STATED WITH A KISS
Written by Playgirl Eugene
Author's Note : Hi, all. This is the new, revised version of the story Stated With A Kiss. I realized that my older stories contain plenty of grammar mistakes, event mistakes, and many other errors. So, I decided to repost everything all over again. I hope with this, my old readers will continue to support me and I will attract some new readers as I tried to improve my writing style and grammar.
Standard Disclaimer : Prince of Tennis and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, is created and owned by Konomi Takeshi-sensei. I own nothing of it and I do not earn profit of any kind from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer stands firm for the whole of the story. Furthermore, if I use any material that needs to be disclaimed, there will be individual credit where due.
Summary : Affairs are always about jealousy, possessiveness, dissatisfaction and temperament.
Rating : M/NC – 18/R
Warning(s) : Slash/yaoi/male x male, cursing, mentions of date rape drugs, graphic sexual situations/acts, dub-consensual, attempted non-consensual, characters' death. If any of the aforementioned warnings offends you, I suggest you turn back now.
Setting and Timeline : Following most of the canon storyline with modifications and progressed eight years from the end of season one. Characters are, therefore, to be adjusted eight years older with physical and mentality maturity and changes.
Character Setting : Fuji/Ryoma, Tezuka/Ryoma, Tezuka/Fuji, OC/Ryoma, mentions of past OCs/Ryoma, others for later
Chapter Details : None in particular.
- Prologue -
"I apologize."
When Fuji Shusuke was twenty-two, he was already a senior at Tokyo Geidai, Photography Major, halfway through his eighth semester.
By that point, he was feeling pretty much content with his life, although it was rather simple and undemanding.
He had a steady boyfriend that he had been going out with since his sophomore year in high school, and they had moved in together about two years ago, for reasons of independence and in need of privacy. Despite the fact that they were only able to afford this small, fifty-five thousand yen per month apartment with one bedroom and one neatly stuffed kitchen adjoined with the living room, offering no luxury such as proper air conditioning or heater, but as far as anything else went, life was treating him well.
Nothing looked like it could go wrong for him. Not even the weather could have deterred his mood.
It was a sweltering, humid summer evening in the middle of July. The damp and sticky weather was making him feeling lazy and sleepy. The sun was high, scorching and glaringly yellow against the bright blue, cloudless sky. People everywhere rushed for a shelter of sort, wanting to get away from the oppressive heat, a sure sign that summer that year wasn't going to be gentle.
The air-conditioner wasn't really helping much either. The breeze was almost non-existent, though Fuji thought it also had something to do with the quality of their shoddy air-conditioner.
Fuji wasn't really eager to go out in that kind of weather, wondering whether his boyfriend's obsession over tennis had overcame reasons when he insisted on going to the Kakinoshita Tennis Garden for practice that day. Doing laborious exercise like tennis didn't sound like the most interesting thing to do in the middle of summer, unless you were keen on getting sunburn and sunstroke.
But then again, his boyfriend had always been someone who turned something into a tenacious routine and that included what he did on weekend and where. Sometimes, Fuji thought that the other male was taking everything way too seriously, but then again, that was probably one of his most endearing qualities.
So, that muggy Sunday, Fuji decided to stay at home. So far, excepting the uncompromising weather, everything else had been as it always been.
He hummed whilst preening the cacti collections he had lined up against the window all over again, switching their positions from time to time as he tried to get the best arrangement. The serene, classic tune played on the radio echoed through the living room, reaching the small veranda where Fuji stood after he finished admiring his precious collection.
Schubert number 8 in D-minor. My favourite piece.
Basking in the gentle, beckoning tune, he walked over to the railing and held the upper rail with both hands.
The apartment, while a little old, had a fine view of the park. Looking down, he saw a tall and stoic brunet entering the apartment's vicinity, a tennis bag slung over his shoulder, and walking into the building.
Then the smile on his lips turned wider. He turned and closed the door to the veranda as he heard the sound of crinkling keys and the front door being opened not three minutes later.
"Ah, okaeri!" Fuji greeted cheerfully, walking into the living room. Tezuka didn't reply and simply nodded. He placed down his black Adidas tennis bag and allowed himself to leisure on the pastel coloured couch.
Fuji stopped by the sofa and leaned in to peck Tezuka's cheek casually. Of course, between the two of them, Fuji was always the touchy-feely one.
"Do you want something to eat? I made something earlier. I'll warm it up for you if you want."
Fuji took Tezuka's lack of response as 'yes' and walked to the kitchen located just beside the living room.
Tezuka was lost in thoughts, distracted to point where he couldn't properly answer Fuji. Apparently, the slighter brunet was used to it. A few months into dating had made Fuji an expert of reading body language. Fuji headed for the kitchen, leaving his boyfriend to himself and started to hum again.
Tezuka brunet remained motionless and rigid, as if nervous, as he stood from where he was sitting on the couch and followed Fuji into the kitchen.
