usedlaserbeam | 022 | Goldenrod City

022 | Goldenrod City | Video / Action;

[So here's an idyllic scene for you: Yagyuu, back in Goldenrod City (wait a minute, how did he get to Goldenrod, he was just in Cerulean a minute ago—) and hanging out in the grass near the Tennis Haus, which has miraculously recovered from the wear and tear it took from the influx of garbage for this temporary weekend and looks as spiffy and well-kempt as ever. The paint job is clean, the grass is trimmed, the tennis court is spotless, and Yukimura's garden is flourishing — and currently inhabited by one rather large levitating man-eating plant, scaring off humans and animals alike who might try to trespass into the domain it's guarding.

And then there's Yagyuu himself, surrounded by a veritable swarm of seven Eevees, one Espeon, one Umbreon, and one Flareon, all of whom are happy and rambunctious and look like they may very well pick him up and carry him off if he should happen to let his guard down.

(Somewhere in the background, a Slowpoke duct-taped to a skateboard with model rocket engines attached to it goes hurtling by, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like eeeeeeeeeeeed.)

Needless to say, Yagyuu is a little perplexed.]

...Ah. How did I—

[But then he looks down again, and double-takes, because those seven Eevees have all just evolved in the blink of an eye, and he is now sporting two Flareons, a Vaporeon, a Jolteon, a Leafeon, a Glaceon, two Espeons, an Umbreon, and one very dopey Eevee who seems to have failed at evolving in general.

He's almost afraid to look away from them again, for fear that more of them might crop up.]

...It's going to be one of those days again, isn't it.

[OOC: COME HIT HIM UP! Anytime, anywhere, he's in Goldenrod by the Haus but he can easily move wherever you'd like him! COME TO ME, FOURTH-WALLERS, I WANT YOU IN THIS POST. ♥]

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[It's the "we" that catches him, that digs in like nails, because it's a painful reminder of how long they've spent in separate places, first Niou and then himself, and it's so frustrating for a pair that fits so well together, so seamless, so flawless, that they might as well be made for each other. The words are muffled but he wouldn't be Yagyuu if he didn't know how to read Niou's nuances, even after months without practice, and he runs his hands up and down his partner's back in slow trails, aiming for contact he hopes is grounding and reassuring.]

How long has it been?

[It's a question he almost hates to ask. How long have I been gone, again.]

[ He finally lifts his head. If they're having a conversation, he's not going to mumble every answer into Yagyuu's shirt like some little kid. ]

Six months or so?

[ It's hard to put a finger on, because all he did was wake up one day after a really strange dream. The dream faded day by day, and there was nothing quantifiably wrong. Sometimes he even forgot about it for a day or two, but then he'd say something to Yagyuu and it just — wouldn't click, or they'd play a match and Yukimura would reprimand them for being off their game. They're always off their game now, and neither of them can figure out how to fix it. It's driving them apart. ]

[They said it'd be like they were never gone.

His hands slow to a stop. His fingers dig into the back of Niou's shirt.

They said —]

Six months.

[He's growing to hate that figure, six months.

And now there's a lump in his throat that he can't seem to swallow.]

I'm —

[Sorry. He can't say it aloud.]

[ He can hear the tightness in Yagyuu's voice, and it makes him want to pull away just as much as it makes him want to move closer. In the end, he stays where he is, but he brushes Yagyuu's bangs back, touches his face without looking him in the eye, like a guilty, adulterous lover. ]

Hey, whatever. [ His voice is soft and dark, completely devoid of its usual sharp, bright edges and lively drawl. ] It's not your fault. It's still not your fault.

[ It's just a reminder: it's no more Yagyuu's fault this time than it was the first time. It's not Niou's fault that he left, either, and he's not about to apologize. He wouldn't know where to start. ]

[Some part of him knows that he shouldn't blame himself for this, but it's always been Yagyuu's habit to guilt himself for things that couldn't possibly have been in his ability to control, but that he thinks he should've nonetheless. It was his fault, somehow, when Yukimura was confined to a hospital bed and he had no answers for how to fix it. It was his fault the last time, when he was six months late and just barely managed to make his appearance in time to patch up Niou's cracks.

It should be his fault this time, and he almost lets it crash down on his head, the guilt, but this time around there's something else, too. He's grown, whether he realizes it or not, and he's learned from his mistakes (some of them), and maybe, just maybe, instead of drowning in regret, he can make a difference he can control, instead.

Like leaning into that hand on his face, instead of flinching away.]

I should've told you, the last time I saw you. Waiting too long...it's my fault, for that.

[ He still wants to get away — it's all this sincerity that's getting under his skin — but some irrational part of him thinks that if he does, he'll disappear.

