For Love of You
O
I. In the beginning, there was the promise of tennis.
With the rest of the layers unpeeled, they relied only on tennis as they treaded through their relationship. It was the one thing they couldn't bear to lose. The one thing that strapped them together and didn't allow them to let go.
Tennis was their hunger and passion.
One day, Ryoma knew his father would grow old and frail. He didn't want to imagine the day, but he knew it would come. It was the simple truth of mankind. When that happened, his opponents would falter, the constant test of skill would crackle. That was what Ryoma feared the most. He feared for that one day to come when he wouldn't have someone strong enough to play with.
But then Tezuka came into the picture, and things patched up quite finely.
His fear went away, because even if he couldn't play Nanjiroh anymore, he would always, always be able to play with his captain. Tezuka was only a couple of years older than him, and their constant strive for the top was the same. Their abilities were only notches higher or lower, and changed every week, surprising the both of them when the other won.
And that was how their relationship started, if Ryoma was honest with himself.
It had been another Sunday afternoon, another match under the warm summer sun, and another match lost as he shook hands with Tezuka. The heat rolled in baked waves, and the racquet was sweaty in his right palm. As his fingers latched onto Tezuka's, he'd felt this unpredictable urge to squeeze the hand tightly, like he wanted to hang on a little longer.
Tezuka's eyes had shot to his when Ryoma had squeezed, and they'd had…Ryoma wasn't sure what to call it. A moment?
It had been a moment that lasted for a second, and then, before Ryoma could really take it in, Tezuka had leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss had been brief, light, and jolted – taking both of them in surprise. Tezuka had pulled back as quick as he'd leaned in, looked alarmed, and frightened of his own action.
"Echizen, I didn't mean that –"
But the break in between had been shorter than the kiss. Ryoma had dropped his racquet, wrapped his arms around Tezuka's neck, and kissed him hard on the mouth. It had been impulse, now that he thought back on it. A childish impulse of lust and desire, packed into a warm, slippery kiss as their tongues slid in and out of each other.
Even as they'd stumbled back, Tezuka's arms around Ryoma's waist, Ryoma's hands in Tezuka's hair – he'd remembered Tezuka saying: "Echizen, I don't think we should be doing this. It's not…"
Right?
That's what Ryoma had thought back then. He hadn't cared, of course. He'd kept right on kissing. But the word had lingered in his mind, making him wonder that night if it had been a mistake to pursue the accidental kiss.
But now that he really thought about it, how they were barely hanging on with anything but tennis, he was pretty sure that Tezuka hadn't been about to say it's not right. He'd been about to say that it wasn't real.
Because it wasn't real.
Tennis wasn't love, and love wasn't tennis.
But sometimes, for Ryoma, it was hard not to mix them up.
II. For some reason that Ryoma couldn't identify, he always knew when Tezuka was in the room.
And it was creepy. Like, when he'd come home from this one party (in which he'd been dragged and yanked around by Momo), and he hadn't invited Tezuka over, but then he'd been there anyway. And he remembered walking in, throwing his coat onto the couch, and listening to the absolute silence of the home.
Tezuka had been reading. And yet…Ryoma had known he was there.
Silent power, he thought grumpily as he walked in on another late night and felt the stir of a feeling that his boyfriend was at home. He found Tezuka in his kitchen, chopping onions on a plate with his stature as stiff as a stone.
"Hello," Tezuka greeted – ever so curt – as he diced the onions.
Ryoma smirked, and tossed his jacket off onto the chair. "What're you making?"
"I'm not quite sure," Tezuka looked tired. "Just something to do."
Ryoma snickered. "Is it tearing you up?"
At the comment, Tezuka glanced up, and focused on him with steady, narrow eyes. Ryoma searched for a hint of tears, or that he was going to cry, but found nothing but resolute strength. More than silent power, Ryoma thought, with a gnawing ache in his stomach, he's like a freaking god.
"Hm." Ryoma strolled over and popped a carton of milk from the fridge. He took a long sip. "Momo-senpai invited me to this ball-dinner thing, and he's threatening that if I don't go he's going to come and do something to Karupin."
