Pairings: OT4. Ryoma/Fuji/Tezuka/Atobe. Ryoma-centric.

DEAR PRINCE

Chapter 1: 'floating away on a sunset'

Echizen Ryoma woke up to a seamless strand of sunlight on his face. He stared at the dancing shadows on his ceiling for a moment, quiet. Karupin was pressed against his hip.

An almost invisible smile crept onto his face.

It was finally time.

The 17-year old, cat-eyed golden boy stood boredly outside the taxi cab, his eyes averted toward the bright sun. "Che… it's way too hot." He shifted the weight of his bag from one hand to the other, tired of holding it. The bag was overpacked, straining at the straps like an overstuffed sushi roll.

Ryoma rolled his eyes. He knew his mother had added extra things just in case. He wouldn't be surprised if he opened it up and found his old stuffed animals spilling out. How embarrassing.

Clinging to the vestiges of summer, the leaves were still a bright viridescent, the wind still and unbecoming of the upcoming fall. Ryoma watched the sky swelter in heat. A few moments passed. Eye twitching, Ryoma shouted, "Oyaji! Hurry up!" His voice was uncharacteristically loud. That was the only way he could deal with his baka father.

There was no response. Ryoma stared at the front door of his shrine, lips pursed, but then his heart rose to his throat. Damn it. He'd miss this place. Even if most of it was spent arguing with his father and napping under the cool summer sky, it was still home.

Always would be.

In a vicious flash, Ryoma suddenly remembered clutching his red racquet at 4-years old, eyes starlit and shining with determined tears. He remembered his mother chasing him under the clothing line, playing with him in the wet rolling grass, laughter on her face. He remembered climbing the crooked staircase, two at a time, screaming, "Oyaji is mean!" before being snatched into a hug by his father.

Ryoma swallowed.

Right in the middle of his nostalgia, Nanjiroh came stumbling out through the front door, unshaved, and barefoot. "Hora hora…" he said, an annoying smirk on his face. "What's the rush? You got somewhere to go?"

Ryoma tugged his cap down, hoping the taxi driver paid his idiot father no mind. "Stop playing dumb," he demanded.

"So uncute." Nanjiroh scoffed, dangling his sandal between his toes like he was in a circus act. "You'd think you'd stop being such a brat now that you're going off to college. Still immature as ever."

Ryoma looked him up and down with disgust. "You're one to talk."

"Ehh? What's that supposed to mean! I'm plenty responsible!"

"When, in your dreams?"

"Brat." Nanjiroh narrowed his eyes. "Don't get all cocky now. You still haven't beaten me in tennis."

Ryoma shrugged, even as his heart gave an agitated pinch. He felt an overwhelming desire to get his racquet out and have a heated match. He pushed this desire aside. He wouldn't get a match with his father until at least Christmas. Ryoma paused, an uncharacteristic shadow passing his eyes. He usually played with his father everyday. It was going to be… a long wait.

A large hand fell on his head, yanked his cap away, and mussed up his hair.

"Stop! You'll mess it up," Ryoma grumbled, snatching back his cap.

Nanjiroh just chuckled. "Why? Worried about impressing the ladies?"

"No," Ryoma said shortly. He stuffed his cap back on his unruly black-green hair. "I just don't want to get infected by your stupidity."

"Ouch. You really are heartless, aren't you?"

"Better than being a useless monk."

"Take that back!"

"Yadda."

Under the luminescent sun, Nanjiroh threw his head back, and started laughing obscenely. Ryoma winced at the sound, and glanced back at the taxi cab driver, wishing he could crawl under the tires and get run over. Why did his father have to be such a complete and total idiot?

"Are you giving Ryoma a hard time?"

Saved by the soft voice of his mother. Ryoma's face eased as Rinko came down the front porch, her hair pulled up, and her eyes red and puffy. "I can't believe this," she said, shaking her head. They'd already had this conversation probably five hundred times leading up to this day. "My boy is all grown up. Going away to university."

"Che." Ryoma scuffed his shoe against the dirt uncomfortably. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes." Her eyes glimmered. "So many things happen to a young man in college. You'll come back changed."

"Hopefully for the better!" Nanjiroh chortled in the background.

