Author's Introduction:

Another work that I'm not sure where it came from, but it's my shot at the Looking Away Challenge. And yes, that does mean that most of Seigaku betrays Ryoma. See bottom for more details.


Death's Reaper and His Lover


Many a headline to various newspapers had featured the enigma that is Echizen Ryoma since the relative start to his career. Even as a child, he had taken the competitive scene by storm with numerous consecutive wins. Later then, they covered his and his family's sudden move to Japan and Echizen's growth in skill as he led Seigaku to the nationals from the frontlines. They went ballistic when his relation to the Samurai Echizen Nanjirou became more widely known, but even that paled in comparison to their reaction when the tight knit Echizen family vanished without a trace.

Speculations went wild, everyone had their own opinion and their own discrepancies over it all. Then the eldest Echizen sibling, Ryoga, went viral in the United States. As to be expected, the press conference descended into chaos. However, Ryoga stood at the front with an impassive face, waiting for them to finish with a distinctly regal aura. Then, once they were quiet, he leaned forward and spoke quietly, calmly, but furiously, "My brother is in hospital bed, right now, and while [my family and I] appreciate your concern, we would further endeavor you to spare my family the ordeal of dealing with the press while we still don't know if he [and his friend and confidante] will ever play again."

To say the masses were outraged was an understatement. Some said it was a shame, that he had such grand potential. Some said good riddance, he'd always been too arrogant anyway. Some said he deserved it, he must of evoked karma somehow. Some sent well wishes and kind words, he was just a child.

Months after Ryoga's admission, and subsequent disappearance once again, a tall young man walked into competitive American tennis and whipped the floor with the whole lot. When the announcements called him Echizen Ryoma, sports magazines exploded with his face and story across front pages. He continued in that fashion, taking one competition after the next, one in Florida, the next in California, one in Tennessee and one in New York.

He'd outgrown his childhood title Prince of Tennis, and soon, the public regaled him The Grim Reaper. Since his recovery and reemergence on the court, he had dropped a total of fourteen points in all his games, and some purposely to psychological wipe out his opponent. Few that went up against him could even stand once he was through. So many photographs showed the expressionless face of Echizen Ryoma walking away from a kneeling opponent, their eyes glassy and unaware.


Now, lowering my gaze from the article in hand, I peered down at the green-tinted raven resting his head in my lap and stifled a laugh. Running my hand through his hair, I covered my mouth with the magazine and chuckled softly. Few, if any, would believe if I said the very same invincible and expressionless Grim Reaper was the very same kitten-like teenager curled at my side. Even in slumber, he nudged into the touch and I softened with fondness. Considering the creature he held dearest to his heart, I was not all that surprised by how much he resembled a feline.

"Syuusuke," the boy—iie, young man—resting against me suddenly declared, his sleep thick voice efficiently cutting through my thoughts, and I folded my magazine to look down at his face. His honey-gold eyes stared up into my face, then the corner of his mouth titled upward in a smirk. Shifting to lay out on his back, he raised a long finger to tap the space between my eyebrows and curled both arms behind his head, "You're furrowing your brows."

"Hah?" I lifted a hand to touch said area and tucked the magazine into a pocket of my back, laughing softly with a weak shrug, "Suppose I am." The reply did not seem to satisfy him and his eyes narrowed on my face, lips pulled tight.

"Mada mada dane," he declared monotonously and shifted his displeased stare to the ceiling. Eyes drifting shut, he smiled tersely up at the heavens, "I am fine, and we will make them regret." The set of his jaw had me automatically shifting to ease the muscles in his neck, fingers unwinding the knot of muscle. "Besides," he whispered softly, "I have you."

"Saa, Ryo-kun," I pressed a hand to my face and splayed my fingers to cover my closed eyes, "You're making me blush. That's not very nice."

His mouth curled into a devious grin, but he did not rouse any further, and instead rolled onto his side to face my abdomen. Using one elbow as a rest under his head, he slid the other hand under the hem of my shirt and his skin burned hot against mine, "Wake me when we touch down."

