Short, AU, OOCness, Character death (not main), and overall angst. And Tezucentric. 'Nuff said.

"I'm sorry."

She sneered, "Yeah, I'm sure you are, Kunimitsu."

The way she uttered his name, in that disgusted, stay-away-from-me, you-bastard voice, it was almost like a death threat, a venomous swear.

"Really. I messed up." His hair fell in his eyes, and he brushed it away, along with a desperate urge to cry.

But Tezuka Kunimitsu would never cry. He didn't cry during his rehabilitation period in Germany, when his drop shot wobbled off course from his left arm and slipped back around the racket into his shoulder – the pain was still there, vibrating through his bones. He didn't cry when Sanada beat him in the Nationals. He didn't cry when obaa-san left him for a retirement home in Switzerland (he had always been very close to his grandmother) – she never returned, having spent her last days in a sick bed while he was only ten.

He didn't even shed a tear at Fuji's funeral.

A sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes flashed. "You've messed up every fucking time."

"Please, forgive me."

He was never one to beg. Why was he so desperate to do it, now?

Maybe because, it's been – oh, about the seventh time he's been dumped?

But it could be different this time.

"Forget it. It's over."

Or not.

The echoes of her footsteps slapping against the wooden marina docks faded away, as she stepped up and slapped – whapped – him in the cheek and stalked up the ramp of the cruise ship and out of his life.

He watched, in silent awe, as the bulky iron thing drifted out of the bay, sending shattering ripples through the murky water. It reflected his mood perfectly.

This was what happened every time he tried.

No matter how pretty they were, how interested in tennis they were, his girlfriends would all fade away in ill-disguised hatred and never come back. They all claimed that he couldn't fit himself into a proper dating schedule, that he was too demanding and over possessive, that he spent every waking moment in his tennis, that if he couldn't have proper sex he might as well turn gay. Seriously, if he could sleep next to a freaking tennis racket, why not next to a woman?

Just this time, Izumi had left him after he skipped three dates and nodded off to sleep in the rest of them. It was because of an important business meeting, he couldn't help it.

And he was sorry. Really.

But did she really have to be such a bitchy drama queen, inviting him to the docks and then dumping him by sailing off in a boat?

Honestly. Atobe's old girlfriends are such high-maintenance. Tezuka made a mental note to never trust the overly-pompous idiot's introductions again.

The spite was getting to him. It happened every time.

A single tear drifted out the rim of his eye, and down the bridge of his nose. With a quick swipe of his sleeve, it was distinguished.

No, he would not cry.

Crying was for people who let their guards down.

A/N: Yes, I know what you're thinking..."Why aren't you on hiatus?"

I got bored. And math, 24/7 will eventually kill me before I hit thirty, so why not do something right now?

And I know he's OOC, he's dark, he's bitchy, whatever. I think this was an alternative to venting on Inui's Fangirl. And I don't want to destroy a restored-fic all over again.

This is one of those fics where I could leave just with this, or continue with this as a prologue. What should I do? Is it too under-developed, enough to create a TezukaOC? I've always wanted to do one of those.

Thanks for the read. Review, hn?