So before he does, he leans up haltingly and presses a kiss to Yagyuu's lips. It isn't frantic or aggressive; it isn't even passionate to begin with. He just kisses him, maybe apologetically, maybe resignedly, but definitely lovingly. There's no more appropriate word for it. ]

[Maybe it's not so irrational — or if it is, it's an irrationality they're both believing in at the moment. When they'd all started leaving, one by one, Yagyuu'd called Akaya home in a fit of that same irrationality, secretly afraid he'd be next and trying to convince himself that so long as he never looked away, they'd never be able to go.

This kiss is different from the others. And somehow it's not worse or hollower than those others from the lack of passion in it, but it is...different. It's not them the way he'd define them if ever he were called on to try.

But maybe it's what they both need right now, them or not.

His hand finds its way to the tie holding Niou's hair in place and gently slide it free, releasing the strands so he can comb his fingers through them.]

[ Any other time, he'd have protested his hair being free to get in the way, but for now, he finds it's not so bad to let Yagyuu run his fingers through it. It's a much more intimate gesture than he'd normally allow, and in that respect, it suits the moment: this is a lot of what they wouldn't allow (themselves, each other) before Niou left. They're making up for it now.

When they pull apart, they don't do so gasping for air or scrabbling for control. The kiss just tapers off, and Niou actually looks Yagyuu in the eye, quiet and contemplative. ]

... The kids are watching us, you know.

[Frankly, he likes Niou better with his hair tied back anyway, but reaching for it that way — it felt important, somehow, like it was a thing he ought to have done at that point, and Yagyuu's trying hard not to second-guess himself right now.]

Grandkids.

[...On the other hand, some things never change, and his capacity to say something incredibly stupid at the worst possible time is one of them.]

Missing you got in the way of giving full and proper devotion to Lady. In Lady's opinion, anyway.

[But then he seems to quiet again, himself, and holds Niou's gaze with a small measure of pleasant surprise.]

But you haven't told me why the ghost and Atobe. Those weren't your usual tricks, unless your Illusion's gotten much better in the time since I last saw you.

[ Niou catches Yagyuu's eyes and shrugs, looking just as surprised, if a bit more emphatically so. He rubs the back of his neck and makes a helpless gesture with one hand. ]

I guess I got an upgrade. I mean, it's been six months, so I coulda gotten better, but—

[ He hesitates. This is going to sound batshit no matter how he explains it, but on the other hand, they're standing here in the middle of a pile of foxes and five feet from a giant Venus flytrap with eyes. How much weirder can it get? ]

... I had this dream — maybe. Maybe it wasn't a fucking dream, but I definitely went to sleep right before it — and it was a classic tunnel of light kinda thing, but the guy at the end of it was pretty much absolutely not fucking Jesus. He was wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt with some kinda English on it, I don't remember, and he had some pretty gay hair. He told me to call him 'sensei.'

[ Niou doesn't bother looking at Yagyuu to try to gauge his reaction. He takes a step back, instead, shoving his hands in his pockets. ]

And he said he needed me for the next chapter, whatever the fuck that means, and then bam, I was a ghost. Seems like my Illusion got bumped up a notch.

[It's not like there's really much to gauge about Yagyuu's reaction, really; granted, he's living in a world of biologically implausible pocket monsters that hatch from eggs and give loyalty to trainers from what are apparently hundreds of different parallel universes (many of which do not appreciate tennis), but this, what Niou is describing?

Yeah, okay, that's pretty batshit. And that's coming from a guy with the hots for himself who regularly pretends to be his doubles partner.]

You're suggesting you saw some sort of...divine being, who bestowed some sort of heightened power on you to improve your illusion overnight?

[A pause.]

...Utterly implausible as it sounds, I suppose that could explain Yukimura-kun's tennis.

[Pause.]

And Tezuka-kun's.

[Pause.]

And Fuji-kun's.

[Pause.]

And Seigaku's first-year's.

[Pause.]

...Do you suppose that's also where Atobe-kun got his Hyoutei chant, somehow?

[ Niou listens to each conclusion with a little nod. It all sounds perfectly legit as far as he's concerned. ]

It's gotta be. No way does a douchebag like that have an actual fanclub that size without some kind of hokey gay Jesus handing it to him.

[ Niou's always been a little jealous of Atobe's fanclub, truthfully. Maybe when he sees this 'sensei' again, he'll make some demands. ]

[You know, as farfetched as it sounds to believe some kind of hokey gay Jesus is handing out tennis favors...well, it would answer that nagging conundrum of how the hell Seigaku won those damn Nationals...

...and why everyone is obsessed with Tezuka-kun for some reason...

Okay, you know what, suspension of disbelief. He'll buy it.]

If it is such a person, at least he seems to be favoring you lately? I don't recall ever having a dream like that, myself.

[Speaking of jealous.]