At the words, Tezuka arched a brow, and Ryoma stared back at him with half-lidded eyes.
"I need a date."
The words were said lazily, thrown out like a wad of gum. Tezuka felt the knife stop between the onion, and felt the muscles in his shoulder tense. "This ball-dinner thing," he spoke carefully, the knife cleanly cutting again. "A date isn't mandatory, is it? I'm sure you could attend alone."
Ryoma capped the milk carton, and shot him a smug look.
"I'm not going alone, buchou. You're definitely coming.
A diligent frown. "If it's not required-"
"It's not. But you're coming."
Ryoma was satisfied to see Tezuka go quiet, contemplating, the space between his brows tense in thought. He knew Tezuka wasn't into social gatherings, and probably thought the idea of going to a dinner with people as rowdy as his senpai was the last thing a man should do, but if he had to go, then the boyfriend had to come too.
"So," Ryoma said. "How 'bout it?"
Tezuka just looked at him with refusal written over his face. Ryoma grinned, tipped his head up, and kissed him. Tezuka's expression didn't budge.
Ryoma sighed, rolled his eyes, and said: "We can leave in ten minutes and head to the nearest tennis court, if that's what it'll take."
This time, Tezuka's eyes crinkled, and the warmth of a smile seeped into his face. He leaned down, and breathed into the curve of Ryoma's ear:
"I was going to say yes, anyway."
III. Of course, eventually, it had become more than just tennis.
Ryoma had realized this when he was sharing the couch with Tezuka, watching a detective series his boyfriend so greatly adored. By the time Tezuka had been done with it, it was striking midnight, and Ryoma was on the verge of falling asleep. His head had been comfortable in Tezuka's lap, and the stroke of Tezuka's fingers in his hair had been like a sweet lullaby.
It was then that Tezuka had leaned down, and whispered in a hush, "We'll always play tennis together, Ryoma."
Pretty forward words. All about tennis. And yet, the way he said it…it didn't seem like it was about tennis. It had seemed like it was about them, always being together, because they knew neither would ever stop playing the sport. The thought of the 'always being together' had sent such a shooting thrill up Ryoma's spine that he'd sat up suddenly, startled Tezuka, and kissed him passionately on the mouth.
After that evening, things shifted.
Ryoma felt like he was on the top of the world every second, every hour. He never felt grumpy or upset. Momo had pointed out, almost incredously, "Man, Echizen. I don't think I've seen your scowl in four months."
And it was true. He hadn't scowled or glared or snapped in a while.
He'd been too delirious to do that. Whenever Tezuka shot him a soft, hidden smile in the hallway, his already high spirits would become hysterically powerful. When Momo, yet again, pointed out, "Woah, Echizen. Did you just smile for no reason? That's not right at all," Fuji had intervened the conversation, glanced between Ryoma and Tezuka, and said:
"Saa. It seems like our baby boy's in love."
Momo had gawked of course. "What? Fuji-senpai, you're being crazy!"
But Ryoma hadn't declined. He'd felt so happy and tingly and whole. Maybe he was in love.
Naïve as it was, he really, really believed that him and Tezuka would be together forever. So when the offer to participate in the US Open came in, he'd struggled between choosing to stay and choosing to leave. For one, he'd worked hard with his team to reach the Nationals, so it felt like betrayal to leave them alone the last minute. But another reason was…
Long distance relationships never worked out. He couldn't bear to be away from Tezuka, especially because he had a feeling in his stomach that after the US Open, he would be going onto the next big tournament, and the next, and the next… what if the relationship slipped out right between his fingers?
He'd finally chosen the US Open when Tezuka had almost demanded he go. Ryoma had been furious. Here he was, thinking about how much he would miss his boyfriend, and how much he didn't want to let their relationship fade, and all Tezuka cared about was tennis and getting him to reach the top.
How unfair.
Boiling, Ryoma had spat,"Fine," gave his father the a-okay, and hopped onto the next plane to the USA.
