when the gales of November come early (kishmet) wrote,
when the gales of November come early
kishmet

drabble'n'stuff

I think I've forgotten something important... luckily, a birthday isn't it! Happy birthday (early in your timezone? I, um, have no clue) kc_evans! You'll have to wait a bit longer for your fics, though, since I spent all afternoon at the DMV getting a new license. Siiigh. I shall give you bits of your fairy tale tomorrow (well, later today) though, if you want them!



Look, don’t touch.

This is Tezuka’s new mantra. At one point it had been, don’t look unless it’s necessary, meaning don’t look unless it has to do with tennis. He’s found himself unable to differentiate between Echizen and tennis, though, and he’s finally let himself look.

Not, of course, that he’s ever really been able to stop himself.

Look, don’t touch.

This is the mantra he repeats to himself when Momo drapes himself over Echizen’s shoulders, ruffling Echizen’s hair and laughing when Echizen mutters a disgruntled comment under his breath. This is the mantra he repeats to himself when Eiji hugs Echizen, almost lifting him off the ground and making Echizen squirm to get away.

Also, this is the mantra Tezuka repeats to himself when he assigns himself laps for meeting Echizen’s eyes for a minute or two longer than is generally considered appropriate.

The rest of the regulars touch Echizen so easily, poking him and hugging him and slapping him affectionately on the back for a job well done. Tezuka can’t. He doesn’t do that, not even when his hand moves involuntarily and comes so close to brushing Echizen’s sleeve, not even when he dreams about Echizen’s hands and face and skin under his fingers and Buchou said in the way only Echizen has of saying it. The fact that the dreams usually also include Echizen’s tennis don’t do much to make him feel vindicated.

Sometimes he thinks Echizen does it on purpose. A look when Tezuka is least expecting it, a step too near so that their hands brush. Sometimes Echizen will stay close so that if either of them move, they will have to touch somehow. Tezuka knows it’s silly to hold his breath, to refrain from so much as shifting because even one touch could break his resolve. He’s not as careless as that.

Echizen stands that close to him now. Tezuka could look over and count every dark hair on Echizen’s head, if he so chose. Instead he focuses on the match, telling himself that of course he remembers who’s playing, he’s not just thinking of Echizen and listening to Echizen breathe and contemplating tennis courts and skin and flight and sweat and golden eyes and fearless smirks.

Look, don’t touch.

Tezuka doesn’t think he says it out loud, he’s almost sure that he doesn’t say it out loud, because he is not that careless. But perhaps he murmurs it to himself, or whispers it, or just mouths it. He must, because Echizen pushes up the brim of his cap to look up at Tezuka, grins slightly, and says, “Buchou. You don’t have to give yourself laps this time.”

Somehow Tezuka doesn’t think his mantra is going to work for much longer.
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