Delayed Reaction - 2/?? - Echizen
Title: Delayed Reaction - Chapter 2
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Author: Cherry-San/Cherry_san
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: TezxSanxAtoxFujixRyo. Young love never lasts. Hormones and emotions mix and you don't realize that 10 years later you won't remember their name. But years after a breakup, five boys wake up and remember.
Warnings: Spoilers, slight AU for end of series, minor OCs
Notes: Just shoving this into my own lj for future reference. <3 For those who haven't read before, this chapters involves an OOC and angst-y Ryoma. Yay. With one OC. Who doesn't have a name. Go figure.
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”This… isn’t working.”
Sanada’s head shot up as he removed his attention from his laptop, his piercing brown eyes landing on rich lover. Tezuka paused from his reading, lower the book into his lap as he eyed the diva through his slim silver frames, the customary impassive expression placed firmly over his face. Fuji’s hand stopped in mid motion, still gripped on a small black knob as he fiddled with his newest camera, the lenses flashing in the brightly lit room. Ryoma slid out of their joint closet, his wet hair plastered against his neck from his recent shower as a loose black shirt was pulled over his head and a pair of thin cotton pants hanging low on his slim hips.
“What are you talking about, Keigo?” Sanada asked, by impulse saving his half-typed essay and turning himself fully around to gaze at their shared lover.
Atobe fidgeted, his legs crossed delicately as he fiddled with his deep indigo cell phone. The small charm clapped against the plastic sides, making a small clicking sound that was barely audible. He refrained himself from biting his lip as he pointedly avoided the gaze of his four boyfriends. “I…” he said, trailing off uncertainty. He pushed back his pounding heart, willing himself to stop shaking as he spoke the next words. “I’m moving out.”
There was a moment of stunned silence where the heir to Atobe Industry took to his advantage as he continued to talk in a rush and shaky voice. “The arrangements have been made already. All my belongings will be moved out within the week. Anything left behind you four may do as you wish with them.” Atobe paused as he gripped his phone tightly, willing his hand to stop shaking as he spoke.
“…You’re breaking up with us,” Tezuka stated quietly, his voice devoid of any emotion as he assessed the implications of Atobe’s words. His book hung limply in his left hand, his thumb instinctively marking his place as the hard crimson cover rested on his thigh.
Atobe forced his eyes downward to stare at the edge of the oak desk. His thumb dug into the crack of his newest phone, slipping open the device partially before closing it as a forced distraction. He continued, “You four may keep the apartment for as long as you wish. I shall take care of any expenses that may come about including power and water bills.”
There was another period of awkward silence as the four men attempted to distinguish what was happening. Ryoma hadn’t moved, a childish part of his mind praying that this just wasn’t happening and he’s wake up, roll over, and proceed to have morning shower sex with one or two of this lovers.
His illusion was shattered by Fuji voice “So that’s it, is it Keigo?” he said harshly, his cerulean blue eyes open as blatant ice covered his words. “You had your fun, and now it’s time to pay us off like whores?” His words were biting and cruel, his camera left forgotten on the antique Persian rug as his hands were clutched into tight fist. His prim manicured nails dug into his skin, leaving sharp indentation on his pale flesh.
Atobe kept himself from answering, from denying that it wasn’t like that. He was about to agree with Fuji’s statement, knowing that a lie could help them get over his departure. Maybe if they hated him, he thought, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Atobe almost laughed at the thought, never thinking himself to be one for cliché romantic self-sacrifice. That was Oshitari’s department after all.
The words never left his mouth. He had turned to Fuji, his mind already preparing itself for the arrogant lies that would wholeheartedly agree with Fuji’s assessment, before he found himself staring blankly at the opposite wall. The stinging coursed through his face, dissipating as quickly as it came, leaving Atobe in a shocked silence. His cell phone lied on the ground; the screen snapped shut as the small bell connected to the charm gave a light ring as it rolled against the carpet, despite the fact that Atobe never remember dropping it.
Sanada stood poised over Atobe, his hand still poised from his attack. “Don’t you dare, Keigo,” he said, his voice stern with anger emanating from the edges of the words. “Don’t you dare,” he repeated, “think you can just get up and leave and pretend like nothing happened.”
