[ID: A sketchy digital drawing of Hanzawa Masato from Sasaki to Miyano. He is standing with his back towards the viewer, turning his head to look up at the camera. He's standing knee-deep in a flowing river and has sunburns on his neck, arms, and face. Blood pours out of his back, staining his shirt and diluting into the river below. One version uses blue lines with red blood while the other uses green lines and red blood. The artist's signature "sunnfish" is written in the water. /End ID]
back home went to bed at five or so in the morning got up once to pee and slept in until six in the evening. jet lag isnāt real this is just something I do sometimes
miyano and hirano's friendship is sooooo funny to me. like there's that one sasamiya chapter where he's talking to ogasawara like "yeah hirano is a great senpai... i respect him a lot... he's really cool and smart.... also i think he should take it up the ass" meanwhile hirano is like "i really appreciate how diligent miyano is. he's reliable and a good kouhai. i just wish he'd stop talking about me taking it up the ass"
call me terminally academia-brained but i do think a lot of the fun of character analysis is figuring out how to build a compelling argument for a particular reading using lines of evidence from canon as well as meta/intertextual support
and you could say that what iām saying here is basically āa lot of the fun of doing character analysis is doing character analysisā but letās be real a lot of fandom character analysis is pretty heavily vibes-based. and i think thatās where i really chafe up against the traditional thought-terminating fandom attitude of like, everyoneās opinions hold equal weight and any interrogation of that is inherently hostile. because i think itās fascinating to dig into where others are coming from in terms of their views on characters or dynamics or whatever, especially when they differ significantly from more commonly expressed views, and part of that digging is asking people okay what parts of canon are you drawing from to support your opinion? what parts of canon are you disregarding or downplaying? how does this argument hold up in the light of how race, gender, class, ability, etc. operate both in the pieceās in-fiction and real world contexts?
Simple drawings inspired by this post by @dirtbra1n. I could quote every line in that post its just freaking. Augh. Itās like proper literature itās profound it gets to me. Kagiura Akira.
everything kagi said about subconscious love was true and heās the bravest person in the world. how many other people walk around with the height of a telephone pole and advertise the level of vulnerability he does.
heās all open, nerves and corresponding nerve endings experiencing the world and love and love to kagiura akira is so much. how can love be so fulfilling and yet so cruel? how could he meet and then know someone who is everything he never realized he wanted and yet be kept from them? kagi is all nerves pulsing love but itās a nerve endingās job to detect pain. do you understand?
do you?
kagi is made of love. heās made of love and heās made to give and receive it and the thing is that he has, he has given love. to his parents and his friends and his teammates. to his hirano-san. and he receives it too, I know he does, from his parents and his friends and his teammates and his hirano-san, but what does it MATTER if itās not the right love. kagi experiences right love for the first time in his life and itās queer love and itās such a fulfilling feeling but it hurts.
please understand. it HURTS.
kagi is young and made of love and he loves hirano. he loves hirano so much and so purely and then itās not āpureā anymore, not after āDo you want to kiss him?ā and thatās not a bad thing but how should he know? he loves and wants to love and he does, he does want to kiss him. kagi wants so much.
and the thing is always going to be that wanting and being good feel so often to be at odds, because how can kagi want hirano so badly and not be wanted that way back? how can he respect the person he loves and yet soothe the ache in his chest? itās the pining you feel at the backs of your teeth. youth is lovely and ugly and violent because it lives in your bones and hurts as you grow.
and kagi has felt that hurt a lot, itās how he got so damn tall.
kagiās hungry. appetite increases when youāre growing and kagi grows constantly. and he wants. and heās hungry. and it HURTS.
everything kagi has ever said about subconscious love is true. thatās both fact and prayer.
kagi didnāt know he wanted so much. he didnāt know he wanted in the first place. ādo you want to kiss him?ā was ādo you want him?ā and āis he special to you in a way that no one else can be?ā and ādo you love him?ā
kagi doesnāt have the same problem as hirano. kagi has growing pains and an ache at the back of his teeth and sore legs that hirano can say āIām gonna touch you.ā over without so much as a jump at his heart, and kagi has hirano in every single way except for the one he wants most.