They both ignored him.

Rinko wrapped her arms around Ryoma, and swept her son into a tight hug. Ryoma shivered, and just for a moment, he succumbed to his emotions. He closed his eyes tightly, and breathed in his mother's scent of cherry blossoms and laundry detergent. They stood like that for a precious few seconds that felt like hours. Finally, Ryoma tugged away, and his mother let him go reluctantly.

"Sorry you have to deal with baka oyaji on your own," Ryoma said.

Rinko rolled her eyes, but newly shed tears streamed down her face. "I can handle him."

Ryoma stared at his mother. She had a few grey streaks in her hair now, but she was still the light in the house that held everyone together. Ryoma had a sudden urge to cry, which wouldn't do at all, so he said, rather hoarsely, "I should go." Before they could respond, he opened the taxi door, and slammed it shut.

His heart rattled against his ribcage.

As the gusty air conditioning of the taxi hit him, he stared out though the tinted window at the large, generous trees on his front lawn. He wondered what kind of trees would cover the lawn of his new school. Would they be plush, thick cherry blossoms, or weeping willows? His hands tightened in his lap, and he brusquely pushed aside the thoughts.

He'd be fine. He'd just kill everyone in tennis and gain respect through total and utter apathy.

It had always worked before.

There was a knock on his window. His father's grinning, stupid face had pressed itself up against it.

Ryoma frowned, and rolled down his window. "What?"

"You forgot this," Nanjiroh said, waving a baby blue wristband in front of his face.

"Oh." Ryoma yanked it from his hands. "Thanks."

"Alright. I guess this is it, seishounen."

"Whatever."

"I expect a girlfriend coming home for Christmas!"

Cue rolling down the window. Ryoma watched as the window cut over Nanjiroh's cackling expression. How he was related to this guy, Ryoma would never know. As the taxi started to pull out of the driveway, Ryoma toyed with his wristband, and paused. Wait… was there writing on the inside?

He flipped the wristband inwards. In tiny black lettering, in his father's handwriting, it said, Ryoma, the world is yours.

Ryoma blinked rapidly.

"Stupid," he mumbled, slipping his wristband on, the heavy weight of the words pressed against his skin, embedding them into his bloodstream. He stared out the window and watched as his father and mother waved from the porch. The lump lodged in his throat scratched against the inside of his neck.

For a split second, he wondered if he should have just stayed home. Done school nearby. He quickly shook his head at the thoughts.

As the car pulled onto the road, the blue sky stretched endlessly into the horizon, a skyline that never finished. He ran his hand over the wristband, staring at the clouds running by.

Ryoma, the world is yours.

Echizen Ryoma smirked, and settled into his seat, pulling his cap low over his face.

He couldn't wait to see what his new school had in store for him.

The nostalgia left him quickly, as expected. Ryoma peered through the window curiously as his college came into view. He'd seen pictures in pamphlets and online videos, of course, but he'd never been there in person. It was a five hour drive and his father couldn't be bothered to drive him. Instead, he wasted his time reading porn magazines, Ryoma thought wryly.

The school was supposed to be prestigious. Too prestigious for Ryoma to afford, but because of his tennis wins and academic marks, he'd been offered a full scholarship. As he stared at the huge buildings and wide glass windows, he took a small breath. The college campus was huge. He couldn't see where it started or ended, and he briefly wondered how the hell he would get from class to class.

On the bright side, it wasn't cold and boring. There were older, vintage buildings, and an abundance of trees that gave it the appearance of a park. Ryoma was pleased by the sight of them. He could imagine picking his favourite one, and napping there daily in between class breaks.

His tennis bag was pressed against his thigh. Tennis. He wondered if all the players would be 'mada mada dane" like in his high school.

"And here it is," the taxi driver said boredly. "Atobe University."

Ryoma thanked the driver and paid the fare, before heaving out his suitcase from the trunk. All he'd brought with him was a small suitcase and a duffle bag. Basic furniture had already been provided in the residence rooms. Speaking of dorms… how the hell was he supposed to find them?

As Ryoma stood in the middle of the giant college, he felt small. The sky was wide and huge above him, and students milled across the campus grounds. Tall, new buildings surrounded him, all unfamiliar.

