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[daiya no a, miyuki/nabe] abandoned as hell
the amt of fic i have lying around that is like half-finished from before we knew what the fuck was going on with miyuki's ribs is RIDICULOUS
so is this
it's mostly nabe and the managers, miyuki is in it a little. ~950 words, nothing objectionable.
In early September, cleaning up in the clubroom around the managers doing their own work, Hisashi finds Umemoto and Natsukawa looking over Yoshikawa's shoulders and talking in quiet, amused voices. He ignores them until he's finished re-ordering the scorebooks he'd taken out to cross-reference, and then gives in to his curiosity, leaning over the other side of the table at the glossy teen magazine. "Ah, palm reading," he says, and all three girls jolt in surprise, Umemoto loudest of all; Yoshikawa moves to snap the magazine shut, but he waves his hand. "You should leave it open for the second years to see," he says, and it's Natsukawa who laughs.
"Let's do it," she says, "they're always flipping through them anyway, when they think we're not looking. Right, Sacchin?" Umemoto pumps a fist in agreement.
"That means you, too, Watanabe," Umemoto says, turning on him with a crooked grin; he ducks his head.
"Guilty as charged," he agrees, "sometimes the titles are so confusing I have to look, though!"
Umemoto gives him shit about it as she and Natsukawa throw suggestions about where to leave it lying open back and forth, until Yoshikawa breaks in with a loud suggestion of the table near the door, where no one would be able to miss it, and both of the second year managers turn to her with agreement in their voices, bustling over to lay it artfully casual across the end of the table. Hisashi stoops down to pick up the sweater Natsukawa dragging Yoshikawa from her chair had sent to the floor, shaking it out and laying across the tabletop before he waves his goodbye and walks out into the half-light of the evening between practice and dinner time. His teammates are here and there across the courtyard, and Kuramochi calls him over when he spots him, to get his help arguing with Miyuki.
The magazine is popular for a couple of days, mostly in order for people to declare new and more ominous fates for their friends, including at least one Kuramochi Special that had Sawamura hollering at the top of his lungs. (Admittedly, not the hardest hurdle to hop.) After that, the loud offers to read palms became shorthand for 'smacking your buddy's hand into his own face', and the fad faded away.
In early November, Miyuki goes from the hospital to his family home for three days before he's back in the dorms. Hisashi offers homework, but stopping in at Miyuki's house had revealed that while there was a computer and a TV, there wasn't much else in the way of entertainment that wasn't baseball magazines. So Hisashi digs around for trashier entertainment, the kind that was probably going to be ultimately harmless, instead of the brain-rotting daytime dramas Miyuki's been reporting on live into his text message inbox. He asks around for recent magazines, and gets a veritable mountain - Rolling Stone and Young Guitar from Nori and Shirasu, three months' worth of weekly Famitsu from Seki (reportedly stolen from Asou, if rumor is correct, and it often is, in cases of Asou and Seki), a smattering of Dengeki editions Kuramochi seems loath to part with, and, most curiously, a book on North Pole animals from Furuya, apparently offered in complete sincerity. Hisashi has to sort through them and take only the ones he thinks Miyuki will actually read, because otherwise he'll be on the train with a box between his ankles. How three volumes of Seventeen wind up in the stack, he'll never know, but he'll later suspect foul play. Hisashi sets the significantly slimmed-down stack down on Miyuki's desk before he draws close to sit in the chair next to the bed.
"What are those for?" Miyuki asks, nodding toward the desk but otherwise obediently still, supported by a stack of carefully-arranged pillows (he'd made Hisashi help him move half of them when he'd knocked on his bedroom door, even, after his father unlocked the front door to let him inside with a promise to drive him home in the company truck).
"They're from the team," Hisashi says, "I narrowed it down to the ones I thought you'd like... I can bring more if you finish them."
"You know I've got plenty of stuff to read around here, right," Miyuki comments, pointing with his left hand toward the wall of Baseball Monthly magazines lined glossy in a brown bookshelf worn dull with age.
"You need something to do besides think about baseball some more," Hisashi cuts in, "just... give them a try?"
His appeal must strike something in Miyuki, because he looks away, jaw locked tight. Hisashi's hands shift against the thick fabric of his dark jeans as an apology rattles hot against his sternum, before Miyuki turns back with a crooked sort of smile, his eyes bright under his glasses. "I'll give it a go," he says, "though if this is just a way to get out of finding out what happens to Sayaka and Hiroto, I'm not letting you free that easy~"
Hisashi sags. "I don't even know who they are!" he protests.
"Wasn't my background information enough?" Miyuki asks, so innocent butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and Hisashi frowns at him. "Okay, got it, better background next time."
"That's not what I meant!" Hisashi protests, but it's a weak sort of protest, the kind that knows Miyuki is home alone in the space between meals. (His dad had stayed overnight, in the hospital, and he'd still been there when Hisashi made the trip in the afternoon, polite if not half the conversation partner Miyuki always tried to be. That was kind of a relief.)
so is this
it's mostly nabe and the managers, miyuki is in it a little. ~950 words, nothing objectionable.
