Disclaimer: Tennis no Oujisama does not belong to me. That much should be obvious enough.

AN: Just so no one's too confused, the story switches betweenTezuka and Ryoma's POV. The last sectionis written inthird person.

"Buchou."

The voice was barely a whisper, breathed through lips as a sigh, but I heard it, and it froze me in my tracks. I heard it very clearly, albeit the busy, noisy streets that was my current location. It was a voice I had not heard for many, many years, a voice I had not ever expected to hear again. But, this can't be, can it? Am I simply hallucinating? How could I have heard such an inaudible word, a title I had not been addressed as in so long, amidst the crowded, city environment that surrounded me? Theoretically speaking, such a feat was not one that I, merely a normal man in his mid-twenties, on his way to work, could possibly have accomplished. Right?

"Buchou."

There. There it was again. A little louder this time. I debated briefly with myself as to whether or not I should turn around, but that soon passed. After all, I had already stopped, had I not? Calmly looking over my shoulder, I was confronted by a young man with opaque, golden eyes that glimmered in the morning light, eyes that intently fixed their gaze upon me, mesmerizing, trapping me. People rushed by us, but that went unnoticed. All I saw was that pair of eyes, full of life, full of spirit, full of determination.

I felt my throat go dry. It really is him. There was not doubt about it. Although more mature and obviously taller, the dark green hair, the face, the way he poised himself, even that cap he always wore, it was the same as before. Not even in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined to meet him again, especially not so casually, and with such coincidence, as passing pedestrians on the same street. Though shocked, my face retained its usual calm, perhaps out of habit. I gave my acknowledgement of the situation with a brief decline of my head. "Echizen."

Those huge, golden brown eyes continued to stare at me. "Buchou," the young man repeated once again in a breathy tone, as if to reassure himself that the man in front of him was truly the same as the man he thought it was. For the first time, I noticed the hint of bewilderment his voice contained, and I saw clearly the shocked expression on his face, those eyes opened at their widest, his lips slightly parted, his body frozen stiff. Then, as if an epiphany had suddenly dawned upon the younger man, his posture relaxed and his lips slowly curved up into the familiar smirk he had always worn in the past, as he said, "It's been a while, neh, Buchou?"

-----

I had never expected to meet him here, at least, not like this. My vision of the two of us meeting again was on a tennis court, facing each other on opposite sides, staring intently at each other over the net that divided us. Not in my wildest dreams had I imagined that I'd be seeing him again, after all these years, in a place like this, in a circumstance quite like the one we were currently in.After leaving Japan to pursue my pro-tennis career, I had never forgotten him. No, he had never left my thoughts. Each day, after every match, I'd think about him, see his face so clearly. He was still my goal, remained my inspiration. I had always assumed that when we parted at the airport, our paths would cross again. And very soon. In the years that followed, I kept my eyes peeled in the tennis community and any tennis related news for one Tezuka Kunimitsu from Japan. Even though as year after year passed and I had still not seen, or even caught of whisper of his name, I still believed. My hopes did not die.

I expected him to follow me, and join the world of tennis as a pro. I wanted him to go down the path I had taken, chasing me. I desperately wished to play him again, only this time, in front of millions, for all the world to see. That was what I had taken for granted what the future would hold. That delusion had been planted so firmly into my mind, and even after it was painfully obvious that the future had planned something entirely different, that our paths would never cross again in tennis, I couldn't let it go. I refused. Denying fate is a futile practice, but I'm sure one can imagine how hard it is to discard what had always come naturally as indisputable fact, as a mere fantasy. But no matter how long and how hard I waited, he never came. Tezuka Kunimitsu was a name unheard of in the pro-tennis world.

I had been in Japan for almost a week, and had traveled to many major cities, seeking the name of Tezuka Kunimitsu. My search was in vain. Today as the last day, before my busy schedule would force me to return. This trip in itself did not come easily. And after five grueling days of searching, I had come up empty handed. I had even toyed with the thought that he had died, but quickly dismissed that. I didn't want to see his corpse; I wanted to see him, walking, talking, alive.

