Title: Up on Molehill Mountain
Recipient's name: takewing
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Kenya/Zaizen, background Koharu/Yuuji
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes: I really hope you like it! I worked hard. Thank you so much to my betas!

The sun was hot, and also the enemy—at least in Zaizen's opinion. Sticky heat which didn't seem to lift, strangling the inhales, exhales, and coherent thoughts, was definitely enemy material.

If it weren't for tennis, Zaizen would hate the summer without a second thought, as much as he hated the winter (too cold), fall (too much time to linger) and the spring (who wanted to start another year of school, anyway, right when you were starting to get comfortable?). It wasn't that he was hard to please; it was that nothing really seemed to try.

It was late August. Nationals were over, tennis was over, until next year, but the regular players of the Shitenhouji Junior High Tennis Club still gathered with their shoelaces melting, standing in a semi-circle around their coach. Even Gin was there, despite the heavy sling he wore on his dominant arm.

Osamu scratched his head through his hat, said a series of hums and haws as if in contemplation, and handed over the proverbial floor to Shiraishi instead.

"We still have a few good weeks left," Shiraishi said. He crossed his arms, but still looked affected by the heat, hair in a certain droop. "There's no reason to stop playing, though practice will be more lax, obviously—"

"Shiraishi, it's hot."

Everyone turned to Kintarou, looking very much like a ball of sweat and energy being barely restrained by the oppressive heat. The rest of the boys mumbled their agreement.

"Mm, the weather isn't the issue," Shiraishi continued. "By the end of this month, I expect all underclassmen to participate in an evaluation match for next season's regular selection, and those of us who are graduating will—"

"It's really hot." Again, there was a shuffle among the regulars. Kintarou, with the beginnings of a wild grin, said, "We should go to the beach!"

Zaizen closed his eyes. Who did the little brat think he was fooling? The cool ocean air and complete isolation sounded ideal at the moment, but lay miles and miles away. Shiraishi was captain. He cared about tennis, perfection, and the two of them as one, not following whims. There were no moments of peace when there were laps to be given, doubles formations to correct, and Zaizen's parade to rain upon.

"Alright. Osamu-chan, you have a van, don't you?"

He just had to do that, didn't he.

Zaizen warily peered at Shiraishi, who was throwing his head over his shoulder, trying to beseech their coach for use of said van, speaking in that way in Zaizen was pretty sure was dressed up, professional pleading.

A murmur seemed to be spreading through the regulars, and Zaizen felt a tap on his shoulder. Kenya leaned over to point at their vice-captain, who was wearing his not-entirely-unfamiliar nervous expression.

"Afraid of water," Kenya said quietly, and Zaizen snorted.

Shiraishi clapped his hands once to bring everyone's attention back.

"It's settled. The regulars who participated in the National Tournament will be taking a celebratory two-night trip. Nishikinohama beach, yeah? We will be camping."

He held his hand up to cease the argument that threatened to bubble up. Zaizen shot a look to Osamu and found him just as perplexed as the rest of them.

"I'll go make permission forms," Shiraishi said. "Do your warm-ups."

Dismissing them with another word and sweeping off the court, everyone else remained melted into place. Did something actually just get done in this club?

Zaizen had a sneaking feeling that Shiraishi, too, felt the overbearing enemy sun, or maybe he didn't really have plans for the next few weeks and just couldn't bear the possibility of letting them have the rest of their break free.

Whatever, Zaizen decided that night when he was packing for the trip. Perhaps the beach would allow the environment for Shiraishi to finally announce Zaizen's captaincy for the next year. He'd been hinting at it for weeks, even before Nationals.

Although it all seemed like a big hoax, from being captain, to losing when they'd come so far, to this "no electronics" rule printed in bold across the bottom of the supply list.

Whatever, he decided again and tucked his cell phone carefully into his bag.

*

Zaizen sat next to Kenya, which wasn't so bad, and Koharu, which was a nightmare come true, in the very back of Osamu's trembling old van the next morning. Koharu didn't heed obvious body language like most decent people, and spent a good portion of the ride with his arm hooked around Zaizen's neck, screeching any song he could think of, accompanied by the voices of Yuuji and the not quite-as-pleasant Kintarou.

"It's the final verse," Kenya said from his left, though he was laughing under his words. "Hang in there."

"Does it really have to end?" Zaizen replied as he checked the scenery through the window. There was a heavy barrier of trees on either side of the road, leaving Zaizen with no indication where they were (though he was almost certain the beach couldn't be this far).

He caught a glimpse of Kenya's reflection over his shoulder, openly grinning by this point. Zaizen glared at his reflection, and then turned to give the real one the same treatment. Kenya didn't back down, but Zaizen found himself letting it go, as Kenya wasn't the one with his arm around his neck.

Koharu untangled from him eventually, finally having given notice to the fact his beloved, darling Yuu-kun was in the seat directly in front of him and had been telling him in a growl for some time now to stop touching other people. Zaizen crinkled his nose as he watched Koharu do more than enough to compensate for the lack of touching, unbuckling his seatbelt and draping himself over the back of Yuuji's seat.

He watched for as long as he dared. Koharu crooned little disgusting phrases and rubbed his cheek at Yuuji's hair and Zaizen thought about the MP3 player he'd smuggled along with his cell phone, buried at the bottom of his bag, which was in turn buried under the rest of the luggage and gear.

*

The sun was in a pleasant alliance with the ocean winds and the shade of the trees when they arrived at Nishikinohama beach. Zaizen had been here with his family before, for day trips, and once skipped class with a boy from his year to take a train to the small shopping mall nearby. He had never been to this end of the beach, but he knew this was where the dedicated came to camp.

The paved road extended as far as the toll booth, then split into multiple gravel paths just large enough for the van to pass through. The entire campsite was enclosed by tall pine trees, blocking the view of the shore entirely.

Zaizen watched out the window as they passed empty lots then what seemed to be the more popular locations, already occupied with varying sizes of tents. They turned onto another bumpy path which emptied them into a circle of campsites with a central building in the middle. But instead of tents or the lack thereof, each separate spot had a structure not entirely unlike a tent, though it was something Zaizen had never seen before.

They were cylindrical in nature, as wide as a small cabin but a bit taller. The side supports were heavy wooden beams which seemed to be covered with a tarp. It all led up to a pointed roof, topped by a plastic dome-shaped window. Each had normal looking door, like one anyone could see on the outside of a normal house. Zaizen hoped they weren't all staying in a single… whatever those things were, or he might as well start walking home now.

"Yurts, cool," yawned Chitose, uncoiling his long limbs two rows in front of Zaizen.

"Yurts," Gin repeated and looked forward to Shiraishi for further information. However, he appeared busy in a hushed argument with Osamu, an unfolded map in his lap as he pointed out the window. Koharu snapped up the opportunity in seconds.

"Yurts," he said, "or Mongolian Felt Tents, or Ger, are a portable form of living originally used by nomadic tribes of central Asia. They were traditionally constructed from saplings for support and covered with sheep and goat pelts, all tied together with rope made from animal hair. Wood is rare in Siberia, after all."

"These aren't made of animals, are they?" Yuuji had his torso turned around toward the back seat and a vaguely worried expression on his face.

"No," Koharu went back to petting Yuuji's forehead and speaking directly to him rather than the whole van. Zaizen could still hear the reply. "Recreational models use steel cables and architectural fabrics, so don't you worry."

"Better than a tent," Kenya said with a shrug to Zaizen. Osamu maneuvered the van into a spot in front of one of the more secluded spots, and the boys pried themselves from the seats and each took their turns in stretching, even though the ride hadn't been that long at all. Zaizen's head hurt, but he couldn't stretch that.

"Not better than staying home," he finally replied. Kenya laughed, and Zaizen felt good, justified.