In early September, cleaning up in the clubroom around the managers doing their own work, Hisashi finds Umemoto and Natsukawa looking over Yoshikawa's shoulders and talking in quiet, amused voices. He ignores them until he's finished re-ordering the scorebooks he'd taken out to cross-reference, and then gives in to his curiosity, leaning over the other side of the table at the glossy teen magazine. "Ah, palm reading," he says, and all three girls jolt in surprise, Umemoto loudest of all; Yoshikawa moves to snap the magazine shut, but he waves his hand. "You should leave it open for the second years to see," he says, and it's Natsukawa who laughs.
"Let's do it," she says, "they're always flipping through them anyway, when they think we're not looking. Right, Sacchin?" Umemoto pumps a fist in agreement.
"That means you, too, Watanabe," Umemoto says, turning on him with a crooked grin; he ducks his head.
"Guilty as charged," he agrees, "sometimes the titles are so confusing I have to look, though!"
Umemoto gives him shit about it as she and Natsukawa throw suggestions about where to leave it lying open back and forth, until Yoshikawa breaks in with a loud suggestion of the table near the door, where no one would be able to miss it, and both of the second year managers turn to her with agreement in their voices, bustling over to lay it artfully casual across the end of the table. Hisashi stoops down to pick up the sweater Natsukawa dragging Yoshikawa from her chair had sent to the floor, shaking it out and laying across the tabletop before he waves his goodbye and walks out into the half-light of the evening between practice and dinner time. His teammates are here and there across the courtyard, and Kuramochi calls him over when he spots him, to get his help arguing with Miyuki.
The magazine is popular for a couple of days, mostly in order for people to declare new and more ominous fates for their friends, including at least one Kuramochi Special that had Sawamura hollering at the top of his lungs. (Admittedly, not the hardest hurdle to hop.) After that, the loud offers to read palms became shorthand for 'smacking your buddy's hand into his own face', and the fad faded away.
In early November, Miyuki goes from the hospital to his family home for three days before he's back in the dorms. Hisashi offers homework, but stopping in at Miyuki's house had revealed that while there was a computer and a TV, there wasn't much else in the way of entertainment that wasn't baseball magazines. So Hisashi digs around for trashier entertainment, the kind that was probably going to be ultimately harmless, instead of the brain-rotting daytime dramas Miyuki's been reporting on live into his text message inbox. He asks around for recent magazines, and gets a veritable mountain - Rolling Stone and Young Guitar from Nori and Shirasu, three months' worth of weekly Famitsu from Seki (reportedly stolen from Asou, if rumor is correct, and it often is, in cases of Asou and Seki), a smattering of Dengeki editions Kuramochi seems loath to part with, and, most curiously, a book on North Pole animals from Furuya, apparently offered in complete sincerity. Hisashi has to sort through them and take only the ones he thinks Miyuki will actually read, because otherwise he'll be on the train with a box between his ankles. How three volumes of Seventeen wind up in the stack, he'll never know, but he'll later suspect foul play. Hisashi sets the significantly slimmed-down stack down on Miyuki's desk before he draws close to sit in the chair next to the bed.
"What are those for?" Miyuki asks, nodding toward the desk but otherwise obediently still, supported by a stack of carefully-arranged pillows (he'd made Hisashi help him move half of them when he'd knocked on his bedroom door, even, after his father unlocked the front door to let him inside with a promise to drive him home in the company truck).
"They're from the team," Hisashi says, "I narrowed it down to the ones I thought you'd like... I can bring more if you finish them."
"You know I've got plenty of stuff to read around here, right," Miyuki comments, pointing with his left hand toward the wall of Baseball Monthly magazines lined glossy in a brown bookshelf worn dull with age.
"You need something to do besides think about baseball some more," Hisashi cuts in, "just... give them a try?"
His appeal must strike something in Miyuki, because he looks away, jaw locked tight. Hisashi's hands shift against the thick fabric of his dark jeans as an apology rattles hot against his sternum, before Miyuki turns back with a crooked sort of smile, his eyes bright under his glasses. "I'll give it a go," he says, "though if this is just a way to get out of finding out what happens to Sayaka and Hiroto, I'm not letting you free that easy~"
Hisashi sags. "I don't even know who they are!" he protests.
"Wasn't my background information enough?" Miyuki asks, so innocent butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, and Hisashi frowns at him. "Okay, got it, better background next time."
"That's not what I meant!" Hisashi protests, but it's a weak sort of protest, the kind that knows Miyuki is home alone in the space between meals. (His dad had stayed overnight, in the hospital, and he'd still been there when Hisashi made the trip in the afternoon, polite if not half the conversation partner Miyuki always tried to be. That was kind of a relief.)