MIZERABLE

Written by Playgirl Eugene

Author's Note : Fell in love with a glasses-wearing Ryoma! Check out the New Prince of Tennis. He's sooo hot! I fell in love with him all over again! Hyaaa! Hmm, this story is just a whim. As usual, I'll be putting a lot of heart-wrenching dilemma and twisted, sick relationship between Fuji and Ryoma. I like the two fluffy and all, but I'm not capable of writing it without being weirded out. So I'll stick to the slightly crazy Fuji and the prissy Ryoma. This story is about drama, sex, angst, and more drama (with more sex)!

Standard Disclaimer : The Prince of Tennis and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, is created and owned by Konomi Takeshi-sensei. I own nothing of it and I do not earn profit of any kind from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer stands firm for the whole of the story. Furthermore, if I use any material that needs to be disclaimed, there will be individual credit where due.

Summary : Between them, there's always a fine line. But even then, does it matter anyway?

Rating : M/NC – 18/R

Warning(s) : Slash/yaoi/male x male, cussing, sexual situations/acts, dub-consensual. If any of the aforementioned warnings offends you, I suggest you turn back now. I will not appreciate anyone flaming me just because they didn't read this.

Setting and Timeline : Following most of the canon storyline with modifications and progressed seven years from the end of season one. Characters are, therefore, to be adjusted seven years older with physical and mentality maturity and changes.

Character Setting : Fuji/Ryoma, Fuji/OC, OC/Ryoma, others for later

Chapter Details : None in particular.


Chapter 01

"You're the worst."


When Fuji did wake up the next morning, he woke up with a throbbing head. The rather vile, almost familiar aftertaste of hangover was coming down on him quite mercilessly. Again, he swore never to touch another drink in his life – knowing fully that he'd break it again that very weekend.

Forcing himself to sit up and shook his head. It took him a full minute to realize that he was naked and his body felt heavy and deliciously sated, though sore.

He tried to recall what happened last night.

After class, Mitani and the others had dragged him off to a restaurant somewhere in the middle of the city to celebrate Saegusa's birthday with some wild drinking party. There were some girls too and he believed that one of them – the rather pretty and flirtatious dark haired one whose name he didn't catch – was about to score him a night.

Obviously, that part didn't happen. He was at his own apartment, and there was a distinct lack of scattered clothes and body warmth beside him. He was not even on a bed.

Fuji groaned again, though this time it had nothing to do with his headache and buried his face into his sweaty palms.

He was aware that he was going to get another week of cold shoulders – arctic, more likely – from Ryoma. It would be all glares and deliberate ignorance. He'd be lucky if Ryoma didn't take his spare key and decided to lock him out like what happened last year when he went a step too far and brought a girl home.

It was always like that every time he returned drunk. Ryoma would clean him up and somehow they would ended up rolling in bed – his or Ryoma's, or on the floor, or in the kitchen, or whatever flat surface they could find, horizontal and otherwise – then they would proceed to have sex.

The sex had always been terribly good, explosive even. It didn't matter that half of it was but blurred memories to him. All he remembered was the intense tightness, sensational heat, and Ryoma. For someone so cold, Ryoma had a pretty lewd body.

But contrary to the passionate night, the morning after was never pleasant. As good as he made Fuji feel in bed, Fuji would wake alone and cold. Even though his clothes were taken care of and his breakfast was prepared for, he never wake up quick enough to find Ryoma around. It made him feel lonely.

Fuji sighed. He consoled himself; at least his friends had enough sense to drag him home last night instead of telling his roommate to pick him up. Who knew where he'd have been dumped otherwise.

Ryoma wasn't heartless. He was a little ill-tempered, moody, unpredictable, and aloof, but not actually indifferent when it concerned Fuji. It had yet to happen, but Fuji wasn't taking any chances. A sleepy Ryoma was an unhappy Ryoma and god knew what he was capable of when he was unhappy.

Despite feeling disoriented, Fuji stood, swayed, and stumbled into the kitchen. And there it was, his breakfast. Seeing how it was done, he knew that the one who prepared it was definitely, extremely displeased. At least, Ryoma's mood hadn't been so foul that Fuji had to resort to canteen lunch sets, supermarket bentou, and junk foods for days to come.

It was a proper Japanese breakfast as always. Ryoma never seemed like he'd eat anything else. But Fuji wasn't complaining; Ryoma was a damn good cook. There was a bowl of rice and miso soup, grilled salted fish, poached eggs, radish pickles, sour plums, natto, and seasoned seaweeds. Sitting down, he picked up his chopstick and started eating.

