Work Text:
Sengoku was late – really, really late – and Tezuka was going to be mad.
Worst was that there was no reason for Sengoku to be late. Tezuka had given him very specific directions on how to get to the designated meeting place at a park near Seigaku, the night before Sengoku had figured out what train station he had to get off at to be in near vicinity of the aforementioned park, and he had given himself plenty of time that morning to be there a couple minutes before ten o’clock; a time when they could practice together for a couple of hours before running off to lunch together. Sengoku had planned it perfectly – the route, what to look for once he was out of the train station… there was nothing that should’ve messed this up.
Maybe it was because Sengoku was anxious to find Tezuka so they could begin practicing as soon as possible – or maybe it was because Sengoku had never been in this specific area of Tokyo before. But, when he found himself in the middle of a crowded street with no sense of direction and absolutely no sign of a park nearby, the redhead felt the familiar fear gripping his heart; the same fear that had froze him into stillness during his childhood because he lost sight of his mother when he had been distracted by a display outside of his favorite toy store in the busy department store.
Unlike that time, however, Sengoku would not panic – he had calmed the side of him that was afraid of being stranded in a place he didn’t know well and all the faces he could see were of complete strangers. It would be easy to stop in a convenience store or a police box to ask for a pointer in the right direction. But a glance at his watch told him that it was already fifteen minutes past ten, and Sengoku knew that Tezuka preferred people to be on time. Sengoku didn’t want Tezuka to have to wait because Sengou was unable to pay proper attention to his surroundings after exiting the train station.
A quick stop of a woman pushing a stroller gave Sengoku at least the general direction he had to walk toward – she did not know exactly where the park was located, but anything to get Sengoku started in the right direction was good enough for him. This time, the redhead made sure to remember what the tall buildings around him looked like exactly, and what other landmarks he was passing, while also trying to keep his eyes trained down on his written down instructions and little map based upon what Tezuka had told him the night before.
He walked for about ten minutes before pausing to take a glance at his watch again, and letting out a groan – he was nearly half an hour late, now, and Tezuka was going to be angry. Sengoku didn’t like making Tezuka angry. It wasn’t that Tezka turned into a monster or was completely beyond being reasonable, however; it was subtle like a simple look in his eyes or the coolness of his voice. There had only been one time Sengoku had experienced it before, and it hadn’t been directed toward him – but after witnessing it, he had promised to never, ever make Tezuka angry at him.
But now…
Closing an eye and rubbing at his head, frustrated, the redhead continued down the street, but this time at a jog. If he could just get himself back to the train station, he could then re-read the instrutions and try all over again – hopefully with better luck.
It took one visit to the police box, stopping a couple of cute girls to ask for directions by flashing his most charming lady-killing grin, and a couple of wrong turns that wound him up in stuffy alleys between high-rise buildings in order to locate the park – letting out the most relieved sigh as he did. Now, it was simply a matter of finding Tezuka to apologize for being nearly an hour late and for his carelessness. It hadn’t even occurred to Sengoku to send an email to Tezuka’s cell phone or even just give him a quick call to say he was having difficulty finding the meetng place.
Less than thirty seconds later and Sengoku spotted the back of Tezuka’s head, his Seigaku bag propped up on the side of the bench the boy was occupying. Sengoku could see his posture already from the front already without even taking a look – Tezuka was probably sitting there with his back strage, arms crossed over his chest, and the expression on his face that would clearly read, “If you were on my team, you’d be running laps about now.” It was either prolong the inevitable and suffer more wrath, or get it over with now and just hope that Tezuka could take pity on Sengoku.
Tightening his hand around his own tennis bag’s strap, Sengoku approached the bench in a brisk walk, cautiously peeking around the bench with a rather sheepish expression painted on his face. However, what he was met with was completely unexpected. Rather than the disapproving frown he was anticipating, the older boy’s eyes were serenely closed – lips parted only slightly, face muscles relaxed, and his chest rising with every other soft intake of breath. As always, Tezuka’s hair was a mess, but perhaps what was most noticiable was how he had anything but good posture at that moment. In his slumber he had slouched slightly, chin just centimeters away from his chest, and while his arms were crossed, they were slack; one hand curled around his side. Sengoku always didn’t have the heart to wake Tezuka up – this was the first time Sengoku had ever witnessed his friend so… unaware of his surroundings; this was probably the Tezuka that Oishi saw on a regular basis.
It must’ve been Sengoku’s sudden presence, or he had simply been louder than he thought while approaching the bench, because Tezuka stirred; bleary brown eyes opening slowly and blinking a few times in sleepiness as he remembered where he was. A small yawn escaped Tezuka’s mouth then, a hand rising automatically to cover the motion before straightening his glasses and sitting up properly on the bench, fixing his gaze on the sheepish redhead.
“Um… good morning, Tezuka,” were the first words that left Sengoku’s mouth as he sat down on the bench beside his riend, trying to decide quickly what kind of reaction he was going to get out of a Tezuka who had just woken from a nap.
“You’re late.”
A very… Tezuka-like response, Sengoku couldn’t help but think with an embarraseed laugh, rubbing the back of his head as he fell into an explanation – how he hadn’t paid close enough attention to the direction and found himself on an unknown street full of people, and how it then took him nearly twenty-five minutes to simply backtrack to the train station to try again. He threw in a couple of apologies and a small bow of his head, and hope that Tezuka was going to understand.
If Sengoku had bothered to look up, he would’ve noticed the barest of smiles tugging at Tezuka’s lips for a quick moment before he stood up, shouldering his bag, and motioning for the redhead to cease his unnecessary babble. “Don’t mind, Sengoku. The courts are near – let’s go.” He left no room for any more talking and turned on his heel into the direction of the tennis courts. Sengoku watched his friend wearily before following him, falling into step with the other boy as they walked in comfortable silence. Wasn’t Tezuka even… a bit annoyed?
Sengoku wondered this all the way to the courts; he wondered this as they got out their tenis racquets and balls; he wondered this as Tezuka gear up to serve and the game began.
It wasn’t until Sengoku was flat on his back on the cement court after fourty-five minutes, arms spread wide, panting for breath, and dripping buckets of sweat that he realized why Tezuka was truly not a force to reckon with. Sengoku saw both the Tezuka Zone and the Zero Shiki numerous of imes throughout the match, and even despite the few points the redhead had managed to score against Tezuka, it was still a very harsh loss at 6-0.
A hand was being offered down to him, though. Sengoku directed his eyes upward to meet a near-mischievous smirk on Tezuka’s face as he said flatly, “Twenty laps.”