ādo you want to kiss him?ā was a catalyst. kagi wanted to and still wants to marry hirano, and then he found out that he wanted to and wants to kiss him, too. he wants to kiss him. he wants him. hirano is special to him like no one else is.
kagi loves hirano.
kagi loves hirano, and he is the bravest person in the world. how can you quantify being someoneās most important person? how many ways can you quantify being someoneās most important person?
an important phone call, or souvenirs and extra souvenirs, all bought with new years money, or a dog keychain.
or blue piercings, worn without a second thought.
kagi is the bravest person in the world, because he knows. he knows that heās the most important person to hirano. he knows but heās still left wanting,
and itās not anyoneās fault.
āI want to get marriedā was āI want you to keep smiling at me like that,ā and āplease keep humoring my childish requests,ā and āplease keep waking me up in the morning.ā
āI want to get marriedā was āI want to marry you.ā
if that is that and this is this, how many other ways do you need to quantify being someoneās most important person?
Tashiroās hair was loose, and blond all the way to the roots. Strands of it, cut unevenly, curled and stuck to his chin, his neck, and his shoulders. And he was smiling.
āWow, Hanzawa-sensei,ā he chirped. āFancy running into you here.ā
Hanzawa flicked the ash from his cigarette, and watched the smoldering embers of the end. āPlease, youāre not my student,ā he scoffed. āDonāt call me that.ā
some people may have noticed me complain a lot about writing recently. this fic is the reason. I posted a wip version of this in april of last year, chipped away at it in parts, realized the whole thing didnāt work, and then rewrote the thing from the start. all this to say: I put a crazy amount of work into this one, so please enjoy.
.
Tonight, he was craving heat. Heād come out for the cold, because heād thought heād wanted it, but he hadnāt, not more than heād needed the snap of fresh air to clear the drunken haze from his mind. After that it was still cold, still miserable, still dull, like the headache festering at his temples. And this was when the desire, bottled up and dusky, began to gleamāhe longed for a crystalline peace, fragile-edged and teetering.
Body leant over the railing of the veranda, his fingers searched into his pockets until heād unearthed his lighter and a cigarette. The exposed flame sputtered against the windswept night. He clicked emptily though the tediumācaught sparks, flared heat, snuffed outāuntil the breeze broke into quiet.
Cigarette now lit, he led it to his waiting lips. The nicotine dragged through him, hot and acrid, stealing cacophony into stillness.
The view was distant from the city proper, but even here, the nightglow had sunken its claws into the dark. He let the cigarette dangle between two fingers, and breathed out the smoke. It dissipated as thin fog, and in its place came his frosted breath, tumbling up in the air as he lingered on the sky, lights bleeding in from the buzzing of the buildings belowā¦ He fumbled for his portable ashtray, pulled it from his pocket, and balanced it on the railing before taking another puff of his cigarette. Inhale, exhaleā¦ The world dripped slow like tar.
A gust rattled behind himāthe sound cut through to him a few seconds late, so the face that appeared in his periphery was more mirage than truth.
Tashiroās hair was loose, and blond all the way to the roots. Strands of it, cut unevenly, curled and stuck to his chin, his neck, and his shoulders. And he was smiling.
āWow, Hanzawa-sensei,ā he chirped. āFancy running into you here.ā
Hanzawa flicked the ash from his cigarette, and watched the smoldering embers of the end. āPlease, youāre not my student,ā he scoffed. āDonāt call me that.ā
Tashiro made a face. āFeels weird to call you Hanzawa-san,ā he declared, āso youāll have to settle for senpai.ā
Despite himself, Hanzawa laughed. āSettleā¦?ā he began, and then his voice faltered into a noiseless exhale when Tashiro slipped a hand over his.
Perhaps the chill hadnāt quite chased away his intoxication. Heād dreamed of the door as a jagged pass, but it was sliding glass and mesh screen, neither of which were opaque. The territory heād deemed unassailable had been bridged in a breath. Distances were funny like thatāhard to judge, with walls.
He blew smoke out of his mouth. āIs this an intervention?ā he asked.
