Chapter 17

The sharp, shrill sound of his cell phone ringing jerked Ohtori out of a completely exhausted slumber. Really, he thought muzzily to himself as he tried to drag himself the rest of the way out of sleep so he could find the phone, he should to know better than to not go to bed early the night before a match. An important match, no less.

But Amano was so, well... tempting, when he wanted to be, and he was always most eager right before Ohtori had to go off to spend time with Shishido. A last remnant of the jealousy, he supposed, but one he couldn't really object to. Even if it did leave him rather more tired than he ought to be the next day.

The phone stopped ringing, and Ohtori gave up on the effort to wake himself. He was too tired even to be able to recognize who was calling by the ringtone. He snuggled back into the pillows, drifting off again. The alarm would wake him in plenty of time to get to the match. Whoever was calling him would just have to wait until then.

At least having a match the next day gave him an ironclad reason not to agree to go all the way with Amano. They'd gotten much better at sex - helped a great deal by the fact that unlike Ohtori, Amano wasn't too shy to just walk into a drugstore and buy lubricant. Although Ohtori had come to enjoy it when he was able to come with Amano rubbing over that spot inside him, it still hurt a great deal at the beginning and left him sore afterwards. He didn't like doing it very often, which had gotten him into a couple of arguments with Amano, but even his over-eager boyfriend had to admit that it left him in no condition to play tennis afterwards.

The phone rang again, startling him back out of the doze he'd fallen into. Sighing, he gave in. If it was important enough for the person to keep trying, he probably ought to answer it. Groaning, he leaned down off the bed and fished for the pants that had been somewhat hastily discarded the night before. He finally found them and fumbled the phone out of the pocket just before it would have gone to voicemail again.

"Ohtori," he mumbled, slumping back onto the mattress and rubbing at his eyes, wondering who was calling him so damn early. From behind him Amano wrapped an arm around his waist and snuggled close, still mostly asleep as well.

"Choutarou, where the hell are you?" Shishido's half-frantic voice came from the other end. "You sound like you're still asleep!"

"Shishido-san?" he said, surprised. He felt Amano stiffen against him and knew his boyfriend was completely awake now, and probably listening hard. He yawned and forced his eyes open. "I am still asleep. Why do you sound so panicked?"

"Because if you're not here in twenty fucking minutes we forfeit the damn match!" Shishido snapped, his words jolting Ohtori much closer to full wakefulness.

"What?" Ohtori half sat up, looking blearily around the room for the clock. "What time is it?"

"Twenty to ten," Amano and Shishido replied on the same breath. That was more than enough to do the job of pulling Ohtori into full awareness.

"What?" Disbelieving, he bolted upright, turning to stare both at the clock and his boyfriend. "What the hell? Kazuya, I thought I told you to set the alarm for eight!"

The pianist muttered something vaguely defensive about the alarm not going off, and Ohtori uttered a rare curse. "Damn it. I'll be there, Shishido-san, don't worry." He was already scrambling out of bed, reaching for his clothes. Screw showering and brushing his teeth, he could do that later at the facilities of the club where the tournament was being held.

There was silence for a long moment on the other end, and Ohtori suspected his partner was absorbing the knowledge that Ohtori obviously hadn't spent the night alone, and probably not in his own bed, either. "It's more than twenty minutes from where you are to here, isn't it?" he asked at last.

"I'll find a way," Ohtori promised grimly. "Stall them if you can!" He knew the request was pointless even as he made it. Tournament rules were bent for no one, not even semi-finalists.

"Kazuya, your father has a car, doesn't he?" he asked as he shut his phone and dropped it into his pocket before pulling the pants on quickly. "Could you please ask him if he'd be willing to drive me over to the club? I can't believe the alarm didn't go off!"

"What's the big deal?" Amano wanted to know, watching his frantic haste with a puzzled air and making no move to get himself out of bed. "I thought you said your game probably wouldn't even start until noon."

"The game doesn't start until noon, but registration ends at ten," Ohtori replied tightly. "If I'm not there to sign in, Shishido-san and I have to forfeit the match. Please go ask him, Kazuya." He'd call a cab if he had to, but they were expensive and he'd have to wait for it to get here. If his boyfriend's father would drive him he should just barely make it in time, he didn't have a moment to waste.

"You have to what?" Finally Amano was moving, sliding out of the bed and grabbing for his own clothes. "That's stupid! Why should it matter if you're there early or not, as long as you're there for the game?"

