DEAR PRINCE
Chapter 2: 'the earth splits in two'
Were the trees crying that day?
Was the sky falling?
Was the earth splitting in two?
Were the comets draining from your eyes?
"Che, that is stupid."
"Isn't it?" Momo said, smacking his head against his textbook. "I hate English class!"
Ryoma leaned over him, wrists pressed against the maple desk. "Classes don't start until next week."
"Classes are hell!" Momo said. "Any student at Atobe knows to start preparing over the summer. Except me… well, I was busy doing important things… like… you know, stuff. So now I only have a week."
"What kind of stuff?" Ryoma asked curiously.
Momo looked sheepish. "Uh… video games?"
Ryoma rolled his eyes, and Momo dejectedly shoved his face back into his English textbook as if he were dying. A few minutes later, he made noises like he was being strangled, and Ryoma let out a small laugh, shaking his head. He wasn't sure what to think of this Momo character, but the guy was funny, at least. That was something.
The afternoon sky was high in the sky, and it shone in through the window, painting the carpeted dorm room with yellow golden beams. Momo had woken him up at noon that morning. The older boy had given him a grand tour of the campus, which mostly consisted of things like, "This is where your death will be!" and "This is where you'll want to dropout!" and "This is where you'll seriously consider succumbing to a career of drug dealing!"
Ryoma thought Momo was exaggerating. The workload couldn't be that bad. Right?
They'd returned back to the dorm after that, because Momo had to study, and Ryoma, not knowing what else to do, had followed him.
"The eyes of firelight donned the crack of dusk," Momo read miserably. "And all was lost to the sound of empty echoes." He made a pitiful wailing noise. "I don't want to find the metaphor, I don't want to," he sobbed.
Ryoma watched him amusedly, although his heart pricked at the word firelight. He suddenly remembered how Fuji had called him that last evening. And he remembered Fuji's eyes, aqua like a blue-green sea. His hand unconsciously drifted to his palm, and he stared at the inked writing. Should he- no! No. Ryoma knew he couldn't go to a club. He'd be so awkward there. He'd probably stand in the corner and drink a Ponta and dream of playing tennis. And everyone else would be dancing. Ryoma hated dancing.
Ryoma frowned, and his eyes drifted to his tennis bag, which lay slumped against the bedpost. Tennis. That was clearly the only thing he could rely on. "Hey, Momo-senpai," he said, absentmindedly. "Where do you sign up for the tennis team?"
"Tennis?" Momo's eyes lit up, and he threw his English book aside in excitement. "I'm on the tennis team too. You should join, it's really fun."
"That's why I'm asking," Ryoma deadpanned.
"Uh… the sign ups…" Momo furrowed his brow. "Oh, hey. I think this is the last day."
"Oh," Ryoma said.
"Today at…" Momo scrounged around in his brain. "2 pm?"
"What time is it?" Ryoma asked hesitantly.
Momo glanced at this monitor. "It's uh… oh shit! It's 1:55!"
Ryoma cursed darkly, grabbed his tennis bag, and fled for the exit. He had to join the tennis team. It was the only thing that would keep him sane.
The seasons changed.
At least, that was how Ryoma felt when he found himself staring at Tezuka Kunimitsu. The man was standing against the front of a lecture hall door, checking his watch idly. He looked invincible, like he was carved out of the material Gods were made of. Ryoma, unconsciously, found himself admiring his long, lean form. Interesting. Very interesting.
With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, Ryoma came up to him. "Ne, is this where I sign up for the tennis club?" he asked.
Tezuka glanced at him briefly, not seeming overly interested. "The sign ups ended today at two."
Ryoma blinked. "It is two?"
"No. It's two…" Tezuka looked at his watch, "and five minutes."
"But I-"
"Our tennis club does not tolerate letting our guards down."
Ryoma stared at him in disbelief, while piecing together the fact that his stoic expression perfectly matched his stoic personality. Taking a small breath, Ryoma shrugged, "Che. You're missing out. I'm probably better than all of the players on your team." This earned him a look of complete bewilderment, like Tezuka had no idea what the hell his cocky freshman was even doing here. Ryoma stood in front of him stubbornly, unmoving.
Tezuka shifted. "It's not a matter for discussion."
"This is stupid," Ryoma said.
"I'm sorry if this is disappointing, but punctuality is valued here, especially from incoming freshmen."
"What about tennis skills?" Ryoma challenged, fire in his eyes. "Are those valued?"
Tezuka opened his mouth, as if to reply, but suddenly, a familiar form sidled up next to him, a sweet, easy smile on his face. Fuji Syusuke, Ryoma recognized instantly. His stomach did a weird flipflop which he fervently ignored. Tezuka gave a slight nod to Fuji, and they shared an expression that Ryoma thought was a little too intense for friendship. Fuji noticed him.