Tezuka stood up from his comfortable lounge, placing books carelessly on the coffee table to his left, not bothering to stop and mark his place. He strode over to the pair, betraying none of his emotions as he moved. “Genichirou,” he said softly, placing one hand over Sanada’s still raised arm. He put a light pressure on the limb, forcing it back to his tall lover’s side and giving his hand a light squeeze before he pulled away.
He turned his hazel eyes back to his gray-haired lover, meeting his eyes through glass frames. “Keigo,” he said, his monotonous words piercing into the silence. “Explain this. Now.” His words were sharp, an authoritative edge lacing his voice.
Atobe removed his hand from his stinging cheek, gathering up his composure within seconds. He forced his most arrogant huff from the back of his throat, turning his head to the side as he gave a flippant gesture with his hand. “There’s nothing to explain.” He turned his eyes to meet the former Seigaku captain, hoping that he wouldn’t fall apart. “It’s just as Shuusuke said. It was fun, but I need something new to capture my interest.” A smirk fell on his mouth, “And, being the generous being that I am, only found it to be fair to give you the apartment. It’s not as if it’ll be a great hindering on my rather vast fortune, now would it?”
The lie tasted bitter as it left the tip of his tongue, and without looking he already knew that the brunette didn’t believe a single word.
----------------------------------
‘Bah.’ Ryoma shook himself out of his stupor, reaching over to twist the clear crystal knob to shut off the water. The glass door was fogged from the hot shower, light tendrils of steam still seen curling around itself in the light. Ryoma pulled his hair back, squeezing out the liquid from his short hair. He gave his head a sharp shaking, allowing the water to splatter against the door, the droplets blending in against the door with those remaining from the powerful showerhead.
Ryoma hated thinking. Ryoma was impulsive and he had gotten far enough in life with acting on impulse, bypassing the usual censoring notions that most people go through before acting. Thinking just complicated things.
But after a long hard day of instructing a batch of kids barely hitting puberty about which end of the tennis racket you hold, he was too exhausted to really care now. He hated being around kids when they were his peers, so why they heck would he enjoy it now? Sometimes he regretted even offering his services as a teacher. The pay was beyond reasonable as it was amazing what the rich and powerful are willing to put out to have their children taught by a former professional tennis player.
Ryoma scoffed at the thought. His tennis might have been one of the most memorable in history but that didn’t make him any better as a teacher. Parents were actually better off hiring someone well-trained in teaching while being mediocre at actually playing tennis. Not that he would tell them that. If some rich bastard wanted to waste money trying to drill tennis concept into the head of a ten-year-old who really didn’t give a flying fuck by a teacher who equally didn’t care, then Ryoma sure as hell wasn’t going to stop them.
‘Hm,’ Ryoma contemplated as he toweled his hair dry, a second towel already slung over his hips as he stood in front of the fogged mirror. Maybe that was where the sudden memory had come from.
“I know it’s not as grand as my usually standards, but I’m afraid at such short notice, there is only so much even I can do.”
“…”
“Most of my staff is actually on vacation so we might be a little short-handed in terms of cooks and a few maids but it’s nothing we can’t handle, I’m sure.”
“…”
“The west wing and library area are currently under some renovation according to the so it might be a bit of a tight fit. However, I’ve rented out the back beach for the next few miles so we don’t have to be worried about privacy.”
“Keigo.”
“Yes, Genichirou?”
“Shut up.”
Atobe was wealth reincarnated and the man had no qualms against using his money to pamper is lover, whether they wanted it or not.
But that was the past, and Echizen Ryoma always hated History.
---------------
Echizen Ryoma swept the tennis world by storm. At age twelve, he entered the pro world as quickly as he left it, winning the U.S. Open before disappearing back into Japan. When questioned later on why he didn’t stay within the professional tennis world, Ryoma gave a bored, clear, and perfectly textbook answer of wanting to finish his schooling.
So when the Samurai Junior appeared into another major tennis tournament barely a month after high school graduation, there were no questions as to why.
Despite the boy’s fame and reputation, it was far too much to think that he went undefeated, a task that was all but impossible. But Echizen Ryoma was famous for never losing to the same person more than once in his entire pro career, whether it was in an official match or a friendly game.
He went undefeated in his first two years as a professional tennis player, achieving a True Grand Slam in his first year as a professional tennis player by winning all four Grand Slam tournaments the same year.