"Shusuke, we…" he trailed off quietly, contemplating his words with a thoughtful look in his deep brown eyes, "We need to talk…"
"Hmm?" Fuji replied almost absently as he took out some frozen food from the fridge standing beside the wooden cabinet and placed it soundlessly on the sink counter near him.
"A serious talk," Tezuka averted his eyes from the prone figure of the tensai uncomfortably.
As someone who was expected to manage a group of immoderate, slightly insane bunch of hormonal teens with exceedingly colourfully personalities, no one had ever even thought that Tezuka Kunimitsu was human enough to be feeling nervous. Just because he had a strange way of showing it, people often forgot that. But this was not the usual clenching fists or the slight twitches of facial muscles.
There was a devil's voice in Tezuka's mental alley, whispering at the back of his head, one that he had confused with his own reasons.
How much would he miss this scene before him?
After some time, it had become so familiar and so… right. It was something he had become used to for years, something he had lived with for a little over two of them. He had to admit it was a scene he would sooner miss than otherwise. It was like having lost a part of your anatomy that you were used to having, something that you would probably not realized that it was there until you lost it. It wouldn't hinder you perhaps, but it would probably nag at you every now and then and sometimes, you'd miss having it around.
But still, he had to do it. It wouldn't be fair for anyone otherwise.
"So?" Fuji shrugged carelessly, shrugging the fact that Tezuka was always serious. "Just talk, I'm all ears-ah, would you like some wasabi, Kunimitsu?"
"… Shusuke," Tezuka didn't speak another word as he walked to his boyfriend and suddenly circled Fuji's waist from behind.
Fuji was taken aback at the affectionate, albeit awkward gesture. Tezuka was never one to initiate physical contact. Ever since their high school days, Tezuka was always the withdrawn one that shied away from all the unnecessary touches, only occasionally being affectionate. Fuji was the one who initiated mostly everything in their relationship, from their first kiss to anything that felt remotely sexual between them. Even though they had dated for so long, Tezuka never really treated Fuji any more special than the rest of the regulars, even if they acted a little more intimate to each other than to most.
Fuji knew that it was partly because they knew that Tezuka's family wouldn't have approved of their only son's choice in romantic partners and Tezuka stuck to his principles, never one to favour even if Fuji was his boyfriend. He was stern, unyielding, and uncompromising. Fuji liked that about him, his indiscriminative attitude. But sometimes, he wished that Tezuka would spoil him a bit more. Fuji understood that it was just like Tezuka not to, but even he sometimes wanted them to be silly and romantic. He had given up the thought long ago.
He threw a glance at the Tezuka, sensing that his boyfriend had buried his chin in the light brown mane of his hair.
Tezuka inhaled deeply, noting that Fuji's scent was that of summer grass and a mild hint of morning lime, both mysterious and intoxicating. Oh, he was going to miss this too. He had grown familiar with the warm scent, particularly fond of it in fact. The scent was so sweet and so Fuji. Even though they shared the same shampoo, he never had the same scent. He guessed that it was a Fuji thing.
But soon, he thought, he was going to lose it all the same.
While Tezuka was immersed in his thoughts, Fuji was confused. His boyfriend was acting strange, and admittedly a little worrying. So he waited and when it fruited, he thought that a bomb just went off next door.
"… Shusuke, let's-" Tezuka choked; his voice nearly an inaudible whisper. It was not easy, he thought as he took a deep breath and swallowed. "… Let's break up."
Fuji eyes snapped open and he could only stare as a sudden chill crept up his spine uneasily at those words; it was one of the worse he had since he heard that Yuuta was moving to the dorms and would probably have to be operated because of his shoulder injury.
A flurry of maybes and perhaps run in his mind. Maybe everything was just a dream, a very bad dream. Or maybe the heat was finally getting to him. Maybe Tezuka finally picked up a sense of humour?
Unsure of what to say, Fuji tried to shrug it off as a poor attempt at jokes on Tezuka's part. "Kunimitsu," He let out an uneasy chuckle, "don't joke around like that-"
"No. I mean it." Tezuka's voice held resolve that he'd usually have when he was holding a racket with an opponent across the court.
Fuji couldn't believe what he had just said. Fuji felt his body shook; he knew that he was losing control over his emotions. Those soft words sounded so thunderous, it almost tore him.
Did he, Fuji's mind was muddled, like a fog had suddenly descended over it. Did he really mean it?
A fierce denial started to bubble up within him. He knew that he didn't hear wrong, and most definitely, Tezuka didn't joke because he simply didn't do jokes. But he couldn't help but want to deny it.
He didn't… he couldn't have, right?
Even to himself, he had to admit that it sounded pathetic. Tezuka never spoke of something he didn't mean. He always knew it the best.
At the moment, Fuji's mind went into the only state of what it could afford at the time; it went blank and white, resembling his neighbour's enviously pristine laundry sheets.
