I DECIDED TO MAKE THIS A ONESHOT.

BUT I HAVE A CONTINUATION FOR THIS FIC ACTUALLY. IF A LOT OF PEOPLE WANT ME TO CONTINUE THIS, I CAN CHANGE MY MIND. :) PLEASE READ AND REVIEW THANK YOU. :)

The rain poured ponderously that Friday afternoon. Classes were over and I was in the library, studying for my History exam. I stood up and glanced outside the window. I saw the tennis courts, hoping to see someone, but it was rather empty and no one was playing. I thought, of course no one would play at such rain besides, exams are up next week.

I pulled the chair and sat down, I have to study and pass, I thought to myself. I started studying again, this time with more enthusiasm. The taciturnity of the room and the slow ticking of the clock—I can loudly hear them all. It was eerie.

Tick. Silence. Tick. Silence. Tick.

It went on for hours; it was then when I checked my wrist watch, "7 pm. Shoot. I have to go." I muttered under my breath. I hurriedly returned the reference books back to their shelves and placed my history book back in my bag. I went outside and started running downstairs.

It was dark and it was still raining—only way heavier. I reached for my umbrella in my bag. It was bright yellow. I stretched it out and before I was able to walk out into the open, I noticed a familiar figure standing meters away from me. It was him.

Ryoma Echizen.

His black-green hair, drenched from the continuous pouring of the rain and those hazel eyes that sparkled beautifully under the dark rainy night, nearly gave me a nosebleed. He was looking nowhere, just idly standing there in the middle of the path walk.

I looked at him with admirable eyes. He was just so ethereal—with the way standing there, under the rain, looking gorgeously beautiful.

His tennis clothes were wet, too. Through his wet clothes, you can see his thin but muscular body. Seeing this—I blushed. I didn't notice, but he was holding his red Yonex racket, tightly.

What is he doing there? I wondered. He probably practiced tennis again. Tennis. The only thing he's so fond of. His one and only love. Pfft. Right. Somehow, I'm kind of jealous. But this is better; since he's so dedicated to tennis, he never has time for girls—which is good, since I still have a chance. I mean who would get jealous over a sport? That would only be me.

I turned to look at him again. I smiled as I whispered to myself, "Ganbatte, Sakuno." I slowly went to his direction, tightly holding the umbrella.

I stood beside him, my heart was about to stop when I offered him my umbrella and said, "Here, Ryoma-kun. Let's share my umbrella. You'll get sick if you stay in the rain for too long." There was no clumsiness or stuttering in my voice. It was straight and firm, yet gentle.

He turned his head around and stared at me. He must've been shocked that I wasn't stuttering right now. His big eyes were fixed on mine. I could feel my heart beating so fast.

"Ryuzaki." I heard him say. His breath tickled my flushed face. It was embarrassing, but I was enjoying every moment of it.

My eyes were still locked with his. He lowered his head so I couldn't see his eyes. I was about to say sorry, when he gently rested his head on my shoulders. Despite the fact that he has been in the rain for a while, I could smell the sweet scent of strawberry in his hair. He smelled so heavenly good. I blushed really hard. My face was so red.

"R-Ryoma-kun. Ano…" there it goes, I'm stuttering again. "Doushite? Eto…" But before I was able to finish my unfinished words, he said,

"Let me rest for a while. I'm tired."

I didn't say anything. We stood there under my umbrella,—his head rested on my shoulders, his nose buried in my neck, his eyes were closed like a sleeping baby and his left arm was wrapped around me—I nearly fainted.

It was then after several minutes that he stood up and looked at me again. He wasn't looking snobbishly like usual, he was looking at me with calm and serene eyes.

"Sankyuu." He whispered and then he smiled. Wait! Did he just smile at me? Oh my gosh. My face is too red. Only Ryoma could make my heart thump this way.

What happened next, you ask? Well, we walked home together, under my bright, yellow umbrella.