by Kira
Time felt eternal when he was young.
When he was young, Momoshiro thought the school year could never end, the tennis championship games would never come, and the clock hands would never reach four and the bell for dismissal would never ring. The days passed slowly, despite whatever filled them and seemed to make them fade quickly. Not even tennis matches, trips to the street courts, daily visits to the burger shop, or the occasional cat running amok through the school could make time pass for him. Sometimes, he felt like he was trapped in one moment of time, and everything was moving, but he was never changing. Sometimes he longed for things to be different.
In those days, Momo thought he knew what he wanted from life. He had plotted everything, his entire junior high career, his high school career, and where he would be going to college. He knew what he wanted, and when he was young, it felt like nothing could stand in his way.
He thought he knew what he wanted in Echizen Ryoma.
His plans, his map of the future, all of it changed when Echizen Ryoma came to Seishun Gakuen. He had thought he would go through school, college, and become a professional tennis player -- or if not at least that, an athlete of some kind; Momoshiro had never been the most adept person at schoolwork and really never thought himself good enough for anything but athletics. And for the most part, that remained true, even when Echizen Ryoma entered his life.
He was young then, and time was eternal. Anything was possible.
The former regulars moved on to high school, leaving behind the three remaining team members of Seigaku, and still nothing changed. He played on the tennis team for his last year in junior high, and as vice-captain, almost lead the team to a second victory at nationals. Echizen became captain when he and Kaidou graduated and joined the other regulars at the high school level, and then, things might have changed. And it might have been better if they had.
But nothing changed. Echizen went to one school, and Momoshiro went to another -- but they still saw each other, almost daily. Whether it was burgers or street tennis, the separation of schools did nothing to damage their relationship.
When Ryoma came to high school, everything felt like it had once before; they were all together again. But it was in high school Momo came to realize that time was no eternal after all, and as the months passed by like days and they watched as the older former regulars of the Seishun Gakuen tennis teams were accepted into colleges, he realized that nothing was as carefree and simple as it had been in junior high.
Nothing was as simple as tennis.
But Momo still knew what he wanted from life. He wanted to go to college, he wanted to play tennis, and he knew he was glad when Echizen was there with him. It was enough. That a relationship grew between them really seemed the natural progression of things, as Momo was fond of declaring. The statement would always earn him a roll of eyes from Ryoma, but that small inkling of a genuine smile that Momoshiro had always felt could melt his knees.
Time began to feel eternal for him again, but even that could eventually shatter. Life was simple; he thought he had it under control and knew what he was doing. He was going to college, he and Echizen were okay, they had always been okay, and he played tennis. It was all he wanted.
But it didn't last.
"I can't do this."
The declaration threw him off guard; sprawled on the living room floor of the pathetic apartment he had been able to scrape together enough money for, books all around him and papers scattered everywhere, he stared blankly at Ryoma. He knew what it meant -- he had felt it coming -- but still he smiled, a disarming, no worries smile, and cracked his usual jokes.
"What, your homework?" Momo asked.
"This," Ryoma answered. 'This' encompassed everything; Momo did not need to ask what it was. He already knew.
He sat up, reaching a hand back to rub at the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had picked up somewhere over the years. His hair was getting long again, he noted absently; well overdue for a trim.
"What did I do?"
"Nothing." He thought it was the truth and was glad when Ryoma did not tack on the cliché, 'it's not you, it's me.' Both of them knew better than that. Echizen had never been one for false apologies, anyway, and Momoshiro had never been one to take them.
He had known. He did not feel blindsided by the statement, only somewhat resigned. It had been happening for so long now, the gradual change, Ryoma shifting further and further away from him, he was well prepared. But a part of him, a small part, had always hoped the day would never come. Maybe, he thought, they could go on pretending, and maybe someday, Ryoma would feel the same he had once again.
He was fooling himself, but it was easier to take that way. It made the pain numb instead of throbbing.
"Okay," he said softly.
He promised he would be okay, but when Ryoma walked out the door that day, nothing was okay at all.
They tried to be friends. Momo would smile and pretend everything was okay, and it did work, for at least a few months. But when it started to hurt when he smiled and pretending only made the pain more raw and real, it became too strained for both of them. He saw Ryoma less and less, until he saw him only once in a rare moon, and then none at all. All he ever heard of Ryoma was through the grapevine.
'Echizen is doing okay,' Eiji would say absently over an afternoon lunch. 'He's graduating from high school soon, you know.' And Momo could make himself smile and nod, but then the conversation would move on. Oishi once asked him if it bothered him when Eiji brought up Ryoma, declaring he could ask his partner to stop if it became too hard. Momo only shook his head and said it didn't bother him. Knowing Ryoma was okay did not make him feel better, but it relieved some of the strain he felt.