He lost in the semi-final round of the Monte Carlo Masters when he was twenty-one, to the number one seed in Europe with a score of four to six. Barely four months later in the semi-finals of the U.S. open, Echizen reclaimed victory with a final score of seven to five. In coincidental match almost a year later in the quarterfinals of the Australian Open, he won with six games to three.
Echizen Ryoma moved into the number one spot in men’s singles in tennis, taking sixteen Grand Slam titles in his eight year career, knocking down Pete Sampras to second in total championship titles who had obtained a total of fourteen Grand Slam titles that was won over his fifteen year career.
Echizen Ryoma was infamous among the press for being difficult to book an interview with and near impossible to gain a substantial answer from. So when Echizen announced his official retirement at age twenty-six, the world was baffled. The young Japanese player had never answered directly as to why he retired when his career could have easily been prolonged another five years. Most of this was the handiwork of his manager, a patient man twenty years Ryoma’s senior.
A wise choice considering that the older man didn’t think the tennis star’s answer of seeing a lack of proficient opponent would sit too well with the rest of the professional tennis world.
Echizen Ryoma became a legend. He gained everything he could have wanted, surpassing even his father’s wildest dreams.
His life was perfect. He had achieved everything he every wanted.
So why was it that when he slipped into bed next to his sleeping girlfriend, did he feels so empty?
--------------------------------------
Tezuka Kunimitsu went pro at age twenty-two, taking a break from his studies to travel abroad and play. In his brief pro tennis career, his managed to win two Grand Slam titles. He created the second largest upset in the last five decades of pro tennis history by being an unknown rookie, topped only by the overwhelming upset caused by one Echizen Ryoma, the ultimate wild card and underdog who won his first Grand Slam title at age twelve.
And barely a year out of his career, did he announce his retirement. He “felt that continuing his studies took precedence over tennis”.
Ryoma wandered if this was true. For some reason he couldn’t see his former captain giving up tennis to study law.
Then again, Ryoma didn’t have the right to judge anymore. Ultimately, he had been the one to walk out on them.
Ryoma always found it ironic that he never met his ex-lover on the courts, or elsewhere after the break-up. The two Grand Slam tournaments that Tezuka dominated were coincidently two that Ryoma had bypassed that year. The first being the French Open where Ryoma’s father had been hospitalized for a heart attack. Though his father he recovered and was fine, Ryoma had invented some excuse to stay nearby, never once admitting that he had left on a plane back to the States without a word to even his manager when he heard. The second, Wimbledon, he had bypassed because Karupin ate a sock and needed surgery. The twenty-year old had been unwilling to leave his cat so shortly after the operation, despite the fact that both the veterinarian and his manager assured him that, yes, Karupin was perfectly fine, and yes, all laundry was safely kept out of the cat’s reach. And Ryoma wasn’t willing to risk taking his cat overseas.
His manager never figured out whether this was an excuse since Ryoma just didn’t want to go through the trouble of “beating the shit” out of some amateur players or if he was actually serious about missing an international tournament because of his cat.
He was almost afraid to think it was most likely the latter.
--------------------------------------
“Shuusuke?” Ryoma asked, the two of them intertwined in a picture of limbs on their joint bed. The three missing parts of their orgy had been busy with class and/or business, and Ryoma had easily managed coerced the playful prodigy into bed with him.
“Hm?” Shuusuke answered, running a hand along the contours of Ryoma’s soft pliant body in content afterglow.
“Why can’t everything be like tennis?”
Ryoma was out of bed. He couldn’t sleep. Again.
Ryoma was beyond being annoyed at this reoccurring annoyance in his sleep schedule. He was just so tired now. He felt old. He hurriedly tossed his covers aside, careful not to jostle his still sleeping girlfriend.
Girlfriend. He almost sneered at the term alone. He had never been one for relationships but after six years of on-and-off dating, he didn’t know what to do. The relationship wasn’t going anywhere, Ryoma knew it and he was certain she did as well. Everyone expected him to propose any day now, including himself. Ring and all had been bought nearly a year ago after constant nagging from his father yet he had never managed to bring himself to ask.
And Ryoma didn’t want to admit that it was because part of his mind was still living in a fantasy. Part of him still felt that pulling himself into marriage meant that his relationship with them was officially gone.