"Because they want to be sure the game will happen," Ohtori explained, his voice somewhat muffled as he pulled his shirt on. He didn't bother to tuck it into his slacks, taking the time to search for his socks instead. "There's all kinds of things that have to be cancelled and arrangements to be made if one of the games doesn't go ahead, especially at this stage. Damn it, where are my socks?"

"My side of the bed, on the floor," Amano said matter-of-factly, pulling the tie out of his messy ponytail and running his fingers through his hair quickly to make himself marginally presentable. "I'll go talk to my dad."

With that he unlocked the door and darted out into the hall, leaving Ohtori behind to finish gathering his things. He stuffed everything important into his tennis bag, knowing he could borrow anything he forgot from Shishido if necessary. So long as he had his racquet and spare, his shoes and his clothes, that was all he really needed.

When he emerged from the bedroom with his tennis bag over his shoulder, looking very harried, he found Amano already waiting with his father in the front hall. "I'm terribly sorry for the imposition, Amano-san," Ohtori apologized to the older man, bowing. "It's very rude of me to ask for help in fixing an error made through my own foolishness."

"It's not an imposition, Ohtori-kun," Amano's father assured him. He was slender and dark, much like his son, but without the delicate features Amano had inherited from his beautiful mother. "I'm glad to help. Hurry now, we don't want you to be late."

Ohtori didn't need to be told twice. He followed them both down to the tiny parking lot of the apartment building where the family car was apparently kept. Not many people in Tokyo really bothered with cars, because the traffic was so bad - how the traffic could be bad when nobody seemed to drive anywhere was something Ohtori had never really understood, but it was just one of those things you took for granted.

Once in the car and heading down the road, Ohtori found his eyes glued to the clock on the dashboard. They had less than fifteen minutes, and the club was fairly far from Amano's home. His hands clenched on the strap of his bag, the nylon handle digging into his skin as his heart pounded in his throat. If they lost this match because he'd been too stupid to double-check the alarm, Shishido was never going to forgive him. He'd never forgive himself.

"Relax, Ohtori-kun, we'll make it in time," Amano's father assured him from the front seat. Ohtori looked up from the clock long enough to see the man regarding him with kind eyes in the rearview mirror. "The traffic is light, and I know some shortcuts towards that area."

"Thank you," Ohtori breathed, relaxing slightly. Only slightly; there were half a dozen things that could still conspire to make him late.

"I must admit I'm a little surprised you have a game today," the older man continued blithely, and Ohtori blinked. "I thought you boys were going to a concert this afternoon? Or do I have my dates mixed up?"

"Concert?" Ohtori repeated, surprised. He and Amano had made plans to attend a concert that afternoon, a one day only musical exhibition by a world-famous violinist that Sakaki had recommended to them. They'd bought the tickets months ago, long before Ohtori had even thought about entering this tournament. In all honesty Ohtori hadn't expected it to be a conflict when he and Shishido had signed up for this one, because he hadn't imagined they would make it to the semifinals. This was a much larger tournament than the one they'd first played in, and accordingly attracted much better players.

When they'd won the quarterfinals last weekend, though, Ohtori had given up his concert tickets without a second thought, selling them to another of the former violinists from the orchestra. While he was a bit regretful at missing such a wonderful opportunity, there was no way in hell he was missing the chance to play in the semifinals of such a major tournament. This was the sort of match that scouts and potential sponsors attended, looking for new up-and-coming players. If he and Shishido could get a sponsor they'd be able to attend more and better tournaments, and not be limited to what they could reach from home.

"No sir, I had to give up my ticket when we made it to this round of the tournament," he explained. He caught a glimpse of Amano sinking lower into the front passenger seat, as if he was embarrassed. What would possibly be embarrassing about Ohtori explaining why he wasn't going to the concert?

He had an inkling of the answer when Amano's father answered, "Really? That's strange. It was just yesterday Kazuya was asking me if I could drive you both there, wasn't it?" He glanced at his son, who mumbled something that could have been agreement or denial.

A suspicion started to form in the back of Ohtori's mind, but he couldn't say anything. Not here, not in front of Amano's father. Instead he replied with forced cheer, "I guess he must have forgotten that I couldn't go until I reminded him later that day. It was kind of a sudden change of plans."

If he could have caught Amano's eye he'd have glared a question, but the other boy was very carefully not looking at him. It would have to wait. He settled back in his seat, trying to ignore the sour acid of suspicion and anger building in his stomach.

He didn't get a chance to say anything when they pulled into the parking lot of the club, either, because he had barely two minutes to find the registration desk. He scrambled out of the car almost before it had come to a full stop, thanking Amano's father breathlessly and throwing a belated invitation to stay and watch the game over his shoulder. If he got an answer he didn't hear it, already halfway across the parking lot as he ran full tilt for the door.

