A/N: This is old. Very, very old. But I still like it.
The National tournament.
You have dreamed of this moment every day since entering Seigaku. You came here last year as an overwhelming favorite. This time it is different, though. This time you are formidable but, perhaps, not favored. This time you are not here as fukubuchou. You are buchou. More importantly, you are Buchou; your team looks to you as their military and spiritual leader, often as something far more than mortal. Inwardly, you find this hysterically funny. How any teenager on the cusp of fifteen could possibly be greater than the average man is well beyond you. Of course, you don't show this. You never show emotion.
Almost never.
Around you are the products of a season's worth of growth and change. Not just Seigaku's growth, but that of all the rivals your beloved school has faced to get to this point. Lives have intertwined or broken apart, only to realign again in a radically different structure. You turn your head slightly to see a particular case in point as Fudomine wins a doubles match handily. Ibu and Kamio, your eyes tell you, as you adjust your glasses. The dark-haired prodigy is mumbling about something, though you can't make out the words from here. The redhead's reaction is far more telling as he drops his racket and...well, 'glomps' is the only word that does the action justice. He tackles his partner, hugging him ecstatically as Fudomine's players and students roar around them. Of course, you remind yourself, Kamio has never precisely been shy about showing affection in public.
Off to the side are two all-too-familiar faces. Atobe Keigo's arrogant profile strikes a sharp contrast to the darker, taller, more sensual form of Oshitari Yuushi next to him. Yes, sensual. Even someone as renowned for a lack of hormones as you has to admit that particular detail. The tensai leans down, whispering something in the diva's ear, and is rewarded with a half-chuckle and an idle flip of light hair. They are clearly riveted on the Fudomine match and the outcome thereof, despite the fact that normally they would have utterly no interest in such a backwater alley-cat team.
As the crowds start cheering on the beginning of Tachibana's match, the victorious duo exits towards the sidelines. Kamio is still wrapped around Ibu, which does nothing to dissuade the mumbler from babbling on nonstop. That is, of course, until the Hyotei duo intercepts them. Oshitari peels the redhead away from his friend and promptly plants one on him, to the shock of several onlookers (and the utter delight of a number of yaoi fangirls). He drags the still-hyper Kamio off, while Ibu claims one of Atobe's arms. The second duo follows the first at a more sedate pace. It is the first time you have ever linked the words 'Atobe Keigo' and 'sedate' in the same thought process.
An explosion of swearing distracts you. You glance to the side in time to see Sengoku turning the air purple with his language as he yells at a broken string on his racket. Off to the side there is a substantial amount of laughter. Two players from Jyousei - Wakato and Kajimoto, your memory tells you - are falling all over each other laughing at the outburst. In the shadows you can make out the form of Akutsu, snorting at the voluble redhead's tirade. They exchange words, then glances. The warmth of the glances gives lie to the acerbic words.
A shadow falls over you. You know without turning who the shadow belongs to. There are very few people who can physically cast a shadow over you at your age. This one, though...his shadow is more metaphorical than physical.
Your mind travels back...two years.
Was it really that long ago?
Even though you were both but first-years, you noticed him. He had as much renown as you did, even at that tender age. Where your fame was for faultless technique, his was for warrior's power. You were a natural; he came from a martial background. It mattered not. When you looked at him, even for the first time, you knew.
As it turned out, so did he. You would not learn this until much later.
You turn to face him. The lines of his face are hard, knife-edged and severe. There is a faintly sadistic tilt to his velvet brown eyes, the hints of cold cruelty about his lips. There is nothing about him that is not defined, corded muscle. Where so many of your peers are too tall for their bodies, he looks filled-out, mature, far older than his years. As do you, really.
When he looks at you, his features change. Though his expression cannot be said to change overmuch, it subtly softens. The severity melts away entirely, as does the frost that covers what should be the warmest of eye colors. The sadism and cruelty vanish, replaced with an affection that - as so many other things about the two of you - transcends what many would say to be a tender age. You know by the feeling that your stern, stoic expression is undergoing a similar change. In fact, the sight of him almost induces a smile.
Almost.
You never smile.
But for Sanada Genichirou, you would do far more.
The two of you wordlessly fall into step, side by side. Rikkai has just completed their match, and Seigaku is slated to play later in the day. You have a rare bit of free time. You intend to spend it as you spend every stolen moment; together. Often you do little but talk; sometimes not even that. You have little doubt that you seem very very boring to most people. You cannot find it in yourself to care. For, you see, you have the knowledge that you are anything but. When you feel him near, when you hear your name spoken in his low, usually gruff voice, when the warm touch of his hand cups your cheek...
...yes, those moments are far from boring.
Those are the moments when you, Tezuka Kunimitsu, lead the most amazing life imaginable.