Ryoma forced a scoff at the though. That was foolish. It’s been almost two decades now. It would be pathetic to still be pining after some stupid long lost love(s) after this long. Ryoma wanted to slap himself. He had moved on. Love doesn’t last that long, let alone one that started when he had barely hit puberty.
He was going to be engaged. He had a beautiful girlfriend he met nearly a year after he finished his degree in business management. She was pretty thing, fun, cheerful, and the exact opposite of him. She played tennis, not good enough to go pro but enough to where they could hold a decent discussion regarding the sport.
Uncharacteristically, he thought he was in love. They dated, their relationship fluctuating due to her need for commitment and mixture of Ryoma’s natural aloof personality and his hidden reluctance to finally let go.
Nonetheless, they never officially broke up.
And now they were stuck in limbo.
Ryoma sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a month. Even when he did mange to sleep a few hours, he’d wake up even more tired than when he fell asleep. Every time he took his girlfriend out, he’d finger the small velvet box before putting it off once again. Business was good, too good. He had more appointments than time in addition to legal paperwork and keeping up with his own practice times. He was dead tired and frankly just… sick of it all.
And for the first time in years, after weeks of exhaustion, insomnia, and stress, Ryoma finally just... stopped trying to pretend he didn’t care anymore.
“Buchou,” he whispered into the deadly night air, the melodic chirping of crickets carried by the cold night wind as he stared at the crescent moon half covered by clouds. He leaned against the railing, a robe hanging limply over his night clothes that did little to shield himself from the chill of the October evening. His golden eyes closed as he let the familiar word sweep over his body after so many years. “Buchou,” he repeated as he opened his eyes to let them glisten against the pale and weak moonlight. “Shuusuke. Genichirou. Monkey King.”
He tilted his head, turmoil and regret swirling in his eyes. “What do I do now?”
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“Because if it was, that’d make everything too easy.”
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I’m not happy with this. The only part I like is the beginning flashback. Everything else, I hate. I think Ryoma is OOC. Yes, he has a girlfriend. I probably won’t even give her name. It actually started out as it being his wife but I couldn’t stand thinking that he’d willingly get married. Info about Ryoma’s titles, etc were semi-bullshitted.
<33 Comments are loved.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Author: Cherry-San/Cherry_san
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: TezxSanxAtoxFujixRyo. Young love never lasts. Hormones and emotions mix and you don't realize that 10 years later you won't remember their name. But years after a breakup, five boys wake up and remember.
Warnings: Spoilers, slight AU for end of series, minor OCs
Notes: Just shoving this into my own lj for future reference. <3 For those who haven't read before, this chapters involves an OOC and angst-y Ryoma. Yay. With one OC. Who doesn't have a name. Go figure.
----------------------------------
”This… isn’t working.”
Sanada’s head shot up as he removed his attention from his laptop, his piercing brown eyes landing on rich lover. Tezuka paused from his reading, lower the book into his lap as he eyed the diva through his slim silver frames, the customary impassive expression placed firmly over his face. Fuji’s hand stopped in mid motion, still gripped on a small black knob as he fiddled with his newest camera, the lenses flashing in the brightly lit room. Ryoma slid out of their joint closet, his wet hair plastered against his neck from his recent shower as a loose black shirt was pulled over his head and a pair of thin cotton pants hanging low on his slim hips.
“What are you talking about, Keigo?” Sanada asked, by impulse saving his half-typed essay and turning himself fully around to gaze at their shared lover.
Atobe fidgeted, his legs crossed delicately as he fiddled with his deep indigo cell phone. The small charm clapped against the plastic sides, making a small clicking sound that was barely audible. He refrained himself from biting his lip as he pointedly avoided the gaze of his four boyfriends. “I…” he said, trailing off uncertainty. He pushed back his pounding heart, willing himself to stop shaking as he spoke the next words. “I’m moving out.”
There was a moment of stunned silence where the heir to Atobe Industry took to his advantage as he continued to talk in a rush and shaky voice. “The arrangements have been made already. All my belongings will be moved out within the week. Anything left behind you four may do as you wish with them.” Atobe paused as he gripped his phone tightly, willing his hand to stop shaking as he spoke.
“…You’re breaking up with us,” Tezuka stated quietly, his voice devoid of any emotion as he assessed the implications of Atobe’s words. His book hung limply in his left hand, his thumb instinctively marking his place as the hard crimson cover rested on his thigh.