Osamu scratched at his hat and squinted down at a sheet of paper once they had all filed out and lined up for an explanation.

"Ah, so, assignments," he gestured to the yurt behind him, "this one is mine. B over there is Shiraishi, Tooyama and what'shisname—" Their vice captain sniffed, it was always like this. "—C is Chitose, Oshitari and Zaizen. Don't get in his way, Ken-chan." He was now distractedly pointing off in a direction Zaizen was sure there were no yurts at all. "And D: Ishida, Hitouji, Konjiki. Go unload your stuff, guys."

Everyone moved to tug their bags from the back of the van. Zaizen waited his turn and watched Gin pull bag after bag down from the tightly packed mass one-handedly, giving each of them to Kintarou who didn't think to set them down, only piled up higher and higher like an unsound skyscraper.

Shiraishi was the only one who could control a stupidity like that, Zaizen knew from experience, and that part of the yurt assignments made sense. He and Kenya were sort of friends, as far as the relations in the club went, and Chitose stayed out of his way for the most part. So that was good too, he supposed.

But Gin's situation, on the other hand—Zaizen peered at his face when he passed him his bag, handling it like it weighed nothing—was something beyond dreadful. Zaizen's head pounded at the mere thought of sharing a room with his overly affectionate senpai.

However, he only spied a slight frown and a new line between the eyebrows on Gin's face.

What a pro, Zaizen thought.

*

Inside yurt C, Zaizen was relieved to find three spaces in which to sleep: a couch and the two levels of a bunk bed. This was as far as his relief extended, as the rest of the space was small and uncomfortable with barely enough room for the three boys to stash their bags. There was an overhead light and one electrical outlet, otherwise lit only by the small, clear dome at the highest point of the ceiling.

Not to mention the yurts were ugly. The beams which held the circular structure were raw and unfinished. It looked a lot larger from the outside, and was really no better than a tent, after all. Even the furniture looked primitive, cut from the same planks of scrappy wood. He nudged the corner of the bunk bed with his toe, scowling.

When Zaizen was made captain, there would be no camping. If they must, they would do it from hotels.

"At least it's sturdy," Chitose commented, stepping over Zaizen's bag to plop his own upon the couch.

Kenya urged Zaizen from the doorway so he could take in their new living space as well, giving a faint whistle. "Look at all those cobwebs. I wonder what kind of deal Osamu got on these reservations."

"At last minute? He probably took whatever he could get." Chitose kicked off his geta, one after the other and leaned over his bag until he produced two flip-flop sandals.

Chitose was insane. The floor was undoubtedly splintery and infested with bugs. Zaizen trailed his eyes up the yurt's supports to the pockets of what could only be the nests of hundreds of spiders.

Kenya elbowed him out of his dread, turning a grin on him again. "Don't freak out," he said. "I'll take the top bunk. A little dust doesn't bother me."

Kenya moved his body around him to get to the thick built-in ladder on the side of the bunk beds and Chitose started talking about the nature trails in the area, which ones he wanted to try, how far and where they went. Zaizen tuned him out and went to inspect his own sleeping area.

The joints of the structure creaked when he sat, and his head bumped the supports of the bed above him when he tried to lean back. Every movement he made gave an inexcusable sound of poor craftsmanship. This, coupled with the rocklike nature of the flimsy bed cushion, made Zaizen foresee two nights of poor sleep. He assumed Chitose snored, too.

"Sure you're not coming, Kenya?"

"I'll be fine, you can go ahead and have fun." Kenya's voice came from above, and it appeared that he was having the same troubles with the constantly creaking bed.

"Suit yourself," Chitose folded himself in half to peer at Zaizen in his bunk. He gave a firm no before Chitose had the chance to ask.

The tall boy shrugged and gave the appearance of simply wandering from the yurt, ducking out the doorway and leaving it ajar.

Zaizen peered after him with a look of distaste. "He really did quit the club this time, right?"

"As far as I know," Kenya sounded bewildered.

"Then why is he here? Just because he played?"

"Shiraishi likes him around, I guess. He's not that bad," Kenya said.

Zaizen thought of Chitose's mop of hair, lazy non-sequiturs, strange accent and whatever sparkly mess of a sport he dressed up as tennis. "I don't get him," he decided.

"I don't either," Kenya said, laughing, but not teasingly. Something long and black dangled down from the top bunk in front of Zaizen's nose. "Plug this in for me?"

It was a cell phone charger, Zaizen realized upon taking hold of it, and it was the same make as Zaizen's phone. He barely suppressed a smile as he creaked off of the bed toward the lone outlet.

"You brought yours, too, Senpai?" Zaizen rooted in his bag and drew out his own, turning the plug upside down so it could fit atop Kenya's as he slid them both into the socket.

"Screw Shiraishi," Kenya laughed. "There are people to call, people who get upset when I don't check in every freakin' day."

"Yeah, me too," Zaizen was quick to agree, omitting the fact that only his mother asked him to call that night. "My friends think I'm at a concert in Tokyo. That rock festival thing."

"That's right, it's this week. What if you're found out?"

"I won't be. I can look up set lists online." If Zaizen was to suffer in the next few days, at least his friends couldn't prolong it with their teasing.

Kenya was resting his forearms on the edge of his bunk, looking down. "Anything to get away from camping with your dorky tennis team, huh?"

"I don't want to be here."

"It does seem like a bit much. The others will have fun at least. Well, not Fukubuchou."

"Why not? Does he have to babysit Kintarou or something?" Zaizen laughed with Kenya, his mood and impending suffering having lifted a bit.

"As per usual," replied Kenya. "Let's hope he doesn't let Kin-chan find the matches."

Zaizen watched as the older boy descended the ladder and squeezed around the side of the bed. He was smiling and Zaizen forgot to censor his own, tiny smile in reply.

"Then again," Kenya continued, unprompted. "I'm going to start walking home if anyone aside from, say… Gin touches the matches."

This made Zaizen snort a laugh. "Even me?" he asked.

"Hairspray is flammable, kid," Kenya said, now leaning over him. He put a firm hand atop Zaizen's careful spikes and ruffled his hair as if he was some sort of dog. Zaizen wasted no time in fighting off his touch.

Kenya only chuckled and added, "I'm starving. Gonna go bug them about lunch."

Like Chitose, Kenya left the yurt with a wave and Zaizen stared after with a vague frown. Kenya had violated Zaizen's first rule about his hair (which was not to touch it, ever), but somehow was not as upset about it as he felt he should be.

Perhaps it was because Kenya didn't seem so starry-eyed about the trip, as the others appeared to be. He understood that Shiraishi couldn't cut them off from their communication. He knew the bed creaked, the food would be bad, and the ocean would be nothing special. Kenya could probably also tell that Zaizen wasn't going to put on a happy face like the rest of them.

But none of this explained why Zaizen's cheeks suddenly felt flushed.

*

Lunch was an assortment of inedible, cold and store-bought food, packaged neatly into plastic containers. Zaizen found his portion waiting for him on the picnic benches where everyone else had gathered, in a small grassy area near the central building he had seen before. He assumed it contained the bathrooms, although he would prefer not to eat next to them.

Koharu waved to him when he approached, and a few other heads looked up. Zaizen pointedly ignored the enthusiastic gestures Koharu made at the spot next to him, opting for the lesser of two evils and taking a seat next to Kintarou, on the other side of the bench.

Everyone else seemed to be in agreement with the state of the lunches, but they picked at them anyway. Gin was sitting under the shade of a tree not far away, and Zaizen supposed he had been overwhelmed by the negative energy of the soggy rice, or whatever Gin liked to say about these things. Chitose still hadn't returned and Osamu was a case of MIA, although that wasn't surprising.

"Hey, Zaizen!" Kintarou's voice was too loud and too close. Zaizen closed his eyes.

