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Steadfast - a Tennis no Oujisama fanfiction by Eve




STEADFAST
a Tennis no Oujisama fanfiction by Eve
www.livejournal.com/users/array_of_colors
stormofblossoms@gmail.com
Tennis no Oujisama © Takeshi Konomi, et al.



She would sit on the bench, sometimes with a cup of green tea near at hand, the day's reports stacked up tidily on her lap. As she read, a smile would start tugging at the corners of her mouth, until her eyes began to light up behind her glasses. Her slender, red-tipped fingers would then tap at the pieces of paper, or automatically reach for her pen and scribble down some notes. Occasionally, when she found something she considered satisfactory, a low chuckle would escape her, light and natural as breath.

He would watch her from across the court, just another presence among many others; not an intrusion, nor meant to be. Because when she was poring over the reports she was happiest, and her happiness made her real. Alive.

Lovely, too, although this was not something he would have said aloud, or admitted to realizing.

A couple of weeks ago, when she was overseeing his practice and they were alone in the indoor court, she said, "Shinjou-kun, do you remember what you asked me yesterday?"

His swing almost stopped midway, but he willed his wrist to move and finish it. "Yes, Hanamura-sensei."

She folded her arms and regarded him thoughtfully. "May I ask why you asked?"

"I understand you often work until quite late at night. Afterwards, you go home on your own to an apartment where you also live on your own. You are valuable to Jousei Shounan. We have to ensure your safety and well-being. Therefore, I'm offering to walk you home when you have to work late."

"Won't that be troublesome for you?"

"No. I would be more than happy to do it."

"Thank you. I accept the offer."

This time he did stop, and stare at her. "You do?"

"As a matter of fact, I'll be working late tonight. You can pick me up at the teachers' office at about nine."

From then on, he escorted her home whenever she had extra work to do, and was rewarded with a glass of chocolate or snacks she made herself. They would chat desultorily for a while before he excused himself. She would bid him good night, and tell him to be careful.

Not being deaf or oblivious, he had sensed the whispers of suspicion that floated behind his back, but he mostly ignored them. He never mentioned it to her, nor did she ever give any indication that she, too, heard them. In her turn, she never hinted that some of the older teachers also clucked their tongues and glanced at her disapprovingly. She merely gave a mental shrug; she would never dream of wishing to turn back time and decline the offer he made on that quiet summer afternoon. It was not in her to have regrets.

When she had finished making decisions and choices, she never looked back.