Thus, when that auburn hair, glinting in the morning light, coincidentally flashed across my eyes, I didn't know whether to run after it, or run the other way. Was it really him? Was I merely imagining the whole ordeal? Was my mind playing tricks on me, just as I was about to give up? I had returned to Japan to look for him, if just to find out how destiny spun his life. I didn't want to meet him in person. After all, he had failed me. What he never did, never went on to accomplish, crushed me, spirit and soul. I came back with the intention of finding out whether or not he had abandoned tennis altogether. I promised myself that if the Tezuka Kunimitsu that I had known no longer occupied his body, I would give up. I came back with hopes of forgetting him, wiping him and my memories of him from my life.

I had started after him by instinct, and unconsciously, as if on reflex, I breathed his name. It came out as barely a whisper, inaudible even to my own ears. "Buchou."

Then, miraculously, he stopped. Had he heard? But that was not possible, was it? After all, the noise of the busy, morning streets couldn't possibly allowed such an inaudible whisper to reach his ears. But nevertheless, he stopped, and that was all that mattered at the moment. Was it merely another bizarre coincidence? I had to find out. Forcing my drying throat to vibrate, I repeated it, a little louder, but not by much. "Buchou."

And then, he began to turn around. I stopped, frozen, scared, fearing that the face that would soon confront me would be a stranger's, and not his. Perhaps the gods pitied me, perhaps luck and chance at last decided to be on my side, but whatever the reason, I experienced a miracle. It's really him. The calm, stoic look on his face when he turned to look at me contained not a hint of surprise or shock. And with a brief nod, he said my name, just as he had thousands of times before. "Echizen."

The fear, the relief, the bewilderment that my face so plainly displayed, I was sure that he noticed all of them from behind his crystal clear spectacles. My voice, for a moment, was caught in my throat. I had always had extreme self control over my body, and my belief in that was probably how I was able to relax. After all, he was staring at me with those sharp eyes of his, obviously expecting some kind of response on my part. I thought about moments we've shared in the past, his impenetrable personality, that unshakeable stern look, his commanding aura, and I couldn't help but smile and utter the first words that came to my mind. "It's been a while, neh, Buchou?"

His expression remained the same. "Hn." So he still acted the way he did when I left, as if meeting me today was all part of an everyday routine. However, I could tell that he certainly wasn't the same Tezuka Kunimitsu that excelled in tennis, not the Buchou forever idealized in my mind and heart. He had changed. But that was expected, as time spares no man. Suddenly, I became aware of the time. It was still fairly early in the morning. By the suit he was wearing, which made him look even more mature than when we were still at Seigaku, and the leather binder he carried under his left arm, it wasn't hard to conclude that he were on his way to work, and much to my inner disappointment, definitely nothing tennis related.

Though he did not glance down at his own wrist, and I could tell that he was aware of the time factor as well. There was no need to say much more, really. I had come, I had seen him, and I had, at last, realized that tennis no longer has a part of his life. Though I had secretly, and vainly hoped that perhaps the suit and briefcase were all somehow tennis related, all possibilities were a far stretch. Sighing, I knew it was time to depart. Giving a weak smile, I said, "I really shouldn't detain you any more, Buchou. After all, it's not so early in the morning anymore, and I would hate to be the cause of you showing up to work late." I tugged my cap down further, to cover up my eyes. For some strange reason, my nose began to sting and my eyes felt so full. "Mada mada dane." My throat felt clogged, and my voice was rough, on the verge of cracking. This was inevitable. He had his path to follow, and I had my own. I've held on to that illusion of my own creation for too long, far too long. It was time to let go. "Ja, Buchou."

Turning away from him was not so hard, but taking that first step, the first of many that I knew would only lead me farther and farther from him, widening the growing gap between our worlds more and more, until it could never be bridged, taking that step, took more self control and will power than I felt I could muster. It's not easy watching the once blazing embers of your love for the most important person in your life suffocate and die, leaving you alone and vulnerable to the cold, biting winds of reality.

"Echizen, wait!"

-----

I was thrilled that he still recognized me, that he had called out to me. A small part of me had feared that the memory of my existence had been pushed out of his mind. He had accomplished a lot in the years since his departure, and the one memory of a junior high tennis team captain was of minute importance compared to many other things that he had come to experience. Despite that, he hadn't forgotten. He still remembers.

But he was turning away. He was leaving.

"I really shouldn't detain you any more, Buchou."