Those months were slow. He played tennis less, and the grades he tried so hard to achieve began to sink low. His mother called often wondering if he was sick and if there was anything she could do to help, and his sisters called even more often, to babble about whatever they could in a vain effort to cheer him up. Even his professors began to become worried and allowed him to slip by on a few exams that would have ultimately failed him.
The feelings never completely faded, but sometimes he felt okay. Sometimes, he felt like the same person again, but never completely whole.
It couldn't last.
With Ryoma, Momoshiro had always known what he wanted.
With Atobe Keigo, he never knew what he wanted.
He had always thought it funny, after so many years, he could still come back to the street tennis courts and recognize someone. It became a sort of refuge for him, somewhere he could escape to when the real world started beating him down. Usually, he could find Tachibana Ann there.
"Momoshiro-kun!"
She jumped down from the stands, waving enthusiastically as she came running toward him. Even he had to admit she had aged beautifully. She had grown out her caramel hair, now falling almost to the small of her back, and it suited her somehow. The bright smile was still the same, and the chiding and scolding she gave him was, too, but she was different. More elegant and refined, he might have said... if he were the type of person for eloquent words. She definitely gained eyes, that was certain, and to the supreme displeasure of Kamio.
Ann had once admitted to him, well after junior high when both were in high school, that she had liked him. Only a tiny bit, she had quickly amended, but that she felt bad because she had always felt she had used him as a device to make Kamio jealous. Momo had only laughed; it damn well had worked, and well enough that Kamio had eventually grown a spine and now had a two-year strong relationship to thank for his sudden courage.
"How are you?" Ann asked. She always asked how he was. She always worried. When Ryoma left, she went out of her way to drag him to the street tennis courts or to do anything at all, as long as she could force him into a smile. She had decided a long time ago that Momo was her personal pet project.
"Good," Momo answered, and it was mostly the truth. He had never been able to lie to Ann. Few men could.
"Are you up for a game?"
He glanced at the near empty courts. It would probably do him good.
"Sure," he replied, grinning. "If you're ready to get beaten down, little girl." He bopped the top of her head lightly with his racket as he passed. If Kamio were there, he could have expected to have his face in the pavement two seconds later.
Playing tennis made him forget. It was almost therapeutic, in a way. It was good for him, to come to street tennis and play a game or two and forget about everything. Classes, homework, struggling to make ends meet... and most of all, he was able to forget about Ryoma.
Kamio joined them later in the afternoon (Momo teased them both mercilessly about the welcoming peck on the cheek Ann gave him) and played a game with Momoshiro. It was when dusk was beginning to settle and they were all preparing to part ways that the last person Momo expected to see appeared.
"I had no idea people actually still came here." The same arrogant, lazy drawl that Momo remembered. Atobe Keigo always spoke in a way that declared to the world that it and its people were wasting his time, and he considered it a great duty to all of mankind that he even graced any of them with his magnanimous presence. It was also a voice that had Momo's fingers twitching to drive a fist across his all too perfect face.
"I had no idea you had descended from high to mingle with the peasants," Momo replied.
Atobe glanced at him, as though noticing him for the first time. "Oh, you. Momoshiro Takeshi, isn't it?"
"I'm surprised you remember." And he was, but he did not show it. He had never thought himself high enough in Atobe's regard to be remembered beyond a fleeting meeting; that had been so long ago, anyway. One brief match they had played and Atobe had asked for his name, but that was all.
"I don't often forget," Atobe replied, as though it should have been obvious and it was an insult to his very being that he might have forgotten over the years.
"I thought he was going to school in Germany," Kamio muttered. "What the hell is he doing here?"
Momo shrugged. It was none of his business, and really, he hardly cared.
Atobe glanced around the courts, seemingly bored with the whole scene. He sighed, a long, suffering sigh, and then looked back at Momo.
"So. A match."
It caught him off guard. Momo stared blankly at him a moment before slowly blinking. "You want to play a match with me?"
"That is what you come here for, isn't it? So let's play."
Momo was good at tennis. He had excelled over the years to become an even greater player than he had been in his junior high days, but he knew he was no where near the level of ability Atobe played at. Why then, he wondered, would someone who played so well want to match up with someone so meager?
But he didn't ask. He only shrugged, took his racket from Ann, and went onto the court.
The match lasted well until dusk had completely settled over them and the street lights were beginning to come on. Atobe was good, but Momo was determined, and he matched each and every stroke with his own. It was not enough to win, but it was enough that at the end, beads of perspiration dotting their faces, hair stuck to their skin, that Atobe crossed the court and clasped hands with him.