"It’s 'Senpai', remember?"

"Yeah—okay, Senpai, did you hear? We're going swimming after this."

Zaizen refrained from commenting on how Kintarou was already stripped down to his shorts. There was a grain of rice and a smudge of something on his chin.

"And, oh yeah, here—" Kintarou took on an expression of concentration and reached across the table. He presented Zaizen with what looked to be an oversized coin. "This is for a shower… Shiraishi said, uh…"

"The shower rooms won't operate unless you put the token in the slot," Shiraishi filled in from Kintarou's other side. "So keep that safe."

"I only have one," Zaizen said plainly, thumbing over the embossing of a tree before stowing it away in the back pocket of his jeans.

"One shower only, Hikaru-chan," Koharu called from the other end of the table. Somehow, he was always listening to everything, no matter what it was. "Make sure to tell me when! I wouldn't want to miss it."

"One shower? That's all?" Zaizen leaned over to look at Shiraishi, ignoring Koharu's apologetic calls and the sound of Kenya's laughter.

"One shower." Shiraishi offered no explanation as he removed himself from the bench, having completely downed his plastic tray of food, somehow. "Meet by the van in ten minutes, everyone."

Once Shiraishi had gone, Kintarou made a few hesitant scoots closer to Zaizen, leaning in enough so that his unruly hair tickled Zaizen's nose. He cupped his hand around his mouth secretively, though he spoke loud enough to make the muffling ineffective.

"Zaizen… if you want, I'll trade you mine…" Kintarou slid his coin over the wood of the table and Zaizen waited unimpressed for whatever crazy notion the younger boy had come up with. Instead of continuing, he looked intently at Zaizen's still untouched lunch, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Zaizen followed his gaze, then looked back to his face. He thought about salt water and sand in unpleasant places and no shower to remedy that, and then about Kintarou in the same situation and Shiraishi having to face the consequences of this on his own time, in his own yurt.

"Deal," he said.

*

Zaizen remembered why he hated sand.

He wasn't about to recount the reasons. He'd much rather find a nice, quiet piece of driftwood to sit against and flip through his magazine. But the very nature of being at the beach with his tennis team of all groups of people, excluded any ghost of these hopes of "nice" or "quiet."

That wasn't necessarily true, Zaizen knew Gin was nice and quiet, but even he had fallen to the poison of the sun and crisp waves, and whatever this togetherness stuff was about. He sat not far away, in the expanse of dry, white sand, allowing Shiraishi to spread the sunscreen on the patch of his back he could not reach himself, given his broken wrist.

Koharu and Yuuji were farther down the shore, chasing each other until Koharu would randomly deviate and throw himself at Kenya, only to be pried away moments after. Kintarou became impatient each time, bounding around at Kenya's heels, eyes intent on the Frisbee the older boy held.

Kintarou leapt up in an impressive springing bound to clap his hands over the Frisbee in midair when Kenya finally threw it for him. Zaizen wondered if he treated all his kohai like pets.

There was only so much Zaizen could take of watching, despite how often he looked up to check on everyone. Osamu was still missing, and that fact didn't bother him as much as the implication that despite everyone practically holding hands and trooping down to the shore from the campsite, their supposed adult supervisor was nowhere to be seen. Or maybe it was that despite this, everyone was well-behaved, playing harmless games and staying away from the water.

Zaizen didn't want to be the first one into the ocean, in case it was too cold and he had to turn back.

But after reading the beginning of an article about some designer five or six times, Zaizen caught a glimpse of Kenya wandering away from the group. He crossed the dark sand with a sense of fearlessness in his stride. It was silly to think so, and silly to get up and travel a few paces far behind him, but Zaizen did both.

No one seemed to pay attention to either of them, Kenya descending through wet sand just shy of the tide, Zaizen following far behind. Kenya pulled his shirt off in a fluid motion and tossed it behind him and Zaizen realized that soon the water was up to his waistline, lapping at the line of his back. Zaizen stopped his own movement to glance down, toes just on the divider between the light sand and dark, and when he looked back up, Kenya had disappeared.

A few seconds passed and his head bobbed back into view. The waves were calm, but Zaizen's chest felt strangely tight, like his ribs forgot to expand when he inhaled. Kenya began to move his arms in wide arcs over his head in breaststroke after breaststroke, moving farther into the sea. He didn't wave back to the others, he didn't call out, he didn't even turn his head.

Zaizen kept his eyes in a soft focus on the small shape in the surf. He stood for longer than he initially realized, watching, waiting for Kenya to turn around and come back to shore.

*

Zaizen arrived for dinner early, having spent the downtime alone, bored and hungry. Yuuji was seated at the benches from lunch, facing the large fire pit, in which burned a tall and controlled fire. None of this really caught his eye; Zaizen was intrigued rather by the acoustic guitar the boy had in his lap, and the fact that he was alone.

"Hitouji-senpai," he said as he approached. "What's that for?"

Yuuji started, then smiled. He looked embarrassed, which was rare.

"Oh, not anything, really," Yuuji said, draping his arms over the body of the instrument, gaze cast to the neck. "I was just going to practice while I keep an eye on the fire."

Zaizen wondered if Yuuji's playing was horrible and that was why he seemed embarrassed. Though he didn't understand how this was any harder than doing those idiotic things on the court, or imitating voices.

"Where are the others?" Zaizen sat on the opposite bench, disinterested, but still hungry.

"They went to find Osamu-sensei, in order to get into the van," Yuuji said. "For the pots and pans—and food."

"We don't have food? Everyone is so useless." Zaizen laid his forearms on the table, blowing his bangs from his eyes.

Yuuji only shrugged and took up his guitar again. Zaizen watched as he placed his fingers one by one on the neck, compressing the strings. Yuuji turned his head to look at his other hand, then made a careful and focused strum. It resulted in a single ringing chord, not the beginning of a song as Zaizen expected. Yuuji changed his fingers, taking just as long as the first time before playing another.

It wasn't anything special. But it wasn't overtly bad.

"This is practicing?" Zaizen asked after a few repetitions of the chords.

"Koharu just started teaching me," he replied, taking a few extra moments to go back to the first fingering. "I don't know much yet."

"Isn't he a super-genius, though?" Zaizen said.

"What does that have to do with it?"

"I mean, isn't everything you do essentially stupid to him?"

There was a pause. Yuuji wrapped his arms back around the guitar and looked at the fire thoughtfully. Eventually, he said, "We're on the same level."

Zaizen wasn't about to stay and find out if Yuuji was upset at having this pointed out, or whether he could play a third chord. He excused himself from the table without any real intent as to what to do until dinner was actually ready to eat.

Maybe a shower.

*

The bathrooms and showers were surprisingly clean. There were no odd smells, and they appeared to be sanitized daily. As such, Zaizen was able to spend his normal amount of time relaxing under the spray and styling his hair.

The sun had sunk behind the trees by then, leaving just enough light to see details and faces, and had taken the heat from earlier with it. A pleasant breeze made the air easy to breathe, the scents and sounds of the ocean as a soothing backdrop.

However, dinner turned Zaizen's stomach and mood back to negative, presented with the rest of the team, a slightly charred hotdog, and again that spot next to Koharu. His attention was elsewhere, luckily, and the food was at least edible this time.

"I didn't know Fukubuchou could pick locks. You really surprised me, man, back there at the van," Chitose was saying, having branched out to sprawling on the ground not far from the still burning fire. Gin was resigned under his tree again.

Shiraishi patted the aforementioned boy on the shoulder before he could reply. "He has a lot of secrets. A mysterious background."

"How mysterious?" Kintarou cut in.

He lowered his voice, as if anyone else was actually listening to him and said plainly: "Mermaids."