"Hai," I murmured as he began to lightly snore. Pulling out my phone, I took a quick snapshot of his sleeping face and resolved to send it to his mother the first chance I got. However, looking at the picture, I realized just how drastically he had grown in the few years we had known each other. He had long since outgrown both his father and elder brother in height, his voice deepened with age, and his days out under the sun had darkened his skin well. Most strikingly was the changes in his facial structure which now matched the intensity of his gaze.

I ran a hand over his dark hair and curled my fingers in their feathery texture, musing that it would soon be time to cut both our hair. Mine know reached my mid-back, and as fascinating as it was to experiment with it, I was about ready to lose some of the extra weight. Hiding my smile behind my phone, I leaned back in my seat and pulled out another magazine, this one focused primarily on cacti and desert plant life.

It was unmistakable that Ryoma was adorable no matter the age, or height.

Having been absorbed in my reading, it felt as though it wasn't long after that the intercom system came to life with a burst of static and the flight attendant's voice announced overhead, "We are ten minutes from Tokyo International Airport. May all passengers return to their seats and buckle their seatbelts." She repeated the message again in English, Chinese, and what sounded like French before signing off.

Laying a hand on Ryoma's shoulders, I shook him lightly and smothered a chuckle when he did not react. "We're here," I said while shaking him a tag harder, but this too garnered no response, so I cleared my throat and spared nary a second to consider the closed-eyed smile that etched itself across my face, "Echizen Ryoma, you will get up this instant, or I will ensure breakfast is served American for the next six months."

Like a charm, one bleary-eyed Ryoma bolted upward with a cry of, "Yadda!" As he regained his awareness, he turned burning eyes at me and glared daggers so hot I could almost feel the heat of his ire through the invincible shield of my smile. He gruffly shuffled back into his seat and scowled, "That wasn't very funny."

"I beg to differ," I decreed with an even wider grin, tilting my head towards the window, "But we are here."

"Oh?" Ryoma peered at me through his lashes then pulled up the shield on the plane's window. Just then, the entire aircraft shifted on its side, sloping downward in circular motion, and we caught a fantastical view of Tokyo. Ryoma's face softened into a rare smile, and I instinctively snapped a photo while he murmured, "Tadaima, ne? Syuusuke."

Opening my eyes, I cast a glance over his shoulder and smiled, "Hai." As much as we had grown in the Americas, Japan would always be home for the both of us. We sat like so, he peering out the window with child-like awe and me perched over his shoulder, even while the intercom buzzed with life once again, and even after the plane had long since landed and the other passengers were already unlatching their belts and gathering their things. Brushing my lips against his cheek, I rose to my feet slowly and stretched, "Come, Nanjirou-san must be tired of waiting."

"Why bother with the –san?" Ryoma frowned but turned to follow without argument, "Baka-Oyaji is baka, and okaa-san already told you not to."

"Mah, mah, Ryo-kun, Nanjirou-san is still your papa. You should be nicer to him," I replied cheerfully and collected the tennis bags we had stored beneath our seats—we'd never trust them elsewhere than directly on us—then led the way to the front.

"Yadda," Ryoma refuted obstinately, "He's the one that forced me to go to Seigaku in the first place." His arms snaked around my waist, and he rested his chin atop my head, forcing me forward in a stumble then back again, "If it weren't for you, he'd be locked out of the house. He should be grateful for my generosity."

Laughing, I reached up to pet his head then patted his arm, "Now you sound like you're taking lessons from Atobe-san, Ryo-kun." Ryoma choked vividly behind me, and I turned to chuckle at the expression on his face. "He should be grateful for my generosity," I repeated teasingly, "All you need is the 'ore-sama', a beauty mark, and the hair flip."

"Gah, you're disgusting, Syuusuke," Ryoma blanched miserably as he let me go and slunk after me in the direction of the exit.