When he walked away that day, Momo doubted he would ever see him again.
Momoshiro had once declared to Ryoma that fate was an old, fat god vaguely resembling a rolly polly that greatly enjoyed screwing with people. Ryoma had rolled his eyes at him, the same as he always did, but agreed that fate had to be laughing at all of them sometimes.
Fate had a riot with Momoshiro Takeshi.
He did see Atobe again. Not once or twice or even a few occasional times; he seemed to always be running into him one way or another. The run ins were mostly cordial, Atobe seeming mostly disinterested as he always was, and Momo waiting for the nearest opportunity he had to escape.
When he learned that Atobe was attending classes at his college, two of which they shared, Momo decided that fate really did have something against him.
He had never thought twice about Atobe Keigo. For him, Atobe Keigo was the egotistical captain of the Hyotei tennis team, a person he had once 'played' a tennis match against once in another life, and even that point was to be debated when Atobe had only sat and barked orders to Kabaji. He was the person that Tezuka had played against and lost to in regionals, and a person that was not to be underestimated.
Momo thought him egotistical, arrogant, stuck-up, and two-faced.
Why then he found himself spending more and more time with him, he was never able to figure out.
It was gradual. Sometimes walking to his classes, Momo would see Atobe doing the same; he later learned that Atobe was attending classes at various colleges across the area to take several different courses with who he considered the finer professors. Sometimes he would run into him at one of the cafes near the college, picking up something for breakfast. They once even sat together over coffee before departing to go to their own separate classes.
When he would leave class, if Atobe knew he was going to the street tennis courts to meet up with Kamio and Ann, he would sometimes come with him. He always annihilated all of the competition, and Momo could not help but wonder how boring it had to be for him, playing against people so unevenly matched against him. But he never did ask.
At some point, Momo still thought him egotistical, arrogant, stuck-up, and two-faced... but to a somewhat lesser extent.
But what the strangest thing of all was, Momo soon realized, was that when he was with Atobe... he never thought of Ryoma.
"Momoshiro."
There was no one else would called him so formally by name. Crumbling up the wrapper from his hamburger and tossing it into the nearest wastebasket, Momo turned slightly to face him. Winter had come early in the year, and Atobe was well-dressed to ward away the cold, hands pressed into the pockets of his overcoat and a red scarf wrapped around his neck. Momo caught a few girls on the sidewalk turning around as he passed to get a second glance and had to grin; Atobe did not notice even a single one of them.
"What's up?"
"What are you doing tonight?"
Momo thought about it. "Sleeping," he answered. "Then homework. And more sleeping. Why?"
Atobe sighed. Momo had come to learn that when Atobe sighed, it was never a matter of being depressed or some intense, horrible sadness, he only sighed when he was frustrated or completely unimpressed with something happening around him. It was always the same long, suffering sigh, and if it were translated to words, Momo was sure it would say, 'why must I be subjected to these ... people?'
"I was invited to some... Christmas party. Of a sort... and told to bring someone."
Momo started walking, reaching into the pocket of his jacket to pull out his gloves. "And you instantly thought of me. I'm flattered." Atobe fell into step alongside him.
"I somehow doubted that you would be doing anything very spectacular for Christmas," Atobe replied, as though Momo should very well be flattered by his offer, and weeping at his generosity. The same as Atobe always seemed to think that the world was there only to do his bidding and he was mortally suffering to be a part of it, he also thought that everyone should be in awe of him. Momo never gave him that luxury.
And maybe that was why Atobe always came back to him.
"I'm going home," Momo said. "Aren't you?"
"My parents decided to take an impromptu trip to Bermuda for the holidays," Atobe replied. Something about the way he said it made Momo doubt that even if his parents were near for the holidays, he would have stayed with them.
But what he replied was a bland, unsympathetic, "Tragic."
"Come with me."
It was a request.
Momo supposed, as he reflected later, it was because it was a request, not one of his usual commands, that he did agree to go.
He was only somewhat surprised when they arrived and found that the hosts of the impromptu holiday get-together were Ohtori Choutarou and Shishido Ryo, both former players on the Hyotei tennis team, and the latter of the two not nearly as pleased as the former about the festivities.
"Atobe!" Ohtori exclaimed, surprised. "I didn't think you would come."
"I hadn't intended to," Atobe replied, relinquishing his jacket to Shishido, who took it with a scowl and, from what Momo could see, threw it on the floor in the room adjacent to the hall.