"But why…?" Straining the tears from leaking, his voice dropped as he clasped his hands on Tezuka's that clung on Fuji's waist. Turning in the strange, loose embrace, Fuji stared into Tezuka's eyes, "Why so suddenly?"
Fuji's facial expression was carefully controlled, but the look in his eyes couldn't fool anyone and it only doubled Tezuka's guilt had he just burst into a rage or even hysterical tears otherwise.
"This… this is just wrong." Tezuka struggled with words, fully aware how his effort was making him sound like a retard. "It's just plain… wrong. I mean, I'm not even-" He took a deep breath and tried to stare into the blue eyes that were slaughtering his conscience like a pair of really thin, really sharp knife and found himself unable to.
"I can't… I just can't keep lying to you like this, Shusuke. It's not right." Tezuka closed his eyes and sighed. "It's unfair."
Unfair? Wrong?Fuji's mentally repeated the word with dripping venom. Wrong, wrong, wrong! Is that all he can say?'
"Do you mean that all these years, that you and me-all that we've been through is a… mistake?" Fuji couldn't help but spat, knowing that his temper was getting the better of him. And it showed in his eyes. "Are you saying that us being together is a mistake, Kunimitsu?"
"No, I didn't mean it like that." Tezuka said, harshly.
Fuji threw his hands up in the air and cried out in outrage, "Then how exactly do you mean it? Tell me!"
"Because it was never there, Shusuke!" Tezuka uncharacteristically raised his voice, "I just-It was never there…" he continued, softer and quieter.
"Oh, and what was?" Fuji narrowed his eyes on his boyfriend, soon-to-be not.
"You know what." Tezuka returned, "You know what. And we can't let it go on like this. Both of us need to move on, Shusuke."
Fuji was shaking; he couldn't think clearly with that thick fog swirling in his head and his chest hurt like it was being rammed by an iron hammer, hard.
"Then tell me…" Fuji said, nearly in whispers, forcing back the tears that began to dwell at the corner of his eyes. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to push down anger and pulled Tezuka's hand from his waist, untangling the knot of their fingers slowly. "Why now? Why now after so many years?"
Tezuka could not answer him.
"Did I do something wrong? Have I done something that made you angry? Did I upset or dissatisfied you about something? Anything?" Fuji was almost chocking, was torn between indignant anger and dejection, not really knowing which was stronger than the other.
Fuji felt more than see Tezuka's denial of his words as the other man shook his head slowly.
"Then why? I need a reason, Kunimitsu!" Fuji pushed Tezuka's hand down. His voice had dropped dangerously, a cutting edge to each word. Planting a deep stare into Tezuka's uncertain ones, he continued, "… I want it now, and I want it good."
Tezuka knew the better that he should come up with something good, and fast. Perhaps he should have thought about this one more time before. He was sure that if looks could kill, Tezuka would've died for the hundredth time right now.
"Whatever your reason is, Kunimitsu, I'll try to accept it." Fuji grimaced, knowing well that he wouldn't and he couldn't quite as easily as he had spoken it. He wasn't such a forgiving man, no matter what. But he needed to hear a reason, and even if he couldn't change Tezuka's mind, he would never let this rest just like that.
"But it better be a good one,"
Fuji's eyes were so dark, the shadow behind his otherwise clear orbs threatened to swallow the shade of his irises.
"A very good one."
This… is dangerous. Tezuka thought decidedly to himself and frowned, "It's not that I'm angry at you or anything, Shusuke. You've done nothing wrong-It's me who has done you wrong. It wasn't your fault. It's just that…"
Biting on his now abused lower lip and tightening both of his fists, Tezuka felt his articulation abandoned him halfway. He didn't even feel the pain when his blunt nails dug into the skin of his clammy palms. He couldn't do it; he didn't have the heart to break it to Fuji after all. It wasn't even Fuji's fault, but what he had in mind would be too crass of a reality when served so coldly.
Sensing how Tezuka faltered, Fuji mustered all the self-control he didn't know he had, and took a deep breath. "Six years is a long time, Kunimitsu." He just stood there, unmoving and still as he almost patiently waited for an answer, "A little time too much to be thinking about it, no?"
I know. I know that very well. Tezuka levelled Fuji's stare with his own guilt tainted gaze, but his wistful mind was somewhere else that was far away, and then he let out a defeated sigh as he tried to concentrate with the matter at hand.
"I apologize."
Fuji twitched; something in him boiled up and exploded with tremendous force. "You're apologizing? You're ditching me, destroying our six years worth of relationship out of the blue, and completely ruining my perfect Sunday… and all you can say is I apologize?" Fuji cried out, almost seeing red as it nearly blinded him.
Tezuka could almost feel how his anger cackled in the air, crawling at his skin. He braced himself for an impact.
"What the hell is the meaning of that?"
Fuji did not curse. He never cursed. Not once. Not even when Mizuki Hajime tried to destroy Yuuta's arm, not even when Atobe so very nearly destroyed Tezuka's.