Sitting near him was a thermos of warm tea, a mug, and some medicine – hangover pills and aspiring obviously – and underneath the mug was a slipped note.

You're paying for the carpet's laundry.

Fuji had to laugh. That was so Ryoma. At least it didn't tell him to be gone. Fuji took and opened the cap, pouring the warm tea on the mug. It was Ryoma's favourite mug: a cute baby blue colour with rabbit pattern. Fuji was almost amused. It was hard to believe that there would be anything cute in this home managed by one Echizen Ryoma.

Raking his eyes over the spotless kitchen, Fuji allowed himself to feel amazed again. Ryoma had been so particular about the cleanliness of the apartment they shared. Fuji had never seen a speck of dust in the two years they had lived together. He never let Fuji do the cleaning; he would rather do it himself. He was immaculate, keeping the amount of things they had at minimum.

Fuji almost felt like he was living with a very neat woman. God helped him if Ryoma ever heard it. It was bad enough that the guys at campus nicknamed him with some overly effeminate nicknames. Ryoma didn't need it from his own roommate; especially one who he could well kick out on whim.

But even when Fuji spent the nights at his girlfriends' places before – mostly because they either had a fight or Ryoma suddenly didn't feel like looking at Fuji's face and glared at him until Fuji caught the hint and disappear for a few days so he could have some 'space' without Fuji in it – he had to admit that Ryoma's place had been the most comfortable; from the furniture selection to the arrangement and colours.

It was a decent 2ldk apartment in Naka-Okachimachi. The kitchen was warm and homely, while the utensils and dishes were always a set, clean, and organized. The dining room was separated by a fusuma door from the raised the living room of six tatami, four shoji with yukimi and steps, three section tokonama, and a table.

This place smelled like Ryoma.

Ryoma.

That name felt so familiar yet so far. Ryoma was like the water; calm, deep, and constantly shifting, sometimes violent – and Fuji was drifting on it. Ironically, that volatile temper was the only constant in his shaky life.

How did they like this? He didn't know. Perhaps, like Ryoma always said, it was all his fault.


Seven years ago, everyone thought that Echizen Ryoma, the super rookie, would go professional after he finished high school to follow his father's footstep and perhaps, accomplish more. All that knew him – his game, his passion for the game, his ambition – had anticipated it. Everyone thought that it would be done like always, full of style.

Unlike me, in and outside the court, Ryoma was not that much different – confident, calm, and more often than not, highly overbearing.

What we didn't expect was the sudden breaking news of his disappearance after winning the Wimbledon, just a little after our graduation. Following in his father's footsteps, unfortunately in every literal detail, he vanished.

No explanation, no nothing. It wasn't hard to guess that many were disappointed.

Tezuka, Sanada. Yukimura, the Child of God. Even His Royal Highness Atobe Keigo was royally pissed.

Each had gone against him inside the court. They knew him, challenged him, moulded him, and had gained his attention – reluctant respect, cool disdain, or devoted admiration either way – no matter how he might have acted otherwise. He thought of them as strong and Ryoma was still someone who they thought worthy.

Ryoma.

I like saying his name.

His name was pleasant. I didn't know when Echizen-kun became Ryoma. It just happened naturally, I supposed. During the period when I tried to lessen the formality between us none too subtly, Ryoma had gradually perfected his infamous death glares by training them on me on a regular basis. By the end of the fifth month, his glare would've brought Tezuka to tears of pride.

When I realized that, I wondered what it was about his name that I liked. Was it how right it sounded rolling off my tongue? Or was it because that name reminded me of something; something that told me I was not who I seemed to be and so was Ryoma. At the same time, that name reminded me of the free, easy-going past where we all were just brats playing around. The very past he, Ryoma, told me to let go; the past he spoke of in past tenses.

He told me that Ryoma had grown up. But I still held on to the memory like a child would his favourite toy. I was just trying to make sure that he was real and not just a figment of my childhood imagination. I was trying to convince myself that I knew Echizen Ryoma, that he had been real in my life at some point.

After he went back to America, I thought this was it. He had decided on something that big on his own. I guessed that he was serious after all. Mentally, Ryoma had never been so much as a child as he was a very young adult.

