"Ryuzaki-chan," a soft voice floated into Sakuno's ears, breaking into her thoughts. She sat up.

"Yukimura-san," she greeted with a genuine smile, albeit a bit nervous. She fidgeted slightly, her hands always doing some small movement, be it clenching or unclenching, twiddling her thumbs, or intertwining and untwining her fingers.

Of course, being Yukimura, he would notice. His gaze shifted from her hands to her face, and gently, he said, "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Her eyes grew wide for a split second with surprise, before widening even more in panicked denial. "N-no, no, that's not-please do not take this the wrong way-I just-"

"It's all right. I'm used to it." Something was wrong. Sakuno didn't know how she was so sure, but she heard it. Heard a thorn, a bitterness to his tone that she had never heard before. And...it was just so not Yukimura that it was hard to miss.

"Yukimura-san?"

"Yes?" His smile was tight, his voice smooth again-in fact, too much so, like the glassy sheen of a lake frozen over. One precarious step too far, and you'd fall into its icy depths.

Sakuno almost, almost became too afraid to put any weight on the ice. But she stuck out one foot, and took a step onto it.
"I-" she began, but stopped and considered what she could say. He was too proud to want pity, too in-control to ask for help. What could she do, a clumsy, helpless little underclassman like her? This thought made her bite her lip.

"I-I am not uncomfortable," she said slowly, concentratedly, willing herself to be bolder. "Just a bit nervous, but I-I like being with you." she finished with an embarrassed giggle, her hands now fussed with the tips of her braids.

"Just kidding."

"Eh?" Sakuno looked up in surprise.

As he sat down next to her to look at the last of the cherry blossoms, Sakuno saw the smile on Yukimura's lips as he replied with a pleasant "thank you." A quick upturn of the lips that disappeared as fast as it had appeared, but it felt like everything was better again, made a honey golden warmth bubble up in her chest.

She had said something to make him smile, a real smile, and he was sitting with her, here. He had chosen to spend time with her, and she liked what small conversations she could manage with this on-a-pedestal being. And since he had picked her...well, the least she could do to start would be stay by this perfect person's side.

Yukimura hated fangirls with a passion. True, they were fans and encouragement was good for the performance of his tennis team, but God, he hated them. Those squeals, the overreactions and creepy hanging on to the every word or movement of a regular. It was abominable, in his opinion.

That's why, when he first saw Sakuno, something ugly, akin to disgust, had risen up from the pit of his stomach to lodge in his throat; he thought he might retch at the memory of when he first saw her.

She had been there, been there in his last year of middle school, when that little boy had beaten him and torn off his armor of infallibility for the entire country of Japan to see. She had been there, hoping and cheering and praying for that little boy, and it seemed like God had chosen her prayers to grant. And oh, how he had hated her for that, hated and hated her-for turning the heavens against him in favor of Echizen.

He had hated her. For making him vulnerable. For making him not so perfect.

Sakuno peeked out of the corner of her eye at Yukimura, who simply sat next to her quietly while looking at the cherry blossoms. She lightly swung her legs back and forth beneath the bench, looking up and left and right, slightly aimlessly, but happy.

And she mused, recalled a treasured memory from a year ago, just around this time of the season, when cherry blossoms substituted snow, and the harsh west wind of the winter thawed into the welcoming breeze of spring.

Sakuno exited the sports store, tightly gripping the bag of new grip tapes her grandmother had asked her to buy. Looking up at the sky, she thought, "Wow."

The aquamarine blue that she had seen before entering the store was now gone; in its stead was splashes of vermillion and an occasional faint swirl of rosy pink and deep purple, thrown across the sky like some contemporary art canvas. And somewhere in the distance, she heard a familiar "thwack" sound-the sound of tennis balls striking against the sweet spot of a tennis racquet. Intrigued, Sakuno headed off towards the sounds, wondering who would still be playing at this hour.

The "thwack"-"thwack"-"thwack" grew louder as she walked, which assured her that she was going the right way. She kept going and going and going and then. She stopped.