Seeing that Tezuka couldn't offer a reply, Fuji managed to regain his composure again somehow. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He should've known, really. He had always known that something was not quite right about their relationship, but he tried to pretend that everything was. He could already guess what was wrong actually. There could be only one thing that made Tezuka act like this, and now, his fears were proven to be a harsh reality.
"… There's someone else, isn't it?"
Again, the only reply he got was utter, complete silence that could only confirm his suspicion. Instead, Tezuka's eyes darted everywhere across the room, anywhere… except at Fuji's now insane eyes.
That one action spoke of volumes, things that couldn't be said by hurtful words.
"I take it as a yes then…" Fuji's smile was bitter and grim, promising doom as he faked a laughter that made Tezuka flinch.
"So, who is it then?" Fuji leaned against the counter, "Is it Atobe? Sanada?"
Fuji made it sound as if they were talking about the weather, dangerously careless and deliberately cheerful. His voice was almost sickeningly sweet, alerting Tezuka of how furious he actually was. It would've been better if Fuji just shouted at and slapped him.
"Or perhaps… one of the regulars even?"
His knowing tone caused Tezuka to blanch. The moment that Tezuka's colours drained from his face and his eyes widened slightly, Fuji knew that he hit the mark, causing the look in his eyes to bleed bloody murder.
"Shusuke…"
"Who?"
Fuji wasn't asking; he wasn't that kind. It was an order and he was forcing the answer out of Tezuka.
"… I-" Tezuka parted his lips, darting his tongue to wet his dry lips nervously. He opened his mouth, but he found himself unable to actually say anything, so he closed it again. He repeated the action a few times.
Fuji, ever the patient one, simply crossed his arms and waited.
A few minutes of struggle had gathered enough sense for Tezuka to speak, and despite the fact that the voice was nearly non-existent; Fuji caught it loud and clear like a thunder that struck in the middle of a silent winter night.
His eyes widened and then-
-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-
-he saw the dark ceiling of the room.
His own room, in his family's house; definitely not the one he had grown familiar with over last two years after he and Tezuka moved in together.
Not that room.
Slightly bewildered, frantic blue eyes darted around, as if wanting to make sure it really was his old room. His breathings were laboured as he tried to convince himself it was only a dream, the same nightmare that had disturbed his sleep over the last months ever since that incident.
After all, it had been more than five months since Fuji last seen his ex-boyfriend. It had been a rough, difficult weeks since the dramatic break-up they staged in private, one that ended up as an enraged Fuji generously raised his hand and slapped Tezuka soundly.
The sharp sound of skin meeting skin almost seemed to reverberate in his mind, and the memory of how Tezuka's slightly tanned cheek reddened by not only the deceptive power of Fuji's almost delicate hands, but also bearing the anger and pain he delivered in that one blow was still fresh as it lingered about.
Fuji didn't think that he would get over it so quickly. What could five months do to make him forget the six years he had spent for him?
In any case, he was thankful that they didn't enrol in the same university, saving them both the inevitable trouble and awkwardness of bumping, accidentally or otherwise, into each other.
He was still hurt, still angry. Even the shock Tezuka inflicted upon him hadn't faded away completely. He couldn't believe that Tezuka did that to him, actually did that to him. Everything still felt so raw, and his bleeding resentment towards his former boyfriend haunted him even as he tried and moved on with his everyday live.
Sitting up on his crumpled bed, Fuji decided that he wouldn't be able to return to sleep after that. So he swung his legs off the bed, sat there and buried his face into his slightly sweaty palms.
He was an emotional wreck, a complete moron. Despite how he tried to smile, how he tried not to worry his family, he couldn't deny that the incident had shaken him greatly. He wanted to believe that his acting could've won him a fancy award of a kind, but he knew that he wasn't even half that as he might, he knew that at least there was someone in this house that he couldn't fool.
Ever sensitive and sharp, Yumiko's eyes held worry and sympathy for him, knowing better than to pity but couldn't have helped it otherwise. She was his older sister after all; it was in her nature to fuss over him.
Never before had Fuji ever thought that the days where he'd feel like a hopeless idiot every single time Yumiko's gaze landed on him would come. He felt so vulnerable when she did that, so helpless.
Fuji was a man now, no longer a child that needed pampering. He didn't need anyone to mother him any longer. Of course, he wasn't saying that he didn't appreciate the concern. But he was embarrassed, in a way. He was an adult after all.
He really shouldn't let this drag on any longer. He didn't doubt, for a second, that one more day of Yumiko's pitiful staring and his mother's constant concerned questions about his health as if they were afraid that he'd snap a nerve and start slashing his own wrist would really have him depressed and counting cracks on the wall.
Now, while he didn't know how he would get that around, but Fuji hoped that at least for tomorrow, he wouldn't have to act like he was okay when he was not.
After all, Yuuta was coming home tomorrow.
