Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou!
Characters/Pairings: Yuuri, Murata, Miko; Light Murata/Yuuri
Genre: Humor/Fluff and a smidge of Angst
Notes: Set during episode 78. Assumes familiarity with the end of Series 2.
Yuuri lay on his back in the sun-warmed outfield grass, left hand sweating inside his catcher's mitt. Above him, puffy white clouds moved lazily across the sky. One looked a lot like Hokkaido; another reminded him of Pochi. It really was a nice day, especially for a Japanese summer. Sure, it was kind of humid, but once you got past that part...
If he didn't have a splitting ache spreading out from his right eye, the day would probably be perfect.
"Shibuya!?" Murata's face appeared above him, looking incredibly concerned. His expression relaxed a little when Yuuri blinked at him. "Oh good, you didn't get knocked out."
Murata cringed and offered him a hand up. "Sorry, sorry... I told you I should stick to soccer."
Yuuri grabbed his hand maybe more forcefully than was necessary and hauled himself up into a sitting position. "Nah. You figure out how to aim--"
"And catch," Yuuri grumbled, "you'd be a pretty good fielder."
"Shibuya, that doesn't make any sense."
"Oh shut up, you're not the one getting stuck with a shiner."
His friend adopted a pitying expression and tilted the brim of Yuuri's cap up to better inspect the damage. "You're lucky you didn't lose your eye," he said. "I saw a news story once where this guy got nailed in the eye with a tennis ball and it popped out and just hung by the nerve--"
"They didn't show that part on TV, of course, but it would stand to reason--"
A tic developed below Yuuri's injured eye. That just annoyed him more. "Oy."
"I bet you'd have to put it in a glass of water, or maybe milk--"
"Will you stop imagining my eye popping out!?" Yuuri shouted, shoving at him. Murata toppled over, laughing. "Tch." Yuuri pulled off his mitt and started to pick himself up off the grass, brushing off his jeans. "I don't know why anyone thinks you're so smart..." he drifted off as he stood fully and dizziness made him sway on his feet. Damn shame he'd never be able to convert Murata to baseball from soccer. His friend would make a hell of a pitcher.
"Hey," Murata called as he scrambled to his feet. "Take it easy, Shibuya." A hand settled on his upper back to help steady him. "I think we should call it a day and get you some ice for that."
Yuuri shrugged him off and straightened his cap to cover the blushy awkwardness he felt whenever people fussed over him. "Yeah, let's head back."
Murata didn't exactly hover during the walk home, but his concern and his presence seemed much more pronounced than usual. Yuuri wondered if he should be worried, and, if so, for what reason. Being the manager of the baseball team, Murata of all people should know this was not the first time Yuuri had been beaned. His friend seemed to revert to normal behavior as they closed in on the Shibuya home. "I wonder if your mother's making curry," he mused as they entered the foyer.
Yuuri rolled his eyes and covered a wince by bending down to untie his shoes. "Don't just invite yourself to dinner," he replied automatically. "I'm not even sure she's home--"
"Yuu-chan?" His mother poked her head out from the kitchen. "Ah! You're back, and you brought Ken-chan!"
Yuuri grunted a hello and kept his head down; bad enough Murata was henning him, he didn't need his mother fussing over him as well. "Oy, Murata," he hissed. His friend glanced down with a raised eyebrow. "Grab the ice? I'm gonna go hide upstairs."
Murata gave him a half sympathetic, half exasperated look, and nodded. "Go on." He toed off his shoes and moved toward the kitchen as Yuuri made a dash for the stairs. He cringed as he heard his mother's high voice and wondered what exactly Murata had told her.
Stopping in the bathroom to wash his face, Yuuri took the cap off and took a look at the damage. Reddish-purple already, and starting to swell. It'd be a pretty impressive black eye once it really got going; though Shouri was going to have a fit. He splashed water over his face and sighed as the excess water dripped down into the sink. Sometimes his brother was worse than Murata and his mother combined. Especially after what happened with Soushu. Yuuri snorted and carefully wiped his face dry.
