"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to play soccer anymore." Matsukaze Tenma left everything behind after a horrid accident destroyed him. Abandoned and forsaken, Raimon's captain fell from grace and disappeared without anyone caring. "He's done for."...
(Yeah okay I promised the second team but I didn't get around to it, so you get Tsurugi and Tenma being unnecessarily dramatic instead.)
Anyway, enjoy!
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Parallels, by Yara Meijer.
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Tsurugi Kyousuke stares at his phone with unseeing eyes.
He's not sure he's even breathing. It's not audible in the silence of the park, at the very least. The rustling leaves seem terrifyingly loud.
Of all the things...
He clutches the device in his hand tightly, knuckles turning white, and slowly lifts his gaze to the skyline. He swallows against his dry throat, then, breathes in gradually.
Of all the things.
He slumps against the tree behind him, his hand lowering without his consent. He has just enough sense to stuff his phone in his pocket before he drops it, but that's as far as he gets. His mind is reeling; from what, exactly, he can't be sure. Or rather, there are too many reasons to just pick one.
When Kyousuke went out for a walk before dinner, of all the things he could've expected, this was not it.
How could he? It has been three years, after all. Three years of complete silence – he never dared to think, dared to hope, that after such a long time his best friend would reach out to them. To him.
Not that he has any right to call Tenma that anymore. After everything he's dared to pull on him, he would never believe himself worthy of his friendship again.
And that thought has him gritting his teeth, because it hurts. And yet he knows – has always known – that it couldn't possibly compare to Tenma's pain.
Kyousuke might have regrets that swallow him whole, even after so long, but at least he wasn't alone.
''I bet it was such a goddamn blessing when I was gone!''
No. Never.
They made him believe that. Kyousuke made him believe that.
Before he even knows it, he has turned away from the tree he was leaning on. With a frustrated shout, he punches the wood, not caring for the pain that shoots through his knuckles a second later. It feels good, a way to get rid of his pent-up frustration, and so he does it a few more times.
Even that doesn't last though, and he's left with his forehead resting against the tree trunk, breathing heavily.