"Echizen," Fuji said, sounding pleased. "You're signing up for the tennis club?
Maybe this could work in his favour. "I'm trying," Ryoma said.
"You know him?" Tezuka said with a frown.
"Not really," Fuji said. The words hurt, for some reason. But then Fuji sent a look his way, eyes open, and Ryoma's mind went blank, as if all of his thoughts had been vacuumed out. He swallowed uncomfortably, and turned back to Tezuka. "Buchou," he said. "You are the buchou right?"
Tezuka nodded in assent.
"Buchou," Ryoma re-affirmed. "I need tennis."
This time, both Tezuka and Fuji had quieted, and were staring at him with consideration. Ryoma hoped to whatever ancient God was living up there in the clouds that he was granted permission to join the team. He'd even grovel if he had to. Tennis was his life. If he wasn't able to play on a tennis team, he thought he'd die. Literally.
Tezuka must have seen the desperation in his eyes, because he sighed, and wrote a note on his clipboard. "Fine. But I expect you to be on time for tryouts."
"I will," Ryoma said coolly, like he hadn't just been on the brink of having a meltdown.
He was ready to turn on his heel and get away, but Fuji grabbed his shoulder. Ryoma froze at the touch. He turned around and found himself face to face with Fuji, and his breath hitched when he noticed how wet and shiny Fuji's lips looked up close.
Ryoma blinked. Oh man, what was wrong with him? He'd never had thoughts like this in his life before.
Fuji's eyes were piercing. "Are you coming tonight?"
"Coming?" Ryoma said dazedly.
"To the club?"
"Oh, that. Uh, I'm not. No."
"What? Why?" Fuji sounded disappointed.
"Don't want to."
"Don't be stubborn," Fuji said lightly. "You're coming."
"I'm - I'm not," Ryoma said, frustrated.
"I will drag you there," Fuji said brightly.
What the actual fuck?
Before he could shove Fuji on the ground and run for his life, Tezuka intervened. "Fuji," he said sternly. "Leave him alone. He's a freshman." There was an intense moment where Fuji stared Tezuka down, and Tezuka stared back, unfazed. Ryoma watched them unnervingly keep eye contact, before Fuji turned his head to the side and said, "Echizen, I'll see you tonight, okay?"
And then, lo and behold, Fuji and Tezuka kissed.
Ryoma just stood there, mouth hanging open. Then he turned and walked out numbly through the front doors, never looking back.
Ryoma was sheltered in many ways.
He'd grown up with a mindset that was incredibly focused and zoned in on the few important things he valued: tennis, his cat, food, Ponta, and occasionally school for the heck of it. Other things were fragments in his memory, passing thoughts that disappeared the moment they were had. He remembered seeing a couple kissing once by the lockers in his junior year.
He'd paused, arms clenching around his books. For a moment, he'd wondered if he should be kissing people too. Then the bell signalled the end of school, and the start of tennis practice, and Ryoma forgot all about it.
One of his annoying friends, Horio, had pestered, "You don't like any girls? But that's - that's ridiculous!"
"I don't," Ryoma said blankly.
"None? Not even Harumi-chan? She's so pretty!"
"I don't care," Ryoma said.
It had never bugged him before. Not really. He didn't get why there were so many heartbreak and love-struck songs playing on the radio all the time. He didn't get why all movies focused on romance. He didn't understand why all the boys in his class talked about sex and girls all day. Tennis was… so much more interesting. It always had been.
But as Ryoma lay in bed, hand resting on his stomach, squinting into warm sunlight, he kept replaying what he'd seen. Fuji's eyes glancing over at him, sharp and beautiful, before he'd locked his mouth on Tezuka, the captain. The kiss had been silent and soft, but he'd seen the way Tezuka's arms had encircled Fuji's waist, pulled him close. He could imagine the heat between them, the way their bodies would have felt against each other -
Ryoma suddenly felt hot and very flushed lying on the bed. He quickly sat up, breathing heavily. What the fuck?
Maybe he was getting sick. Stumbling off the bed, Ryoma went and splashed his face with cold water. He stared at his own eyes, his own damp black-green hair, and calmed down. Maybe he wasn't so immune to these things after all.
"Echizen," Momo said, coming by the doorway.
Ryoma jerked up. "Nothing!"
"Ehhh?"
"I mean… nothing. I was just washing my face."
Momo shot him a weird look. He was twirling a keychain around his finger. "Hey, so, I'm going to a club tonight. Wanna come along?"
"A club?" Ryoma asked, still feeling nauseous.
"Yeah. Fuji-senpai invited everyone."
