’s not a good habit,” he muttered, and closed his eyes with a sneer, fingers twisting and tugging at dark greased hair. “..stop worrying me, Sakurai. You’re going to overwork yourself, and probably have a heart attack by the time you enter high school.” High school. He hadn’t thought of that yet..
"You wouldn't dare." Sakurai glared and twisted his head out of Ishida's reach. "You don't have to worry about me, I'm a big kid and smart." He tapped his forehead for emphasis. "And your little prank would be lame." But he shuddered inwardly at the thought of getting his hair stuck into a helmet-like dome and he's had to shave it off. And wear a towel too? How frightening. "I won't be dying anytime before high school, I promise." Especially since Sakurai was planning to get into a very, very good high school. Private with a good tennis team. And he was going to be better then he was now. It was all about not being a bum forever. Why not, right? One could dream. On the other hand, one could work like a man possessed but once the goal was attained, it was all good, right? Death was the only rest after all.
A blank look, and turning his head towards Sakurai, Ishida’s eyebrows slowly raised. There was something about Sakurai’s look of determination after shuddering, after that brief hint of cold, that look that showed itself disturbed Ishida. For one moment, he didn’t want to think about how Sakurai could be thinking of making his life better through overwork, through making his own name known above Fudoumine’s reputation. It made him sick to think such things, and he rose to his feet with a hand on his stomach in worry.
“..Hey, we should really be going. We don’t want to miss anything, like classes, do we.” Ishida winced, it was like something inside his stomach was burning - ulcers, most likely - and he couldn’t stand to keep around this little greasy haired idiot with an inferiority complex.
"Huh?" Sakurai shook himself out of his thoughts. A quick glance at his cell phone watch revealed that it really was cutting close to class. "Mmm, you're right…back again. Time flies." He neatly tucked the device into his pant's pocket and stood, shifting his uniform so it was neat and swung his own worried look at Ishida. Laying a hand on the one plastered to the bigger boy's stomach, he asked if Ishida was ok and did he need anything? A visit to the nurse or something? Tsk, Tetsu worried too much and didn't like being fussed over but heck, he was really asking for it this time, even though he looked like he wanted to punch Sakurai for making him worry right back too. A lot of worry they had, the two of them.
The single action of Sakurai’s hand pressing onto his own, it kind of made Ishida feel disgusted, and a rumble to shoot through his stomach again. He pushed away, frowning and pulling himself up straight, lower lip still outwards, eyes glancing away, and mumbling over how Sakurai acts like such a girl over him. Rolling his shoulders into a shrug, and waving his hand in an offhand gesture to ignore it, he turned on one heel and awkwardly walked off, happy to feel cool steel under his fingertips, and the accompanying thud of shoes on stairs. But, his voice rose, echoing in that stairwell. “..just get to class, and I’ll be fine, yah? ..yah.”
"Idiot." Sakurai watched Ishida disappear down the stairs and looked up at the sky once. Suddenly, he didn't feel like going to class...he'd follow Ishida down the hall and walk right past the door, make some kind of half-assed excuse that he forgot something somewhere and then walk right out the front door. It'd been a while since he felt bad enough to play hooky but if Ishida was going to be an utter idiot then let him worry until his stomach lining burst open and his internal organs were eaten away by stomach acid.