Title: "Out of Bounds"

Summary: Someone said to him, "Do you have any friends outside of tennis?" It just so happened that he didn't, and it began to gnaw at his head from then on.

Note: I do have another story up, but I decided to play with another idea too, more for the reason that I'd have more to write, and therefore more opportunity to work on my writing. :O This story will include an OC, because I want to work with writing OC's, however, it doesn't mean that the story will focus on him. This story is mainly Ryoma-centric. Because, well, I just happen to love Ryoma. :) This is not a yaoi. The fic is mainly a "general" fic, though bits of fluffy (het) romance will occur later on.

I will appreciate any and all comments and constructive criticism. Hell, bring on the flames. I consider this work to be practice, of course, and I will closely take the suggestions into consideration as I work on the story.

By the way, I don't own it (Prince of Tennis).

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"Do you have any friends outside of tennis?"

It was the question that stopped him from leaving his desk and going home for the rest of the day, because the reason behind it confused him and because… he wasn't sure if he had an answer for it.

He observed the other eighth-grader standing in front of his desk, a skinny, almost gangly-looking, boy with a curious frown, an expression that clearly stated he wouldn't leave until he got his reply. Ryoma couldn't even remember his name.

This was weird. Nobody actually talked to him in classrooms. Besides teachers, and anyone he knew who (now come to think of it) was somehow related to the tennis club.

"Um…" He quirked an eyebrow at the other student; why was this so important that it had to stall him from getting home? There was no tennis practice being held today and he had been eagerly hoping to get home and catch up on some rest. "Why?" he bluntly answered. He was really hoping the boy wasn't expecting many answers from him. He didn't feel like talking too long. Karupin must be really comfortable on top of his bed right now…

The dark-haired boy shrugged. "I know you're quite popular in school and all, but every single person in school realizes you don't talk to anyone, besides that Ryuzaki girl and her weird friend, Osakada, and those three guys who go to tennis practice with you." He paused, his forehead creasing slightly. Maybe pondering over what else to say, though Ryoma wished he would just quit pondering and leave him alone. He couldn't find a point in what the boy was asking.

Finally, the boy spoke again. "It's just, everyone thinks that's a little weird. Besides the girls that are always gawking at you." He'd rolled his eyes.

Ryoma blinked, frowning. What the hell was he talking about? Weird? Well, it didn't matter, because the conversation was already boring him. He was beginning to wonder if his cousin, Nanako, had a Japanese-style dinner planned for him tonight. He heard a low groan come from his stomach, though apparently he was the only one who heard it. The other boy was still yapping away, beginning to show a resemblance to Horio's annoyingly long conversations.

"…and it's totally unfair that I got stuck working with you for this next project because I know I'm going to get stuck doing all the work since you never talk. I mean, what is it about the tennis players, anyway? They're the only people you ever talk to, and I don't even think they're that special. I mean, the whole sport is stupid."

Ryoma's attention picked up again. Did he just say…? "What…" But he stopped himself short from rudely asking the boy what his problem was, because he'd just realized something else the boy had mentioned. "I'm working with you?" he asked, his memory a complete blank. Since when?

"What, are you serious?" The boy's eyes widened, his voice going just a pitch higher on the last word.

Ryoma slumped in his chair, annoyed and irritated. Did he really have to gape at him like that? It wasn't his fault at all that he was extremely fluent in English and that was enough to excuse him from falling asleep in the middle of class. Of course, now it meant that he was completely clueless about the annoying boys being randomly picked to work with him. Ones that had something against tennis. Ryoma wordlessly stared back at the boy; many things were wrong in his head, it was the only explanation for him to confuse tennis with his own stupidity.

"Don't give me that bad look," the boy scoffed, stepping back. "I can't believe I'm going to have to review all the guidelines with you. You know, scratch that. See me when you're ready to split the work." The boy rolled his boring brown eyes again and began to step away.

Ryoma felt more than just a little vindictive (and overly-irritated) toward the boy and surreptitiously pushed Ryuzaki's bag to the middle of the aisle with his foot; the boy wasn't looking, and with his feet, tripped over the too full bag. His chest slammed against Ryuzaki's desk, and a heavy grunt was heard coming from his throat. Ryuzaki yelped in her seat, covering her face with her hands.

The boy slowly pushed himself back up. He gulped hard, then took a deep breath, before he stiffly made his way out of the classroom. Ryoma missed the expression on his face, but that was fine—he was sure it was something close to mortification.

Ryuzaki held her hands back down to look at him. "R-Ryoma-kun, what happened?"

He shrugged, as if he had no more clue than she did. He got up from his seat to gather all his belongings, and overheard Ryuzaki musing over her bag: "That's weird… how did my bag get over there? Oh, no!" She abruptly pressed her hands to her cheeks, her face becoming immediately pale. "Was it my fault Kuyo-kun tripped?" she thought, her voice almost squeaking.

Ryoma walked past her, disregarding her worries, and joined the other students in the hall who were just as eager as he was to leave the school. Perhaps he was more eager than they were; without tennis practice, there was nothing else for him to do on campus.

This reminded him of what 'Kuyo-kun' had said to him earlier. He pulled his eyebrows together, feeling the old irritation return. What did it matter to him what another student had to say about him? It shouldn't. Though he was very good at ignoring all the fame that came with his tennis in this school, never—in his one year and almost half at Seigaku—had he ever heard someone point out a flaw in him. The only exceptions came with his opponents on the courts, but that was part of the intimidation game, and besides, he had always proven that he could overcome these so-called 'flaws' in the end. He had the words and he had the skills to back himself up.

He stopped on the curb, waiting on the red pedestrian light. Older pedestrians joined him, tightly surrounding his small figure.

Perhaps what bugged him the most was the realization that in this case… he didn't have any specific skills to back himself up. He didn't have tennis with him.

And that very much bothered him.

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