Oh. Fuji. Ryoma stared uneasily at Momo. That made sense, since Momo was on the tennis team with them, but if Fuji invited everyone, did that mean Tezuka would be there too? Would he see them kissing again? The address was still scribbled on his hand, and Ryoma swallowed. It seemed the fates wanted him to go to this club.
Momo was looking at him with wide, hopeful violet eyes.
He remembered his mother's concerned voice, all of a sudden, Ryoma, honey. Try to make friends there. It'll make you happier.
He'd always been so antisocial.
"Fine," Ryoma said, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "I'll come."
Momo fist pumped the air, but Ryoma just stared at the sky and felt as if he were drowning. Stupid English poem or not, maybe the earth really was splitting in two.
The moment Ryoma walked into the club, he knew he'd made a mistake. A giant wave of people swallowed him up. Frantically, Ryoma tried to find Momo, but the taller boy had been swept up by the sea of club goers. He's not abandoning me, Ryoma tried to tell himself. He's not abandoning me. But the feeling still circled in his stomach.
It wasn't true. A few minutes later, a hand grabbed his elbow, and Momo was there, eyes sparkling apologetically. "Sorry. It's crowded!" he shouted. "Come on."
Ryoma let himself be dragged through the masses toward the bar. His gold eyes speculatively passed all of the different people. Girls in pretty dresses. Some boys had resorted to dancing shirtless, and Ryoma smelled sweat and heard loud music. Was this supposed to be fun? Maybe if he got drunk it would be fun.
Right now it was the most horrifying thing Ryoma had ever seen.
They arrived at a quieter area, where a group of boys were sitting on a row of stools. Momo let go of him and plopped down on one of the chairs. Three sets of other eyes peered at him, and Ryoma wanted to flee. On the left, Fuji was there, but notably, Tezuka was absent. Beside Fuji was a red-haired boy with illuminating blue eyes, and next to him was a bowl-head.
"Ah, Oishi! Don't leave!" The red-haired boy cried.
"But Eiji," Oishi said gently. "I have to wake up early to go volunteering tomorrow."
"Nya! You're no fun." Eiji had a vice-grip on Oishi, and was clearly not planning on letting go anytime soon.
Ryoma stared at them. The loud music continued to sever his eardrums. Ryoma glanced at Fuji, and the image of him and Tezuka kissing came up again, vivid and clear. His face heated up, and he averted his gaze to the ground.
"Echizen," Fuji said. "You came."
"Momo-senpai took me," Ryoma said, not looking at him.
"You listened to Momo, but not me?" Fuji said lightly.
Ryoma shrugged.
"Fuji, who's that? He's such an ochibi!" Eiji said.
"That's Echizen," Fuji said. "He's a freshman."
"So young!" Eiji gasped. "You're like a chibi!"
Ryoma bristled. "I'm not!"
"Why is he at a club?" Oishi said, worry seeping into his voice. "He's underage."
Fuji just smiled widely. "He'll be fine."
"It's not fine," Oishi pressed. His protests fell on deaf ears.
Ten minutes later, Ryoma somehow found himself squished between Fuji and Kikumaru. It turned out Kikumaru and Oishi were also part of the tennis team. They went by the name Golden Pair because they were apparently unbeatable in doubles. Ryoma had never played doubles before, and he watched them with quiet fascination as they took turns sipping from the same glass of tequila.
"Oishi! You take too small sips. I'm drinking most of it," Kikumaru babbled.
"I have volunteering tomorrow," Oishi said.
"Screw that!"
"Eiji!"
He didn't know how two people could be so comfortable around each other.
Meanwhile, Kikumaru had one arm wrapped around Ryoma, as if they'd known each other for years. The weight of his arm was the strangest feeling in the world, but it felt kind of good. He'd always been such a non-contact person, but there was a warmth in touching.
Oh, god. What was happening to him?
Momo had left the scene to dance with a couple of girls, satisfied that his kouhai was in good hands. On his other side, Fuji was staring at the floating ice cubes in his glass of whiskey. Ryoma clenched his hands in his lap, hating the way his own eyes followed Fuji's thick lashes, his slow sweep of a sweet mouth.
He'd never felt these things before.
"Echizen." Fuji smiled. "Have some." He held out the alcoholic beverage.
"I've never drank before," Ryoma said.
"It's okay," Fuji said. "Just try it."
Ryoma nodded in assent, and Fuji handed him the cup. Ryoma tried to ignore the brush of fingers, the purposeful way Fuji's hand lingered on his before the glass was handed off. Under the flashing lights and music, Ryoma took a sip under Fuji's watchful eye. Immediately, a strong burning sensation filled his mouth.
"How is this good?" He coughed. "Ponta is way better."