This sent Kintarou in a loop for quite some time, darting his attention from person to person for varying explanations until he came to rest on Zaizen, leaning into his personal space and looking up with wide eyes.

"Do mermaids really suck blood, Zai—er… Senpai?" he asked.

"Look," Zaizen started on a tense, unhappy note. "He's normal, everyone is just messing with you. Just ask him instead of me, alright?"

Kintarou drew in a breath in what seemed to be preparation to reply, and got stuck. There was food in his teeth.

Without warning, Kenya appeared from Kintarou's other side, prodding him on the shoulder. "Actually," he said. "I heard that Fukobuchou was in a gang before he came to Shitenhouji. Ever wonder why he wears his hair like that?"

Zaizen's eyebrows went together and something bubbled in the back of his mind.

Kintarou nodded and Yuuji leaned over the table to continue. "It's loyalty to his brotherhood," he added with a sly smirk to his partner, who picked up the next line. "Yuu-kun too. But from the other side. The bandanna side."

Kenya laughed and the bubble grew larger, pushing at Zaizen's thoughts uncomfortably.

"You've heard of martial arts tennis?" Kenya said. His voice was too loud. "He uses street fighting tennis."

"Guys, I—"

"Wow, is that true? Shiraishi, is that true?"

"It could be," Shiraishi said.

"I've seen it," Chitose added.

"His eyes are like a gangster's—" Koharu said.

"—when he pins you on the court," Yuuji finished.

"Stay on his good side," Kenya said.

The bubble burst.

"Shut UP!"

Everyone startled from their chatter, and even Kintarou became motionless. All heads were turned on Zaizen. His plate had slid from his lap when he stood, sending what was left of his meal facedown in the dirt.

With no other option, Zaizen continued.

"You're all too—happy. I can't stand it. It's like…" He looked from each boy's face to the next, the low light showing him shock, curiosity. "It's like I'm the only one who knows we lost."

His head ached. No one seemed able to answer.

"Well? We did. No, never mind. You lost, all of you. I didn't play, not against Seigaku, not even against that no-talent public school—"

"Oi," Chitose said. He was sitting up now, at attention. Everyone was.

"This is fake. You're all faking it—celebrating like you've actually won something. Semi-finalists." Zaizen found himself looking at Kenya, shaking and retreating a step. "Are you happy with just that? I don't care, it's not my last year—"

"Zaizen!" Shiraishi's voice came from his left, like a needle to his skull. A glance and Zaizen saw he was as angry as he sounded. The last thing Zaizen wanted was punishment, a talk from Captain.

"Sorry," he said, not meaning it, biting the words through gritted teeth. "Sorry to be the one to tell you."

Shiraishi, or maybe someone else, said something more, but Zaizen wasn't listening. He swiveled around on his heels, stiff strides one by one toward the path that led to the shore. The way was lit by small lights, like beacons.

He wasn't followed, except by scattered shadows cast over the uneven ground.

*

Zaizen had three text messages after dinner. Two were from a boy in his class, who had been immensely jealous (and somewhat suspicious) of Zaizen's sudden acquisition of tickets to the concert they both coveted.

r u excited?? he asked. And then, any hot chix??. Zaizen chose not to encourage this method of conversation, and deleted the messages.

The third was from a girl's number he hardly recognized. She too was asking about the concert's conditions, how close he was to the stage, and if he could maybe take a picture of the first band's guitarist. He replied that he was too far back to see much at all and apologized. Despite his short response, he hoped the girl would message him again, for reasons he was unsure of.

No one was talking to him. No one had followed. When Zaizen was captain, his team would care enough to look, and know enough to leave him alone once they found him in such a bad mood.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Zaizen let his head fall heavily onto his folded arms. Even far away from the stage, the volume would be overwhelming. Thudding base would assault his insides while sharp stings from the deafening speakers would bring a good kind of pain to his ears. Instead, he was left alone with cold sand under his rear and the constant gushing sounds of the ocean. The only familiarity was in the darkness that pressed in from all around, the moon like a stage light and the stars like pinpricks of cell phone displays at a distance.

Zaizen's stomach hurt, his head hurt, there was sand in his shoes and probably his pants and somehow the sun took all warmth with it when it set, leaving him in the stupid trinity of cold, hungry and alone. But he couldn't go back, not yet.

A shrill tone suddenly broke the monotony of the waves, accompanied by a violent vibration in Zaizen's front pocket. When he regained control of his heart, Zaizen jammed his thumb at the buttons through the cloth of his pants to silence the phone before drawing it out. He gave the unfamiliar number a glare and hunched his body forward, bringing the device to his ear.

"Who is this?" he demanded shortly.

Zaizen jumped again when the voice that sounded from the ear piece was actually directly in front of him. "No hellos?" it said.

He jerked his body back to find his vision obstructed by rounded shoulders and a shag of light hair. From what he could see in the dark, Kenya smiled and lifted his hand in a wave.

"Don't sneak up on me!" Kenya only laughed and took a step back when Zaizen attempted to shove at his knees. He wasn't helping Zaizen's mood in the slightest. Why was he even here?

"It's time to go back, Zaizen," he said, voice with the same odd cheer from dinner. That wasn't helping either.

"You can just leave me. I'll come back later," Zaizen told him, not budging.

"When everyone's asleep?"

"That was the plan."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Kenya said, taking a step toward him.

Zaizen recoiled instinctively. "Leave me alone," he snapped.

"That's no way to talk to your senpai." Kenya laughed again—why was he laughing?—and came even closer. With steady swiftness, he wrapped his hands around Zaizen's upper arm and gave a tug.

It took three tries for Kenya to muscle Zaizen to his feet. He could feel the sand sticking to the seat of his pants. "Happy?" he said, yanking at the arm Kenya still held. "Let go."

"Not yet," Kenya replied, walking him a few steps away from the dunes. At least he wasn't laughing anymore.

"I said, let go—" One more tug and Zaizen broke free. He intended to turn around and travel farther away from the camp until Kenya grew tired of following him, but realized that turning around would lead him directly back toward the yurts. He paused.

"Senpai, are you lost?"

"Are you still angry?" Kenya looked into Zaizen's face. It was too dark to see expressions, but Zaizen frowned anyway.

"Yes," he said.

"Then yeah, I'm lost," Kenya replied and he kept walking in the wrong direction, nudging Zaizen's shoulder with his own.

Zaizen wasn't sure what Kenya meant, but instead of frustrating him, it gave him a renewed sense of curiosity. He had no choice but to follow him, as the ocean was on their right and the dune grass on their left. The other direction was still out of the question. The older boy gave no explanation, but something about how he walked silently next to him almost explained enough.

After a few minutes, Zaizen spoke up, "Where did you get my number?"

"Koharu," Kenya said. This was another thing to be left unexplained.

There was another lapse in conversation, Kenya being the one to break it this time.

"Hey, do you remember last year at all?"

"That's not very specific," Zaizen replied.

"I mean around this time, last year. Nationals."

Zaizen didn't remember, but he could predict well enough. "You lost."

"I played doubles with a senpai. He was good enough, but…" Kenya shrugged, words hanging.

"But you still lost."

"Swept by Rikkai dai in the finals. We were out before singles two." He paused. "Shiraishi played singles one."

"Why are you telling me this?" Zaizen asked, on the border of frustration again.

Kenya shrugged again, looking off in another direction, at nothing. "This year… Shiraishi knows we lost. He knows it better than the rest of us put together, probably."

"It doesn't seem like it," Zaizen began, and Kenya was quick to interrupt.

"He's happier."

"Happier?"

"He doesn't want to admit it, but I think his philosophy is falling through. Winning is the most important, but having good matches is also important." He paused and stilled his walking, seeming to see something inland. Zaizen didn't question it, waiting for Kenya to finish.