Everything between us – us in which consisted of me and the rest of team – was left to the hand of history. Ryoma was never a sociable person to begin with. We could expect very few e-mails, less phone calls, and no letter. No one could've imagined Ryoma writing a letter out of all the things he could've done.

I just never thought that, one typical day, I'd just bump into him while walking down a rather noisy corridor on my way to the cafeteria at my university.

"Fuji-senpai?"

He seemed surprised. I was too. Ryoma changed.

I'd seen how people changed as I graduated.

Girls usually grew up faster, so there weren't too many changes in them that most would've noticed. Some people, like Eiji for example, could never really grow up. On the other hand, Tezuka, Oishi, and Taka-san simply grew in age and nothing else, as they were old people to begin with. Inui didn't even age. It was rather bizarre. At least Kaidou and Momo-chan grew up like any other teen would. I supposed I was somewhere in between, like I've always been.

Anyway, Ryoma did. He was a little taller although still rather slight for a boy his age, a hereditary thing perhaps. His hair was longer and his face slimmed. The once boyish features had matured, leaving behind a set of replacement: delicate bones, fuller lips, elegant nose. He had grown, no longer a boy in puberty but not yet a man.

The most noticeable were his eyes. He had taken to wear glasses – surprising really considering that his eyesight was on par with Eiji's – and his gaze had considerably mellowed, more jaded, sad.

I later found out that he was in law major. I had heard her mother was a famous attorney. Did everything in his family always run for the extreme to the kids? Apparently, Ryoma had been studying law at some fancy university in America; he was one of the top students even. So what would he be doing in this place?

I was the only one from my year who ended up in Todai. Tezuka went to German to study heart-surgery, Oishi went to Kyoto to study medicine, while Inui became a P.E teacher and had his share of fun terrorizing his unsuspecting students. Taka-san and Eiji decided to quit school altogether when they graduated. Taka-san inherited his family's sushi shop while Eiji went to live with Oishi. We all went our separate ways. To think, I would be the one to stumble upon this sneaky kitten.

He didn't speak a lot, like before. Yet, it wasn't quite the same.

This Ryoma was too quiet.

Even though we had certain history together, I never seemed to be close enough with him to make people see that. Even I sometimes wondered if this Ryoma was the same as the one back then. Did I even know him? Did he me? Sometimes, I entertained a thought if some faceless strangers, pieces of my imagination, would know him better than me.

It made me curious. So curious that soon, I found myself following him around. I knew he was annoyed by it. I asked or rather persuaded him to let me into his apartment, resorting to various techniques in the book before he finally gave in.

The moment I stepped into the apartment, I learned that, like Ryoma himself, it was empty and immaculate. It made everyone felt like an outsider. How appropriate.

As I snooped around, I found some note that belonged to Ryoma. His handwritings were surprisingly neat as well, all sharp and slightly curved letters. All of his notes were clean and very easy to read. There were small, complementary notes here and there. The lecturer's board was nothing like that. I was half-expecting some half-hearted scrawls because he was the type to never really pay any attention in class.

He didn't speak much; like he was politely ignoring me as he waited for me to take the hint and scram. I saw the hint, but didn't really take it. I enjoyed seeing him distressed. And no, I was not being a sadist. He simply looked cute was all.

It was an overlapping silence after that, until he accepted a phone call. He glanced at the caller's identity and rolled his eyes exasperatedly before taking it.

"How many times do I have to tell you that we're over?"

I was surprised. I never knew Ryoma could speak so coldly even though his voice had yet to raise another notch. I'd seen how he spoke to Atobe, hot-headed and all. I'd seen how he spoke to Tezuka; filled with pure respect as much as a human could hope from the little brat. It was funny how he looked up so much to Tezuka with near childish reverence. I even suspected that he had a crush on Tezuka though it was never confirmed. When he talked to Eiji or Momo, he'd usually looked bored but he didn't really ignore them. He was wary of some people, resigned to others. I've had seen him in many occasions, addressing people in different ways that blatantly showed his level of like and dislike. Ryoma was a very honest person. I simply assumed that they had had a rough relationship.

Apparently, the other end of the line was stubborn because they started to bicker back and forth. Or rather, the other end was shouting into the phone while Ryoma replied with flat, deadpanned tone.

"No is no. That's that."

He abruptly hung up. He had this look on his face that I didn't understand. It wasn't like he was troubled or upset. It was more like he was annoyed and, at the same time, he was not.

"Is that your girlfriend?"

I felt curious yet uneasy; the loneliness at the thought of him having a girlfriend alone was strange.