Tashiro gave him a funny look. When he spoke, his breath wisped white. āI heard smokers have cold fingers. Thought Iād check if it was true.ā
[art by @sunnfish]
Hanzawa clicked his tongue and took another drag; Tashiroās face remained unchanged. āIāve been outside,ā he said. āOf course they're cold.ā
āWell, I guess youāve always had cold hands,ā Tashiro said. He made this observation as he intertwined their fingers, slotting the warmth of his grip between Hanzawaās shaking flesh. When their eyes met, his flashed with old memoryāan unfair vise.
He swallowed. āGuess I have.ā
Tashiroās hand didnāt squeeze, but the entanglement of their fingers was pressure enough. Pinned together, their breaths intermingled, crisp and clean, scorched and sluggish.
In the distance, the city held straight against the dark, concrete and steel and glass wedged into right angles and stabbed into forgiving ground. The skyline scarred the earth as it always had, and in the dead night its lights glowered through the haze, mocking the faded stars that had long since dipped out of frame.
Ash lay leaden on his tongue. He hadnāt the hands to move for it, but the lighter in his pocket weighed of metals and flint and fuel. From his mouth, smoke curled over the horizon, heavy and foreboding. Whether the buildings were dated or stately or had just removed their scaffolding, their curse was well-told: the upswell of growth, the ever-coming march of industry, racing electrically forth, unsleeping and unflinching against the black of night, which waned as the moon into gray and blue smog.
Finally, Hanzawa asked, āWhyād you follow me out here?ā
Tashiro didnāt refute the accusation. āI saw you go out a while ago,ā he said, āand it looked like the more interesting thing.ā
āHe and Miyano areā¦?ā Hanzawa prompted, when Tashiro came to a sudden stop.
Tashiro furrowed his brows. āIām not supposed to say itā¦?ā he mumbled, but then tilted his head at Hanzawa, and asked, āYouāre good at keeping secrets, right?ā
Hanzawa offered a miniscule nod. Tashiroās grip went loose as he considered it.
āDating,ā he said, āThat was what I thought, but I guess itās just theā¦ feeling of it? Kuresawa says not to say anything, and heās the one with a wife, so he must know better thanā¦ I mean, what does it even mean, to date someoneā¦?ā
He did not tense. āI see,ā Hanzawa said, though he wasnāt even looking in his direction.
A breath glanced by his ear. āDid you get another piercing, by the way?ā Tashiro asked. āYour earsāthey look a little differentā¦ā
āAtāsome point, yes.ā Now he had tensed.
āI canāt place it,ā Tashiro sighed. He was silent for a moment, and then muttered, āNeed to clear my head, I donāt want to be too drunk tomorrowā¦ā
āNight shift?ā Hanzawa asked, turning to him.
Tashiro beamed. There was a glassy, unclear tint to his gaze. āOf course you knew that,ā he said. āMust be pretty different than your 9 to 5, huh?ā
Hanzawa demurred, āTeaching isnāt such a predictable schedule, what with grading and extracurricularsā¦ā
āSo youāre still working yourself to the bone,ā Tashiro said. He worried his lip. āNot that I realized it, then.ā
A deep, trembling chill was burrowing under his skin; his fingers twitched. He puffed on his cigarette, the warmth of it brittle and souring.
āSeems like youāre working pretty hard, too,ā he said. āIf youāre working weekends.ā
Tashiro smiled sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck. āAh, wellā¦ at a certain pointā¦ there are just some things that are hard to run from.ā
Wind bit at his cheeks and set his body back to rights. Hanzawa took a deep breath, and freed his hand. It was the only part of him that still glowed with heat. āBack then,ā he said, āyou always wanted to leave.ā
Tashiroās smile flickered. He said, āYou didnāt let me.ā
He watched the fire die as he stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray, and pocketed it. āIt was the previous presidentās decision.ā
āWhich you upheld.ā
His hand felt for his lighter. āNot well enough. I couldnāt make you captain.ā
āNot your fault,ā Tashiro countered. āI didnāt think Iād be a good fit. I just didnāt care about it the same wayā¦ā
Cool metal, hard edges. The thing pressed against his palm like the night. āDo you regret it?ā
Tashiroās answer was instantaneous: āNo.ā He repeated it firmly. āNo, I donāt regret it. I spent a long time trying to quit, so I kept challenging you, and going to the bathhouseā¦ and I wanted to quit, but IāI liked all of that. And I know I ran away when you wanted to make me captain. But I liked that, too.ā His face had gone scarlet, but his lips were twitching up as he recollected the past.