It was a spacious apartment, far larger than his own, and decorated from ceiling to floor in Christmas decorations. Christmas, it seemed, was a very big deal to Ohtori, and Shishido was willing to do anything to make him happy. Or so Momo was able to gather in a few brief moments of seeing the two interact together.
"This is Momoshiro Takeshi." Atobe introduced them almost absently. Momo spared him the glare he wanted to give him and instead offered a smile to Ohtori and Shishido. They had changed since had had last seen them; it had to have been more than a few years. Shishido, who had always been short, had put on a few inches, but he would never be able to look Ohtori squarely between the eyes.
"Hey," Momo said, and he offered a feeble wave, feeling somewhat awkward. But after brief second of surprise as Ohtori recognized him and processed who he was, his face lit up into a bright smile.
"Thank you for coming. Come on inside."
Momo was relieved to learn that Ohtori had only invited the former Hyotei regulars, rather than the entirety of the former club. The remainder of the party guests seemed to be people Ohtori knew from school -- he was attending law school, studying to become a lawyer like his father -- and the remainder of those guests were those Shishido knew. Shishido, it seemed, had never had much of a liking for school. By some prodding of Ohtori, he had agreed to attend a few classes, but he seemed to be far more interested in training to play tennis on a professional circuit.
All of this Atobe informed him as he sipped champagne, his voice soft, but still clear over the loud group. The two stood back from most of the proceedings, pressed against a wall, and speaking quietly.
Gakuto, Atobe declared, gesturing to the young man mingling with the group and seeming to be a bit more tipsy than others, had 'squandered' his family's money and decided to become a bungee jumping instructor. It made little money, Atobe added, as though it were really that important, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy doing it. He was still attempting to convince Ohtori and Shishido to give it a try, and each time he did, Ohtori would smile a sort of queasy smile, and Shishido promptly turned green.
Momo spent the night pressed against the wall with Atobe, listening to him talk about his former teammates and what all of them were doing with their lives. He spoke with disinterest, but sometimes, when Momo glanced over at him and Atobe did not know he was looking, he thought he saw the inklings of a smile. Atobe did care about them; they were, Momo thought, the only people he could consider friends.
As the evening wore on, Gakuto and Shishido seemed to be in a contest of who could be drunker faster, and Shishido won with the full victory of, slurring his words, declaring that there was mistletoe above the kitchen door, and proceeding to grab Ohtori and plant a kiss on him. Ohtori really did not seem to mind as much as he pretended to.
It made Momo think of Ryoma, and he promptly decided he needed more champagne.
He and Atobe were a few of the last to leave the party late into the evening, well past midnight, and well past tipsy into buzzed for Momo. But as they walked through the cold, feet crunching in the freshly fallen snow and breath coming out in chilled puffs, he began to sober up.
And when he sobered up, he thought of Ryoma more.
"Atobe."
"Mm?"
"Why do you play tennis at the street courts?"
He caught Atobe off guard with the question. It was only there a moment, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, and then gone again. But Momo still felt a strange sense of satisfaction for being able to gain a reaction from Atobe Keigo.
"What I mean is... you never have much of a challenge," Momo continued. "Don't you get bored?"
Atobe shrugged. "Sometimes."
"Then... why?"
He was quiet a moment, and Momo thought that maybe he had passed over some unseen boundary.
"Tennis," Atobe said finally, "is not something my parents consider a greater priority."
Atobe admitted to Momoshiro that the only thing he had ever truly enjoyed was tennis. It was simple, he said. Tennis was not grades, it was no educational achievements, it was not Greek or German or calculus. It was tennis, and no one ever expected him to exceed at it, to be as good as he was. He was the only one who expected himself to be great.
Living up to his own expectations, Atobe said, was easier than living up to anyone else's.
They spent more time together after the Christmas party. Momo supposed, one afternoon having lunch with Oishi and Eiji, he even considered Atobe a friend. Oishi and Eiji had exchanged glances, something unseen passing between them that had Momo wondering what they were saying about him behind his back. Later, when Oishi was paying for lunch, and Eiji and Momo were alone, Eiji whispered to him that they both thought he had changed.
'How?' Momo asked.
'You seem... happier,' Eiji answered. 'But it's good. We've been really worried about you, since... well, Echizen and all...'
When he said that, Momo realized the night of the Christmas party that he had last thought of Ryoma. He did not even know if he was okay. He had not asked, and neither Eiji nor Oishi had told him.
He wanted to ask then, but he stopped himself. He was okay. It had taken so long, but he was finally okay. Nothing was going to ruin that for him.
But if there was one thing Momo had learned, it was that nothing ever lasted. Nothing was ever eternal.
