Ryoma didn't enjoy living in New York city. There were too many people everywhere and the tall buildings everywhere made him feel trapped. There were lots of good things about living in the city, everything was in a reasonable distance from him and he was near the US Open, but sometimes he just wanted to complain.
The tourists were also annoying, you couldn't go anywhere without someone stopping in the middle of street to point at something. Ryoma had bumped into far too many people who had suddenly stopped in front of him whilst he was walking somewhere.
Today, he was walking to some nearby tennis courts. It was a hot and humid summers day and he'd rather go play tennis than spend the day in the house with his father and the broken air conditioning. He was sweating a minute after he'd left the house and was wishing he'd come up with a better plan than play tennis in the heat.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he leaned against a shop wall in the shade to look at the text. It was from his friend telling he was mad to want to play tennis in this heat. So, now he was going to play tennis against no one. He supposed to could always go and lie around in Central Park, but that would also be full of people.
"Excuse me," someone said next to him and he looked up to see a handsome young man standing next to him. "I'm lost and was hoping you could help me." He spoke English very well, but his voice stumbled over some of the words, showing he wasn't a native speaker.
"Where do you want to go?" Ryoma asked, quickly sending 'fuck you' to his friend and then looking back at the tourist. He had neat brown hair and glasses and was wearing, to Ryoma's horror, socks with sandals.
"The Metropolitan Art Museum," The tourist replied and Ryoma nodded.
"I'm headed in that direction anyway," Ryoma said, "I'll take you there."
"Are you sure?" The tourist's face looked slightly taken aback by this show of generosity.
"Yeah," Ryoma said, "I don't have anything to do anyway." I might even have a look around the gallery, he thought, ignoring that he hated going around art galleries. At least he'd be going around with a good looking guy. Even if he was wearing socks and sandals.
"Aren't you going to play tennis?" The tourist asked, looking at the tennis racquet case slung over Ryoma's shoulder.
"My friend bailed on me," Ryoma shrugged, "he said it was too hot."
"You should be careful when playing in this weather," the tourist told him sternly.
"I know," Ryoma said, "I just wanted to do something and not just sit around the house. I'm Ryoma Echizen, by the way," he added.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," the tourist said, "my name is Tezuka Kunimitsu."
"Tezuka is your family name?" Ryoma asked.
"Yes."
"Okay," Ryoma nodded, "Sorry, it's just my family's Japanese, so I spend a lot of time there so I know about the name order thing and…" he trailed off when he realised he was babbling and pulled his hat down over his eyes to hide his embarrassment. Tezuka didn't seem bothered at all.
"Where in Japan is your family from?" Tezuka asked.
"Tokyo," Ryoma replied and Tezuka nodded.
"That's where I live," Tezuka said.
"Do you play tennis?" Ryoma asked, not wanting to suggest that they meet up next time he was in Tokyo.
Tezuka nodded, "I do."
Ryoma almost laughed, if you ignored that he couldn't dress himself, Tezuka was turning into his dream guy. "We should have a match sometime."
"We should," Tezuka agreed and Ryoma's heart skipped a beat, "but first I would like to look around the art gallery."
Was Tezuka suggesting that Ryoma went around the gallery with him and that they should have a match together later that day? The idea made Ryoma feel rather excited.
"You'll have to explain all the art to me," Ryoma said, "I don't get art."
"Then I'll make sure that you understand all of the important art works by the time we leave," Tezuka told him, a small smile on his face. One that Ryoma couldn't help returning.