Ryoga eyed the young boy in the white cap, bouncing an orange in his hands. His eyes never left their target as he raised the supple orange to his lips and ripped off a section of the peel with his teeth, blowing it into a nearby trash bin.

He frowned, now peeling the orange with his fingers, still staring at the shirtless boy being harassed by a few larger boys, no doubt his senpai from the tennis team.

The cleft between his eyebrows deepened as he saw him say something to his senpai that made them back off. He had thought he'd seen the last of Ryoma when he left home those years ago. The boy smirked, the one he had so frequently seen before, and jumped into the pool, pulling three of his senpai in with him.

The same Ryoma, Ryoga thought bitterly as he spat a seed into the bin.

It missed.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ever since the day he was born, no, even before that day, Ryoma had already been sucking his parents attention off him. He wasn't going to lie. It bothered him.

And after he came, it was always about Ryoma. Ryoma is so good at tennis. Ryoma is a true prodigy. Ryoma, want to play a game with me?

Tennis. Ryoga had started out so much better than Ryoma. He was proud of it. Proud, that after all the hours his father invested in Ryoma's training, Ryoma still wasn't the prodigy Nanjiroh made him out to be. Ryoga flaunted his skill, exhausting all his techniques in every single game.

Nanjiroh had told him off about it once. "Save your techniques for when it's needed," he had said, "don't waste them on useless situations."

Ryoga never listened. He enjoyed impressing his brother, the awed and worshipping expression. It made him feel, if only for a moment, that he was superior, though he knew that Ryoma was already so much better than him when he was that age.

O0o0o0o0o0o0

Ryoma was seven when he surpassed Ryoga. They were on par in terms of skill, though Ryoga was five years older. It destroyed him to see his younger brother, do things he had prided himself upon. Five years. Five years. It was more than he could bear, and he trained intensively, madly even, but he could never be truly better than Ryoma.

Along with Ryoga's pride, went Ryoma's respect. Ryoga only noticed when Ryoma started to remove the suffix when calling him.

"Ryoga! Dinner!"

"Ryoga, get off the couch."

"Ryoga, stop squashing Karupin."

Ryoga bore with it, after all, what else was he to do? Make his little brother admire him? Nonsense.

O0o0o0o0o0o0

On his thirteenth birthday, Ryoga got a computer.

It should have been like a gift from the gods, to show that his parent's loved him as much as they did Ryoma. After all, a laptop was expensive stuff. But when Ryoga saw the rectangular package, the company logo emblazoned on the front, he thought he just felt a little part of himself fizzle out.

All the hints he had dropped, obvious, had gone unheeded. He didn't need a computer. He didn't even want one. Did his parent's not understand?

He hated the slick black machine that sat on his table, day and night. Just another reminder of how he was fading out of his parent's memory. To him, the moment they bought the computer, the moment they even thought that it was what would make him happy, they stopped caring.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0

As Ryoga's insecurities grew, so did Ryoma's obnoxiousness. To the point where even the boy's biggest fan, Nanjiroh, had something to say about it.

"Oi, baka oyaji."

"Seishounen!"

Ryoga remembered an incident, small, perhaps, but one that stretched him to near breaking point.

"Ryoga," no suffix again, "let me push the trolley."

"Heck no, you're way too slow."

"Mom, Ryoga won't let me push the trolley."

"Go push your dad's one, dear."

"Oi, baka oyaji, let me push the trolley."

"No can do, it's kind of heavy. And you're too short."

Ryoma gave up on his dad, "Ryoga, let me push the trolley." He whined.

"Mom!" Ryoga cried, exasperated, to his mother. Rinko sighed.

"Ryoga, let your brother try."

Ryoga tried not to look too angry as they pushed their luggage to the check in point. He was fifteen, not some immature brat. Anyway, now, he had his hands free to do other stuff. It was all good. He took out his cell phone, texting one of his friends.

"Ryoga, there you can have it back."

Ryoga stared blankly at his little brother, "You serious?"

"I'm tired, you take it back."

He smothered the fury exploding in his stomach, "You asked for it, you keep it."

"Whatever," Ryoma ran up to his father, leaving the trolley unattended in the middle of the airport.

Ryoga clenched his hands into fists. Oh, how he hated that boy. That annoying, cocky, spoilt brat of a brother. If it weren't the fact that they were related, Ryoga felt that he could stab him to death. He imagined the blood spilling out of the wounds he could inflict, if only he were given a weapon…

He seethed, pushing the trolley forward, "You know, you really are a selfish brat."

"I know." Ryoma said, nauseatingly nonchalant.

"You know this is the typical behavior of a spoiled child?" Ryoga was aware of angry tears in his eyes now, he blinked them back.

"Yeah," Ryoma replied, with the air of a child unable to come up with a satisfactory retort, but too proud to concede defeat.

Ryoga was doing all he could not to snap.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Now that he thought about it, almost everything that happened after that was a catalyst for his running away. It was almost as if Ryoma wanted him out of his life. By the time it got to his aunt's wedding later that year, the family was already treading on thin ice.

"Are you seriously going to wear that?" Ryoma sneered at his brother's outfit, a white dress shirt and corn yellow tie.

"Duh, it's a formal event." He tightened the knot, examining himself in the mirror.

Ryoma scowled as his mother gave him a tie as well to match his black shirt, "Well, it makes you look fat. I'm not wearing that, mom."