Atobe forced his eyes downward to stare at the edge of the oak desk. His thumb dug into the crack of his newest phone, slipping open the device partially before closing it as a forced distraction. He continued, “You four may keep the apartment for as long as you wish. I shall take care of any expenses that may come about including power and water bills.”
There was another period of awkward silence as the four men attempted to distinguish what was happening. Ryoma hadn’t moved, a childish part of his mind praying that this just wasn’t happening and he’s wake up, roll over, and proceed to have morning shower sex with one or two of this lovers.
His illusion was shattered by Fuji voice “So that’s it, is it Keigo?” he said harshly, his cerulean blue eyes open as blatant ice covered his words. “You had your fun, and now it’s time to pay us off like whores?” His words were biting and cruel, his camera left forgotten on the antique Persian rug as his hands were clutched into tight fist. His prim manicured nails dug into his skin, leaving sharp indentation on his pale flesh.
Atobe kept himself from answering, from denying that it wasn’t like that. He was about to agree with Fuji’s statement, knowing that a lie could help them get over his departure. Maybe if they hated him, he thought, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Atobe almost laughed at the thought, never thinking himself to be one for cliché romantic self-sacrifice. That was Oshitari’s department after all.
The words never left his mouth. He had turned to Fuji, his mind already preparing itself for the arrogant lies that would wholeheartedly agree with Fuji’s assessment, before he found himself staring blankly at the opposite wall. The stinging coursed through his face, dissipating as quickly as it came, leaving Atobe in a shocked silence. His cell phone lied on the ground; the screen snapped shut as the small bell connected to the charm gave a light ring as it rolled against the carpet, despite the fact that Atobe never remember dropping it.
Sanada stood poised over Atobe, his hand still poised from his attack. “Don’t you dare, Keigo,” he said, his voice stern with anger emanating from the edges of the words. “Don’t you dare,” he repeated, “think you can just get up and leave and pretend like nothing happened.”
Tezuka stood up from his comfortable lounge, placing books carelessly on the coffee table to his left, not bothering to stop and mark his place. He strode over to the pair, betraying none of his emotions as he moved. “Genichirou,” he said softly, placing one hand over Sanada’s still raised arm. He put a light pressure on the limb, forcing it back to his tall lover’s side and giving his hand a light squeeze before he pulled away.
He turned his hazel eyes back to his gray-haired lover, meeting his eyes through glass frames. “Keigo,” he said, his monotonous words piercing into the silence. “Explain this. Now.” His words were sharp, an authoritative edge lacing his voice.
Atobe removed his hand from his stinging cheek, gathering up his composure within seconds. He forced his most arrogant huff from the back of his throat, turning his head to the side as he gave a flippant gesture with his hand. “There’s nothing to explain.” He turned his eyes to meet the former Seigaku captain, hoping that he wouldn’t fall apart. “It’s just as Shuusuke said. It was fun, but I need something new to capture my interest.” A smirk fell on his mouth, “And, being the generous being that I am, only found it to be fair to give you the apartment. It’s not as if it’ll be a great hindering on my rather vast fortune, now would it?”
The lie tasted bitter as it left the tip of his tongue, and without looking he already knew that the brunette didn’t believe a single word.
----------------------------------
‘Bah.’ Ryoma shook himself out of his stupor, reaching over to twist the clear crystal knob to shut off the water. The glass door was fogged from the hot shower, light tendrils of steam still seen curling around itself in the light. Ryoma pulled his hair back, squeezing out the liquid from his short hair. He gave his head a sharp shaking, allowing the water to splatter against the door, the droplets blending in against the door with those remaining from the powerful showerhead.
Ryoma hated thinking. Ryoma was impulsive and he had gotten far enough in life with acting on impulse, bypassing the usual censoring notions that most people go through before acting. Thinking just complicated things.
But after a long hard day of instructing a batch of kids barely hitting puberty about which end of the tennis racket you hold, he was too exhausted to really care now. He hated being around kids when they were his peers, so why they heck would he enjoy it now? Sometimes he regretted even offering his services as a teacher. The pay was beyond reasonable as it was amazing what the rich and powerful are willing to put out to have their children taught by a former professional tennis player.