He was ready to walk out of my life once again, so casually, just like he did so many years ago.

"After all, it's not so early in the morning anymore, and I would hate to be the cause of you showing up to work late."

He had waltzed in, and was now about to waltz right out, with no regrets, not once looking back, not once glancing over his shoulder to see me still standing there, never noticing the torture that was so plainly displayed in my eyes. No. I can't let him just go like that. Something deep down with my subconscious screamed that if I were to just let him depart again like this, I'd never see him again. Ever. The pain that I felt in my heart the first time he left for Japan would increase ten-fold. Only this time, I knew for a fact that once he left, he would never take another step on Japanese soil for the rest of his life. He wouldn't come back a second time.

"Mada mada dane."

Did I have the strength to suppress and control that unbearable ache and painful premonition of a future without him, a second time? My mind was in a whirlwind of chaos, but the answer that came to me was clear. No. I may look strong and unshakable on the outside, but not when matter came to concerning or even remotely involving him.

"Ja, Buchou."

A goodbye. His manner was unfazed, untouched by this sudden reunion. He just casually tugged at his snow white cap, muttered this goodbye, and prepared to fly away like a passing breeze. My chaotic mind became a blur. He was using that voice of his to dismiss me again. The voice that had fascinated me for so long. The voice I had dreamed of hearing again, but knew that I never would. We were worlds apart now, with nothing in common. I knew that it would be better for it all to end like this, to let go of this foolish obsession deemed love that seemed to posses me. It was a foolish feeling, something that would forever remain unrequited. He was a pro-tennis player, a star, a celebrity, known and recognized as a prodigy among prodigies, with bright hopes and a shining future all laid out, just waiting for him. He had shaken the world off balance with his talent, though that was only the tip of the iceberg. And me, well, I am just one man, one, insignificant man out of millions, who happened to be on his way to work in the morning amidst a bustling city. Unknown. Unimportant.

"Echizen, wait!"

The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. His head whipped back, eyes wide. This time, the shock was apparent. His cat-like eyes were wide and his expression spoke volumes. He aimed thousands of unspoken questions at me with that pair of golden green orbs, demanding an answer. For a few precious seconds, our eyes met.

And then he was gone. I felt my shoulder roughly pushed, and my body was thrown into the tide of morning traffic. Panic overtook me, and though I knew it would be futile to do anything other than go with the flow, something within me urged me to just recklessly bulldoze my way through the crowd, back to him.

After many attempts, I finally was able to separate from the mainstream of people. Being tall did have its advantages. I slowly began my advance back, all the while scanning the crowds for a white cap. A white cap I would never find.

The reality of the world then sunk in. He was gone. I'm a practical person after all. It was better this way, right? Because I cannot let my feelings dictated my actions, and I was clearly late for work as it is. What was I to say to him anyways? That I had quit tennis? That I had failed him, and myself? That I had lost in this game of life, while he went on to soaring heights and achieved greatness? How could I possibly face him? He would never accept the me that I've come to be. The Tezuka Kunimitsu that he wanted to meet—no, the Buchou he wanted to see again—was a thing of the past.

Unknowingly, I had drifted away into an empty niche of the side of a building. My mind was still a daze, and stumbling, my hands found the cool touch of rough concrete and grasped it, as if it were my last lifeline. I slid to my knees, the solid structure becoming my sole support. What was I thinking, calling out to him then? Yes, it would be better this way. We weren't supposed to meet again to begin with. Better to run away now. Better to run than see his accusing eyes rejecting me. To run away and never let him, ever, see this broken, twisted heart of mine.

I am a coward. I turn my eyes to the ground and wished for rain, so that the entire ground would become dotted.

-----

"Echizen-san! What are you doing here? You're plane leaves in two hours!"

Someone was tugging on my arm, drawing me further and further away from him. Someone annoying. Someone like my agent. Someone who's going to get fired soon.

Why do the gods play such cruel tricks? Did they know just how happy I was when he called out my name? Just how thrilled? I had turned, and I had seen him, the mask of his stoic face gone. But for only a few seconds. And then, the people milling around us cut off my vision of him. I hate being short. That was normal, naturally, this being the morning traffic. What was not normal was the jerk on my arm that tugged me away and into the traffic heading in the opposite direction.