He went on, "Shiraishi is… proud of us, of how we played. Maybe he had a little fun, too."

Zaizen opened his mouth to reiterate his point that he and Kenya didn't play against Seigaku, didn't do anything to make their captain proud, but Kenya said, "All season," and Zaizen had no reply to that.

Kenya started off again after looking at Zaizen for a moment. He must have been smiling, maybe making fun of him. But once more, instead of annoyance, Zaizen only felt the faint heat rise in his cheeks.

He didn't let this disarm him for long, trotting to catch up. It was another few minutes of silence before Zaizen realized that Kenya had turned them around again and was headed back toward the yurts. He somehow couldn't get angry about this, either.

"Maybe Buchou has a girlfriend," Zaizen finally said, and was pleasantly surprised by Kenya's laughter.

"Yeah, right," he replied. "Osamu keeps him busy enough with the club stuff, he wouldn't have the time."

"We practice too much, that's why," Zaizen added, realizing only then he was smiling to himself. It was okay though, because it was too dark to see.

"That's for sure. I know for a fact there are only two guys on the team who have managed to keep a steady relationship."

"Konjiki and Hitouji," Zaizen supplied, wrinkling his nose.

Kenya laughed again and said, "Bingo."

"Steady, okay," Zaizen admitted. "But still disgusting."

"I'll agree with you there. Be glad you weren't around before Koharu—what does he say?—'won Yuuji's heart' and had nothing to fixate on."

Zaizen gave a visible shudder and Kenya took a step toward him to bump their shoulders together again. Zaizen stumbled, glaring at Kenya's dark figure as he righted himself.

Kenya chuckled low, sounding like he was holding back. With the laugh in his voice, he seemed to move on to a new subject. "My cousin, though. He somehow manages."

"To have a steady girlfriend?"

"Hmm. A girlfriend, regardless. He's quite the lady killer." Kenya had a strange tone of voice and Zaizen wished offhandedly that he could see his face more clearly.

"You sound jealous," he pointed out, omitting that he felt a little bit of envy as well.

Kenya made a show of tripping his next few steps and hanging his head, laughing pitifully. "I am, stupid bastard. Always Ami-chan this and Nanako-chan that. It drives me crazy."

Zaizen watched him with a weird sense of awe before commenting. "That's kind of sad, Senpai."

"Shut up, kid," Kenya sighed and Zaizen readied himself for another shove, but none came. "You don't have a girlfriend either."

Zaizen thought about the text message from earlier, recalling the girl's face. She was alright, he supposed. That's how all of his friends were, just alright. Maybe under their clothes was a different story, but Zaizen only had vague urges to find that out, and they always seemed to pass.

"So? What's the rush?"

Kenya shook his head. He was probably smiling again. "Never mind."

Zaizen frowned. Kenya was attractive and confident, and obviously cared about his own appearance. Being a regular on a national-ranked team gained a certain amount of attention (Zaizen knew firsthand), and he was sure he'd seen Kenya talk to girls after practice, leaning against the corner of the fence, his body casting a shadow over them.

Still, Kenya spoke about the problem with a desperation Zaizen had never heard in him before. Zaizen could only relate to his own, nagging itch for sexual relations, knowing it was the fault of his hormones. He managed to subdue them fairly well, but like everyone, he needed a time for release.

Had Kenya grown tired of masturbation? Was something like that possible?

More importantly, why had his entire focus suddenly shifted to just those two things: Kenya and masturbation? He could feel himself blushing again.

Zaizen noticed he was being nudged, Kenya knocking into him blatantly to get him to change directions. Stopping and squinting, Zaizen didn't see anything out of the ordinary, and he realized that when he had marched off earlier that he would have been actually lost, not knowing how to get back to the yurts at all.

"There's a sign post up the way, here," Kenya said, pointing. "Then you can see the path lights."

It was true, and Zaizen made a soft sound of affirmation, starting off toward the trail. Before them lay a short but steep incline up toward where the ground was more solid. It was covered in sand with a few rocks for handholds. Climbing up and down proved simple during the daylight, but Zaizen did not trust it in the near-blackness. He withdrew his cell phone and pressed a button to make it light up. The makeshift torch hardly gave him any advantage, but he started upwards anyway.

He could hear Kenya shuffling behind him. The sand was slick under his feet and Zaizen reached for something to hold on to. He started to slide downwards until two broad palms came to rest on his lower back.

Zaizen froze for a moment, and he wasn't sure why. His chest was acting strange again, but this time it felt like his ribs were too big and his lungs and heart were floundering around inside. There was a small patch of skin between his jeans and shirt that was revealed when Zaizen lifted his arms, and Kenya's hands were exactly there, chill, firm—what the hell had gotten into him?

With Kenya's help, he climbed to the steady ground quickly. Kenya managed by himself with his slightly longer limbs and continued onward back to the campsite. Zaizen walked behind this time, saying nothing, trying his hardest to think nothing.

As they approached the line of yurts, the faint strains of music came into earshot. Zaizen could tell before long it was Koharu and Yuuji, playing the guitar and singing, respectively. Or so he assumed, as the playing was infinitely better than what he'd heard before dinner. Yuuji's singing was nice, though.

Chitose added to the song with his faint snoring, once Kenya had opened the door to their own sleeping area. In the dim light, Zaizen could see his feet sticking out over the edge of the couch, oversized and naked. It would be funnier if he wasn't already preparing himself for a night of interrupted sleep. Kenya creaked his way up to the top bunk and Zaizen made just as much noise fitting himself between the blankets.

There were no goodnights issued. He could hear Kenya turning over and shifting above him a few times before eventually coming to rest. Zaizen hadn't the slightest bit of luck finding sleep, thoughts drifting aimlessly, annoyingly through various subjects: his friend's text messages, Chitose's feet poking out from the blanket, tennis, Nationals, how Shiraishi might feel. Then: Kenya's cousin, Kenya without a girlfriend, Kenya if he had a girlfriend and what he might do.

Before long, Koharu and Yuuji's song had ended and even Chitose seemed to find a position that rendered him silent. The conditions were met, yet still sleep did not find Zaizen. He made a tiny sound of annoyance and rolled from his side to his back.

What would a girlfriend—or boyfriend, really—feel like?

Zaizen always took pride in being nearly silent when he found the time to masturbate. Sharing a room with his sister had taught him well, and he didn't find it odd at all that he had suddenly made the shift, fly undone and hand petting over himself in the open air. Sleep would come easy after, he knew.

He imagined faceless girls with round breasts and curving, sloping backs. They rose from the water, fascinating rivulets over the planes of their chests and stomachs. Their necks arched gracefully and streams from their hair trailed across their shoulder blades, forking only to join again. One by one, they dove back into the sea, swimming away from Zaizen, away from the shore.

Just before he came, Zaizen felt the girls pressing in around him, close with their breath like steam. One placed her palms on either side of his spine just above his hips and helped him over the edge, spilling into his hand, tugging him to unconsciousness soon after.

*

The next morning, everyone hated Zaizen. He was sure of it. The sounds of Kenya and Chitose stirring around him roused him from sleep, but he remained turned toward the canvas wall of the yurt with the blanket pulled up to his nose.

Maybe it was possible for him to stay there until everyone disappeared, giving them more time to forget the night before. It wasn't that Zaizen didn't mean what he had said; it was just that he didn't want to be bothered with making his point again, or being confronted about it.

His plan shattered when Chitose called from the doorway. "If you keep sleeping, you're going to miss breakfast, bro."

Zaizen's stomach gave a mighty squeeze in reply. Reluctantly, he got up.

After addressing his crumpled hairstyle and whining bladder, Zaizen once again found the members of the team crammed in around the picnic bench. Osamu was still scarce to the point of invisibility. At least access to the van had been restored, as a new pile of bowls were stacked on the edge of the table, along with what appeared to be a few dozen packages of instant oatmeal.

