A/N: Gen. I did a bit of thinking, and then started writing for about fifteen minutes. And this is what happened.

Sometime in life, they'll all get married. And to other people, too.

The scariest thing about separation is that they'll all be with different people, making different kinds of bonds that may or may not relate to tennis. That other part of their lives will begin to really matter, once they grow older. It won't be the same as before; it will be both new and terrifying, identifying yourself as your own, as someone else's, and realize that not all of you are there. The whole of them is no longer there.

They will attend each others' graduations. They will cry and throw confetti and try to play one last match together, with eight people on one court, and they will laugh until maybe they cry again or maybe they will feel the irreplaceable swell of emotion gathering in the pits of their stomach, and while it might be a nostalgic feeling, it might be a sickening one, too.

And after high school, they start university. They will separate but exchange email addresses and visit each other once in a while because they will have promised to do so. It will be strange—strange to laugh and realize that it's only you, standing there, and that there is no one to laugh with you, no other seven people to stand next to you and make fun of you, or glare at you in that oh-so-familiar way. And then it will feel strange, to miss being laughed at, or to be made fun of, or to be glared at. It will be a feeling no one will have experienced before. It will be unfamiliar. It will feel strange.

And yet, eventually, they will get used to it.

(They have to get used to it.)

(The Golden Pair will realize that they're, in fact, not as married as they once thought they were. They will separate, with new promises but heavy hearts and the ending of their beginnings.)

Then they'll attend each others' weddings, too. They'll be forced to acknowledged that they're as straight as one can get in a club of male tennis players, and they'll laugh at each other wearing strange clothing like ties and suits and it'll be strange, seeing one another not at school, not dressed in their tennis outfit, growing that bit of hair under their chins and noses. In their heads, they'll tell themselves 'they're growing up', but that doesn't quite meet the nail.

Perhaps Kawamura's wife will be as warmhearted as he is—Inui's as intelligent, Kikumaru's as energetic and bubbly, Oishi's as worrying, Tezuka's as dignified. Fuji's as beautiful, Momo's as boisterous, Kaidoh's as rough-skinned but caring. And maybe Ryoma will show up with Sakuno by his side, the flush across her face as red as her hair, arm linked through Ryoma's. (And perhaps even Ryoma will grow to be taller than all of them, hitting Inui's data with an unexpected blow.)

Or perhaps it'll be different—perhaps Kawamura will get the beautiful one. Perhaps Oishi will get the intelligent one instead.

But yes—somewhere along the way, they'll all fall in love, and it will be different from the way that they fell in love with tennis, with each other. But it doesn't matter, because it is love, all the same.

Maybe that is when things will change. At first, they say that nothing will change the bond that they had in middle school. Nothing ever will, and no one thinks that what they've had for years will be changed by something as mundane—as trivial—as marriage. Because really—most people get married, but how many get to be shown on television, in America, maybe, standing against the best tennis players in the world? Or even in Japan—in the nationals, no matter where they are—on the courts, on the bleachers, they're all cheering—cheering for each other—and that is what matters. That is what is important.

It'll end off properly, though. They did take the world. There will be players going solo, and there will be airfare being involved. There will be long hours of partying and lots of tears and drinks and headaches and nonsense babbling coming out of their mouths—and if it ever is recorded, maybe it won't be Kikumaru or Kawamura or Momo that is crying; maybe this time it will be Kaidoh, or Inui, or perhaps even Ryoma (because surely after many, many years, he will have to have softened a little bit). And then they'll play one last match, with tennis balls flying everywhere and still with headaches and soon-to-be hangovers, but they'll be happy. They'll be so insanely happy. And with that, it'll all end.

It might leave them a little lost, at first.

And then they will realize that this is the scariest thing to fear, because something very, very dear is ending and another is beginning, and what will happen to them now?

Eventually, it will be too silly to get upset about it. There will be this window of mourning that will know how to accept its loss. And soon, it won't be considered even a loss anymore—maybe because it's too hard to understand, even among themselves.

Then—a little ways down the long-winded road—or perhaps longer—they will all think back and remember memories that take them years and years backwards, to the very first days of tennis to the pride that will have been Seigaku and their very golden years. They'll be able to look on their matches fondly, forgetting their own doubts and remembering instead how Momo did, in fact, make a very good doubles player, while Ryoma stayed as a useless one and continued to be a stubborn brat who won matches with eyes closed and had people who called his plays strange names.

And sometime or other, they will remember, and wonder if the others do, too.

Owari

2011.01.03