It had taken a year and a half for him to finally return to Japan, and another four months before he saw Tezuka again.
IV. If awkwardness was a person, it would be Tezuka.
Ryoma bit back a laugh (and gained an odd look from Momo of his strange smile) as he watched Tezuka stride into the room slickly dressed in a button up shirt and black slacks. He looked more handsome than any man in the room, and Ryoma knew he wasn't the only one who thought that. Every other girl in the party stopped and stared with awe at his magnificence. A few boys were blushing and pretending they didn't notice his majestic presence.
Wanting to make sure everyone knew that Tezuka belonged to only him, he slithered past the crowd, and hooked his arm around his elbow.
"Buchou looks nice," Ryoma practically drawled.
Tezuka looked down at him, brow creased. "I really don't want to be here, Echizen."
Ouch. They were going by last names?
"Are you mad?" Ryoma asked cheekily.
"If I could be," Tezuka stayed stony faced. "Then I would be."
"But you can't," Ryoma snickered. "I'm too irresistible."
Tezuka's mouth twitched, but a smile didn't dare slip onto his face. Feeling such an overwhelming compassion, Ryoma went on his tippy toes, clung onto Tezuka's dress shirt collar, and leaned up to press a kiss on his lips. But before he could close the gap between them, and wholly embarrass his boyfriend's dignity to no end, Momo barged into the couple.
"Woah! Tezuka-buchou actually came!" Momo said.
Ryoma gave him an annoyed look. "Yeah. I said he would, didn't I?"
Momo blinked, and glanced at him. "How'd you do it Echizen?"
That was right. None of them knew they were actually dating, aside from the perceptive Fuji and detail-oriented Inui. Sure, most of them probably suspected something was going on, but they hadn't seen public confirmation. Tezuka didn't like to do things out in the open, and Ryoma didn't really see the need to mention unnecessary things.
But for some reason, seeing Tezuka look so uncomfortable and handsome at the same time made him feel just a tad devious.
"How'd I do it?" Ryoma smirked. "Watch this, Momo-senpai."
Before Tezuka could briskly excuse himself for the bathroom, or Momo could ask what Ryoma was talking about, Ryoma faced his boyfriend, went up on his toes, and kissed him hard on the mouth. Tezuka made a noise of discontentment and pleasure in one, trying to pull away before they caught attention.
"Waah!" Momo turned red-faced, with his mouth dropped open like a gaping fish. "Tezuka-buchou and Echizen are…are…" he spluttered. "I didn't know you guys were like that!"
Ryoma took a breath, face buried in the crook of Tezuka's neck. "A little clueless, ne, Momo-senpai?"
Momo looked like he was going to pass out from shock. "You – you're dating?!"
"Yes," Ryoma said sinisterly, at the same time Tezuka said, "It's not quite like that, Momo."
Recovering from spluttering and gasping, Momo rushed away to where the rest of the regulars were, determined to share his shocking discovery. Tezuka watched him wave his arms in declaration in the distance, and the frown on his face deepened. He looked down at Ryoma with such narrow, hard eyes that Ryoma's smile faltered.
"Was that necessary?" Tezuka asked.
"Yes," Ryoma said. He nudged him. "Che. I just felt like bothering you."
Tezuka rubbed his forehead, and sighed. "You succeeded."
Ryoma felt the quirk of a smile. "Heh. But be prepared for all the teasing. Senpai-tachi are coming over here."
This older's gaze slid over to where the rest of the regulars were storming over, Momo in the lead. All of them had goofy, happy smiles on their face – with the exception of a few (Kaidoh: blushing). They looked like a determined herd ready to interrogate their kouhai and buchou.
Ryoma tugged sharply at Tezuka's shirt. "Wanna take this to the bathroom?"
Tezuka eyed the crowd wearily. "If it provides escape from them, then yes, please, let's do so."
V. In the end, there had never been tennis, and there would never be tennis again.
It had just been them. They'd confused their reciprocation for the love of the game, but even if they'd been born into different hobbies, and different lifestyles, they would have connected once more. Fate had its ways, Ryoma had decided, as he finally saw his boyfriend after a year and four months. Of course, Tezuka hadn't changed much.