No sooner had we stepped out than I heard a faint, though familiar, call, "Ryoma! Syuusuke!"

I looked up to see Rinko and Nanjirou standing a little off to the side. As always, Nanjirou was slouched against one of the pillars reading a book with his arm crossed partially into his robe and scratching absentmindedly at his stomach. Rinko was shaking her head beside him and was just removing her hand from his ear, no doubt having been about to give a scolding, but now she was looking at us and had obviously been the one to call our names.

"Rinko-san," I smiled, changing directions to intercept her, "How are you?"

"Glad to have you back with us," she smiled in reply, hugging me first then drawing her far more reluctant son into a hug topped with a kiss to the cheek. Then she turned a stern eye back on my face, "How many times now have I told you what to call me? You may as well be our son-in-law with how well you look after this wayward child of mine."

Scratching my cheek, I ignored Ryoma's garbled 'I told you so' from against his mother's shoulder and smiled sheepishly, "Ryo-kun can be a handful but his sleeping face is cute enough to make up for it, kaa-san."

Rinko beamed in my direction so radiantly that I had to lift my book to hide my face from its brilliance. She really was far too nice, and way too invested in making me officially an Echizen, or Takeuchi as the case may be. "Come on, boys," she said with a laugh in her voice and eyes, "Nanako and her fiancé have been up since dawn whipping up a feast for you."


I took a glance around the table that afternoon, seeing that most of us had finished, and set my utensils down. Ryoma and I shared a glance over the tabletop and I nodded sharply. He cleared his throat and all eyes fell upon his person, "We have decided on Rikkai Dai."

Slapping a hand to my forehead, I restrained both laughter and agitation at his blunt statement. The incredulous expression on Nanjirou's face had the internal battle tip more towards amusement, however, and I lifted my head with a placating smile in place. "We have considered our options," I said quietly, turning their attention away from their stoic-faced son, "and decided that it would be more beneficial to our long term plans if we entered Rikkai Dai and gained a few allies. Because of our falling out with Seigaku, we will most likely have to take this slow, but considering it was the Rikkai Dai captain that Ryoma won the nationals from, we have a greater chance of success there than elsewhere."

The patriarch and matriarch of the Echizen family studied our faces for a moment then cast a single, meaningful look at the other, sharing more than a wealth of knowledge in that glance. Nanjirou shrugged off the tension in the air and pulled out his newspaper, though we all knew what was behind it, "If that's what the seishōnen wants."

Rinko immediately snatched the newspaper from her husband, plucking out his favorite magazine from between its folds and returned the paper to him with a tight-lipped, closed-eyed smile that was somehow several times more terrifying than mine could ever hope to be, "Anata, there will be no perverseness at the dinner table." Then, turning towards her son and I, she gave a weak smile, "Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

I looked at Ryoma then back and nodded resolutely, "Hai."

"Very well," her smile strengthened and she sat up a bit straighter, "I shall speak with Shiori about looking after you while you are there." At the look on my face, she shook her head with a fond chuckle, "Truthfully, we had predicted as such. We purchased a four bedroom house in Kanagawa a few weeks ago." Focusing her eyes on me, she paused for a moment then dipped her head in a bow, "We shall entrust you with Ryoma once again, Syuusuke."

Ryoma suddenly stood, "If you'll excuse me." He vanished up the stairs without giving any of us a chance to reply and I narrowed my eyes at his escape.

I offered an apologetic look towards Nanako and her, thus far, silent fiancé then stood to follow, "Thank you for dinner. I'll go see what's the matter with him."

Before I could reach the stairs, Rinko called, "Syuusuke?" I paused and turned to look her. She smiled, "Arigatō, Syuusuke, you do far more than you need to. Look after him for us."

Smiling, I nodded at her and continued up the stairs. Ryoma stood leaning against his bedroom door, poised in wait as though he'd known I would be on his heels, and his arms were crossed over his chest as he watched Karupin weaving between his legs. "So, Rikkai Dai it is," he said slowly, almost as though speaking to himself, then he lifted his gaze to mine and raised a brow expectantly.