Momo had never prepared himself for the possibility of seeing, much less speaking to Ryoma. After so many months of exchanging not a single word, their last conversation only a few cordial questions, it was the last thing he wanted. To see him again was almost as painful as seeing him walk out the door.
It was only a fleeting glance; if he had not stopped to look, he would have assumed his mind was playing tricks on him and forgotten. Christmas had come and gone, and there was barely any snow at all left on the ground, but it was still cold enough that he wore his jacket and gloves. He had no classes that morning and was spending the time finishing an essay due in his afternoon class, when the coffee maker had suddenly decided it no longer wanted to work and promptly broke down. Deciding he needed a break anyway, he went to the cafe on the nearest street corner to purchase a cup.
He only saw a baseball cap from the corner of his eye as he was walking back. There was nothing remarkable about that, but for some reason, he stopped and looked.
It was Ryoma. He was walking on the other side of the street, a Ponta can in hand, bored with his surroundings. Ryoma was always bored.
He looked... okay. Eiji had promised Momo that he was okay, and for that he was relieved to hear... but to see him and know he was okay... it suddenly made his heart plummet into his stomach.
Ryoma was okay. Momo had hurt for so long, but Ryoma was okay.
Ryoma disappeared around the street corner, and Momo went back to his apartment, walking in an empty, mindless stupor. He had thought he was okay.
But he had also thought that he knew what he wanted and had with Ryoma, and he thought that when he grew up, he was going to be a famous tennis player, and that they could always pretend that things were okay when they really never were. Fooling himself made it easier, but it didn't make it true.
He barely heard the sound of someone knocking on the door. Even when the knocking became louder, he did not bother to get up to answer it. There was silence a moment, and he thought whoever it was had gone away -- but then he heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock and the knob turning.
He should have never told Eiji where he hid the spare key.
Except it wasn't Eiji who opened the door. It was Atobe.
"How did you find the spare?"
"Under the welcome mat?" Atobe tossed the key to the couch. "Very original."
"... oh."
As arrogant and self-absorbed as he could be, it did not take Atobe long to realize something was wrong. "Someone kill your puppy?"
"Something like that," Momo replied dully, noting absently that his coffee had gone completely untouched since he had come home. A perfectly good waste of money, of which he was painfully lacking...
Atobe leaned over to pick up the essay Momo had been working on before settling down on the couch, leaving Momo to wallow where he was on the floor. He had absolutely no intention of getting up again, not unless someone physically dragged him -- and that was probably what it was going to take.
"What happened?" Atobe asked, bored, eyes skimming over the essay. "And I really do hope you don't plan on turning this garbage in."
"I'm not done yet," Momo growled, his voice muffled against the arm he had stretched out over his face.
"Obviously. Answer the question."
"Saw my ex."
"How traumatic."
"Screw you."
Atobe sighed the long, suffering sigh, and Momo was more tempted than he ever had been before to knock him into the wall. He did not expect Atobe to care, much less understand what it meant for him, but some tact could go a long way sometimes. Tact being something Atobe seemed to possess absolutely none of, and so it was only wishful thinking.
"That brat Echizen, right?" Atobe drawled.
"How shocking. You remember."
"Who couldn't? You two were always attached at the hip. Pathetic, really."
"No one explained the whole 'cheering up' thing to you, did they, Atobe?"
Atobe spared him a glance. "Who said anything about cheering up?"
Momo wished he had something to throw at him. He was not sure how much of this he could deal with. He could, at times, match each insult Atobe flung with one of his own, and he could at times even gain the upper hand when he refused to let it go, but now was not one of those times. Tired, exhausted, stressed as he was, he did not have the energy for any of it.
It was like reliving it all over again. Momo didn't know if he could ever do that again.
"Get up," Atobe said, sighing. "You look like a sloth."
"Happy where I am," Momo muttered.
He did not expect what happened next. He did hear the sound of movement and footsteps, and he assumed Atobe was leaving, too disgusted to deal with him. But the sound of the door opening and closing never came. Instead, two hands reached down and, gripping him by the collar of his shirt, jerked him to his feet. His own hands came up, clasping down hard on Atobe's wrists, but it was already out of his control. Atobe pushed him back and against the wall. Momo felt his knee between his legs, the other on his opposite side, and Atobe pressed against him, pinning him in place.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"When was the last time you were laid, Momoshiro?"
His anger was forgotten in the absurdity of the question. "What? H... how the hell is that any of your business?! Get off me!"
"Because," Atobe said, and something about the curve of his lips and the gleam in his eyes worried Momo, "I think it would do you some good."
He pushed back against Atobe, trying to escape from his grip. Though he was taller than him, and by all rights should have been stronger, Atobe had him in his place and the only way he was moving was if Atobe let him go.