He flopped down on his bed just as footsteps -- too heavy to be his mother's -- climbed the stairs. "What did you say was wrong with you?" Yuuri asked as Murata closed the door. He looked like he wanted to toss Yuuri the ice bag, but decided against it.
"Hernia." Murata dropped the bag into Yuuri's outstretched hand.
Yuuri nearly choked. "Not. Funny."
His friend grinned. "I thought it was."
Yuuri hissed as he balanced the ice bag on his eye. "Because you're mental."
"Mm." Murata sat on the desk chair and flipped through one of Yuuri's sports magazines. Yuuri watched him out of the corner of his good eye.
"Oy," he said after a few minutes of quiet. Murata looked up. "You don't have to stay, you know."
"I don't mind," the other teen said with a grin, then went back to reading.
"You're just waiting around for dinner," Yuuri grumbled and looked up at the ceiling.
Murata made a buzzer sound. "Try again." Yuuri heard the sound of another page turning.
"I'm glad one of us is entertained."
Murata sighed and dropped the magazine on Yuuri's desk. "Shibuya," he said in that exasperated tone that always preceded a lecture. "Do you want me to go home?"
"If you want," Yuuri replied, shifting the ice bag a little.
"That's not what I asked."
Yuuri rolled one eye. "What's up with you today?" he demanded. "You're acting like you nearly killed me, or something."
Murata was very quiet for a moment, and Yuuri felt a slight prickle on the back of his neck. Nice one, Yuuri. "Er... I mean..."
"I just felt bad," Murata replied with a shrug. He was looking very pointedly out the window.
Yuuri held the ice bag on with one hand as he sat up. "Hey, it happens," he said softly. "I'm not mad, or anything."
An answering shrug. "I'm just... not." He rubbed the back of his neck and pulled the ice bag away. The skin around his eye felt tight, numb. He tried to wink a few times and gave up when it hurt too much. Murata watched him with a sort of pained amusement and then rolled the chair over until it bumped into the mattress.
Carefully, Murata touched the bruise and Yuuri winced at the too-hot touch. "I bet the girls at school are going to fall all over themselves to take care of you," Murata teased.
"W, what the hell kind of topic change is that!?" Yuuri batted at his hand and he laughed. "You are mental," he declared.
Murata smiled at him, a real smile that made Yuuri's insides go a little funny. "That, Shibuya, is a very distinct possibility."
For reasons that escaped him at the moment, Yuuri felt himself lean a little closer to his friend. "They have pills for that, you know."
For reasons that also escaped him, he was inexplicably pleased and nervous when Murata leaned in, too. "Maybe I like myself just as I am."
"Stupid. Who wants to be crazy?" That ball must have scrambled his brains or something, because he felt his head tilt slightly to one side as his eyes slid closed--
Yuuri had a minor heart attack. He pushed back so fast from Murata that his friend toppled off the chair onto the floor.
"Oh, oh, I wish I had a camera!" His mother clapped her hands in delight. "I'm so proud!"
"Ow, ow, ow..." Murata rubbed at his tail bone, glasses askew.
"Wait until I tell your father! I'm going to go out and get a cake!"
"No, it's not--" Yuuri protested in vain as his mother gleefully fluttered down the stairs, nattering the whole way. Scrambling to get off the bed to stop her, Yuuri's foot caught on the desk chair and he wound up joining Murata on the floor, landing hard on his elbow. "Shit, ow."
The front door slammed shut and Yuuri felt a dark, dark cloud descend over him. "Kill me now."
"Now, Shibuya, don't be so dramatic."
Yuuri glared at him. "This is completely your fault." He sat up and rubbed at his elbow.
Murata fixed his glasses and was clearly fighting to keep the smile off his face. Jerk. "Can I kiss it better?"
"I hate you."