There was Yukimura Seiichi, practicing by himself on the street tennis courts, just hitting ball after ball towards the empty other side. The bright white of the street lamps illuminated his every movement, and although his movements were still powerful (at least compared to many players she knew personally) Sakuno was easily able to tell that he was tired, or at least having trouble moving the way he had done so fluidly at Nationals just days before.

She made her way across the lawn separating her and the court fence, shuffling through the tall grass and observing him all the while. As she neared, Sakuno noticed the sweat streaming down Yukimura's face, and saw the deep intakes of breath as his chest rose and fell quickly. She saw his grip loosen, his racket drop, his knees shake...and then she saw him falling, falling, falling, like the dropping of a fragile, dead leaf from a branch.

Yukimura felt it before he saw it.

Even as his legs threatened to give way beneath him, he felt small but warm hands, gripping his arms and pushing up, trying to keep him standing. And as he turned his head just a little, to see -but not to thank, because the Child of God did not thank people- who was there for him when he was about to fall, Yukimura stiffened. It was her.

He tried to get back up and gather the strength to stand, fling her off, but to his deep frustration- he couldn't. A snarl threatened to rip out from the back of his throat, but somehow, it didn't.

He felt those small hands, still radiating warmth onto his skin, push him back up so he was upright again. And though he didn't want to, he made himself turn to face the same little girl who had cheered him to defeat days before.

Admittedly, she was pretty, with big brown doe eyes and healthy-looking brunette hair with occasional lighter-brown streaks.

But she had been there. At Nationals. For Seigaku. And he couldn't bring himself to forgive her, to look past that-that she was one of the people who had seen him fall.

Sakuno shuddered. For some reason, when she met Yukimura's eyes, they didn't seem openly hostile, but the sharpness in his gaze was more than enough to make a cold shiver run up her spine.

Had she done something wrong?

"You're that boy's friend, aren't you?" Yukimura asked. Although his tone was aloft, Sakuno could detect the hints of fatigue and slightly hurried intakes of breath. And a touch of something else...but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Yes," she answered while angling her head downward respectfully. "I just saw you playing just now, and then you seemed rather tired, so when you fell I just kind of rushed over and-"

At that moment, Sakuno made the mistake of looking up into the Child of God's eyes. They said it all.

That other "something" that she hadn't been able to identify, although she didn't understand why, she at least knew what it was.

Hatred. Anger.

Yukimura Seiichi resented her.

Deeply.

Yukimura knew she had gotten the message when the girl visibly stiffened. If he were a dog, he'd say that he could practically smell the fear coming off of her.

But she stayed put, which puzzled/intrigued him just the slightest bit. When her eyes had met his, they had widened (assumedly in shock), but now her gaze were steady, unwavering, right back into his own.

All right, he'd give her that. She wasn't the typical fan girl. But still a fan girl, nevertheless.

She thought back, just a few days before, to when she saw this godlike tennis player, live, for the first time. Needless to say, she had heard of him many times before from her grandmother, teammates, friends, and the regulars. Yet, though she had even seen photos and videos of Yukimura's coaching and playing style, she realized that she had never actually seen him. It wasn't something that was captured on tape or in still motion. You had to be there to feel it. The power. The pressure. The presence.

Regardless of where he was or who he was up against, Yukimura held the reins-he controlled the game.

And now, as Sakuno locked gazes with the same godlike figure who was standing across from her, now hunched, she wondered if it was possible that he hated her...for seeing the unseen...unfold. When she had cheered Ryoma on, Yukimura hadn't seemed even a bit worried; however, as soon as he lost, it was like all the fight in him went dark like a candlelight, the regality in his posture blown out.

Sakuno was scared, unbelievably scared. If it were the usual her, she would be shaking like crazy by now or her knees knocking together so loudly that the next person could hear. Something in Yukimura, however, stopped her-stabilized her. If he hated her already, what else could go wrong? It wasn't as if they'd really ever meet again. True, she could just leave right now without a second look behind her, and honestly, this wasn't her business.