The registration desk thankfully wasn't difficult to find, but there was a large crowd of people between him and it and the clock on the high post above it said he had about thirty seconds to get there. For once ignoring his manners, Ohtori made full use of his greater height and weight to shove through the groups of people, heading straight for the desk rather than weaving around the little knots. He didn't even bother muttering apologies to the people left indignant in his wake, too intent on his goal.

"I"m here!" he exclaimed as he finally burst through the last of the crowd into the clear space in front of the desk. Shishido was waiting there, clearly beside himself, but the older boy breathed a huge sigh at the sight of his partner.

"Fucking hell, Choutarou, cutting it close!" he muttered, turning to the tournament official. "See? He's here. With a whole five seconds to spare, even. So we're playing."

The official nodded and stamped their papers, handing them back to a very relieved Shishido. "Your game starts in two hours," the woman informed them, sparing a smile for the panting and disheveled Ohtori. "Change rooms are to the left, and you can warm up in any of the courts not marked as reserved for the matches. Good luck."

Catching his breath, Ohtori followed his partner towards the indicated change rooms. "What the hell happened?" Shishido asked him, scowling. "It's not like you to be late for anything, much less something this important."

"The alarm didn't go off," Ohtori said, swallowing his building anger. He didn't know for sure that his suspicion was correct. Maybe the alarm really had just failed to ring, or maybe Amano had accidentally set it for the wrong time. There were half a dozen innocuous explanations for what had happened - though few if any of them accounted for why Amano would have asked his father yesterday to take them to the concert. He'd been there when Ohtori had sold his ticket, and he'd been listening to Ohtori get more and more excited about this game all week. There was no way he'd 'forgotten' that Ohtori wasn't going with him.

Now wasn't the time to think about it, however. He needed to focus on getting warmed up and into the right mindset for the game. This was going to be one of their hardest battles ever, and that was saying something. This whole tournament had been a succession of 'hardest battles ever'. He was amazed they'd made it as far as they had, even as he burned with a sense of pride in their accomplishment and the determination to make it all the way to the top.

"You picked a hell of a time to finally have Murphy's Law catch up with you," Shishido muttered shaking his head and clapping Ohtori on the shoulder. "Then again, I guess it wouldn't be Murphy's Law if it didn't choose the absolute worst time to strike, right?"

"Yeah," Ohtori agreed, forcing a laugh. The sound was hollow, and Shishido gave him an odd look. "At least I made it in time," he hurried on, before Shishido could say anything. "Come on, let's get changed and go have a look at the court we'll be playing on, then warm up."

Somehow he managed to divert his partner's attention and keep it diverted throughout the warm-up. They stretched out and then rallied a bit, just to get their breathing and heart rate up. Then more stretching, helping each other by leaning against the other's back to push the stretch carefully further. At least at this point it had become reflex for them both to ignore the sexual tension that soared between them when they did this. Through it all Shishido kept up a stream of their usual pre-game chatter, laughing and joking the way he always did when they were together.

Ohtori's responses were half hearted at best, though he did what he could to get into the familiar routine. His anger at his boyfriend was still eating at him, and he desperately wished he'd had time to confront Amano before the game. He should have insisted Amano follow him inside or something. But what explanation could he possibly have given the other boy's father?

It was fraying his concentration, though, and that was completely unacceptable. He could tell Shishido was worried about him, but there was nothing he could do to reassure his partner. He'd just have to go out there, play his best, and confront Amano afterwards.

"You ready?" Shishido asked him as they did their last minute checks at the bench beside the court, waiting for the referee to declare the start of the game. Atobe hadn't been able to make it to this match so they were playing without a bench coach today. While Ohtori did appreciate their former captain's assistance, sometimes he thought it was better when it was just him and Shishido.

Tugging sharply at his shoelace to make sure it was tight and wouldn't snap under pressure, Ohtori nodded shortly. Play now, think about your messed up love life later, he ordered himself. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and grabbed his racquet.

This time it was Shishido who offered the high five, a variation on their ritual. Ohtori slapped his hand and hung on, and his partner squeezed his hand tightly. "Let's get out there and kick some ass," the older boy said firmly, and Ohtori nodded.

They lost the spin and their opponents chose to receive first. Ohtori stood at the service line and bounced the ball, trying to focus on the rhythm and familiar sound to help him concentrate. Shishido was up near the net; they'd learned a couple of new formations that made it easier to deal with anyone who could return Ohtori's serve. At this level of competition, the Scud Serve was no longer a guaranteed service ace.