His grip tightened around his tennis bag.

It was also unseasonably hot.

First things first, Ryoma finally decided, he needed to get himself a Ponta.

.

"Hey," Ryoma said, voice short. "Do you know where the dorms are?"

The student he'd stopped to ask just gave him a funny look, and ignored him. Ryoma watched him walk away, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. Shrugging, he found another group of guys who were lounging beneath a tree. "Hey," he said, tone bored. "Where's the dorms?"

The guys, who had been talking loudly, fell silent. Then, one of them snorted. "Find them yourself."

Ryoma blinked. Rude. Fine. Ryoma turned and stalked away, but he heard them laughing, saying, "Freshmen, love to hate them." He pursed his lips, and tried to ignore the heavy lead weight building inside him. Why did this always happen to him? He knew he wasn't exactly the warmest person on the planet, but no one ever seemed to want to be his friend.

In high school, he could count on one hand hand how many friends he had. Zero. People admired him silently for his tennis skills and calm demeanour, but no one actually talked to him.

Was he scary? Ryoma didn't know.

And it looked like the whole antisocial thing was going to happen all over again in college. Ryoma tried to push aside the hurt. Whatever. That was just how it was. He didn't really need friends anyway. Right?

For the next half hour, Ryoma wandered around trying to find the dorm building, and failed miserably. The hot summer sun clung to air, and Ryoma tugged at the collar of his shirt. He just wanted to find his room so he could collapse in bed and nap. It was too fucking hot for this. Still, pride on the line, Ryoma didn't ask anyone for directions again.

He kept looking on his own, hoping that there would be some sort of campus map somewhere, but he couldn't find any. The sun was setting lowly on the horizon, the sky orange and pink. The humidity still hadn't let up, and Ryoma's eyes fluttered half-closed. Where the hell were the dorms?

He was starting to hate college.

"Hello. Are you lost?"

Ryoma paused. His eyes narrowed, and he turned around. In front of him was a boy who looked a couple years older than him. He had a camera strapped around his neck, and a serene smile on his face. His eyes were closed, as if he were enjoying the breeze, except there was no breeze.

"Who are you?" Ryoma said carefully.

"Fuji Syusuke," the boy said. He was slender and beautiful. "I'm a third year. Are you new?"

"First year," Ryoma said.

Fuji smiled knowingly. "Thought so. Do you need help?"

Ryoma answered him flatly. "Where are the dorms?"

"That depends," Fuji said. "Which dorm are you in?"

"There's more than one?"

Fuji laughed, softly, and Ryoma thought the sound was like a quiet ocean ripple. "You really are confused."

Ryoma bristled, walls going up instantly. "If you don't want to help, that's fine."

"Wow. You're surprisingly sensitive."

"I'm tired," Ryoma said protectively. Che. Him? Sensitive? It was a ridiculous statement. This Fuji guy looked amused, the smile on his face edging upward into something real rather than fake. Ryoma wanted to throw a tennis ball at his face. He refrained from doing so, but he did give his best glare.

Fuji just raised an eyebrow. "Cute."

What the hell was wrong with this guy?

Ryoma didn't say anything. Fuji began walking in some random direction, and Ryoma stood there, dejected. So he really was being ditched to find the dorms alone again. But then Fuji paused in his steps, just for a second, and gave him a wave, indicating he follow.

Hesitantly, Ryoma did as asked. They walked silently through the campus grounds. The noise had died down, as most students were now comfortably in their dorms. Ryoma wiped the sweat from his forehead, and stared up at the orangey sky. He wondered if he would find his place here.

"What's your name?" Fuji asked.

Ryoma glanced at him. "Echizen Ryoma."

"Echizen," Fuji said. He seemed to be testing out the name on his tongue. "Well, Echizen, did you know that the earth is moving at 30 km per second right now?"

"What?"

"Our planet is orbiting at thirty kilometres per second. And we can't feel any of it."

Ryoma bit his lip contemplatively, and stared at the grass beneath his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Wow," he said quietly. He had an urge to grab onto the nearest wall and hold on, but he obviously didn't do that. When he looked back up, Fuji was studying him, eyes open, a clear, crystal blue.