That thought brought a small, involuntary smile to his lips. For the first time in weeks, Fuji was actually being honest to his smiles and was feeling slightly better. If there was anything to make him a little less like a walking dead, it would probably be his baby brother.
Yes, maybe tomorrow would be a slightly better day.
Fuji Yuuta stumbled back a little and fell ungracefully flat on his bums, with both arms supporting the weight of his upper body as he titled his chin heavenward. He clenched his eyes shut, as his lungs raced for much needed air. Exertion flushed his face red and the youngest Fuji held up one hand.
"Whoa, h-hold up. T-Time out…"
On the other side of the court, one Echizen Ryoma tipped an imaginary cap as he peered down on the older brunet with a smug smirk plastered on his face.
"Six games to two. Mada mada, tomorrow's lunch is on you… again."
Yuuta scowled at the dark haired teen, mustering enough energy to glare and actually looked a little intimidating while at it.
"Wha… I-I thought you… argh!" the brunet started in exasperated frustration, "You said we were just screwing around today! Why the hell did you get so serious on me all of a sudden?"
"Dunno. Just feeling like it, I guess…" Ryoma shrugged, making a show by raising both of his shoulders carelessly.
"Why you little-"
To be practical in the matter of speaking, Fuji Yuuta and Echizen Ryoma could be what they called as 'reluctant friends' to some extent, in a roundabout way.
When one was able to look pass the mostly one-sided arguments, death threats, combination of both, and then some on Yuuta's account, the both of them made a fine duo. Nevertheless, 'harmless rivalry' would perhaps be a more fitting term to describe their so-called budding friendship that started a little odd about a year ago.
After his parents' death, Ryoma quitted professional tennis and returned to Tokyo. He had thought about quitting tennis altogether, a couple of times even, but he later found that he was incapable of throwing away something that he had held so close to his person the moment he could stumble in his walk. Instead, he frequented the street tennis, wanting to avoid the court back home where he used to play with his old man. It brought back memories of his depraved, goofy hobo of a father standing on the other side of the court, having the time of his life taunting his only son.
He had to admit that it was… disturbing.
Not exactly fond of doubles, Momoshirou's usual spot was definitely not his first choice. Alternately, he went to the next nearest street tennis court, which happened to be the one near St. Rudolph where most of the current and former St. Rudolph players hung around.
One of the aforementioned former players included Fuji Yuuta, who had just graduated and was a sophomore attending a local college nearby.
Despite the fact that they were never really friends before and reacquainted themselves after seven years with a rocky start as Yuuta's vain attempts for a civil conversation with the antisocial brat failed miserably because the said brat only taunted him into playing a game or committing murder, they managed to somewhat get along after that.
Well, for the most part anyway.
"You're whining, Smaller Fuji." Ryoma almost cooed as he tapped his racket against his shoulder left, "It's rather… unbecoming of you,"
"I am not whining! And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me with that stupid nickname!"
"Sure you don't. You're just pouting,"
Yuuta's face paled spectacularly, evident horror written all over his suddenly stiffening features. Being raised as the baby brother of one demented tensai and one equally demented woman had him an issue about questioning his manliness and sanity both for a period of time in the past. Now though, he liked to believe that he was a man, a grown adult of a man, and a man certainly didn't pout. So he was definitely not pouting.
"I am not pouting!"
"And now you're being redundant,"
"Argh, Echizen!"
Yuuta was already tearing his own hair out in frustration.
Their spectators watched the interaction with amusement and perhaps some bewilderment; some even halted their matches to watch the pair's interaction. The crowd laughed politely on Yuuta's account, while the rest simply shook their heads and pitied him. He was being played and he didn't even realize it. Although it was true that the way he reacted simply asked for people to tease him, just for the kick of it.
Some of them were already familiar with the scene. The two were quite popular in the area; talented singles players, decent doubles. Although it was slightly worrying in the beginning, such a sight of their one-sided squabbling soon became a common thing for the players that frequented the site and it never failed to entertain them to some extent.
It was almost a wonder how they could get along for so long without one throttling the other yet, or rather, without Yuuta throttling the younger half of the duo. The two of them were like fire and ice, quite literally.
The one that they knew by the name 'Ryou', was like a living glacial sculpture, all sharp and remorseless contempt at once. He had a pretty face and attractive physique, although his cool aloofness had people lost and intimidated on how to approach him. Meanwhile, temperamental as he was, Yuuta was honest. He was always straightforward and to-the-point, not knowing that those were exactly the reasons why Ryoma had been able to accept him and no one else.
More often than not, 'Ryou' would somehow make Yuuta lost his temper even without trying too much and then, and then Yuuta would blow some of his shorter fuses and throw the mother of all tantrums. Well, perhaps not the mother… but it was a very, very close aunt.
"Okay, what's going on?" Yuuta scowled at the Ryoma, who stuck out a tongue at his direction and further annoying him. "You're being an insufferable brat about something and you're taking it out on me, don't you dare try to deny that, and I want to know what cause, damn it, it's annoying!"