"Echizen-san! I've been looking everywhere for you!" were the words I heard as I was dragged along. "You cannot just disappear off like that! It's just so lucky that I was able to find you here! You don't know how long it took me to track you down! Come, we must go!"

For the first few moments I was too stunned to protest, but I quickly regained my senses, and attempted to free myself from her iron hold. "Yadda! Let go!" I had to get back. Back to him.

Completely ignoring my protests, my agent took one swipe and removed my cap, all the while still dragging me along. "You can't throw a tantrum in the middle of the street, you know! And what were you thinking, wearing this?" She waved the white cap in her hand. "What if someone recognized you? What if the press caught you? And you have a match soon! Tennis is your life now, and you'd better remember that, because—" She then abruptly stopped in her tracks, her grip on my wrist tightening. Turning around and giving me a meaningful look, she state with almost a whisper, "That's the life you chose, the life of a pro." A pause. "You have a match tomorrow in the States. I'll meet you at the airport in 45 minutes." With that, she walked away alone, leaving me in the middle of street to contemplate her words.

I stared after her, until I could see her no more through the crowds, before bringing my hand up to my face and letting out a bitter laugh. The life of a pro. She sure knew how to push the right buttons. That was the reason she, of all people, was chosen to be my agent.

The life of a pro. That's the path that I had chosen. It's also the path that he had not. I let a sad smile spread across my face. That's right. The only connection we had, tennis, was there no longer. And I knew he would never acknowledge me, acknowledge these feelings of mine that should not be, feelings that extended beyond what was between a normal kouhai and his buchou. I sighed. She was right. My life is tennis. For as long as I am a pro, tennis is all that I should have, all that I should ever need.

I found myself walking back towards the direction where I had come. I wanted to hope against all hope. I wanted to make one last stand against fate. All I saw, when I returned to that place of our accidental meeting, was a sea of strangers. So, that was our final meeting. Final meeting. Those words stung, but I had long prepared myself for this moment. Rehearsed this final heartbreak thousands of times in the past. Better to walk away now. Better that I was given this option, than to face the rejection that I knew would come. We were of two different worlds now. What was I to say to him? How could I possibly answer any of his questions without breaking under his stare? Would I be able to withstand the impact of just seeing him and hearing his voice again? No, it was so much simpler to deny reality, to live in delusions, to walk away from the painful truth.

I found a wall and leaned against it, my body feeling heavy and sapped of energy. I closed my eyes and turned my head towards the sky, wishing for rain, rain to wash my face.

-----

The sun slowly rose over this typical city in Japan. People rushed left and right, all scurrying to get to their various destinations as soon as possible, not noticing that the sun's rays shined orange and lavender, nor that a sign on a particular store window was starting to peel off. They took no care of the towering buildings that surrounded them, nor of the many other people that they shared the street with. No, the people didn't take notice any such details, or of anything at all, save getting to their destination, for all these things they took for granted. It was a normal day, and such were normal occurrences.

Naturally, no one saw the bespectacled young man in his mid-twenties that crouched against a nichel of a store like any other, his leather binder forgotten at his feet, his forehead leaning against the concrete wall, his arms positioned at both sides, as if in support. No one saw that the ground beneath him was speckled with small, dark drops. And of course, no one took any care of the young boy with dark-green hair leaning against the side of a building like any other, his head turned towards the heavens, eyes closed, arms hanging limply by his sides. And naturally, no one gave any thought to the faint streaks of salt that marred his cheeks.

Yes, it was another, normal day.

Finally, done! This took a long time, since I kept on changing my mind about what to put in it. Ah, the numerous rewrites. Anyways, because it was spread out over such a long period of time, I hope the breaks in the flow of the story aren't too obvious. Hopefully my tense-shifting wasn't too distracting either since I'm too lazy to really proofread. I write way too much angst in my opinion…but then again, love stories are not meant to have happy endings. gets stoned, feathered, and tarred Originally, this was suppose to have just be platonic…but somehow, it ended up like this. Sorry if it's OOC and…well, horribly written and without a happy ending to boot, but that's how the real world works, neh? Thoughts? Comments? Review? Burn me at stake? (preferably any of the first three, if it would not be too much trouble to you)