Ryoma scoffed at the thought. His tennis might have been one of the most memorable in history but that didn’t make him any better as a teacher. Parents were actually better off hiring someone well-trained in teaching while being mediocre at actually playing tennis. Not that he would tell them that. If some rich bastard wanted to waste money trying to drill tennis concept into the head of a ten-year-old who really didn’t give a flying fuck by a teacher who equally didn’t care, then Ryoma sure as hell wasn’t going to stop them.
‘Hm,’ Ryoma contemplated as he toweled his hair dry, a second towel already slung over his hips as he stood in front of the fogged mirror. Maybe that was where the sudden memory had come from.
“I know it’s not as grand as my usually standards, but I’m afraid at such short notice, there is only so much even I can do.”
“…”
“Most of my staff is actually on vacation so we might be a little short-handed in terms of cooks and a few maids but it’s nothing we can’t handle, I’m sure.”
“…”
“The west wing and library area are currently under some renovation according to the so it might be a bit of a tight fit. However, I’ve rented out the back beach for the next few miles so we don’t have to be worried about privacy.”
“Keigo.”
“Yes, Genichirou?”
“Shut up.”
Atobe was wealth reincarnated and the man had no qualms against using his money to pamper is lover, whether they wanted it or not.
But that was the past, and Echizen Ryoma always hated History.
---------------
Echizen Ryoma swept the tennis world by storm. At age twelve, he entered the pro world as quickly as he left it, winning the U.S. Open before disappearing back into Japan. When questioned later on why he didn’t stay within the professional tennis world, Ryoma gave a bored, clear, and perfectly textbook answer of wanting to finish his schooling.
So when the Samurai Junior appeared into another major tennis tournament barely a month after high school graduation, there were no questions as to why.
Despite the boy’s fame and reputation, it was far too much to think that he went undefeated, a task that was all but impossible. But Echizen Ryoma was famous for never losing to the same person more than once in his entire pro career, whether it was in an official match or a friendly game.
He went undefeated in his first two years as a professional tennis player, achieving a True Grand Slam in his first year as a professional tennis player by winning all four Grand Slam tournaments the same year.
He lost in the semi-final round of the Monte Carlo Masters when he was twenty-one, to the number one seed in Europe with a score of four to six. Barely four months later in the semi-finals of the U.S. open, Echizen reclaimed victory with a final score of seven to five. In coincidental match almost a year later in the quarterfinals of the Australian Open, he won with six games to three.
Echizen Ryoma moved into the number one spot in men’s singles in tennis, taking sixteen Grand Slam titles in his eight year career, knocking down Pete Sampras to second in total championship titles who had obtained a total of fourteen Grand Slam titles that was won over his fifteen year career.
Echizen Ryoma was infamous among the press for being difficult to book an interview with and near impossible to gain a substantial answer from. So when Echizen announced his official retirement at age twenty-six, the world was baffled. The young Japanese player had never answered directly as to why he retired when his career could have easily been prolonged another five years. Most of this was the handiwork of his manager, a patient man twenty years Ryoma’s senior.
A wise choice considering that the older man didn’t think the tennis star’s answer of seeing a lack of proficient opponent would sit too well with the rest of the professional tennis world.
Echizen Ryoma became a legend. He gained everything he could have wanted, surpassing even his father’s wildest dreams.
His life was perfect. He had achieved everything he every wanted.
So why was it that when he slipped into bed next to his sleeping girlfriend, did he feels so empty?
--------------------------------------
Tezuka Kunimitsu went pro at age twenty-two, taking a break from his studies to travel abroad and play. In his brief pro tennis career, his managed to win two Grand Slam titles. He created the second largest upset in the last five decades of pro tennis history by being an unknown rookie, topped only by the overwhelming upset caused by one Echizen Ryoma, the ultimate wild card and underdog who won his first Grand Slam title at age twelve.
And barely a year out of his career, did he announce his retirement. He “felt that continuing his studies took precedence over tennis”.
Ryoma wandered if this was true. For some reason he couldn’t see his former captain giving up tennis to study law.
Then again, Ryoma didn’t have the right to judge anymore. Ultimately, he had been the one to walk out on them.