The colour shocked Ryoma to the bone. He'd never seen such strange, pretty eyes before. His mouth went dry.

"I like telling people I meet that," Fuji said. "See their reactions."

"So it's like a test?" Ryoma didn't like that.

"It's not serious. Some people just don't think about it for more than a second, even though it's actually quite insane. We're moving through space and time faster than any car or rollercoaster will ever go."

"Did I pass?" Ryoma asked dryly. "Your test?"

Fuji hummed. "That's for me to know."

"Hmm." Ryoma watched the slim young man with a frown. How annoying.

As they walked through a thicket of trees, Fuji paused every now and then, snapping a picture with his camera. They were odd pictures. Ryoma didn't understand why anyone would take pictures of dirt and leaves, but whatever.

The guy seemed weird anyway.

Inhaling softly, Ryoma rolled his shoulders back, and looked up through the trees. The sun was coming down at an angle as it set, watery and luminescent, beyond a seamless endpoint. Hot, long, silent. Ryoma knew he would remember this day. His first day of university. Now the only question was, would he remember it as a sad or happy memory? Suddenly, there was a snap, and a flash.

Ryoma winced. "Hey! Did you just-"

"Sorry," Fuji said, and his eyes were incredibly blue and soft. "You just looked…I needed to take a photo."

"Delete it," Ryoma grumbled. "I didn't give you permission."

"You looked like firelight."

"You're weird," Ryoma said uncomfortably. Self-consciously, he pressed his tennis bag closer to his side. Fuji eyed the tennis bag for a moment, a smile coming onto his lips, but he didn't say another word. They walked the rest of the way without another stop.

They entered the dorm building a little bit after. Ryoma breathed a sigh of relief as air conditioning flooded the lobby. The fluorescent lights overhead were bright. A glance out the window told him they'd made it just in time before it had gotten dark.

"This is the most common dorm building for freshmen," Fuji remarked. "Let's see if you're in this one."

Ryoma nodded absentmindedly. In the next few minutes, he was able to retrieve his key and a list of rules and expectations from the front counter. "Ahh… no cats," he said, staring at the list. He'd already known this of course, which was why Karupin was miles away.

A hard lump formed in his throat. Fuck. There was no way he'd be getting good sleep.

"Okay, Echizen," Fuji said. "It was nice meeting a cute freshman like yourself. But my dorm is on the other side of campus. I should get going."

"The other side of campus?" Ryoma said, pointedly ignoring the 'cute' reference. "Why'd you help?"

"Why not?" Fuji asked. "I like taking walks anyway."

"It's hot," Ryoma said stiffly.

"I'm pretty much immune to everything uncomfortable," Fuji said. "Which you'll soon learn about me quite quickly."

"I will?" Ryoma echoed. He probably wouldn't even see this Fuji guy again.

"Yes. Open your palm."

"W-what?"

Fuji just stared at him, and the look in those shattering blue eyes was shiver-inducing. He'd seriously never seen anything like them. Mind blank, he opened his hand. Then, he felt an ink tip press against his palm. Fuji held his wrist as he wrote an address down. Ryoma's skin burned at the touch, but a warm feeling swept him under, like an ocean breeze.

Fuji tapped the pen against his hand when he was done. "That's the club I'm going to tomorrow night. You should come."

"I should?" Ryoma said.

"Have a couple of drinks."

"I'm… underage."

Fuji chuckled. "Don't worry, honey. Everyone here practically is."

Honey? What the hell was he getting himself into? Whatever. He'd just not go. But he smiled politely anyway, and said, "I'll try," before turning around. When he reached the stairwell, he glanced back, but Fuji had disappeared, the only sign he'd been there being the lingering closing of the front double doors.

Ryoma stared down at the unfamiliar handwriting on the palm of his hand.

Was this… an ode to friendship?

… or a trick?

He furrowed his brow, shrugged, and went up the stairwell to find his room. He'd figure it out later. He always did.

Ryoma stared. And stared. And internally cursed.

There were two beds on either side of the room, which was normal, since he knew he'd have to share with a roommate. But while his side of the room was still immaculate and unused, the other side was… Ryoma had no words. It was a hurricane.