Ryoga froze, "I do not look fat."

"Yeah yeah," He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, loosening his tie so much that it hung like a necklace around his collar.

"What about you then?" Ryoga said, in a sorry attempt to insult his brother, "You look like a hobo."

"Really?" Ryoma twirled around in front of the mirror, "thank you."

And though Ryoga never dared admit it, even to himself, he knew his brother looked lovely.

"Hey, Ryoga?"

"What." Ryoga snapped, long car rides always got on his nerves.

"When we're there, don't talk to me. I'm gonna pretend I don't know you."

That, was the biggest blow to his already pathetic self esteem.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The last straw came just a month later, when they were invited to stay for one night at their grandmother's home.

The lock was faulty, Ryoga noticed, as he stepped into the toilet. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he peered out from the bathroom.

"Ryoma," He called to the boy sprawled out on the bed watching television, "Could you help me make sure nobody comes in?"

Ryoma, still absorbed in the telecast of CSI, muttered a nearly indiscernible, "yes."

Ryoga got into the shower and closed the glass door behind him, he felt the warm water almost wash away all his problems and concerns, leaving him refreshed. Squeezing a small quantity of shampoo onto his palm, he rubbed it into his scalp. He closed his eyes as he turned the shower on to rinse off the soap.

"Ryoga? Ryoga, are you in there?" Ryoga's eyes snapped open at the raspy voice of his grandmother. He panicked, trying to find something, anything to cover his naked form.

"Don't come—" The door slammed open, Ryoga fully visible from the other side of the glass. His grandmother raised an eyebrow, but otherwise acted as if there wasn't an undressed fifteen year old boy in the shower. She took out some rolls of toilet paper from the cupboard, turning to a furiously blushing Ryoga.

"Hey, Ryoga? Do you need soap?"

It had probably been the most humiliating experiences of his life, yet what pushed him off the edge was what came after. The final blow.

"Ryoma, I thought I told you not to let anybody in?" His voice was cracking from the strain of not punching him right there and then. There was probably a reasonable explanation, he told himself.

Ryoma looked up from his episode of CSI, looked over Ryoga in his bathrobe, and rolled his eyes, "Sorry," He said, sound anything but, and returned to the television programme.

Ryoga hurtled back into the bathroom, breathing hard. Tears of rage were already making tracks on his red face.

He had decided right there and then that he had had enough of this family, mostly his brother. His stupid, rude, spoilt brother. He wanted nothing to do with them. Him.

When they returned home the next day, Ryoga had packed his things, dumping his clothes and everything he could think of into a bag. He would only rely on his parents only until this point. Right now, he had it with this life. He hesitated as he moved to pick up the laptop, hardly used in its two years under Ryoga's ownership.

He left it on the desk.

All he owned was now in the indigo duffel bag sitting under the bed. He waited. His parents' were going out, and they were taking Ryoma with them. He has declined their invitation politely, lying through his teeth that he had homework to do. As he watched their car pull out of the driveway, he grabbed his bag, picked up his tennis racquet leaning against the cupboard and took off down the empty street.

Nothing was going to stop him.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Ryoga stuffed the last of his orange into his mouth, suddenly gripped by an idea. The money he had in his bank account was just enough, wasn't it? Three years with Sakurafubuki had provided him with ample cash from the amount he earned from the arranged matches. He enjoyed those matches.

He never once lost.

In his cabin, he took out his chequebook and a ballpoint pen, writing out the desired amount without a moment's hesitation.

To: Echizen Nanjiroh

He slid the now extremely expensive paper into a cream envelope, making his way back down to the pool.

Ryoma was getting teased by his senpai again. 'Ochibi' they called him. Ryoma remembered the similar nickname he had given to his little brother, one he had stopped using much too long ago.

"Ryoma." He called.

The entire seigaku team turned to stare at him. No surprise, it was probably shocking for them to see an older version of their dear 'Ochibi'. But Ryoma's expression was the best one of all. It was one of shock, guilt, pain, all those that he had wanted, and expected to see. Comical.

He smiled, pressing the envelope into Ryoma's hand.

"What's this?" He tore it open, just like Ryoga had predicted, and took out the cheque. Eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, he brandished the slip of paper in Ryoga's face, "What is this for?"

Ryoga didn't even flinch, and deliberately misunderstood the question, It's a cheque. You use it to transfer mon—"

"I know damn well what a cheque is, why are you giving it to me? And what are you doing here? We've been waiting for you for three years." Ryoma spat, suddenly angry. His senpai gathered around him, still goggling at Ryoga.

"I know. That money is for everything you've ever spent on me. It is calculated that an approximate value of $284,560 is spent to raise a child from birth to the age of fifteen. I rounded it up to the nearest thousand. Now I don't owe you, or anyone, anything."

"Ryoga… don't be an idiot, do you even know how worried mom and dad were?" Ryoma pleaded, cheque thrown onto the ground between them.

"Were." Ryoga emphasised the past tense, "It's all in the past now. Besides, I'm a legal adult now. Eighteen. You have no control over me."

"Ryoga!"

"Enjoy your stay on this cruise liner," Ryoga said to the entire Seigaku group, "I hope you find the accommodations to your satisfaction."

Hi!

This probably wasn't the kind of thing I usually write… but oh well.

I was debating on whether or not to put it up, but I decided to anyway (:

Happy holidays!

MC