āIt would have been great if you were captain,ā Hanzawa admitted.
āā¦Maybe youāre right,ā Tashiro said. āI wonder ifā¦ā His gaze went half-lidded, drawing attention to his lowered lashes, long and undyed, the black shadow of them on his face a plain kind of beautiful. Again he had trailed off.
Rather than prompt him, Hanzawa went quiet, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It was dulled by the aftertaste of tobacco.
āAfter you graduated, it was like you disappeared,ā Tashiro said. āBut then you ended up working with Miyano. Only I didnāt see you much, still. And then now, we have all these people from the same high school, in the same building againā¦ itās kind of amazing, isnāt it?ā
āItās quite a serendipitous series of events,ā Hanzawa agreed
Tashiro steadied himself on the railing. He stared at him. āYou know,ā he said, very slowly, very clearly, in the way that drunk people tried to not slur their words, careful to the extreme, āI missed you, too.ā
His face was still red. Everything of him burned. Tashiroās eyes were aglow, brightened like every dying firefly had found respite in the ring of his irises. Heat cascaded through Hanzawaās body, tasting of thrill and triumph.
āā¦Itās too late to talk about that,ā he lied, and stepped away from the railing. But he hesitated by the door. āā¦If you wanted to talk again, though, you could come by mine.ā His piece said, he ducked back inside and didnāt look back.
The interior was just as Tashiro had described. Sasaki was flushed and curled up against Miyanoās shoulder, who startled and pinked at Hanzawaās reappearance. Hirano and Shirahama too engrossed in the TV to take notice, white-knuckled on the couch as they watched Kagiura drive through the paint. He stepped over Ogasawara, who was slumbering on the floor, and once heād crossed the room halfway, the balcony door slid open.
āWait!ā Tashiro cried out. āYour placeāI donāt even know where that is!ā
āIf you want to know, youāll have to catch me!ā he crowed, and bolted for the front door.
And the rest of everythingāit blurred by. An electric hum arced through him.
Tashiro skidded through the front door, which was just a wooden thing with hinges and knobs that had swung open and allowed chase. Gasping for breath, he called after him: āYou haveāseriouslyābad habits!ā
As he skipped down the stairs, footsteps thundered after him; Tashiro had broken out into a run.
Wrote this in one long sitting late last night. Very silly, short (1.4k) thing about Niibashi and Kuresawa becoming friends. For our purposes let's say this takes place in an AU where Kuresawa landed in 3-A. here it is on ao3 :)
Niibashi wondered if he'd finally, finally gone off the deep end saying yes to the latest of his new desk neighbour's whims. The quiet guy with thick glasses and strained eyes usually glued to his cellphone, asking Niibashi to "make him sexy" with all the earnestness of someone asking to marry him.
"I was thinking a qipao," he was saying. Kuresawa's voice had an odd melodic quality to it when he was excited, measured but lilting like a steady bass line. They stopped to wait at an intersection, and the sound of his voice underscoring the beeps of the traffic lights formed the barest bones of a melody just cohesive enough to leave Niibashi disoriented.
He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, unlocking it in milliseconds to show Niibashi a Pinterest board. "I've wanted to try one on since the competition last year, when I was helping Miyano out. Miyano's the guy from 3-B who took second place, by the way. The one with a mole near his eye."
Niibashi felt as if he'd stepped into one of those infamous rivers that, despite seeming placid, would kill any person dumb enough not to realize how badly it wanted to bash your head in. He ended up so overwhelmed by the torrent of information that the only thing to tumble out of his throat was "Pinterest?"
Kuresawa's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, undeterred by Niibashi putting his foot in his mouth. "Surprised? My girlfriend had me make an account."
He showed off his Pinterest albums with the clear-cut confidence of Michelangelo standing next to David. Niibashi scanned through moodboards with names like Binary Stars, Black Holes, Drag Competition 2018, Night on the Galactic Railroad, Miyano Manga Recs, JWST News, and Our Wedding.
Our Wedding? Seriously? Niibashi's gaze slid back up to Kuresawa, who was starting to take shape as Heterosexual Kagiura in Niibashi's mind.
"My girfriend agreed to help with my makeup, but I really want to wear something that'll make my friends fall for me." Well, probably heterosexual.