"Hai," I breathed in reply to the uninflected question, "Starting Monday. Ready to call Yukimure-san 'buchou'?"

"Never," Ryoma snorted a laugh and reached out to me with large, warm hands. Pulling me in towards him, his other hand vanished behind his back to open the door. We tumbled through, though he managed to close the door behind us, and onto the bed side by side. "You're all I need, Syuu," he whispered thickly just below my ear, a hot tongue tracing the goosebumps his breath had formed against my skin, "Everyone else can go hang for all I care. You and Karupin are all I'll ever need."

I shifted onto my side and buried a hand in his hair, caressing his face and head with care, "Don't say that, Ryo-koi," I shifted closer until my head rested against his shoulder and eased into the familiar sensation that was our bodies next to one another, "Just because they turned out rotten doesn't mean everyone will. At least try?"

"Hn," Ryoma grunted rather than offer a solid reply, and instead replaced his tongue with teeth and even hotter lips, no doubt coloring the skin of my throat a dark purplish rose. "Mine," he muttered against the mark almost too low for me to catch, the word itself warming the cooling skin with scorching possession, and I curved inward around him.

It were times like this, when he felt the overpowering need to reassert himself and his position in my life, that it truly sucker punched me in that gut that someone had irrevocably broken this child. It made his passion cooler, his sadness weaker, his happiness bleaker, his touches warmer; it turned his faith in people to ash and his capacity for trust to dust.

Sitting up, I pulled off my shirt then rolled until I lay atop him, hands reaching down and between us to pull at the hem of his. He wordlessly lifted his arms to assist in its removal, then rested his hands against the small of my back, fingers tracing the deep scars there. Shaking my head, I tugged his arms down to rest on the bed and lowered myself to lay sprawled over him, arms stretching out over his own.

My hands ran over his arms, particularly the left, until the brutal scar tissue brushed against my fingertips. Pressing my face into his collarbone, I felt the burn surge through my blood, but my eyes burned hotter.

Despite the evidence flowing against his neck, I made the valiant attempt to keep my breath steady and silent. He slipped his arms under my own and encased me in them, one hand reaching up to rest against my hair. "Shh," he crowed softly and cradled me there as though I were the one in need of drastic repair.

And there, with his hands against my scars and the kind (searing hot) and soothing (burning, burning) sound of his voice in my ear, the scales of despair fully fell away from my eyes and overflowed onto his neck and shoulder, soaking down into the pillow beneath us.

He once told me that he would not cry—that he couldn't, that there was something shattered deep within. "Don't cry," said he so many months, years ago, and I'd lifted my hand to my face, feeling tears I'd never noticed had been flowing. "This is just how it is."

"These tears are yours," I remember relaying, smile deep but sad, "Everything I am is yours."

Now, he pressed his lips to my temple and ran his hands against feverish skin, silent in the wake of their necessity. Just like now, he'd taken me awkwardly into his arms and we'd laid side by side, the tears of his heart cascading from my face.

Closing my eyes fully, I gripped the sheets tight in hand and cast upward a wish, "Ease his weight, let me share this pain."

Sometimes, only sometimes, two very shattered, very unlikely people can make up a single whole. Sometimes, all it takes is being so broken you can't stand on your own for love to bind two people together.

Ryoma and I, we weren't in love with each other. We didn't feel the desperate desire to hold each other every minute of every day, but we were lovers. Lovers bound by dysfunction and the soul.


~ Betwixted and Bewitched

This is just a preliminary. It can technically stand on it's own (hence it is a completed one shot), but there is a large possibility of me expanding it. There would be two large arcs to consider, if I choose to expand, and the first would begin at the (non-conventional) "betrayal" and continue up until this point; the second would then start just after this one shot, and continue through until the "plan" is done. Just a thought, however, and it may not happen at all, but it is on my mind!