It didn't matter how much Yuuta refused to own up to their relationship, but he did have the strange knack of understanding Ryoma's ever changing moods and his subtle quirks. Ryoma had the subtlety of a stampeding bull when it came to his wordings, but it didn't apply to his misleading gestures and expressions.
And while he was not as observant as his brother, but Yuuta was sensitive to people around him. He was the type to notice small changes in their moods. And his so-called rival could be so transparent at times and so obscure for the rest of them.
When Ryoma didn't answer immediately and simply looked away, with no further teasing insult falling from his mouth, Yuuta knew that he had struck a chord.
"Is it…" the brunet started uncertainly, wetting his dry lips while at it, "Is it Hidaka?"
Ryoma let his eyes slid shut with mild irritation, as he left the court without another word. Yuuta stared at his so-called friend for a minute before making a move to stand and follow the dark haired teen.
"What's wrong now?"
Ryoma shrugged, bending over to drop his racquet before grabbing his towel and water bottle.
"Did the two of you have a fight? I mean, the two of you seemed just fine a few days ago." Yuuta tried, chewing on the straw of his light blue water bottle, "But now, you look a little… tense."
The younger teen didn't answer him immediately, merely casting his gaze low to the ground with a thoughtful look shadowing his eyes.
Yuuta fought the urge to sigh and wondered why he even bothered sometimes. Ryoma didn't answer half of the things he asked, and the brat could be that stubborn when he refused to talk. Yuuta himself wasn't exactly a good listener; neither was he any good at giving advices, especially not about someone else's love life. Not when his own was on the brink of extinction.
Of course, Yuuta might be one of the only few people that could've stood a chance of understanding Echizen Ryoma. He didn't exactly pride himself for it, but he sometimes surprised even himself with his almost friendly concern over the arrogant so-called prince. Over the year of their strange so-called friendship, yuuta might've been the only one that kept track on his unimpressive record in romantic relationship, if it could even be called that, being one of the few that actually interacted on daily basis with Ryoma.
So when Ryoma did speak next, it surprised him to a point where he could've choked on his drink had he not pulled the bottle away.
"Somehow…" Ryoma's words trailed away just a little, before he resumed in a firmer voice. "Somehow something about me and him just feels… wrong."
Yuuta shot him a look, almost incredulous in its nature.
"Isn't it always?"
Ryoma made a shrugging gesture, ignoring the attempt of sarcasm and witty comeback in Yuuta's blunt response. He never took the offence, and Yuuta was just being himself.
"Are you thinking of, you know… breaking it up?" Yuuta cocked his head a little, his eyes widening slightly.
"Maybe. I dunno." Ryoma muttered as he used the clean, white towel to wipe the sweat from his brow, not bothering to turn his head to Yuuta. He bent down again to look for his glasses, ignoring the leers he got coming his way when he did.
Yuuta blinked almost innocently for a good minute, before his eyes blinked some more as he spluttered, "B-But you I thought he was your type!"
Ryoma raised a delicate eyebrow at him, "And what is my type exactly?"
"I dunno… tall, dark, handsome? Somewhere along those lines?" Yuuta said thoughtfully, as he mentally reviewed some handsome faces that flashed in his mind.
Each and every one of Ryoma's former boyfriends that he had seen so far had always been downright attractive. Yuuta knew that much, even if none ever really stayed long enough that for Yuuta to actually know them. Metaphorically speaking, Ryoma went through attractive male specimens like Yumiko would her signature shoes and handbags.
Ryoma gave him a point-blank look and Yuuta's cheek reddened slightly as he caught the suggestion in the look.
"What?" he snapped, "Your ex-boyfriends were kind of… n-nice to look at! So I… I looked! But I only looked, I swear! That's all!" Yuuta immediately snapped his mouth shut the moment he realized that he sounded like a moron.
It took the young Echizen an effort not to laugh at Yuuta's flustered attempt of self-defence. He was too cute.
"Anyway, aren't the two of you just… just got together for what? Two months? Is it-" Yuuta faltered in his attempts of changing the subject, "Is it so easy to break off a relationship? To break up with someone… is it so simple?" He raised his eyes to a quietened Ryoma, uncertainty was evident in his brown eyes.
Ryoma blinked twice, trying to discern what emotion was it really behind the particular gaze that surprised him.
"Well?" Yuuta pressed on, even more so than before. If anyone else that Yuuta knew would be familiar with such situation, it would be Ryoma.
There was a faint, not-quite-there desperation that slipped in Yuuta's voice that slowly dawned to Ryoma. "Che, sounds like I'm not the only one having problems with my beau…"
"Urusai," The brunet's face flushed pink, not completely out of the previous exertion of their tennis match earlier, eliciting an even wider nerve grating smirk that slowly crept to Ryoma's lips.
For a fact, he did know Yuuta's boyfriend. Not that he wanted to, but he did anyway.