Clothes were draped on every inch of the floor. Jerseys, shorts, leather jackets, tennis clothes (a hint of a smile formed on Ryoma's face at that), shoes, socks, and… were those condoms? Used? Ryoma shuddered internally, taking a step back from the entrance. The lamplight was on, and Ryoma couldn't even tell the colour of the guy's desk because it was dumped with notebooks and textbooks.

What the fuck? He didn't want to share with this… this… Before he could think of a suitable insult in his head, he heard the culprit. A low, humming, saying, "Momo-chan, Momo-chan is the greatest," was to be heard. The sound was coming from the bathroom, which Ryoma didn't even want to begin to imagine.

A moment later, the devil revealed himself. Ryoma paused, taking in his appearance. The guy was big for a freshman. He had spiked gelled hair, and his hands were in his pockets. He was wearing a necklace with a skull at the end. Bright violet eyes stared back at him.

"Ahh… are you… Echizen?"

"Yes."

"I'm Momoshiro, although that'll be Momo-senpai to you," he said, while discretely kicking his clothes under the bed, a sheepish smile on his face. "I didn't know you'd be coming today, or I would have cleaned up a little."

"Momo… senpai?" Ryoma questioned.

"I'm a second year," Momo said proudly.

Ryoma must have had a questioning look in his eyes, as Momo went on to explain, "Sometimes second years share with first years, because we have way too many first years! They're like a giant herd every single year!" Momo moaned in complaint, and Ryoma resisted pointing out the fact that this Momo guy had just been a freshman last year.

"I don't get it," Ryoma said. "How does that work out?"

"Ehh. Well, people get weeded out. Just 'cause you got into the school…. doesn't mean you can take the heat." Momo shuddered, as if recalling painful memories of his first year. "Lots of people fail or dropout."

"Hehhh." Ryoma smirked. He wasn't worried. He could handle anything that came his way in every single aspect except social interactions. He was born socially awkward, it seemed, but he hid it well with apathy and a carefully mastered careless confidence.

Gingerly keeping his distance from the disaster that was Momo, Ryoma placed his suitcase and duffle bag on the bed. He shook his arm around, exhausted from having carried it around the whole day. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and stared at the hardwood floor beneath his feet.

He felt homesick already.

Momo watched him peculiarly. "Since I'm your senpai, you can ask me any questions you want! I'll even show you the cheapest places to eat!"

"Oh, really?" Ryoma said disinterestedly.

The older boy was not affected by his tone. "Yes! There's this burger place! You're going to die when we eat there."

We? Ryoma raised a brow. He shrugged. Oh, well. It couldn't hurt, and besides, Ryoma actually liked burgers.

He was too tired to converse anyway. Ryoma was a highly introverted person, and he already knew this Momo was going to drain him bone dry.

"I'm going to sleep," Ryoma announced.

"Whaat? But the night is young!" Momo whined. "And we just met! I want to know all about my new kouhai."

"There's nothing to know."

"I doubt that! You're cute! I bet you have girl stories!"

Ha. Girl stories. Sure, he'd had admirers. But girlfriend? Nope. Well, he'd never even had a real friend, so no surprise there.

Ryoma glanced at him, sharpening his gold eyes, and he watched a strange expression cross Momo's face. "What?" Ryoma said defensively.

"Nothing." Momo smiled a little. "I hope you feel at home here, Echizen."

The words were spoken in a soft tone, and Ryoma suddenly felt transparent. He couldn't find it in him to reply, so he tore his gaze away from Momo's friendly face. For some reason, Momo reminded him of his father. Shrugging off his tennis bag, Ryoma flopped onto his twin-sized bed.

The long day had been hot and tiring. He was aware that he was still in the clothes he'd worn all day, but he didn't have the strength to change. He stared at the ceiling, and absentmindedly ran his fingers over the address written on his hand. Momo watched him a bit longer, before saying something about 'going to call a girl'. Ryoma relaxed into the bed.

He fell asleep to the sound of a quiet fan and Momo flirting on the phone-line.

Home.

Maybe he'd find it here. Ryoma curled into the blankets. But right now, he had never felt more out of place.