Fuck.

I'm so fucked.

Those were the only coherent words you could seem to form at the moment. Kneeling on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor with your fingers gripping the seat until they turned as white as the porcelain, you could feel the laughter bubble out of your throat.

Here you were, so fucking wasted.

You were crouched over a toilet in a public bathroom, your hair, reminiscent of cranberries, hadn't been washed in days, and you were laughing like someone who belonged in an asylum.

You wondered what they would think if they could see you now, what he would think.

You would never forget that navy blue hair matted to tan skin with sweat, the sight of those perfectly rounded glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his eyes ablaze with passion and something else you could never quite figure out. The serenity in his face while he slept and the day's light was just starting to peek through the blinds.

You wondered if those educated, sophisticated women noticed those things.

He was a romance novelist now, if you could recall correctly. You were not sure though, because it was what you loved most about being wasted, this foggy haze that clouded your mind.

It was fitting, especially for all those shitty romance movies he had forced you to watch with him.

Ah, so I am still bitter.

That could be fixed with a few more drinks.

As you haphazardly stumbled out of the bathroom, you wondered if a little flirting with another fellow drunk would get you what you needed.

You stumbled up to another man at the bar and exchanged slurred words. You gave him a sloppy kiss when he bought you another drink.

The world spun and the lights blurred together with the faces of strangers after countless more drinks. You were laughing, but you could not remember why. Maybe it was because his smooth voice and Kansai dialect reminded you of school days spent on green courts, days that had been so much simpler.

But the actions of a drunkard do not need to be backed by reason. You were laughing because you were happy, why did not matter. Thinking made your head hurt, and you drank to rid yourself of pain. You still did have a shred of logic though, so you came to the conclusion that thinking would be a stupid thing to do. You always did love doing stupid things though, especially with him.

"Yuushi!" you yelled excitedly. "We should run away."

The only response was an amused chuckle. "And why is that?"

"Because geometry is boring, you can tell it's obviously a right triangle. Who gives a damn about why? And it doesn't matter if you miss a couple classes anyway," you replied with a cheeky smile.

"Alright, Gakuto," the edge of his lips turned upwards slightly, "we'll run away."

Sometimes you wondered if he had meant anything he had said. He had understood the depth of your question. The benefits of playing doubles.

Let's run away.

And you had, together, but it was impossible to escape reality. God knows you had tried too many times. Alcohol and drugs, a tortured man's best friends. They were quite useful in pushing those memories to the darkest corners of your mind, most of the time anyways. Every now and again though, there were those days like today, where the world seemed to hate you just a little bit more and refused to let you forget anything.

"Gakuto, I love you," that damn smooth voice said. "Believe me," he whispered quietly into your cranberry locks.

He held you so close that you could feel the beating of his heart, in time with yours. You could feel the slightest tremble in his fingers as they played with your hair.

You knew that Oshitari Yuushi, tensai of the Hyotei tennis team, was unsure. As you looked into his eyes, a shade between violet and blue, you wanted to believe him, so fucking badly.

You knew though how many times he had probably uttered those same words to the girls of Hyotei, and their knees had probably gone weak like yours, because really, what was the difference to him? You refused to be just another fuck for him though, and as you looked into those mesmerizing eyes once again, you could feel your anger inside of you begin to build.

He had known all along about the feelings you tried to bury. You had thought that years of being partners, even friends, he would at least respect you enough not to play with your emotions like this. You had accepted that he would never love you, but you had never thought that he could be so cruel.

"Yuushi," you spat with a furious venom, though the effect was lost because of the tears streaming down your face, "you fucking liar."