About three weeks ago, an unfortunate Ryoma was made acutely aware of Yuuta's relationship with his so-called boyfriend when he stumbled accidentally, and entirely involuntarily of course, in the middle of their overly passionate dry humping.
His boyfriend, as in that creepy looking fashion disaster from St. Rudolph that giggled almost as annoying as a gloating Horio.
Never would he relive the memory ever again, if possible. It nearly burned his eyes the last time, and he wasn't keen on repeating it again.
It was just plain disgusting, and to think that he used to deem the youngest Fuji as the most rational out of the infamous Fuji siblings, if not from the many bouncing balls of obnoxious lunatics that practically made up the whole community they dubbed Japan's youth tennis.
But then again, there was no account to taste. He couldn't really say that he was too surprised about Yuuta's questionable taste in boyfriends when he thought about Fuji-senpai and the said senpai's peculiar eating disorder.
Surprisingly enough, despite his older brother's rather vocal objection, their relationship still lasted for almost two years and still on the running. It never ceased to amaze Ryoma how they managed that with Fuji-senpai hot on their heels like a vengeful, blood thirsty demon on a mission.
Both of them though, seemed to be quite happy with their relationship. So it was quite a surprise for Yuuta, out of all people, to be bringing this topic up when Ryoma knew for a fact that he was completely head over heels over Mizuki Hajime. Not that he understood why, and wanted to understand in any case, but Yuuta did anyway.
Most of the time, Ryoma was content pretending not to notice, and mostly ignoring the existence of their relationship. Though he could spare himself the mental image, and the trouble, it was still fun to tease his friend from time to time.
"It's not Mizuki-san's fault. And it's not mine too, for that matter…" Yuuta said with defeated groan, burying his head in his hands. "It's… it's my aniki…"
Again, Ryoma raised an eyebrow, a trait he had picked up from his narcissistic diva of a former boyfriend. He knew that it aggravated him to a point of strangling one Atobe heir in the past because of that particular gesture, and he had learned it just to annoy him back then. Now though, it had become a habit. And a bad habit was always a bitch to kick.
"Isn't it always?"
"Stop mimicking me, Echizen!" The scowl on Yuuta's face might have been more effective if his voice wasn't so precariously close to a squeak, "I'm trying to be serious here!"
"And so am I," Yuuta clamped his mouth south immediately, "And? What evil has he done this time?"
Yuuta looked like he had just swallowed a really sour lemon, or Inui's juice, as he fiddled with his fingers.
"He's… he's been hanging around the house too much! Too much! I mean, sure, it's sorta nice having him around… for a change, I guess." Yuuta's voice trailed away as he chewed on his lower lip almost nervously. He averted his eyes, gaze daring almost everywhere else.
"But I really can do without him hovering over me and Mizuki-san every time we go out! Mizuki-san can't even come over to my house anymore during weekends because aniki was always there, looking like he's ready to kill him where he stood! Even when he did come over, we didn't even have privacy in my room because aniki is more likely to barge in at the worst possible moments and-and-"
Ryoma wasn't sure if he was supposed to be impressed by the capacity of Yuuta's lungs or the fact that he could speak so much in one breath without twisting his tongue. So he settled for just observing until he could figure it out.
"And it's making things awkward between me and Mizuki-san! I don't know for sure, but Mizuki-san is also paying more attention to aniki than me because aniki just couldn't leave him alone without offending his ego! I-I'm-!"
Insecure. Anxious.
Words that didn't quite reach Yuuta were suddenly loud and clear to Ryoma like he had someone screaming it next to his ears.
It wasn't surprising really. Mizuki Hajime had always been slightly obsessed with the former tensai, more than what Ryoma thought was normal and healthy for someone who supposed to be dating the younger brother, especially ever since that humiliating five game to seven back in their middle school days.
Naturally, Yuuta had unconsciously regarded his own brother as a potential rival in love and for good reasons too. Fuji-senpai might not have been single, but Mizuki Hajime was delusional, and Yuuta had inferiority complex when it came down to Fuji Shusuke.
"I… I think that if this drags on… w-we might even have to b-break-"
Ryoma could've sworn that Yuuta choked down a sob the moment his voice broke when he spoke. Even if he couldn't see what was so difficult about dumping a guy, then again, he never went out with someone more than a couple of weeks, let alone for two whole years.
Mizuki Hajime was Yuuta's first boyfriend after all. Ryoma suspected that he had feelings for the former manager of St. Rudolph, even when he dated a couple of girls before they finally went out after Yuuta followed Mizuki Hajime to his university.
Yuuta's dedication and unwavering loyalty to the guy even upon the revelation of Mizuki Hajime's complete disregard of his physical wellbeing for the sake of petty grudge against his brother didn't even deter Yuuta's feeling though it did hurt him, something that upset Fuji-senpai terribly in the past. It couldn't have been platonic, his willingness to forgive and forget like that. He could've lost his left arm and tennis and care less about it, as if nothing else mattered but Mizuki Hajime, that overly frivolous bastard.