Ryoma always found it ironic that he never met his ex-lover on the courts, or elsewhere after the break-up. The two Grand Slam tournaments that Tezuka dominated were coincidently two that Ryoma had bypassed that year. The first being the French Open where Ryoma’s father had been hospitalized for a heart attack. Though his father he recovered and was fine, Ryoma had invented some excuse to stay nearby, never once admitting that he had left on a plane back to the States without a word to even his manager when he heard. The second, Wimbledon, he had bypassed because Karupin ate a sock and needed surgery. The twenty-year old had been unwilling to leave his cat so shortly after the operation, despite the fact that both the veterinarian and his manager assured him that, yes, Karupin was perfectly fine, and yes, all laundry was safely kept out of the cat’s reach. And Ryoma wasn’t willing to risk taking his cat overseas.
His manager never figured out whether this was an excuse since Ryoma just didn’t want to go through the trouble of “beating the shit” out of some amateur players or if he was actually serious about missing an international tournament because of his cat.
He was almost afraid to think it was most likely the latter.
--------------------------------------
“Shuusuke?” Ryoma asked, the two of them intertwined in a picture of limbs on their joint bed. The three missing parts of their orgy had been busy with class and/or business, and Ryoma had easily managed coerced the playful prodigy into bed with him.
“Hm?” Shuusuke answered, running a hand along the contours of Ryoma’s soft pliant body in content afterglow.
“Why can’t everything be like tennis?”
Ryoma was out of bed. He couldn’t sleep. Again.
Ryoma was beyond being annoyed at this reoccurring annoyance in his sleep schedule. He was just so tired now. He felt old. He hurriedly tossed his covers aside, careful not to jostle his still sleeping girlfriend.
Girlfriend. He almost sneered at the term alone. He had never been one for relationships but after six years of on-and-off dating, he didn’t know what to do. The relationship wasn’t going anywhere, Ryoma knew it and he was certain she did as well. Everyone expected him to propose any day now, including himself. Ring and all had been bought nearly a year ago after constant nagging from his father yet he had never managed to bring himself to ask.
And Ryoma didn’t want to admit that it was because part of his mind was still living in a fantasy. Part of him still felt that pulling himself into marriage meant that his relationship with them was officially gone.
Ryoma forced a scoff at the though. That was foolish. It’s been almost two decades now. It would be pathetic to still be pining after some stupid long lost love(s) after this long. Ryoma wanted to slap himself. He had moved on. Love doesn’t last that long, let alone one that started when he had barely hit puberty.
He was going to be engaged. He had a beautiful girlfriend he met nearly a year after he finished his degree in business management. She was pretty thing, fun, cheerful, and the exact opposite of him. She played tennis, not good enough to go pro but enough to where they could hold a decent discussion regarding the sport.
Uncharacteristically, he thought he was in love. They dated, their relationship fluctuating due to her need for commitment and mixture of Ryoma’s natural aloof personality and his hidden reluctance to finally let go.
Nonetheless, they never officially broke up.
And now they were stuck in limbo.
Ryoma sighed and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a month. Even when he did mange to sleep a few hours, he’d wake up even more tired than when he fell asleep. Every time he took his girlfriend out, he’d finger the small velvet box before putting it off once again. Business was good, too good. He had more appointments than time in addition to legal paperwork and keeping up with his own practice times. He was dead tired and frankly just… sick of it all.
And for the first time in years, after weeks of exhaustion, insomnia, and stress, Ryoma finally just... stopped trying to pretend he didn’t care anymore.
“Buchou,” he whispered into the deadly night air, the melodic chirping of crickets carried by the cold night wind as he stared at the crescent moon half covered by clouds. He leaned against the railing, a robe hanging limply over his night clothes that did little to shield himself from the chill of the October evening. His golden eyes closed as he let the familiar word sweep over his body after so many years. “Buchou,” he repeated as he opened his eyes to let them glisten against the pale and weak moonlight. “Shuusuke. Genichirou. Monkey King.”
He tilted his head, turmoil and regret swirling in his eyes. “What do I do now?”
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“Because if it was, that’d make everything too easy.”
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I’m not happy with this. The only part I like is the beginning flashback. Everything else, I hate. I think Ryoma is OOC. Yes, he has a girlfriend. I probably won’t even give her name. It actually started out as it being his wife but I couldn’t stand thinking that he’d willingly get married. Info about Ryoma’s titles, etc were semi-bullshitted.
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