ficlet: Old Games Renewed [Mitani, Kaneko]
Nov. 8th, 2008 01:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fromastudio posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
almondinflowerOld Games Renewed
Wordcount: 650
Characters/Pairings: Mitani, Kaneko mainly. The subtext's there if you really squint...
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
array_of_colors, I bet you don't remember that I owed you this fic prompt! Back from assyrian days, request was for Mitani, Kaneko and book. The existence of the third element in this ficlet is perhaps somewhat dubious. -_-
When he sees her again, it's senior year of high school. He's sitting in a tree, back against the trunk, legs stretched out along a thick branch, and he's smoking, possibly to calm himself or possibly out of the need to feel defiant. It's certainly not for the novelty of it.
He spots her coming from a long way off, dressed in her prestigious uniform. She's lost weight but is still sturdy-figured. Not unattractive but nothing eye-catching either. A look at her face and braids as she comes closer confirms the initial impression.
She comes to a stop several yards away, so she doesn't have to crane her neck to look up at him. “I thought you'd be here,” she says. “There are people wondering where you are, you know?'
He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, exhales smoke, and then replaces it without saying anything. It's a pretty rude way to greet someone at a three-year reunion, but it's not like she'd get any points for courtesy either.
She presses her lips together tightly, and then shrugs, more out of indifference rather than resignation. “You ought to be studying for exams, not wasting time like this.” She says it with matter-of-fact certainty, the way she says everything – but not in the condescending tone that makes Mitani's hackles rise when he hears it from relatives and teachers, or even Akari's gentle nagging that makes him feel equal parts guilty and rebellious.
“Huh. Did they send you here to tell me that?”
“Of course not. Do you think I'd bother?” He looks at her then, to see if she is playing the old game, the one he suspected but could never quite prove – where they pretended they were indifferent to each other, as children do. But she is quite imperturbable, her uniform neat and well-worn, and when she looks at him there are no weaknesses in her gaze. “I need you to be my practice partner at Go again. There's a school tournament next month.”
Funny, how the themes of one's childhood keep resurfacing. “Get Shindou to do it.”
“Shindou-kun's busy.” And you're not, her tone clearly implies. “Besides, it's better to play someone closer to your own level. Or have you lost your touch? Bet I could beat you without a handicap now.”
It's such an immature taunt, worthy of Mitani himself, and yet he's drawn in, putting out his cigarette and letting it fall off the tree and to the ground. “Who do you think you're talking to?”
She looks satisfied. “So you'll do it?”
“I haven't said so yet.” He's clearly not fooling her, so he amends: “I'll play one game. If it's boring, I won't do it anymore.”
“That's fine. I have cram school now, so I'll see you at Akari's at eight, okay?”
Bossy as ever. He tries to think of a snappy comeback that won't make him appear immature and defiant, and then just settles for looking apathetic. “Whatever,” he says, and makes a note to reach Akari's home at eight-thirty. It isn't as if Akari isn't used to it already.
“And if you're late, we'll have dinner without you.” Damn.
She was always good at winning, everywhere besides the goban. It was probably why she kept coming back, back then, to the one game she kept losing. To him.
She smiles, and it's attractive, although it will always look too self-confident to look pretty. “I'm looking forward to playing you. It'll just be like old times, won't it?”
It won't, Mitani wants to say, because the years between fourteen and seventeen are long, and formative, and the idea that they still understand each other is merely a surface impression, something that will fade once they talk to each other more than twice. But that's not important, really. He doesn't dislike the past, but he doesn't miss it, or long for it.
The present time is still interesting.
“I'll be there at eight,” he says, and means it.
Wordcount: 650
Characters/Pairings: Mitani, Kaneko mainly. The subtext's there if you really squint...
Notes:
array_of_colors, I bet you don't remember that I owed you this fic prompt! Back from assyrian days, request was for Mitani, Kaneko and book. The existence of the third element in this ficlet is perhaps somewhat dubious. -_- When he sees her again, it's senior year of high school. He's sitting in a tree, back against the trunk, legs stretched out along a thick branch, and he's smoking, possibly to calm himself or possibly out of the need to feel defiant. It's certainly not for the novelty of it.
He spots her coming from a long way off, dressed in her prestigious uniform. She's lost weight but is still sturdy-figured. Not unattractive but nothing eye-catching either. A look at her face and braids as she comes closer confirms the initial impression.
She comes to a stop several yards away, so she doesn't have to crane her neck to look up at him. “I thought you'd be here,” she says. “There are people wondering where you are, you know?'
He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, exhales smoke, and then replaces it without saying anything. It's a pretty rude way to greet someone at a three-year reunion, but it's not like she'd get any points for courtesy either.
She presses her lips together tightly, and then shrugs, more out of indifference rather than resignation. “You ought to be studying for exams, not wasting time like this.” She says it with matter-of-fact certainty, the way she says everything – but not in the condescending tone that makes Mitani's hackles rise when he hears it from relatives and teachers, or even Akari's gentle nagging that makes him feel equal parts guilty and rebellious.
“Huh. Did they send you here to tell me that?”
“Of course not. Do you think I'd bother?” He looks at her then, to see if she is playing the old game, the one he suspected but could never quite prove – where they pretended they were indifferent to each other, as children do. But she is quite imperturbable, her uniform neat and well-worn, and when she looks at him there are no weaknesses in her gaze. “I need you to be my practice partner at Go again. There's a school tournament next month.”
Funny, how the themes of one's childhood keep resurfacing. “Get Shindou to do it.”
“Shindou-kun's busy.” And you're not, her tone clearly implies. “Besides, it's better to play someone closer to your own level. Or have you lost your touch? Bet I could beat you without a handicap now.”
It's such an immature taunt, worthy of Mitani himself, and yet he's drawn in, putting out his cigarette and letting it fall off the tree and to the ground. “Who do you think you're talking to?”
She looks satisfied. “So you'll do it?”
“I haven't said so yet.” He's clearly not fooling her, so he amends: “I'll play one game. If it's boring, I won't do it anymore.”
“That's fine. I have cram school now, so I'll see you at Akari's at eight, okay?”
Bossy as ever. He tries to think of a snappy comeback that won't make him appear immature and defiant, and then just settles for looking apathetic. “Whatever,” he says, and makes a note to reach Akari's home at eight-thirty. It isn't as if Akari isn't used to it already.
“And if you're late, we'll have dinner without you.” Damn.
She was always good at winning, everywhere besides the goban. It was probably why she kept coming back, back then, to the one game she kept losing. To him.
She smiles, and it's attractive, although it will always look too self-confident to look pretty. “I'm looking forward to playing you. It'll just be like old times, won't it?”
It won't, Mitani wants to say, because the years between fourteen and seventeen are long, and formative, and the idea that they still understand each other is merely a surface impression, something that will fade once they talk to each other more than twice. But that's not important, really. He doesn't dislike the past, but he doesn't miss it, or long for it.
The present time is still interesting.
“I'll be there at eight,” he says, and means it.
