Atobe notices the minute the match starts; he's not even sure Tezuka's realized it yet, but he sees the way Tezuka is protecting his left arm, just as he sees the way it's putting the strain on Tezuka's shoulder instead.
He wishes Tezuka would forfeit. Seigaku can still win if it goes to a sixth match. They both have to know it's going that way anyway; he can see how Tezuka's barely holding on. But Tezuka's stubborn, and he's determined to take the match to the very end, and with Hyoutei's advancement on the line, Atobe's not willing to give up either.
He knows Tezuka's in pain. He saw the look on Tezuka's face on that serve, saw the way he crumpled around his shoulder. The match should have ended there, but Tezuka had refused. Tezuka's still playing somehow, but he shouldn't be. Atobe can barely stand to watch.
Every time he serves, he hopes that will be the time Tezuka misses. Every time he send the ball across the net, he hopes Tezuka will fail to return it. But Tezuka keeps fighting and fighting even though Atobe can see the pain that flashes across his face on every shot. He's not trying to hide it from Atobe as much as he's trying to hide it from his teammates, after all, Atobe knows; there's nothing to hide from him.
As the tiebreak stretches on longer and longer, Atobe's own shoulder begins to ache in sympathy. When Tezuka finally falters and the ball hits the net and fells, Atobe feels like his heart stops for a second too. Around him, everyone erupts into cheers, but it's a hollow victory to him.
If had been truly strong, the match would never have dragged on for so long. If he were truly strong, he would have been able to defeat Tezuka even before the tiebreak began.
When they shake hands after the match, he sees the way Tezuka's holding his left arm stiffly at his side, the way he's clenching his jaw like even the smallest movement of his shoulder is almost unbearable, and any joy he had felt at the victory turns bitter in his mouth.
He'd baited Tezuka into the match, but he hadn't been able to follow through, and he knew the price would continue to haunt him.
Oishi
He finds Tezuka in the locker room, struggling to button his shirt one-handed. Tezuka's not trying so hard to hide the pain now that he thinks he's alone, and it makes Oishi's heart catch in his throat to see it.
"Tezuka, let me see," he says as he sits down next to his captain. Tezuka doesn't even try to argue as Oishi slides his shirt back off, and that's as worrying as anything else.
He knows Tezuka iced his shoulder for most of the match between Ryouma and Hiyoshi, but it's still visibly swollen, and the muscles around it are so tense he can see them pulling Tezuka's shoulder even farther out of alignment.
He opens the tube of muscle cream he always keeps with him and squeezes some out onto his fingers.
"Bear with me, Tezuka," he says as he digs his thumbs into the worst of the knots. Tezuka barely responds, but he knows it has to be agony, and he has to remind himself that this is compassion right now, that Tezuka will feel better when his shoulder is no longer locked up in spasms.
He wishes it hadn't come to this. He wishes he had noticed sooner; he should never have been caught off guard. He wishes he had said something sooner, wishes he could have stopped Tezuka sooner. He wishes Tezuka hadn't sacrificed everything on a match that ultimately hadn't even mattered for the rankings.
Prince of Tennis, Atobe & Tezuka & Oishi, G, injuries
Atobe notices the minute the match starts; he's not even sure Tezuka's realized it yet, but he sees the way Tezuka is protecting his left arm, just as he sees the way it's putting the strain on Tezuka's shoulder instead.
He wishes Tezuka would forfeit. Seigaku can still win if it goes to a sixth match. They both have to know it's going that way anyway; he can see how Tezuka's barely holding on. But Tezuka's stubborn, and he's determined to take the match to the very end, and with Hyoutei's advancement on the line, Atobe's not willing to give up either.
He knows Tezuka's in pain. He saw the look on Tezuka's face on that serve, saw the way he crumpled around his shoulder. The match should have ended there, but Tezuka had refused. Tezuka's still playing somehow, but he shouldn't be. Atobe can barely stand to watch.
Every time he serves, he hopes that will be the time Tezuka misses. Every time he send the ball across the net, he hopes Tezuka will fail to return it. But Tezuka keeps fighting and fighting even though Atobe can see the pain that flashes across his face on every shot. He's not trying to hide it from Atobe as much as he's trying to hide it from his teammates, after all, Atobe knows; there's nothing to hide from him.
As the tiebreak stretches on longer and longer, Atobe's own shoulder begins to ache in sympathy. When Tezuka finally falters and the ball hits the net and fells, Atobe feels like his heart stops for a second too. Around him, everyone erupts into cheers, but it's a hollow victory to him.
If had been truly strong, the match would never have dragged on for so long. If he were truly strong, he would have been able to defeat Tezuka even before the tiebreak began.
When they shake hands after the match, he sees the way Tezuka's holding his left arm stiffly at his side, the way he's clenching his jaw like even the smallest movement of his shoulder is almost unbearable, and any joy he had felt at the victory turns bitter in his mouth.
He'd baited Tezuka into the match, but he hadn't been able to follow through, and he knew the price would continue to haunt him.
He finds Tezuka in the locker room, struggling to button his shirt one-handed. Tezuka's not trying so hard to hide the pain now that he thinks he's alone, and it makes Oishi's heart catch in his throat to see it.
"Tezuka, let me see," he says as he sits down next to his captain. Tezuka doesn't even try to argue as Oishi slides his shirt back off, and that's as worrying as anything else.
He knows Tezuka iced his shoulder for most of the match between Ryouma and Hiyoshi, but it's still visibly swollen, and the muscles around it are so tense he can see them pulling Tezuka's shoulder even farther out of alignment.
He opens the tube of muscle cream he always keeps with him and squeezes some out onto his fingers.
"Bear with me, Tezuka," he says as he digs his thumbs into the worst of the knots. Tezuka barely responds, but he knows it has to be agony, and he has to remind himself that this is compassion right now, that Tezuka will feel better when his shoulder is no longer locked up in spasms.
He wishes it hadn't come to this. He wishes he had noticed sooner; he should never have been caught off guard. He wishes he had said something sooner, wishes he could have stopped Tezuka sooner. He wishes Tezuka hadn't sacrificed everything on a match that ultimately hadn't even mattered for the rankings.