"You don't know what's good for me," Momo growled.
"Really?" Atobe asked, inclining his head slightly.
And then he was kissing him, lips pressing against his with enough force that Momo's head struck against the back of the wall and a brief flare of pain washed over him, eyes tightening in a wince. But Atobe still did not let him go, forcing him into the kiss until there was nothing to do but accept it.
When he pulled away, he was smiling a disgusting smirk that Momo longed to clean off his face, preferably using his fist.
But instead of hitting him, he only demanded, "Why in the hell did you do that?"
"You needed it."
"You don't know--"
"Please, not with the 'you don't know what I want.' You want that brat back. But he's not coming back, Momoshiro. You may as well accept what's given to you."
The fight drained out of him at those words. It was what he had always known, but been too afraid to ever admit allowed. It was what Eiji and Oishi had always known, and it was why when they saw him, there was always pity in their eyes.
It was why when he saw Ryoma, he was okay.
Ryoma was not coming back to him, and he had been clinging onto that vain hope that someday, maybe, he would for so long, he had blinded himself to the truth.
Atobe kissed him again, softer now, and this time, Momo opened himself up to him.
With Ryoma, Momo had always knew what he wanted.
With Atobe, Momo never knew what he wanted, and he never knew what it was he had.
Physical aspects had never been that important to him. He and Ryoma had been together, and it had been everything for him, but it was not what their relationship was built upon. It had never seemed that important. When it happened, it was great, but he never felt like he was missing something when it never did.
When it came to Atobe, it was physical from the beginning.
But somehow, it didn't last that way. And Momo chose not to question it, because he had learned that things never did last.
Months passed, and instead of looking down upon him in the way he looked upon everyone, Atobe began to respect him. He treated him like an actual member of the human race, as Momo was fond of teasing him; Atobe would only roll his eyes when he said that and ask what other race could he possibly be part of... aside from, perhaps, an advanced species of ape. At which point Momo would be strained for a witty comeback and settle on hitting him.
But it was not only a mutual feeling of respect. It was also a feeling of trust. Momo had always thought Atobe distant. His arrogance and self-absorbed attitude had always felt to him to be a mask he wore. He learned that some of that was true. Atobe was, at heart, arrogant and absorbed in his own being, but he was still human. He felt other feelings, but not feelings he often shared.
With Momo, he shared more. He spoke more often and freely, about anything at all, and Momo learned more and more about him aside from the egotistical shell.
Maybe a relationship formed. Neither chose to put any labels on what they had, but neither chose to hide anything, either. Time spent with Ohtori and Shishido would earn a raised eyebrow from Shishido and a small look of surprise from Ohtori when either one of them said anything that vaguely resembled what one would say about their partner in a relationship. Eiji and Oishi merely exchanged their inward glances when Momo would join them for their occasional afternoon lunch, Atobe along with him, and neither said anything at all when Atobe would sit with one hand lazily rested on the back of Momo's neck, fingers twining through the short hairs there.
Even not near everyone, things were different. It was small things, but things that Momo noticed, like the way that when they were alone, Atobe would concede to call him 'Momo', but whenever anyone else was around, it was the formal, 'Momoshiro' he called him by. It was the way that Momo found himself waking up Atobe in the morning by running his fingers through his hair. It was the way that somehow, Atobe seemed to have decided that the apartment was just as much his as it was Momo's.
It simply happened, and sometimes Momoshiro thought that if he questioned it, it would jinx everything.
He started to feel like the same person again, and this time, he felt almost completely whole. He was okay, and he knew Ryoma was okay, and maybe.... well, maybe in the end, it would turn out Ryoma had been right all along.
That was what Momo thought.
But the one truth of life was that nothing ever did last.
Of all the Seigaku regulars, it was Fuji who was able to play on the professional level, and it came as no amazing shock to anyone. When Eiji called Momo and asked if he wanted to come to a game Fuji was playing that weekend, he had been happy to accept the offer. It had been a long time since he had last seen Fuji, and Eiji said that most of the other regulars would be there, too. It would be good to see everyone.
"But," Eiji had said pointedly, "when I say everyone, I mean Ochibi, too."
Momo thought he was okay, and so he only laughed and said it would be fine.
Atobe was not willing to miss the opportunity to see for once some decently played tennis outside of the street courts. And, he declared offhandedly, Shishido and Ohtori would be there as Shishido was doing his training there, and likely hoping for a few scouts to be in the spectators stands. Momo just shrugged and grinned. Excuses were excuses.