Zaizen approached cautiously and no one looked up. They were probably ignoring him and he had no problem doing the same in return. Chitose and Shiraishi were kneeling in the dirt over the fire, talking low and stirring something a large pot. They seemed absorbed enough, and Zaizen hazarded a glance over their shoulders to see if anything was edible yet.

Shiraishi suddenly turned and looked directly at Zaizen.

Shiraishi seemed a little tired and his hair curled around his face with dampness, eyes narrowing almost cautiously. Maybe he was going to apologize. Maybe he was going to yell again.

"I hate oatmeal," Zaizen said, cutting him off. It ended the conversation before it could begin, and Shiraishi turned back to the pot without a word. Chitose laughed and Zaizen separated himself quickly.

The others finally took notice of his arrival; Kintarou rammed into his side, Yuuji waved, Koharu blew a kiss, and Gin nodded. Zaizen's gaze lingered on the large boy, counting two creased lines between his eyebrows now, as well as an added darkness under each eye. He looked haggard, almost, and with another glance to who Gin shared his sleeping quarters with—Koharu promising to feed Yuuji the oatmeal drop by drop—it wasn't hard to see why.

Eventually, Zaizen was delivered a bowl of the mush anyway. He took his food a distance from the rest of the boys and found a root to sit on. Despite the undesirable texture, Zaizen welcomed the slimy oats. They were better than nothing.

A somewhat muffled voice broke him from the daze, seeming to come from nowhere until Zaizen realized it was Kenya, sitting just on the other side of the tree behind him.

"You can't honestly believe that," he said, tone lilted and volume increasing. There was a pause, and then Kenya laughed. "She was lying to you, Yuushi. It’s pretty obvious."

Kenya was on the phone, Zaizen concluded, and he was loud and conversational. Zaizen chewed thoughtfully, waiting for Kenya's next retort. There wasn't any harm in listening, after all, and it was almost soothing.

"No, nothing of the sort," he went on. "Just drop it, already."

The conversation continued with Kenya doing a lot more denying until the person on the other line seemed to drop it, and then moved on to talk about the weather and what the beach and campsite were like. Zaizen's interest drifted, letting the short syllables pass over him until he had finished his food and decided to take his leave.

"He's not interested, Yuushi," Kenya's voice said just before Zaizen walked out of earshot. "And shut up, I am too a good kisser!"

*

Of all of the Nishihinohama beach area, there was one part Zaizen was friendly with, and that was the seaside shopping center. It wasn't particularly large, but it was clean and comfortably unoccupied. There wasn't anything sold there that Zaizen couldn't find in the city, but the appeal of the center lay in the fact it was away from faces he knew, and more importantly, sticky sand and bad food.

Shiraishi gathered everyone just before lunch and walked them down the short side streets to the commercial area. Zaizen brought up the rear as to not to talk to anyone, and even Kenya, who he determined was his only ally, preferred to chat and joke with the other third years.

Zaizen didn't think it would be surprising to anyone, then, when he slinked away from the group as soon as they arrived. Most everyone made their first stop the food court to experience something civilized, so Zaizen suffered a protesting stomach for a while longer to avoid them. When he finally did find his way to a greasy American-sized burger, it was glorious, impossible to describe.

The smell of sand and salt became dissatisfying and Zaizen determined to replace the clothes he wore to the mall with starchy new articles. It was when he was leaving the clothing shop, vague self-fulfilled smile on his face, that he ran into the others again, clumped together like a school of fish.

"Zaizen," Shiraishi said before Zaizen could point out anything more he could hate. Instead, he prepared himself to endure a lecture, squaring his shoulders and giving a defiant look directly back at his captain.

"I like your new clothes," Shiraishi finally finished, lips curling. Zaizen had no reply, didn't want to even dignify something like that with one, but he somehow matched the smile, bending his body forward in a bow of thanks.

Shiraishi passed by, seemingly satisfied. Kintarou bounded around his and Chitose's sides, picking up a conversation the other two had likely wanted to drop, something along the lines of "what kind of movie can you guys go to that I can't?" Zaizen didn't want to know.

The other boys left in different directions after Shiraishi's would-be confrontation, and to Zaizen's approval, Kenya approached him. They shared a comical look over the situation, Kenya slouching with both hands in his pockets.

"I told him you were sorry," he explained after a moment. Zaizen turned away to hide his prolonged smile and started down the walkway between stores.

"I'm not sorry," he replied. Why was he was so happy that Kenya was walking alongside him all of a sudden?

"You would have been, trust me," Kenya laughed, shaking his head. "I did you a favor."

"Whatever, Senpai." But Zaizen actually was grateful.

They were soon approaching the opposite end of the shipping strip when Kenya was drawn to something not far from the doors, increasing his pace and leaving Zaizen to hurry on behind him.

"Here." Kenya presented his find with a flourish.

Zaizen failed to see the appeal, as his find was a very ordinary instant picture booth, where girls and couples would sit to get overpriced strips of poor quality photos with tacky borders. Zaizen's utter lack of inspiration by the machine must have shown on his face, because Kenya laughed and lunged forward to take hold of Zaizen's arm and tug him closer.

"I'll pay," he said, but it was of little reassurance to Zaizen.

Zaizen climbed into the mouth of the device and settled himself on the cheap plastic seat as Kenya fed the machine coins and then squeezed in after him. Their thighs pressed tightly together in the small space. He swallowed something tight in his throat.

Zaizen was almost distracted enough to miss the other boy saying, "We need to make memories. Ready?"

The first flash left Zaizen dazed and he knew he wasn't quite looking at the camera. The display on the touch-screen in front of them reflected Kenya's lazy smile, and Zaizen found himself examining it instead of actually posing, or realizing why he felt the need to examine it in the first place, when the second flash went off.

"Smile!" Kenya jostled and Zaizen gave a challenging look to the little circular lens of the camera. In the tiny reflection, Zaizen watched Kenya lift his arm around Zaizen's shoulders and settle there heavily, pulling him close. Zaizen's lips turned upward acutely just in time for the third flash.

The fourth photograph had the two of them leaning in to fill the frame with their faces. Kenya's head knocked against Zaizen's lightly, and he broke his smile with the call of "Doubles two!" to which Zaizen said, "That's a lie!" They weren't anything like a solid pair or team, and that position wasn't one to brag about even if they had it, but Zaizen forgot this momentarily and just grinned.

Kenya untangled himself when the cutesy voice of the machine prompted them for framing and other effect options. He proceeded through the screens, adding cartoon blushes to the first picture of Zaizen's distracted expression, and a floating halo to the second, while he gave his own corresponding likeness curving devil horns.

Looking satisfied with his work, Kenya sat back and gave Zaizen an expectant nudge to tend to the remaining two pictures. Zaizen moved close enough to touch the screen and search through the menus. The third picture was decorated with whatever caught Zaizen's eye, which turned out the be mostly flowers, placing them so they appeared to be sprouting from either of their heads.

Kenya snorted with laughter and leaned forward as well, his face warm and close to Zaizen's. "Add those shoujo sparkles too," he said, and added the graphic over the already ridiculous photograph. Zaizen bit his lip but found that nothing contained his own smile and laughter.

For the final picture, Zaizen went to the borders and background graphics, sifting though the various environment and holiday themes. He located a tennis border and turned to Kenya with triumph.

But Kenya had found a border he liked as well. He quickly jabbed his finger at the screen and it was too late by the time Zaizen looked back; Kenya had chosen to frame their 'doubles two' portrait in excessive holly, bright yellow bells, a rosy-faced Santa Clause and red letters boldly spelling out 'Merry Christmas' in English.