"It's an accustomed taste," Fuji said.
Ryoma took another sip, and swallowed it down, a long aching burn streaking the back of his throat. He hurriedly handed the glass back to Fuji, and the older boy laughed, angelically. "You're cute," he said, and Ryoma's neck grew warm. At least the dim lights hid any of his discomfort.
"Che, not cute," Ryoma said.
"That's for me to decide."
"Whatever," Ryoma said.
As the hours grew heavy, the club got more crowded, and Ryoma felt like was wedged in a room full of flopping seals. His eyes became heavy, and his stomach felt warm from the random sips of alcohol he'd been handed by Fuji. He wasn't drunk - not even close, but the sensation was odd and tingly. His blood felt like a thick fuzz blanket had cloaked it.
Oishi had been forced to stay without a say in the matter, and Ryoma idly watched the golden pair dance. Kikumaru was drunk, eyes starlit, peals of laughter escaping his open mouth. He clung to Oishi, who only smiled amusedly, a fond expression on his face. Was that love?
Ryoma stared at them, intrigued.
Fuji was watching him. Ryoma glanced at the boy, who maintained perfect eye contact. Ryoma wondered why he'd never met anyone like Fuji in his high school - someone so soft, yet devilish, a raging ocean hidden behind a surface of ice. The way Fuji looked at him was unnerving. Ryoma abruptly stood up.
"I'm going to the bathroom," he announced.
Fuji smiled knowingly. "Okay." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"
Ryoma didn't respond. He squeezed through the crowd of people. As he made his way to the back, he nearly jumped when he felt a brush against his ass. He whipped around and glared, but the crowd opened and closed, like a swallowing sea, and he had no idea who'd done it. He hated this place. Who the fuck willingly went to clubs? Only stupid people, Ryoma deduced.
On his quest for the bathroom, Ryoma instead ended up in the back of the club exit. Ryoma stepped outside and nearly cried from relief. The moon hung heavy in the sky, and darkness enveloped the area. Ryoma breathed in deeply, and sighed. The fresh air felt good. The quiet felt good. He warily glanced around, but the few other people lingering didn't seem interested.
Good.
Maybe he'd just stay here all evening. Or maybe he'd just start walking home. He stared at the lone empty sidewalks and decided he should probably wait for Momo.
Not that he was scared or anything. Obviously.
Peering around, Ryoma noticed a limo parked at the end of a curb. Following the length of the limo, a tall boy was sleeping against the hood. The boy shifted, and Ryoma realized he wasn't sleeping, but instead staring at the moon and stars. Fuelled by the pinches of alcohol in his system, and a sort of languid ease, Ryoma approached the boy.
On closer inspection, Ryoma stifled a gasp. The boy was beautiful. He had ash brown hair and a single mole beneath his grey-blue eyes; his body, even clothed, resembled fine art. Ryoma just stared, and he watched until those pretty eyes shifted and met Ryoma's. There was a long moment of complete silence.
"Who are you?" the boy finally said.
Ryoma ignored the question. "Why do you have a limo?"
The boy raised a perfect eyebrow. "Do you know who I am?"
"No," Ryoma said shortly.
This led to another silence. Finally, the boy turned upright and sat facing Ryoma, long legs trailing to the damp ground. He flipped a strand of hair out of his eyes, and studied Ryoma with intensity. "Ahn… you are a nice piece of ass, aren't you?" he said, eyes going up and down as if deciding Ryoma was worthy.
Ryoma swallowed. "Um."
What was he supposed to say to that? He'd never been called a nice piece of ass. He'd been called tennis prodigy, genius, gifted, intelligent, athletic, and all of those other names. But this was a new one.
The boy smirked. "I'm Keigo."
Ryoma looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"You really don't know who I am, do you?" Keigo said.
Ryoma shook his head.
"That's strange," Keigo said. "Everyone knows me." He let his eyes trail over Ryoma again. "Well, no matter. You'll get to know me soon enough."
"I will?" Ryoma echoed.
He didn't know why he'd ambled over here. The boy was pretty and Ryoma had been bored.
"Yes," Keigo said, and he suddenly went onto his feet. Before Ryoma could react, Keigo leaned down, and pressed his mouth on Ryoma's, slick and warm and confident. Ryoma just stood there dumbly, a wave of heat rushing through his body so fast he felt lightheaded.
Everything went white and blank.
Ryoma heard sirens in the back of his melting mind.
Just to clarify, the last two lines aren't signifying anything happened. The "white and blank" and "heard sirens" was just alluding to the complete shock Ryoma was in, that he was basically hearing white noise… just in case someone thought he'd literally passed out and the police were coming or something haha. The kiss just made him a complete disaster ;)
