Different
By tati1
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Disclaimer: Don't own it. Really, really want to though.
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Different
By tati1
Kevin had once hated Ryoma, but now…it was different. On some level, Ryoma was just like him, but on another he was just…amazing. His tennis was something else, too, but in particular Kevin liked the fact that Ryoma was so innocently nice.
Well, maybe not nice, per se, the only thing Ryoma usually showed any sort of affection for was his cat, but he was reliable and had a satisfying sense of fair play. But he was innocent. In spite of his pervy father, Ryoma had grown up with a family that loved him (though Ryoga was debatable) and spoiled him. Although his mother was rarely home and his father was a jerk, it was still understood that Ryoma had a safety net in case anything ever went really wrong.
Kevin had never had that. He'd hated Ryoma for that too, before. Hated that he didn't have a father as cruel as Kevin's. Hated that he attacked problems in tennis with delight, rather than the hate that had driven the blonde for so long. Hell, he'd hated Ryoma's secret little smile when he was hanging out with the other Japanese players, and hated the way he had a better leash on his temper than Kevin did.
But now…
So it wasn't that surprising to Kevin that his anger surged violently when he found two pro tennis players holding Ryoma down, ready to administer a beating. It was right after Ryoma had beaten Layton Hewitt, and Kevin had come to congratulate him and bully him into some more training before his next match.
Surveying the scene, he decided that perhaps he'd change his plans a bit.
Ryoma was pinned on the locker room floor, insolent golden eyes glaring defiantly at the two small-time pros that had separated him from his racket. Said racket was laying uselessly on the floor a few feet away, snapped in two, and Ryoma privately vowed to avenge it. That racket had been custom-made for him. It was a present from his oyaji (not that he'd ever let the baka know he liked it) for his twelfth birthday, and it had still had a lot of play left in it before it would need repairs. And they'd broken it. Bastards.
The spiky-haired brunette atop him had his fist cocked, but Ryoma just glared back. This would hurt, but he'd get them back for it. He could wait.
That was when he noticed Kevin. His friend looked angrier than Ryoma had ever seen him – and that was saying something. As the brunette let fly with his fist, Kevin launched himself at the older player and tackled him into a locker. The man grunted with surprise. Ryoma took advantage of the opportunity and bit the guy who had a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming for help. The bastard screamed and hit him.
It was over not long after that, and Ryoma blinked as Kevin spat after the retreating players.
"I didn't know you could fight like that," he muttered, holding a hand to his head to gently cradle the bruise forming at his temple. Kevin finally looked over at him.
"Ah! Ryoma, are you okay?" The tennis prodigy nodded gingerly.
"They broke my racket," he noted sourly. "If I play them, can I borrow yours?" Kevin was looking at him oddly.
"Why?"
"Betsuni. Just something to remind me of Fuji-senpai." Having already heard the story from Inoue-san's American counterpart, Kevin's mouth rounded into a small 'o' of genuine surprise. Then a grin spread across his face.
"Sure. Think you can handle it though? I mean, I don't want you breaking mine too, you careless ass."
Ryoma gave him a tiny smile; the same one Kevin had seen him wear with his Seigaku friends.
"Of course."
…it was definitely different.
Owari.