He had said he would be fine, but when they arrived at the courts, Momo found himself unconsciously looking around for someone wearing a baseball cap, head ducked low and drinking from a can of Ponta. Fingers slipped around his wrist, squeezing gently, and he looked over his shoulder at Atobe.
"What are you looking for?"
"Ah, it's nothing," Momo answered quickly. "Just Eiji and Oishi."
Atobe lifted his free hand and pointed to the stands. "It's somehow difficult to miss the only redhead in the stand that seems to be... standing on his head."
Momo laughed, but the sound was strained. "Right..."
"You're looking for him." Atobe's eyes narrowed slightly. Momo winced.
"Just... nervous. Y'know?"
Atobe's expression softened some, and he released his grip of Momo's wrist to lift his hand and settle gently on the back of his neck, rubbing there soothingly. "You'll be fine."
He said that and Momo thought, just for a moment, that he would be.
They joined Oishi and Eiji in the stands, and when they spotted Ohtori and Shishido in the crowd, waved for them to come as well. It was not long before Inui, Kaidou, and Taka were there as well. The only one missing was Ryoma -- no one expected to see Tezuka anywhere but on the court. His arm had never healed enough to enable him to continue playing, and he had instead taken up management duties for Fuji. None of them doubted he was managing more than just tennis.
Momo bickered with Kaidou, and it made him feel normal for even a moment, almost like it was junior high and high school again, and everything was as simple as tennis.
But when Oishi saw Ryoma and waved him over, nothing felt normal at all.
Ryoma saw as Atobe reached over, taking Momo's hand and giving him a reassuring squeeze. His expression did not change in the least, but Momo thought he saw, just for a moment, a flicker of... something in his eyes. What, he didn't know, but it was something, and unconsciously, his fingers tightened around Atobe's.
It could only be cordial for so long. Eiji and Oishi tried to make conversation light and cheerful, but they gained only one-word responses from Ryoma, and in the end they gave up. Not even the match going on was enough to lift the strain; if anything, it made everything worse.
Inui and Kaidou excused themselves to get drinks, and no doubt smothered in the tension in the air, Taka leapt at the chance to join them. Ryoma watched them go, and Momo watched Ryoma, and Atobe watched him.
Then Ryoma spoke. "So you're sleeping with the monkey king now."
It was enough that no one was able to say anything for several moments, until Eiji finally squeaked, "Ochibi!" and Oishi murmured, "Echizen, please don't..."
Momo didn't know what to say. He only stared at him blankly, taken off his guard by the statement, and the bitterness he heard in it.
"I..."
"Never mind," Ryoma said, standing up. "Excuse me."
"Echizen!" Oishi tried, but he was walking away and had no intention of turning back. Eiji let out an indignant huff, and Momo noted absently that Shishido was mouthing to Ohtori, "Monkey king?"
Fooling himself had always been something Momoshiro was especially adept at. He had fooled himself into thinking that seeing Ryoma would be okay because he was okay, and he had thought that maybe, if he was okay, and Ryoma was okay, the presence of Atobe would not put a strain on everyone.
But that was all stupid. He was just pretending again, and Momo was getting tired of pretending and having everything blow up in his face in the end.
"I'll be back." He stood up, shaking free of the grip Atobe had around his hand. For a moment, he thought maybe he would not let him go, but then his fingers slipped away. Turning around to face him, Atobe offered a shrug.
"Go ahead."
The park surrounding the tennis courts was enormous and finding Ryoma amidst the crowds near impossible. That was, Momo thought dismally, if he was even still in the area. He could have easily already left the park, and then Momo doubted he would see him again.
But when he was about to give it up for gone, he found him. Ryoma sat nestled beneath the shade of a tree, his knees drawn up to his chin, the ponta can he had with him crunched and lying on the grass beside him. Momo knew he heard him approaching, but he did not lift his head.
"Hey..."
"What do you want?"
Momo settled down on the grass across from him. "I don't know. What was that about?"
Ryoma lifted his head very slightly then, his mouth and nose still hidden behind his arm. "Just what I said," he answered dully.
Momo did not know what to say. It was not a question he could answer. It was not even a question that required an answer; it was vindictive and bitter, and they both knew Ryoma had only said because he was upset.
He was upset. Momo sighed. He had really thought Ryoma was okay, Eiji had always said he was doing great, but... Momo knew well about hiding behind smiling masks.
"Why him?" Ryoma whispered.
"If it was anyone, you would still be upset..."
"No." Ryoma lifted his head completely, his eyes hard. "Why him?"
"He..." Why him, Momo wondered? Why, of all the people in the world, was it Atobe? Had someone told him five years ago he would one day find himself in a relationship with Atobe Keigo, he would have laughed hard enough to wake the dead. It was strange, he knew. But life was strange, and fate had a funny way of working.