He continued to soundtrack their walk with the usual bombast for how perfect his girlfriend was, but years of hearing Kagiura's Hirano-talk seemed to have inoculated Niibashi against the worst of it. He found himself drawn to the effortless confidence of a guy with heavy glasses and striking piercings, bold enough to talk up his girlfriend in an environment where even mentioning he'd managed to land one was enough to set most guys off. He'd been the only student to transfer to the advanced class for third year exam hell, but nothing Niibashi had seen from him suggested regretā in his eyes, all Niibashi saw was a resolve to reach for the stars.
"I'm thinking of something with a cutout on the chest. I'm not sure if I should try padding it out with newspaper, or what." Niibashi's admiration was dulled a little by how that same resolve extended to wanting to seduce his guy friends.
"You brought me out to ask if you should shove newspapers down your shirt?"
"I brought you here because you have an eye for aesthetics," Kuresawa asserted. "Isn't that what helped you steal the win last year?"
"I won because 2-B was stuck in the Taisho era, obviously."
Kuresawa had stopped walking. Niibashi followed his gaze to an unbelievably chintzy, girlish boutique, with a name rendered unreadable in cursive.
"My girlfriend said to start here," Kuresawa said. He walked in with a bold stride that left Niibashi scrambling to catch up with him in double-time.
"I know you said she was helping you with makeup, butā¦" Niibashi watched Kuresawa greet the store employee as she eyed the two high school boys in her store warily. "ā¦Uh, is your girlfriend actually supportive of you doing this?" I feel like she's playing a prank on you, he left unsaid.
Kuresawa flashed him a thumbs up. "She said, 'there's nothing hotter than a guy confident enough to cross-dress'."
Niibashi wasn't touching that can of worms any time soon. Thankfully, Kuresawa was already preoccupied with browsing the racks before them.
The boutique carried a wide variety of traditional Chinese dresses alongside more typical lolita picks; according to Kuresawa, it was owned by an expat interested in fusing unique aspects of Japanese and Chinese fashion. All the respect Niibashi had for such an innovative vision fell apart when he saw the results of it.
"No taste at all," he muttered. "Too much lace. You have to use that kind of thing thoughtfully, or it'll look like you're compensating for something."
"Like what?"
Niibashi ran a fingertip over one of the dresses with a grimace. "Like how cheap this fabric is."
They hopped from store to store, guided by the invisible hand of Kuresawa's girlfriend through pinned locations and eager texts. Kuresawa seemed undeterred by Niibashi's continuous string of vetoes, culminating in Niibashi throwing his hands up and dragging Kuresawa to someplace more normal.
The employee at one of Niibashi's usual haunts greeted Niibashi by name, offering to guide the two to their new arrivals. The sleek, pearl-white walls were lit by delicate sconces and a small chandelier, lending the establishment a casually neoclassical look. Niibashi knew not to be fooled, though; he'd seen the same camp sensibilities Kuresawa seemed drawn to executed much more competently through the brands this particular boutique chose to carry.
"I don't think we have the budget for this," Kuresawa said.
"I'll pitch in. Better than you embarassing yourself out there."
They cycled through dresses and skirts until Kuresawa, eyes sparkling, locked on to a two-piece set with a sheer, glittering top. Niibashi wasn't a fan, personallyā the dark pattern on the dress was in vogue, but would age poorlyā but the joy plain on Kuresawa's face dissuaded Niibashi from adding his two cents. Besides, if they were going to win, it'd be easier if their star enjoyed the clothes she was wearing.
The wig was next. Niibashi corralled Kuresawa to the back of the shop, where lines of lace wigs stared them down. "There are plenty of ways to be 'sexy', but I think your dress is best utilized for a femme fatale character."
Kuresawa gave him a firm nod. "I eat boys for breakfast," he said.
"If you use that falsetto in the competition, we're gonna lose. How do you feel about straight bangs?"
Kuresawa tilted his head to the side. "A hime cut? Wouldn't showing the forehead be sexier?"
"You're already showing this off," Niibashi said, jabbing a finger at Kuresawa's sternum. "And that dress is pretty short. Leaving something to the imagination is key. We can keep the length short if you want to hold on to the flirty vibe."