When he was as centered as he felt he was going to get, he caught the ball and began the toss. "Ikkyuu... nyuu... kon!" he shouted, snapping his racquet up and forwards as he lunged up to meet the ball on its descent.

With a horrible sound that he'd hoped he would never hear again the ball smacked straight into the net, bowing it out so far he almost wondered if the ball was going to tear through. "Fault!" the ref shouted as Ohtori stared at the net.

What the hell? He hadn't hit a Scud Serve into the net since the night Shishido had forced him to keep serving over and over until he finally got it right. The feel of the correct motion was burned into his brain now, and more importantly into his muscle memory. How could he have missed?

"Don't mind, Choutarou," Shishido called from the net, glancing back over his shoulder at his partner. His dark eyes flashed, and Ohtori drew a breath before he nodded in return.

Taking the next ball from the match attendant who'd run out to offer it, Ohtori squeezed it, testing the resistance. Maybe the last one had gone dead or something. Usually they tested the balls being used in tournaments pretty thoroughly, but it was possible a dead one had snuck in.

This ball was fine, though. Tossing it up, he arched his back and braced himself. "Ikkyuu... nyuu... kon!"

This time he knew it was going low even before it hit the net. Panting slightly with exertion, he stood at the baseline and stared at the place the ball had hit. He was actually a bit amazed that this one hadn't torn a hole right through.

"Double fault!" the ref called. "Love-fifteen!"

"Pull it together, Choutarou!" his partner admonished him as they switched sides for the next point. "You're bending your wrist too much. You know better, damn it."

"Yes," he agreed with his partner. Now the anger he'd been harbouring for Amano had found a new target. He did know better, damn it. How many hundreds, even thousands of times had he hit this serve since Shishido had helped him perfect it? Why was it falling apart now, of all times?

He bounced the new ball a couple of times, trying to calm himself. It was a futile effort, and if he kept waiting until he regained his balance he was just going to get in trouble for stalling the game. His eyes burning with fury and determination, he tossed the ball high into the air.

"Ikkyuu nyuu kon!" He slammed the racquet forwards, and for a second he thought this time he'd succeeded. He'd never had as much trouble getting the ball over when he was serving from this side.

It was just barely too low; the ball slammed into the cord at the top of the net, ricocheted into the air, and came back down on their side. "Fault!" the referee called again, and Ohtori snarled wordlessly in frustration. Shishido said nothing this time, but Ohtori was certain he could read the words in his hard-eyed gaze. 'What the fuck are you playing at?'

Ohtori's only answer was a silent snarl as he grabbed the next ball. What the hell was wrong with him? Was his concentration really so shot that he couldn't even execute his trademark serve from the side he'd always done well on?

This time when he served, the familiar chant was more a shout of defiance. He made an extra effort not to bend his wrist too much and ended up overcompensating.

The ball stayed high, but it angled too far out to the side. Time seemed to slow like one of those bad movie special effects as Ohtori watched the ball's path in horror. It slammed into Shishido's upper right shoulder, just barely to one side of his spine. The sound of the impact and his partner's pained cry rang in his ears until he wanted to scream to drown it out.

The world snapped back into normal speed as Shishido dropped his racquet and collapsed, ending up hanging half off the net with his uninjured arm. Even from the baseline Ohtori could see the way his partner's face was twisted in pain. He'd seen that look before, far too many times. He'd never thought he would see it again, had sworn that he would never again be the one to put that look on Shishido's face.

"Shishido-san!" Ohtori's shout was laced with horror and emotional agony bad enough to match the physical pain his partner was suffering. Without a thought Ohtori dropped his own racquet and raced to the net.

He beat the tournament medics by a heartbeat, dropping to his knees and clutching at Shishido's uninjured shoulder to try to help support him. "Shishido-san! Oh gods, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry... are you okay? Can you move your arm? Oh gods..."

"Not sure if that actually hurts more than it used to, or if I'd just managed to forget how bad it really was," Shishido ground out, somehow able to give Ohtori a wry look though the pain. "Thought you said you were never gonna do that again, Choutarou?"

He hissed and swore as one of the medics gently manipulated his arm, testing to see if anything was broken. "I'm fine, it's just a bruise," Shishido snapped at them irritably. "I ought to know, it's not the first time I've been hit by his serve. Stop fussing, damn it, I'm fine."

"My serve wasn't nearly as fast back then," Ohtori murmured, anguished. "And you weren't expecting this. Gods, Shishido-san..."