[ Niou shrugs. It's not like he needs new tricks up his sleeve; they'll only serve to drive him further apart from the Yagyuu back at home. They're already two steps off of each other. ]

You'll get your turn. Or maybe the you back home already has.

In the meantime, I'll favor you, too.

[He considers a minute, then reaches for Niou's face in deliberate imitation of Atobe's earlier movement, confident enough that he looks like he knows what he's doing, but gingerly enough to be batted away without protest on a moment's notice.]

[ Niou makes no move to stop him, just lets his eyes drop off to the side as Yagyuu takes him by the chin. ]

Like you ever don't favor me?

Not when you try my patience.

[What a flagrant lie that is, Yagyuu.]

You couldn't think of anything more interesting to do with your newfound talent than to irritate me?

[He lets his fingers catch beneath Niou's chin and lightly but firmly begins to tip it up, applying just enough pressure to make him tilt his head back — and bare his throat.]

[ Try as he might, Niou can't stop himself from swallowing. It isn't easy, either, with his head tipped back; the motion rides hard down the length of his throat. ]

There's literally nothing more interesting in the world, Yeeeeahgyuu.

Besides, I had to test it out somehow.

[Be careful, Yagyuu. He wants to push a little, as much for Niou's benefit as for his own, but there's a fine line to walk here and he's determined not to cross it.

He keeps his tone light, casual. Effortless. Like this is nothing out of the ordinary, like they do this every day.]

I can think of at least one thing.

[He doesn't take his eyes off of Niou.]

Show me another trick, Niou-kun.

[ Niou locks eyes with him, then, searches his expression and thinks of every possible trick he could pull that might fit the criteria of 'another' while still being not exactly what Yagyuu wants. He thinks about Rise, surprisingly, and considers whether he could do it, whether he could have bright enough eyes or put enough of himself (enough of her) into a smile.

In the end, though, the shift he makes is effortless, right beneath Yagyuu's fingertips: the faintest change in skintone, the subtle rearrangement of features, the bleeding of warm colour into his hair. The easiest part, as natural as breathing, is the way his expression morphs, guarded nerves like the scrabbling of an animal in a cage giving way to the calm calculation of the predator that put it there. His shoulders relax, his chin lifts just so, almost enough to come free from Yagyuu's grasp, and his glasses shine briefly in the sunlight. ]

Will this do?

[Artist is by far the most appropriate word for Niou, Yagyuu muses, watching the transformation take place before his very eyes with more than a touch of fascination. It's always been addicting to watch him work, even without these newfound hokey gay Jesus powers as his disposal, and always altogether far too easy to believe in the tricks he's shown, even when he knows the secrets behind them.

(He always knows, rationally, that Niou is Niou and not the mask he's wearing at any given time, but his partner makes it so easy to forget.)

He lets his hand drop, pleased and yet somehow unsurprised by what he's been given, and smiles — an expression that for a moment, looks oddly out of place on his face.]

Haven't I seen this one before?

[Provocation.]

[ It's unfortunate that Niou can be so easily provoked, a weakness that he relies on his partner to exploit and to cover. He won't snap, but he bends under this sort of deliberate and cleverly-applied pressure, making it a simple task for someone who knows him as well as Yagyuu does to manipulate him.

He passes his hand over his own face, obscuring it for only an instant, but when it comes back into view, it's different — drastically different.

Without the assistance of the eyes-playing-tricks shift from before, he's gone from Yagyuu to a much less familiar face: the angles and lines of Hyoutei's coach, from the touch of flint in his eyes to the beginnings of silver in his hair.

He speaks with a hard undertone and a swift eloquence, words clipped and level. ]

Have you seen this one before?

[It's a concession in their game, perhaps, the way that Yagyuu's expression clouds as he starts backward, both from the abrupt transformation and from the choice of persona. The others, he could at least make rational guesses as to why Niou had chosen them — the ghost because he's afraid of them, Atobe because of their history at imitating him, himself because of too many complexities and neuroses that he's not entirely comfortable with considering.

But this?

He knows, vaguely, the identity of Hyoutei's coach, and some of the superficial details about him courtesy of Yanagi-kun's briefings. But there's no explanation for how Niou's managing to impersonate him, no connection to him for why he's chosen this mask, and it's —

He's not sure what it is that's keeping him off-kilter about it, really: the wondering why Niou's chosen this man's face, or the sudden shift in the power roles he's perceiving, from facing himself with touches of Niou bleeding into his character to suddenly feeling constricted, restrained, examined and found lacking under the microscope of that steely gaze and polished refinement.]

I haven't.

[It's all he can do to keep his instincts in check, to bite his tongue to keep from saying, No, sir.]

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022 | Goldenrod City | Video / Action;

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i'm not even sorry

consider me dead of lulz

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