Title: Contact
Author: Neko Mastermind
Genre: General, really.
Rating: PG
Pairing: MomoRyo
Comments: Kinda-sorta ALMOST based on an RP I've been doing with a friend. Okay, so the idea to throw the boys in college and stuff came from it, but the rest is different.
Word Count: 1339
Archive: Hisseki, Fanfiction.net, and wherever else I post, because I can't remember at the moment. Oo
Status: Finished as of 06/01/04

Contact

It was both their faults, really.

After Momo had graduated from Seishun Gakuen, the time he and Ryoma spent together was cut nearly in half. Momo had more homework then he ever thought possible, along with the High School tennis team, and Ryoma had become the new buchou for Seigaku.

Not that that was a surprise.

Occasionally, when practice and homework didn't interfere, Momo would wander back to Seigaku. It was odd, sort of – seeing Ryoma standing at the gates, much like Tezuka-buchou would do, with that indifferent expression on his face that looked as if he didn't care about anything.

Momo nearly laughed himself sick the first time Ryoma ordered laps. Not because it was almost scary how his tone matched Tezuka-buchou's, or that the regulars and other members of the tennis team nearly fell over each other when the order was called out.

It was because Ryoma, as intimidating as he could be, was still so smalll. And here were these freshmen, some of which towered over the tennis prodigy, practically scared of him.

He'd been glared at for laughing. The same, piercing glare he got whenever he teased Ryoma for this and that.

Hell, he'd missed that glare.

Sometimes they'd meet at the street courts when they were free. They never played seriously – Momo knew that no matter how good he got, he'd never beat Ryoma. And Ryoma seemed to know that too, though he never rubbed it in. So they had little, friendly matches, sometimes just to gauge how far the other had gotten, and when they were feeling particularly good, to show off to the others milling around.

When Ryoma entered high school, Momo had hoped that they'd gain back some of the contact they'd had in Seigaku. So, it was a surprise when Ryoma wasn't there on the first day. Or the next. A whole week went by, and no Echizen.

Momo called his house that weekend. "Echizen, where the hell have you been? You haven't been in school at all, and you missed sign-ups for the tennis club—"

"Momo-sempai," His kouhai interrupted. And just how Ryoma said his name, he knew something was wrong.

Echizen was moving back to the States. Something about Ryoma's mother finding a better job in New York, and his father mentioning that he'd be able to play better tennis in America; he hadn't heard much of it, as shocked as he had been.

The day before he moved, Momo cut class. He dragged Echizen out for burgers, a quick game of tennis on the street courts – they'd teamed up one last time against Fudomine's Shinji and Kamio, and as much as he'd argue with the rhythm player, there was a backdrop of sadness during the whole game.

He didn't go to the airport to watch him take off. Momo didn't want to believe that his friend – best friend was leaving. He purposely went out of his way to walk past Echizen's house in the mornings, hoping that he'd dreamt everything and he'd catch a half-awake and grumpy tennis prodigy on his own way to school.

Momo gave up after two weeks of being late to class, and no Echizen.

Every so often, he'd get a letter from Ryoma. They each read the same – America was boring, everyone he played sucked, and in his own, little Echizen way, he wrote how missed Japan…

…and Momo.

Momo wrote back as soon as he could. Telling him about how his High School was going to Nationals, that he was sure they were going to win with most of the Seigaku regulars from Junior High playing, and how it just wasn't the same without him.

Near the end of Momo's third year, the letters stopped. Momo tried writing once or twice, but after no responses, he gave up on that, too. He'd almost forgotten about the tennis prodigy that summer, having been so busy studying, working odd jobs here and there, worrying about college, training for his last year on the tennis team.

But tennis reminded him of Echizen. And sometimes, he hated that he just couldn't forget about him. And he hated that, in a way, it hurt to remember him, like he'd forgotten to tell him something, or forgotten to do something, and now he had this overwhelming guilt weighing down his heart.

Momo didn't play tennis his first year in college for that reason. He'd go to watch the practices and the matches sometimes, because hell, you could never really forget about the things you loved, and he'd sit there and remember Seigaku.

And Ryoma.

And then he'd get frustrated and go back to his dorm to do something, anything, to distract him from thinking about Echizen, because no matter how long it'd been, it still hurt.

His second year in college, he moved to a new dorm – he was tired of living by himself, and he really couldn't afford the extra money for it. Someone had approached him asking if he'd mind rooming with a freshman, and Momo had just laughed and told him to send him anyone. He'd gotten a weird look for that – not many of the older students were as nice to the freshmen like he was, and if Kaidoh had been there and not halfway down the coast of Japan attending college himself, Momo knew he'd have gotten hissed at and scolded for being "too nice to the freshmen".

And a freshman was what he got. He didn't read the letter he'd gotten explaining who it was or where he was from, because Momo liked surprises.

He cleaned the room the day before – his roommate was arriving the next day, and he didn't want to give his new roommate the impression he was a slob. Many of the people he knew who lived on that floor teased him for it – saying that he was hoping for a pretty girl. One even suggested a pretty boy, to which Momo blushed for a good ten minutes.

Momo went to class the next day, excited about his new roommate. He was in such a good mood that he took his time walking back to walk pass the tennis courts. He even considered signing up; despite the memories it brought up, he missed the adrenaline rush a game brought, the intensity of the game when he was pitted up against some just a little better than him. He missed it all.

The door to his room was open when he arrived. Taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair, Momo stepped into the doorway, a greeting on his lips…

And froze.

He had to be imagining it. He tried rubbing his eyes, but no, it was still him. He still had that Fila hat, hair peeking out from under it, the brim still tugged down over his eyes so he could avoid looking at people. He was taller – not by much because he'd never be as tall as Momo was – and his arms were crossed as he gave the room a disinterested stare, that same stare that he'd given to so many of their opponents and rivals in the past.

He looked at Momo – and damned if Momo didn't feel his heart skip a beat – with those same gold-bronze eyes that were so intense, yet expressed every emotion that he was feeling.

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

Then, Momo dropped his bag, took three quick steps to bring them closer, and wrapped his arms around Ryoma in a tight hug. He didn't care if he got yelled at for the hug, because he missed Echizen so damned much, and at the moment he couldn't think of anything to say.

Ryoma tensed just a bit, the way he always did when someone touched him, then wrapped his arms around Momo's waist, returning the hug just as tight, and it was if those years between them had never been. Ryoma was here, in his arms, and that's all that mattered.