They settled on a chin-length wig, with longer extensions on the side to style into twin buns. They left the store by sundown, leaving Niibashi to mull over how quickly the day seemed to go by.
"I appreciate your help, Niibashi-san," Kuresawa said. "I don't actually have much experience with this sort of thing." He hesitated for a moment, then held his cellphone up, adding "I wanted to bring my girlfriend, but the change of seasons is always hard on her. I didn't want her to get even sicker."
Niibashi wasn't sure what to say. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried, "I hope she feels better soon."
Kuresawa gave him a resolute nod. "I hope so too."
They spent the walk back to the station in companionable silence. Once you adjusted to his frequency, Niibashi thought, Kuresawa was a startlingly easy person to talk to. He was thick-skinned and conversationally savvy, taking Niibashi's missteps in stride. Walking next to him, Niibashi itched to learn about Kuresawa's perspectives on different mundane topics just so he could turn them over in his head.
"Why did you volunteer for the Drag Contest?"
"Seemed fun," Kuresawa answered immediately. "I had a taste of it as Miyano's understudy last year, but wanted to experience the full thing at least once before I graduate."
He shrugged, smiling casually. "I'm only gonna be young for so long. And it's really funny to watch my friend freak out when he realizes he finds me attractive."
Niibashi pressed his lips together to keep himself from grinning. "That's weird."
"Aren't I supposed to be a seductress?" Kuresawa's eyes glittered with amusement. He put a hand on his hip and let out a loud, witchy cackle, switching to a higher register with a theatrical affect. "You pathetic, wimpy boys could live a thousand lifetimes and still be too weak to handle me!"
Niibashi hastily tried to bring Kuresawa's arm back down. "People are staring," he hissed.
He was grinning, even as he let Niibashi yank his arm back down to neutral. "Well? Wasn't that better than the falsetto?"
see the thing is that someday harusono shou is going to tell us who hanzawa masatoās first year roommate was and Iāll handle it winningly one way or the other. because either the incredibly shot-made-in-the-dark supposition that prev prez had anything to do with the dorms is confirmed for The People. or weāre introduced to yet another character for me to extensively mindpalace relational proximity to hanzawa masato about
Hanzawa is looking at you like heās forgotten to work his limbs along with his eyes. This does not bode well.
Nonetheless, you soldier on. āHave you thought about joining the ping pong club?āĀ
wrote this in a frenzy today to celebrate @dirtbra1n's bday. happy birthday! please go wish them well before you read this. but then do read it, and enjoy. it's hanzawa and prev prez as first and second year roommates. under the cut or on ao3 as usual.
.
Hanzawa is looking at you like heās forgotten to work his limbs along with his eyes. This does not bode well.
Nonetheless, you soldier on. āHave you thought about joining the ping pong club?āĀ
āPing pongā¦?ā
Heās a clever kid, this Hanzawa. He doesnāt resist interrogation, but he does resist elaboration, so you know that he has three siblings and good grades and dyed hair and a birthday thatās only one day after yours, but you donāt know how he feels about any of that. Heās still a kid thatās a whole school year your junior, though, so after he dutifully repeats your question his eyes dart to the side in confusion, nerves radiating plainly through him.
āYou know, with the paddles,ā you say, and at Hanzawaās blank stare, add, āLike this,ā and mime a swing. A beat of silence, and thenā
He cracks a smile. āIāI know, yes.ā
Ha, still got it, you crow, but only in the steel trap of your mind. Youāre smart like that.
āIām going to join the disciplinary committee,ā Hanzawa offers, which lesser upperclassmen would see as refusal. You, on the other hand, know that heās lowered his guard, and only a fool wouldnāt take advantage.
āNo reason you canāt do both,ā you say. This is true. āItās pretty easygoing, too.ā This is a lie. The current captain of your club is ridiculously intense about ping pong, and the team goes all out during competitions. But you think that easygoing might mean something different for Hanzawa, who makes faces at his green peppers but still methodically eats every one, and who has started the school year with a perpetual sort of readiness, like heās just waiting for classes to kick into high gear. This is a brand of impatience youāre well-acquainted with; that scary kid in your year, Ichinose, studies like his life depends on it.
