Written because I was feeling angsty. One of the more serious fics that I've written. At least, I think it's pretty serious. But I guess I don't really know...And it's short, I know.
Summary: Ryoma hated losing. Simple as that. One-shot.
Thanks for reading!
What was this feeling?
This inexplicable, foreign feeling.
He couldn't describe it, couldn't find an accurate word to explain it.
But there was one thing for sure: it was painful.
It hit him first in the chest and quickly spread to his head. It ached, and he leaned against the nearest wall, and slowly slid down.
A cold, hard surface greeted him, and he remembered that he was still in the locker room.
He couldn't go outside. Couldn't face the people waiting for him.
Inui would probably have something already prepared for him. More training? Check. More disgusting drinks that might lead to his ultimate death? Check that too.
Maybe Inui would have a word to describe this feeling. Inui always knew stuff like this.
Yes, he thought, nodding his head. Inui would know.
He banged his head backwards against the wall. Who was he kidding? There was no way. Inui was not in his position right now. There was no way that Inui, of all people, would know.
Then, was it…sad?
No, he thought. To be sure, it was sad, but there was something else to it.
Upset?
Kind of, but that did not tell the whole story.
Dejected?
That was like a combination of upset and sad, he thought.
This went on for another thirty minutes, Ryoma sitting along the wall, trying to think of a word that would describe his current state.
The initial pain in his chest began to quell. But it was soon replaced by regret.
Regret, he then thought, was a pretty good word, too. But not good enough.
Why had he been so stupid? Why had he tried to hit that kind of shot in that kind of situation?
The answer was easy. He was a good – no, great – tennis player.
He was supposed to make those kinds of shots. And act as if nothing special happened.
Well, this time it backfired.
And here he was, sitting alone in the locker room.
He refused to cry. He was not going to cry.
He was not one of those wimpy girly men who cried in his situation.
No, he was strong. He was going to take it in like a man, and continue to fight. He'd show them all.
Then he thought, was he trying to kid himself again?
He was only twelve, for crying out loud.
Nevertheless, he was not going to cry.
It finally took another thirty minutes for Ryoma to realize, which came to a total of one hour of sitting on his butt on the cold locker room floor.
He hated losing.
Simple as that.
My first Prince of Tennis fic. Reviews?