"Just help me to the bench so I can stretch this out," Shishido interrupted him before he could really get started. Ohtori nodded and supported him over to their bench. By the rules of the tournament they got five minutes for Shishido to try to recover from the injury before they had to either continue or forfeit. Ohtori couldn't imagine how Shishido could be planning to continue playing for a whole three sets; it was his racquet arm that Ohtori had struck.

"Choutarou," Shishido's voice was harsh, and he shook the younger boy by the shoulder with his good hand. "Look at me, damn it." Miserably Ohtori met his eyes, and his partner scowled at him. "I don't know what the hell is with you today. You can tell me all about it and I'll help you work it out, whatever it is... after the match."

"I'm sorry," Ohtori mumbled once more, and Shishido shook him again.

"Don't be sorry, just pull it together. You don't bring outside problems onto the court. The only things you should be thinking about are you and me, our opponents, the ball, the net, and the court. That's it, and you know it."

Nodding, Ohtori dropped his head in shame. He did know better. He was letting his anger at Amano distract him, and he was going to end up losing this game for them. At this rate he might as well have just gone to the damn concert.

Shishido made a noise of frustration and released his shoulder. Ohtori half expected a blow next, though Shishido had never lashed out at him before. Instead strong fingers grabbed his chin and wrenched his eyes back up.

"Look at me," Shishido demanded, blue eyes blazing. "Don't you dare look away. Focus."

Staring into his eyes, Ohtori felt almost like he was burning up from the inside out under the fire of that gaze. They were only inches apart, and Shishido's gaze was unrelenting. He desperately wanted to look away, to shift his focus just enough to escape the full force of it, but any time his eyes started to dart away Shishido's fingers tightened briefly on his skin in warning.

Swallowing hard, Ohtori forced himself to just sit and let himself be scorched. Once it was clear that he wasn't going to look away he expected Shishido to say something else scathing, or at least to drop his hand. He did neither of those things, just sitting there staring silently back at Ohtori, a challenge in his eyes.

Slowly something almost akin to panic began to build in Ohtori's chest. He felt like Shishido could see straight down into his soul, as if everything he'd ever tried to hide from his partner was being laid out for the older boy to see. Worse, it almost seemed like he could see Shishido's soul in return, blazing out at him from behind those dark eyes.

He was trapped, and he couldn't have moved away now if he'd tried. Nothing existed except him and his partner. There was no court, no referee, no opponents, no audience. He was totally oblivious to the whispers and scandalized titters sweeping through the observers as they continued to just sit there on the bench, staring at each other.

Was this what people meant when they talked about a 'soul deep connection'? He'd thought he and Shishido had been connected before, but compared to this it felt like they might as well have been trying to signal each other in Morse code. It was frightening, having someone see that far into you.

Finally something broke the stalemate. "Hey, you two!" the referee called, loud enough to break the near-trance Ohtori had fallen into. "Your five minutes are almost up, are you playing or forfeiting?"

When Ohtori would have glanced over at him, Shishido's hand tightened again and held him still. "We're playing," the older boy called back, not looking away from his partner. Lowering his voice, he murmured for Ohtori's ears only, "Better?"

"Better?" Ohtori echoed, feeling almost dazed. Taking stock of himself, he was startled to realize that at some point his angry breathing had calmed, and the fury at himself and his boyfriend had subsided. Not vanished, no... it was still there, and if he poked at he was certain it would return in full force. But as long as he left it alone, as long as he clung to the sense that he and Shishido were the only things in the world that mattered, he was able to set it aside.

"Good," Shishido nodded sharply and finally released him, apparently reading his answer in his eyes. "If you start to lose yourself again, just focus on me, all right? You've been my anchor often enough, it's about time I started paying you back."

"Shishido-san..." Ohtori might have said more, if they hadn't been out of time. Then again, he might not have, because he couldn't seem to find any words. How had Shishido done that? Just how well did he know Ohtori? What did it mean, this powerful sense of connection that still seemed to linger between them even now?

Worry about it later, he told himself as Shishido stood from the bench and offered him a hand up. You've got a game to play.

He took the offered hand and let Shishido pull him up. The contact between them made his body tingle like it always did, but this time it seemed almost... irrelevant, somehow. They'd just shared a much deeper connection that nothing physical could ever hope to reproduce - though he had a feeling that if he allowed himself to even contemplate the idea of having sex while staring into Shishido's eyes like that, he was never going to be able to settle for anything less ever again.

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed his partner's hand and shoved everything else aside. "Let's do it," he said firmly. Grabbing the racquet that somebody had apparently brought over to them while he hadn't been paying attention, he turned and strode back towards the baseline. This time, he knew, the Scud Serve was going to stay true... and so would he and Shishido.

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