Ryoma didn't understand how someone that regarded relationships seriously like Yuuta could withstand someone so unfaithful like Mizuki Hajime.
And of course, there was his brother.
As far as Ryoma remembered, aside for being slightly messed up in the head, Fuji Shusuke was never really someone difficult.
Of course, he was difficult and perhaps a little unstable in person, but he was easy enough to get along with. And sure, the whole school was aware about his eccentricities and weird quirks, but that didn't make him less than a tensai.
Most importantly, he was not half as nosey and annoying as the rest of the club like, say, Momoshirou and Kikumaru? Well, at least he saw it that way. In Ryoma's opinion, as long as he didn't up doing something that would drag him to jail or kill someone, it was fine.
But then again, even he knew better than to stand in Fuji-senpai's way when he was in warpath mode, or worse, overprotective big brother mode. It kind of reminded him of his own aniki, that moronic hobo of a brother-complex. From Yuuta's story, he concluded that Fuji was every bit as distressing as Ryoga. They were embarrassing, perverted, and downright annoying.
Ryoga liked to think of Ryoma as a freakin' virgin that was about to be sacrificed for a lesbian occult ritual. Or something. Ryoma would like to see how Yuuta best that in their little competition of the most miserable little brothers of demented complex cases.
"Sounds like you're in one shitty position…" Ryoma muttered quietly in sympathy.
"Tell me about it." Yuuta muttered with a resigned sigh, "What's more aniki's mood is a dangerous thing nowadays. He's been like that ever since he got into that huge tiff with his boyfriend and broke up,"
Those words were like a thunderclap in the middle of clear summer morning for Ryoma, causing his eyes to widen almost comically. There was a faint impression of surprise that spread on his dainty features, looking slightly out of place on his usually impassive visage before it was gone again the next minute.
"… They broke up?" His voice was flat, sub-textual strained emotion was veiled by his usual unfazed expression.
"Yeah…" If Yuuta noticed the slight change in Ryoma's voice, he didn't show it as he was busy rummaging his tennis bag for a towel. "I don't know what happened though. Aniki hadn't said a word about it, and he always avoided the subject... but I think it's something big. He looked mad… I mean, really mad."
"Hee…" Ryoma muttered in a clipped tone that he hoped had sounded more nonchalant than cynical, as he tried to strain himself from saying anything that would obviously reflected his sentiment about the topic.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day," Ryoma whispered under his breath, a touch of almost callous smile fleeted on his lips as monotonous sarcasm laced each word.
Yuuta raised his face at the younger teen and scrunched his eyebrows together, "Did you say something?"
"Nothing," Ryoma shook his head in reply, shoving his towel inside his bag, "So… wanna give the game another go?"
"Nah, I'll pass…" the brunet muttered as he zipped up his own bag, not really facing Ryoma while answering.
Ryoma was actually stunned when he heard it. For as long as he knew Fuji Yuuta, he'd never backed down from a challenge, it didn't matter what kind. "Whoa, wait a minute." Ryoma's lips morphed into another smooth smirk, "Are you telling me that you're chickening out on me? Now that's new."
Yuuta snapped his head and scowled at him, "You wish!"
"Then what gives?"
"Actually, I'm going home tonight." Yuuta mumbled quietly, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "Okaa-san has been pestering me since last week… and well, me and Mizuki-san has been a little strained lately anyway, so I have nothing else to do really…"
"Hee…"
"Well, do you want to come over to my place tonight?" Yuuta asked as pulled the sweat drenched and grime stained shirt over his head, "Okaa-san and Yumiko-neesan have been asking about you,"
Ryoma appeared to be contemplating it for a while. To be honest, he'd rather not really. He was not very comfortable with the notion of interrupting Yuuta's family, or even getting too close to them ever since he lost his. He was never much of a people person and besides, Yumiko molested him enough a time too many.
But Yoshiko, ever the mothering woman, always made it her business to fuss over him ever since she found out about Ryoma's living alone. Ryoma was admittedly slightly awkward with Yoshiko gushing over him with almost overwhelming affection that reminded him so much of his own mother.
Alas, if there were anything in this world that Ryoma had a soft spot on, it would be fussy mothers.
Yoshiko had offered him to come over for dinner whenever he wanted and that she wouldn't mind the slightest, if not delighted. He rarely took the offer though, knowing that Yoshiko was dismayed by it. Maybe he should just take it this time; it had been a while after all.
So he just shrugged and picked up his bag.
"Whatever. Let's change then,"
End Note : So I rewrite my first story. Ah, such nostalgia! So what do you think anyway? There are some major changes after all. I only hope that you like this rewritten version as much as the first one, even better if possible. And yes, I decided to replace Kirihara Akaya with an OC. This is kind of risky of a choice, but I have some other plan for our spider boy.