But while she was ecstatic when Ryoma won, she had glanced out in her peripheral vision. And, somewhere inside, seeing Yukimura broken (though no sane tennis player would ever admit that) like this- she couldn't just leave him alone. She wanted him to stand up again, rise up to be a leader again. Something in her just couldn't help but wish that for him, right here, right now.

"Yukimura-san," she began.

He almost glared at her for saying his name, but decided to save the effort, and she went on.

"You hate me, don't you?"

For the second time in his life, Yukimura was speechless. Only for a moment, of course, but still speechless. After a flash of hesitation, he replied, "Perhaps." Stay ambiguous, don't admit it.

"You do." Her lips curved up and out in a grim, knowing smile. She wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

Yukimura's jaw tightened. Who was this little girl, and why was she so sure of herself? He had half a mind to actually do something just so that she would hurry up and leave. First of all, why was he entertaining her presence here anyways?

Why was he letting her get close to him, when he had blocked so many people out after that day?

Her, of all people.

He didn't say anything for a long while, and as uncomfortable as she was, Sakuno let the words just hang in the air.

Finally, he opened his mouth, and the first words that came out were, "Falling is ugly."

Sakuno couldn't believe her ears. He replied to her. For real. She racked her mind for something to answer back with, but could only come up with, "I don't agree."

Uh oh. She clasped a hand over her mouth. That probably wasn't the best way to approach this...she gave an experimental glance upwards. He still had a guarded expression, but the raw hatred from before wasn't really there anymore.

If anything, he looked tired, wary, and possibly...intrigued?

"Explain."

What was he doing, having her 'explain'? It'd just prolong her stay here.

But he couldn't help but think. She was younger than him, a girl, a weak tennis player by the looks of her stick-skinny arms, and from Seigaku, not to mention classmates and friends with that boy. What did this little girl have to say?

She was biting her lip, perhaps debating if she could actually say it or not. Internally, Yukimura goaded her. You just try, he taunted. I'll be listening.

"Everyone has a different view on falling," Sakuno said carefully. "And most think it's something to be embarrassed of."

"That includes me," she corrected herself, "sometimes."

"But while literal falling like tripping and rolling down the stairs in snowball fashion may make someone a laughingstock out of themselves-"

To her surprise, Yukimura interrupted her. "I assume that means you've done so."

Sakuno flushed a deep scarlet, the heat rushing up from the bottom of her neck to her cheeks. Meanwhile she thought in relief, At least he's listening and not outright ignoring me... She pretended to not hear Yukimura, and continued.

"But even literal falling, and even more so, the figurative fall you mentioned, I think it's necessary, to a certain extent.

"We all make mistakes." Looking straight at him, Sakuno said more firmly, "even the best of us do, just maybe a lot, lot, less than others."

The look he gave her was startling (not resentful like the angry blue of a hurricane, just clear and open- the night sky in his eyes); she stumbled but kept going. Just keep holding on, just keep going, just keep going...

"It might be a dark tunnel, perhaps," she struggled a little to find the right words. "Where we can't see anything. We fall all the time, slipping on puddles and rocks. But when we do, it's something to learn from.

"It might hurt, might cause a wound or a gash-we might even get a scar. But it will heal, and when it does, we can stand back up again.

"Because no matter how many times we fall," Sakuno said this with the most conviction she had ever had, to an almost bewildered Yukimura. "We know that there's someone waiting for us at the end of the tunnel."

"What are you thinking about?" Yukimura looped one arm around Sakuno, tugging her to his side. (Who ever thought that the Child of God would cuddle a girl, in public?)

She smiled. "Nothing, just about how I met you."

As his arm tightened a little bit and his nose nuzzled into her hair, Sakuno thought fondly, And about how our love story began...

A/N: Wow. That was really hard. Probably one of the worst of all the chapters so I'm sorry, Mistress Hydrangea! Yuki's a hard character for me to grasp correctly. He's too complicated~ =.=

Anyways, everyone, please read, REQUEST, and don't forget: REVIEW!