While Hanzawa is restless but measured, Ichinose will study at his desk for hours and forget to eat. It is so effed up that heās the dorm head, and you would file a complaint were it not for the fact that he actually seems to be doing pretty well at the whole thing. Even though heās so strict with himself, heās never uppity towards his fellow peers, and as a dorm head heās been nice, if a little distant. You can respect that, and respect him, and still wish heād look you in the eyes more than he does. Last year, after youād conned him into playing ping pong for the sports festival, heād gotten red and angry and tired and real, so thatās your favorite look of his, now.
You and Ichinose, you suspect, are made of the same stuff. Youāre both meant to have a singular, driving focus in life. His just happens to be on the incredibly valuable academic front, while youāre currently devoting yourself to a sport you donāt really plan on playing after high school. Your vision, unlike his, is as forward-thinking as it is narrow. This is what makes you a ping pong geniusāthe ability to think about nothing else but the game, even while youāre thinking ten moves ahead. The captain, upon hearing your speculation, had said that ping pong wasnāt chess, and basic reflexes and technique matter a lot more, but your win-loss record against him is basically tied, so there.
āWeāre still in the trial period for clubs, and itās easy to leave if you decide itās not for you,ā you add. This is unfortunately true. You have a lot of ideas for how to up retention, but theyāre probably the kind that would earn the captainās unyielding ire. What a bizarrely serious and no-fun guyā¦ thereās just no way to win him over.
Hanzawa, at the very least, is giving you polite consideration. You can work with that, even if you figure he only needs this kind of sweet talk to trick himself into thinking itād be fine to try things out. When youād mentioned the possibility of doing both ping pong andā¦ whatever the disciplinary committee does, his expression had eased, not tightened. And itās nice, to see that happen. You think that a kid with this much brimming nervous energy deserves to loosen up. You want to see this kid play ping pong. You want to play ping pong. The rest of everything, youāll probably only think about in the winter of your third year, because to you it just wonāt matter that itāll be over until the very day that itās over.
Hanzawa, still fidgety, asks, āUmā¦ so you play?ā
You blink. Okay, maybe the bug-eyed nervousness is less the sweet innocence of a first year, and more your inability to say anything about yourself. āI know,ā you boast, āthe basketball team would love to poach me, but Iām too loyal. This is the future captain youāre looking at, here!ā
Hanzawa perks up. āThatās cool,ā he says, and crap, he seems to actually mean it.
To cover your butt, you add, āItās a secret,ā which is a cover like tissue paper is a blanket.
Still, now the kid is properly contemplative. Heās chewing on his lip and everything. Finally he asks, āIs it fun?ā
āWhen youāre good, yeah,ā you say. āItās nice to move around, and when you get in the zone during a match, itās likeā¦ā You make a vague gesture to your face. āYour whole field of focus sharpens. You canāt think about anything else.ā
āā¦ Maybe Iāll try it out, then,ā Hanzawa says. Heās got a funny look in his eye. You like that kind of look. Youāve always liked it. Itās the way people look when they want something, but they havenāt quite realized it, and the way they look when theyāve gotten it, but havenāt noticed.
This might be why Mister Stick-in-the-Mud dislikes you. The handling a kidās dreams like itās a fun game, and all that. But you love games; itās why you play ping pong. So you guess heās just going to have to fall for your charms, or something, because youāve just promised this kid that youāre going to be captain, and as member of your captainās ping pong club, you are everything he looks for in a playerācompetitive, driven, and hates to lose.
Come to think of itā¦ Hanzawa has adjusted to the dorms remarkably well. Maybe itās because of his siblings, but heās already managed to get on friendly terms with most of the residents, so heās definitely good with handling people. Heād probably make for a great successorā¦ you still arenāt thinking about what youāll do after ping pong, but the idea of leaving some kind of legacy behind feelsā¦ nice, in a way you hadnāt thought of, before. Maybe itās the funny feeling you like. But if you knew exactly what the feeling was, it wouldnāt be so funny.
āWeāre going to be great roommates,ā you tell Hanzawa, and Hanzawaās face goes funny again, but a different kind, the kind where heās only just realized that you could actually be a bad, bad roommate. A second later, though, that expression clears into perfect calm, and he nods, smiling as if to placate you.
Youāre not so sure that youāll prove him wrong, but you are sure heāll play some great ping pong.