"This…" Zaizen sputtered, staring at the slot from where the set of stickers had already started to print. "Senpai, it's August!"

Kenya doubled over in laughter, slouching against the back of the stall. "That's why it's so funny," he managed eventually. "Maybe we should go again, just so I can get a picture of that look you have on your face right now."

Zaizen fixed his features into a scowl and gave Kenya a good shove, who only crumpled into the corner of the booth and continued to giggle helplessly. Zaizen took the first copy of the prints and examined the angel-devil picture closely.

"This one looks good," he remarked, smile returning and Kenya calmed himself enough to inspect it too.

"They all are pretty good," he said. "'Merry Christmas' is the best. You have a nice smile, there."

"It's not Christmas," Zaizen insisted again. Unlike the events of yesterday, Zaizen knew exactly why his cheeks were burning this time. He wasn't sure if he agreed with it or not, yet.

"Do you smile on Christmas?" Kenya asked. Zaizen could feel his eyes on him, rather than on the photograph. "It's cute."

"I… I don't celebrate Christmas."

"Your birthday?" he tried.

The second sheet of stickers inched out of the slot with the same rhythm as Zaizen's heart, beating its way up his throat. Kenya smelled like ocean and sand and this time it was a good thing, somehow. His hand rested on Zaizen's thigh.

"Hey," Kenya said when he didn't get a reply. It seemed to Zaizen as if he saw the next three seconds before they happened, or maybe time slowed so impossibly that the events occurred in the past, present and future all at once.

That's retarded, he thought, well on his way to turning his head toward Kenya, who pushed closer with quicksilver slowness to cover Zaizen's lips with the warmth of his own.

It was awkward and their heads weren't exactly in the right position, but Kenya kissed with apparent determination. Zaizen panicked and pushed his arms in front of him, shoving Kenya away. Kenya looked confused for a moment, then averted his eyes and wiped at his mouth.

"Sorry," he said quickly, making space between them. Zaizen followed him with his eyes. "I just thought—I guess I'm reading things wrong. I didn't mean to scare you—"

As if to make up for the break in time continuity from before, Zaizen didn't realize his actions until many seconds after he had already made them. He moved forward and dug his fingers into the front of Kenya's shirt. His eyes scrunched shut and he closed the distance.

A heartbeat and Kenya was moving, pushing in for more. His fingers crunched the gel of Zaizen's hair and held him in place. Zaizen moved his hand to Kenya's shoulder instead and squeezed.

He couldn't pay attention to everything at once. Kenya's tongue was wet and invasive. It was all too slow, too fast, and Zaizen felt a hand move under his new shirt, broad palm on his lower back. He shuddered and pressed against Kenya, arms folding to his chest, skin annoyingly hot. And oh god he was hard without having realized it and now only three layers of fabric separated them. Kenya could probably—no, he could definitely tell.

"Senpai," Zaizen said into his mouth and Kenya tried to kiss around it. "Senpai!" he tried again, louder, and managed to push him away.

Kenya didn't say anything, so Zaizen regained his footing and began backing out of the booth.

"It's fine!" Kenya said. He reached for Zaizen, but missed. "Just like last night, okay?"

Zaizen's face was on fire. He snatched up his discarded shopping bag to hold it over his crotch. Last night? Kenya couldn't possibly mean… Zaizen hobbled a few steps backwards, then turned.

He didn't know if Kenya was watching him leave. His only thought was remembering just where he had seen a bathroom. He hoped no one connected the two: Kenya calling his name and Zaizen with his head bowed, shuffling away.

*

"He's a keeper," said Koharu, slinging his arm around Zaizen's shoulders while the team was making their trek back from the mall.

Zaizen started to pry him off, then stopped. "Excuse me?"

To this, Koharu hummed, pointing forward. Ahead of them, Kenya was walking next to the other third years, but slightly apart. The side of the road barely allowed room for this alignment, and Kenya had his hands deeply in his pockets, shoulders hunched. The same as the last time Zaizen looked.

"It's cute when they sulk," Koharu continued and patted Zaizen's chest. He pushed at his hand. "But don't break his heart. I've been rooting for you guys for a while."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zaizen mumbled. Another shove and Koharu was successfully detached.

He made that annoying hum again and twirled around to walk in front of Zaizen, turning to face him. "If things don't work out," he said. "You know who to call for rebound."

Zaizen's shot him an expression of disgust and Koharu cackled, rejoining the group ahead. It was one thing to know everything, but Zaizen thought sometimes, most times, Koharu just knew too much.

*

Kissing someone… kissing someone who was a boy… kissing someone who was a boy who was Kenya was—

Zaizen wanted to say gross. Every inch of his higher brain wanted to scream it. Slimy things like tongues were to be kept to yourself. It wasn't a good thing to feel saliva that wasn't yours. It wasn't hot in any way, when the subtle smoothness of lips slid in perfect coordination, when they pried, nipped, sucked.

His mouth felt like a bee sting. Except the bee had continued on, down his throat and into his chest, where it fluttered and hummed and knocked against his ribs. It was a painful, like turning up the music too loud, like playing tennis too hard and too long. It was dizzying, it was driving him crazy.

And he wanted to do it again.

Everyone left to go back to the beach, to swim, to play volleyball, to whatever before the sun set. Zaizen went back to the yurt instead, shut the door, turned off the light, and lay motionless on the bottom bunk. He queued up the bands he was missing from the concert on his MP3 player.

He needed to think. Or maybe he didn't. Kenya kissed me was the furthest he could get. Kenya kissed him and he was okay with it? Kenya kissed him and he liked it? Zaizen had nothing to compare it to, and it was making him mad.

The door opened and the light came on. Zaizen hoped it was Chitose. He hoped it was Kenya more. He squinted his eyes shut and held his breath.

"Hey," came Kenya's voice.

The bed creaked as Zaizen rolled over. He could see Kenya's knees from between the bunks.

"Do you like me?" asked Kenya and Zaizen sat up straight, knocking his head on the low boards with a resounding thunk.

"Whoa, whoa, careful!" Kenya sat on the edge of the bed, body scrunched up so he didn't hit his head, too. Zaizen clapped his hand over the offended spot on his forehead. "You okay?" Kenya asked.

They sat in silence for a moment. Kenya was probably looking at him, waiting for an answer. Zaizen felt faint, like his limbs were heavy and there was a beehive in his chest, distracting him with its buzzing. It was louder than the music, so Zaizen ripped the earbuds from his ears. He swallowed hard.

"Maybe." Zaizen's voice was vibrating too, shaky.

"Maybe you're okay?"

"No." Zaizen shook his head and gulped some more bees down. "I like you."

Hearing it was stranger than feeling it, but it didn't make his face burn any less. He didn't look at Kenya, even when he crawled between the bunks and put his hand on Zaizen's thigh.

"That's what I wanted to hear."

The bed creaked and Zaizen looked up. Kenya was halfway on top of him now, back brushing the unfinished boards above him. Splinters could stick to Kenya's shirt, they could get in his hair.

But then Kenya leaned down on his elbows and pressed his mouth to Zaizen's. His tongue slid between his lips and the bed made noise when Zaizen shifted under him, wrapped his arms around Kenya's back, pulled him away from the splinters.

They traded kisses with no pattern and Zaizen could hardly find time to breathe. He gasped as Kenya's mouth moved in at a weird angle, leaving him to blow air through his nose directly in Kenya's face. It wasn't sexy, or cool, or anything remotely attractive and Zaizen wanted to stop this and curl up before Kenya could laugh at him.

But it was too late for that. He was chuckling, low and breathy, and his eyes were narrow. And then Kenya was kissing him again, drawing out Zaizen's air and bees and a small whimper.

"It's okay," Kenya murmured, and he nudged his nose at Zaizen's jaw. He didn't want his mouth to go away yet, not now that things were 'okay,' whatever that meant. Zaizen tightened his fingers in his shirt.

