Title: What's in a Name?
Words: 424
Summary: Sometimes he forgets his name is actually Kunimitsu.
Kunimitsu is his first name, but there are many times where he, much as he doesn't want to admit, fails to respond to the call. He knows "Kunimitsu" is his given name and "Tezuka" is his family name. It's written on his birth certificate. He knows this as well as the feel of the racket in his left hand, as well as the thrill of the ball as it bounces onto his side of the court, as well as the pain that rushes through his shoulders each time he uses the zero-shiki serve.
This doesn't stop him from responding automatically to "Tezuka". It isn't his fault though. Tezuka is barely ever called by his first name. Growing up, Tezuka has always been addressed by his last name – his teachers, his friends, his classmates, even his cousins. Only his mother and his grandfather dare to, but his family is a quiet one, and unnecessary words are rarely spoken, his name is rarely spoken. His father never addresses him by name either, only using a tone of voice that would never be used on his mother or his grandfather.
Consequently, Tezuka is the only thing Tezuka will respond to. Some people call him Tezuka-buchou and some call him Tezuka-senpai. It is not the title that he listens for but the name. When a teacher calls his full name, he listens for the first three syllables and responds in turn. There are even times where he almost responds to the calls for another Tezuka, and fails miserably to answer to Kunimitsu when Fuji teases him or Inui tries to collect his data.
All too frequently he feels that Tezuka is more fitting than Kunimitsu. Kunimitsu, while not unfamiliar, is not a name that slides easily off his tongue or sails smoothly through his ears. It is not the name that is ingrained in his memory.
"Ne, Buchou."
Tezuka impulsively looks up from his homework, meeting a pair of curious gold eyes.
"Aa?"
Ryoma points at his work with the borrowed mechanical pencil. "Why don't you ever write your full name?"
He blinks down at the loose sheets of paper and sees the characters of his family name printed neatly across the top corner.
A small smile stretches across his lips but he doesn't answer.
Ryoma, the exception to almost every tennis rule, can call him anything he wants and he'll always respond. It's the way Ryoma's voice sounds when he wants his attention that he listens for, because it is Ryoma's voice he has committed to memory.