Last Man Standing [drabble, HnG, Touya]
Jul. 28th, 2009 10:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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almondinflowerCharacters: Touya Akira
Summary: for the prompt 'last man standing'. It's lonely at the top.
Word count: ~350
Notes: the one that I should have submitted for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hng_deathmatch, perhaps.
Akira never expected to be bored. Even now, about to begin a match, the opponent has already blurred with the one who preceded them. He hasn’t had a challenge in years, hasn’t lost in years, and he certainly never expected to miss that. He doesn’t sigh – it would be impolite – but he hasn’t managed a smile in years.
His father was the first to go. Kuwabara followed almost immediately, as though he’d been hanging on to keep Kouyou company. Akira adopted traditional dress to honour their memories. It made a dramatic contrast to Shindou, whenever they played.
Shindou was next. Bright-burning, high-flying Shindou, who flared brighter than any of them, was the first of the younger generation. As ever with Shindou, there was no warning. One morning, Akira woke up to a phone call and Shindou was simply gone. Akira was too stunned to be annoyed. Ogata kept a hand in the small of his back for most of the funeral, even speaking for him when necessary.
Ogata shared the titles with him for a good few years more and they traded the Meijin title between them, the two greatest of Touya Meijin’s pupils. Lung cancer carried him off and Akira discovered that his perch at the top seemed increasingly high and increasingly unreachable.
Ten years have passed since then and Akira has broken all of his father’s records. He doesn’t care any more – there’s no meaning when there’s no Sai to his Kouyou, Kuwabara to his Ogata.
Shindou to his Touya.
“Hey, jii-san! Can we start?”
Akira nods solemnly, thinking about a Beginner Dan match when he had dreamed of reaching the top and showing Shindou what he was capable of.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to smile,” they say, and then cover their mouth in embarrassment.
Shocked murmurings break out around the room. Akira looks, really looks, at the kid he’s playing. They’re all kids now but this is truly a child, a girl too young to look comfortable in a suit, all big eyes and big grin, with a ludicrously bright streak of blue in her hair.
He can’t help it.
He laughs.
Summary: for the prompt 'last man standing'. It's lonely at the top.
Word count: ~350
Notes: the one that I should have submitted for
hng_deathmatch, perhaps.Akira never expected to be bored. Even now, about to begin a match, the opponent has already blurred with the one who preceded them. He hasn’t had a challenge in years, hasn’t lost in years, and he certainly never expected to miss that. He doesn’t sigh – it would be impolite – but he hasn’t managed a smile in years.
His father was the first to go. Kuwabara followed almost immediately, as though he’d been hanging on to keep Kouyou company. Akira adopted traditional dress to honour their memories. It made a dramatic contrast to Shindou, whenever they played.
Shindou was next. Bright-burning, high-flying Shindou, who flared brighter than any of them, was the first of the younger generation. As ever with Shindou, there was no warning. One morning, Akira woke up to a phone call and Shindou was simply gone. Akira was too stunned to be annoyed. Ogata kept a hand in the small of his back for most of the funeral, even speaking for him when necessary.
Ogata shared the titles with him for a good few years more and they traded the Meijin title between them, the two greatest of Touya Meijin’s pupils. Lung cancer carried him off and Akira discovered that his perch at the top seemed increasingly high and increasingly unreachable.
Ten years have passed since then and Akira has broken all of his father’s records. He doesn’t care any more – there’s no meaning when there’s no Sai to his Kouyou, Kuwabara to his Ogata.
Shindou to his Touya.
“Hey, jii-san! Can we start?”
Akira nods solemnly, thinking about a Beginner Dan match when he had dreamed of reaching the top and showing Shindou what he was capable of.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to smile,” they say, and then cover their mouth in embarrassment.
Shocked murmurings break out around the room. Akira looks, really looks, at the kid he’s playing. They’re all kids now but this is truly a child, a girl too young to look comfortable in a suit, all big eyes and big grin, with a ludicrously bright streak of blue in her hair.
He can’t help it.
He laughs.