Kenya's hand was between them suddenly, and what was more than 'okay' was Kenya's fingers around the outline of Zaizen's erection. It was way more than okay, it was amazing, like music turned up all the way. Zaizen bit his tongue and Kenya bit Zaizen's neck.

Zaizen rubbed back and the bed creaked, and there was a thigh between his legs now, and something stiff at his hip. Kenya was heavy and warm and his teeth kept dragging harshly over his neck, until he jerked and dug himself harder against Zaizen than before. His face was hidden.

"Oh," said Zaizen and he held on tight because it felt like he was falling. He arched, he twitched, Kenya twitched, and then Zaizen came.

There was silence, no bees, no creaking bed. And then there was breathing, hot gusts over his ear. Zaizen's senses clicked back on one at a time. Kenya lay slack, chest to chest with him, and Zaizen realized he must have come too, somewhere in the middle of it all. He smiled, then frowned, then shoved. His underwear were sticky.

"Mm?" Kenya lifted his head and cracked open his eyes. There was a strange flush on his face which made Zaizen forget what to say. He shoved at him again.

"I—shower!" he exclaimed, untangling their legs, trying to get free.

Kenya blinked slowly, lips working into a curl, then lifted a hand to muss up Zaizen's bangs.

"Fix your hair," he said and Zaizen turned red.

He was really glad for that extra token.

*

The bite marks didn't go away by dinner, but they weren't noticeable if Zaizen popped the collar of his shirt. It didn't make Zaizen any less aware of them, though, as came back from his shower and made his way toward the fire pit.

"New style?" asked Chitose, carrying a large cardboard box.

Zaizen ignored the question and said, "Where is everyone?"

"Campfire on the sand. You're really late." He shifted, turning in the direction of the shore. "I came back to get some stuff."

Zaizen shoved his hands in his pockets and followed the tall boy. "No one told me."

"Kenya didn't? Oh well," Chitose replied, somehow trucking down the sharp incline of the dunes in his geta. "There's plenty of food. We have wieners."

Apparently, they did. A large pit had been hallowed out high on the beach and a healthy fire raged inside. Driftwood and large rocks pushed up around it to sit on. The team was energetically chatting, faces illuminated by the firelight. Each of them suspended a long stick tipped with the tiny sausages over the flames like a fishing pole. Kenya had two.

For once, Zaizen figured he could take a chance and call the team functional. Maybe even normal.

"You missed Shiraishi's speech," Kenya said, and surprisingly there was an empty spot next to him instead of Koharu. He was smiling.

"And these," he added, reaching behind him. Kenya pushed a strip of thick paper into his lap, and Zaizen realized that they were the photos they had printed earlier. He glanced over the whimsical graphics, Kenya's arm around his shoulder, 'Merry Christmas.'

He flipped the page over and nodded, but had nothing to say.

Kintarou bounded over, nearly running into the two of them. He was dressed down to just his shorts again. "Zaizen-buchou!" he announced.

Zaizen faltered. He'd never heard Kintarou use that word before, let alone with his name attached to it. "What was that?"

"Shiraishi said you're captain now!" He seemed to suddenly remember something and inched back a few steps.

"Oh yeah," Kenya laughed. "He told everyone before you got here."

Zaizen shot a glare over the fire to where Shiraishi sat. He met Zaizen's eyes and waved his arm, but something seemed off. Zaizen scratched at his head, jumping when Kintarou made a yelp.

"Don't get it in your mouth!" he said, slinking back even more and shaking his head. "The poison!"

"You're cursed!" Shiraishi called and picked one of the sausages off the end of his stick. That's what was strange, his arm was completely bare and bandageless. "Might want to wrap that up."

Kintarou nodded in rapid agreement and Zaizen sighed. Kenya was laughing, elbows knocking into him when he moved, too often to be unintentional. Zaizen's head felt clear, and his body light.

"What else did he say?" he asked anyone, everyone.

"That this year was the best, ever—" Koharu began. Yuuji shoved a sausage in his partner's mouth and he continued, "—and we all grew a lot. Impressed the hell out of Seigaku."

"Even though Gin almost killed that guy," Kenya added and everyone turned to look at Gin. He frowned and refrained from commenting.

"And Chitose floundered against that Tezuka," said the vice-captain. Zaizen didn't even notice he was there.

"Our Homo Troupe met their match in dramatics," Shiraishi hummed.

"But at least I got Kaoru-chan's phone number!" Koharu cooed, wild laugh cut off by another sausage being crammed into his mouth.

"Koshimae was incredible! Awesome!" Kintarou didn't seem to follow the theme, jumping to his feet. "I'll get him next time! Wait for me, Koshimae!"

"I'll deliver your message," Kenya said, grinning wide. He was suddenly looking at Zaizen, who bit his lip, smiled back, and shrugged.

"What's in the box," Zaizen said over the laughter, looking to Chitose, who glanced at Shiraishi. He nodded, and Chitose lifted the flaps and tossed the contents of the box into the fire.

"Oh my God," Zaizen said, voice loud and laughing. "That's way too cliché."

But it was too late. A dozen screaming fireworks lit their fuses and shot up out of the pit in perfect vertical paths, drawing bright lines across the black sky. They tumbled and spread at their peak, spiraling in balls of fire until they popped, one after the other. The explosions echoed over the sand and waves and somewhere in the distance a dog started to bark.

Kintarou leapt in the air and whooped, and a few others cheered along with him. Kenya clapped his hands above his head, calling out. Zaizen remained silent, head craned up to watched the ghosts of the fireworks that still lingered in his eyes

*

The next morning, Gin looked as if he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. Despite this, he still maneuvered each of their bags easily into the back of the van, compacting them into place with Kintarou's help.

"So, you have a good time?" Osamu tapped his cigarette, seeming to materialize out of nowhere around the front of the vehicle.

"No help from you," Shiraishi said shortly. "I hope you still can drive."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Y'tell Kin-chan?"

"No. Zaizen's much more qualified."

Zaizen watched as a sloppy grin spread over the coach's face. "In time," he said and patted Shiraishi on the shoulder, wandering around to the driver's side. He called for everyone to load up so they could 'get the hell out of here.'

A sharp elbow thwarted Zaizen's path, and Kintarou twisted around and said, "I want the back seat! Next to Koharu!"

That in itself was not the problem. The problem was that the space Kintarou was gunning for in the back seat was between the aforementioned and Kenya.

It wasn't that Zaizen had some kind of need to be next to Kenya all of a sudden, but he had his preferences. And his preferences led to another stingingly sweet kiss before they had gone to bed the night before, Kenya on the top bunk, Zaizen on the tips of his toes.

"I'm your captain," Zaizen said, and then, feeling exceedingly idiotic, lifted his arm and began to push up his sleeve. "I'm sitting there."

It worked like a charm.

There was no singing on the ride back and Koharu barely touched Zaizen, surprisingly. Yuuji, again in the seat in front of his partner, had fallen asleep, face smushed against the glass. Everyone else sat silently, and Zaizen wondered how many were actually awake.

They passed through a shaded area and Zaizen decided to check on Kenya, but subtly, glancing at his reflection in the window. His heart skipped into his throat when his eyes met Kenya's in the window, and he turned without thinking to look at the real thing.

Kenya smiled and Zaizen looked away, face burning.

Koharu, who apparently wasn't completely absorbed in twirling Yuuji's hair around his fingers, flashed Zaizen a toothy grin and winked. Zaizen's stomach lurched. Was he going to turn into that?

Even so, Kenya did say it was okay. And maybe, with his hand on Zaizen's thigh, it was.

"Congrats, doubles two," Koharu said, loud and annoying.

So much for subtlety.

~fin~

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