He still lean and tall and incredibly handsome. He still contained his shock when he saw Ryoma standing on his front porch. His ability to conceal emotion hadn't withered over the sixteen months they'd been apart.
But Ryoma knew, somewhere deep, that an emotion had been stirred. He'd felt it himself, and they were so much alike that he knew Tezuka had felt it too.
It wasn't about tennis anymore – it never had been. It was love, in its purest form.
"Echizen," Tezuka said.
Ryoma's heart throbbed at the distance of the name. "Buchou," he said, softly.
They both just stared at each other, aching for something they couldn't reach. And then, like all the strings of reality had snapped, Ryoma wrenched forward, Tezuka opened his arms wide, and they embraced into a radiant hug. "I missed you so much," Tezuka whispered, and the hug felt even warmer, even more whole.
"Me too," Ryoma said. His words were a mere hush on the front porch.
They stood like that for a long time, because really, there was nothing else to do. No tennis game to play, no drinks to drink, no kissing to indulge in. There was just this: grasping onto the other, as if they were everything, as if they were the only person you could love – and then, believing it until it came true.
"We'll always play tennis together," Tezuka said, fondness warm in his voice.
"Always," Ryoma looked up, gaze soft and golden over the dipping sunset. He paused, and hooked his hand through Tezuka's fingers. "And other stuff too, right?"
Tezuka smiled - really smiled. "And other stuff too."
VI. Making out in the bathroom may not have been the most romantic thing in the world, but it really did feel good.
Ryoma mused about this as Tezuka pushed him up against the wall, hands gently grasping his hair and breath warm and heated against his mouth. It had been awhile since they'd kissed – well, really kissed, all hard and desperate and unforgiving. Ryoma's slim figure moved with grace to every position Tezuka guided him to.
He could see them – a perfect fit – in the mirror above the sink.
Letting out a soft moan, Ryoma felt his fingers instinctively reach for Tezuka's buttons, before he realized that they were in a party, and someone could walk in at any time. Containing himself, he instead wrapped them around Tezuka's narrow waist, clinging into the kiss like they would never do it again.
"This – " Ryoma breathed through a brief gap. "Is much better than the couch."
"Sure," Tezuka said, dryly. "The bathroom scent really increases the intimacy."
Ryoma snickered, and leaned in for more. Contrary to popular belief, his boyfriend could be very funny, although his sense of humour was incredibly dry and unseen to the ordinary eye. Changing position, Ryoma cupped his hand around Tezuka's cheekbones, their noses touching, their lips so close and sweet and near.
"Is this love?" Ryoma breathed, naive, and indulgent.
"Maybe," Tezuka briefly went serious. "Maybe not."
"But even if it isn't," Ryoma said strongly. "It's fun, right?"
Tezuka arched his brow. "It's quite appealing."
Ryoma looked satisfied. "So if it's fun, we don't need to stop doing it."
Maybe it was the innocence in his words, and the pure pleasure on his face, but Tezuka couldn't help the sudden burst of emotion that really did feel like love. He held his arms around Ryoma's waist, lifted him up, and kissed him warm and gentle on the lips. Ryoma yelped, laughed, and joined in for a finish.
Momo swung open the bathroom door, and his eyes widened when he saw what was in front of him. "T-Tezuka-buchou," he said, but his voice was only a drowned whisper. They didn't notice him – not at all. Both were engorged in each other, too deep in to notice. At first, Momo felt like interrupting – like embarrassing them.
But then he saw the light in Ryoma's eyes, the fullness, and the curve of a smile on Tezuka's face – they were really happy.
Smiling to himself, Momo briefly closed the door, headed out back to the party, and pretended he hadn't seen the gorgeous enigma of two people that would last for decades, if not forever. When Kikumaru asked him what he was smiling about, he waved his hand, shrugged and said:
"Oh, nothing. Just love."
And it was as simple as that.
O o O o O o O o