"It just... happened," he answered softly.
What Ryoma said next had his heart skipping a beat and clenching in his chest.
"I made a mistake."
Momo looked up at him, eyes wide. "What...?"
"I was scared. I... didn't think I could always stay with you, but I... Eiji knows, but I told him not to say anything to you, just to tell you I was okay so you wouldn't worry, and I..."
His voice was cracking. No, Momo thought, don't you start crying.
"I'm sorry."
It was all he had ever wanted to hear. 'I'm sorry. I made a mistake.' For so long, it was the only thing he wanted to hear, and then maybe his life would make sense again. Maybe then everything would be whole again, and he wouldn't feel so much like he was drowning. Months ago, a week ago, maybe then it would mean something to him, but now...
"It's... it's a little late for that, Ryoma..."
"I know."
"How can you do this to me? How can you do this now? I finally started to get my life back together, and now you want to tell me it was a mistake?! What am I supposed to do with that?"
"I don't know." Ryoma pressed his forehead against his arms, refusing to look at him.
"You... can't say that now..."
"Then go."
When Momo walked away that day, Atobe was waiting for him.
Nothing could be as simple as tennis.
Once, Momoshiro had been a student at a school called Seishun Gakuen. He played on the tennis team, and there he had the greatest friends he had ever known. Once, he had known a boy named Echizen Ryoma, whom he had teased endlessly and share burgers in the afternoon with. He was his best friend, and then, everything seemed to make sense.
Then he had grown up, and nothing ever made sense anymore.
When Ryoma said those words, his life turned upside down, and he was in the same place he had been months before. He had no idea where he was going or what he had to do.
And this time, there was Atobe to be dragged down with him.
He tried to make it work. He tried pretending that nothing had changed, and that day had never happened; Ryoma had never apologized and said he had made a mistake. But pretending was exhausting, and it was a lie, and Momo knew he couldn't live on lies anymore.
Atobe knew that, too.
The morning Atobe woke him up and said quietly, 'go to him', he knew he had no choice but to leave.
He knew it would never have lasted.
Ryoma had not yet enrolled into a college, Eiji told Momo when he asked where he could find him, and was still living with his parents. It had been so long since he had been to the Echizen household, Momo felt almost surreal as he stepped through the gate and into the yard. Nothing had changed. There was still the dirt, trodden down tennis court where they used to play tennis, and the bell that he had always heard ringing at the most inappropriate of times. And even Karupin came trotting out to greet him, much older now, but still with endless life in him.
Momo knelt down on one knee and scratched the cat behind his ears. "Hey, where's Ryoma?"
"Why are you here?"
He straightened up. He did not have to look far. Ryoma was standing on the porch, one hand resting on the doorframe. Probably, Momo surmised, he had been sleeping; he was dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt, and his hair seemed to be sticking up in any direction it possibly could.
"Hi to you, too."
He sat down on the porch steps, running a finger along Karupin's back as the cat twined in and out from between his legs, purring contentedly. It had been a long time since he had last seen the cat, he thought absently. There was no reason to when he was not with Ryoma.
"You're not with Atobe."
"Nope," Momo replied. "He told me to come here."
Ryoma slowly settled down on the stoop, putting a fair distance between them. "Why?"
"He's going back to Germany. Being here was only a temporary thing, anyway."
"Oh."
"You said you made a mistake."
Ryoma glanced at him. Momo stood up, Karupin letting out an indignant sound at no longer having his rubbing post, but happily trotting over to Ryoma for his attention. Scuffing his feet along in the dirt, Momo pressed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back.
That it was temporary had been the truth. Atobe said he had come from Germany to take a few classes in Japan and then return to finish the rest of the semester in Germany. He would be back again in the summer, and Momo would see him then -- as friends.
Getting over Atobe was not hard. But Ryoma...
"Getting over you..." Momo murmured. "... I think, it'd be impossible..."
"Why?" Ryoma asked softly.
Momo glanced back at him over his shoulder. Ryoma was able to meet his gaze for only a brief second before he looked away. Momo relaxed into a grin.
"Because I love you."
He should have said it a long time ago. But now, he had all the time in the world to make up for past mistakes. He wasn't going to fool himself anymore. He wouldn't pretend everything was okay. He wasn't going to live on lies anymore.
Slender arms went around his waist, tightening around his stomach, and Ryoma pressed his face against his back. Momo put his hands over Ryoma's.
"I'm sorry," Ryoma said softly, voice muffled against the material of his shirt.
"It's okay now... we're okay."
"I love you."
"I know... I love you, too."
It was the only thing that ever would last.