He looked at me calmly and spoke with a neutral tone.

"No. It was my ex-boyfriend."

The moment he said the b-word, I was surprised – so much that I went still and the notebook slipped from my fingers to the floor. I was someone who was rarely caught off guard. But then again, this was Ryoma.

Ryoma studied my reaction. He smirked, leaning in closer until our faces were only an inch apart. "Do you find it repulsive, Fuji-senpai?" He was brutally honest. And for the first time since I met him again, the familiar glint was back into his eyes.

"Well, I thought you would." He lowered his eyes and the submissive gesture sent small, electric jolts down my spine for some reasons. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna hit on you or anything."

But he really did change. No. No, he grew up.

"You're kind of cute, Fuji-senpai."

That sounded wrong – Ryoma and growing up.

"But you're not my type."

He even had a boyfriend. I was… a little overwhelmed.

A boyfriend.

Ryoma had a boyfriend. That Ryoma had a boyfriend. I didn't know which surprised me more; the fact that Ryoma had had a boyfriend or the fact that he even had someone.

Then again, everyone noticed how he never paid enough attention to girls back in our school days even though he was quite the stud. But everyone simply thought that Ryoma was just young and oblivious. He had always been slow on delicate subjects, like the matter of a female's heart, for example. Ryoma had the subtlety of a bulldozer, I assure you. But then, after I graduated from middle school, I heard how some girls despised Ryoma for boys often paid unusual amount of unhealthy attention to him.

So Ryoma swung that way. I myself had always been fond of girls. Even my girlfriend then was cute. I thought she was a nice and honest girl, with beautiful dark hair and soft features. Her fingers were delicate; her body was soft and smelled sweet too.

There was this one time when I went to his house and we simply settled on playing strangers that I got the chance to study his profile up-close when he was engrossed in his reading. His confession didn't disgust me like I thought it would if someone else did. It just made me more conscious about his presence, more curious.

Ryoma's almond-shaped eyes were beautifully set on his face, hooded by folds of lids that gave him a delicate, slinky look. His eyelashes were so thick and full, brushing repeatedly against his glasses when he blinked.

His face was attractive, adorable really. His features, though not exactly masculine, were a little too defined to be a female's, with his eyebrows arched and his cheekbones high. The sensual line of his lips was set in a determined, sometimes nasty frown. His body was thin with long legs and arms and there was a glaring lack of feminine attributes.

Ryoma didn't really look like a girl to me, even if he was rather pretty for a boy.

Yet, at that moment, I had this sudden, insane urge to kiss him.

What would it be like to kiss him?

The fact that it didn't bother me as much as it should was terrifying.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

After that, it was all about me forcing myself into his life and everyone else said that I was either very brave or suicidal. They all didn't know one thing – they didn't know the Ryoma I knew. He was still the same, awkward guy who couldn't say 'no' when his buttons were pushed right.

So here I was, taking up the space of at his neat apartment as he went about doing house chores. Usually, I'd just follow him home and wasted time doing nothing as he ignored me almost completely. Sometimes I'd do one-sided conversations, sometimes I took the liberty of going through his books.

He never offered if I want anything to drink. He'd just put a mug of green tea with honey and proceeded to act like I was not there. I noticed that he didn't smoke but he always left an ashtray on the table. When I thought that he did it for me, I couldn't help but feel a little… happy about it. Silly me: it could be someone else's, or Ryoma didn't want me to dirty his tidy little home, but did I ever pay attention to the details? No.

He mostly treated me like I was invisible, like I wasn't there. It wasn't so bad. I couldn't ask for more in case I touched a nerve. He would have this unhappy expression whenever I started to drink though so I refrained from drinking in front of him.

After some times, it became a routine. I could well materialize at his doorway at any hour of my whim. Ryoma wasn't too happy about it, yet he didn't complain much either. When he didn't want to see me, he'd leave a message and when he really didn't want to see me, he'd call me.

Ryoma only called me when he really didn't want to see me. Hmm. Ironic.

And his phone manner really needed some serious trimming. You couldn't just say 'I don't want to see your face today so don't you dare come' the moment someone answered your call and hung up immediately. It was rude and kind of annoying.

Usually, I'd ignore the messages and relented on the calls. I thought he'd burst a vein or two dozen when I once showed up at his doorstep after his first phone call. It was so cute. I was so surprised when I received his call that I instinctively went to look for him. I did give him my number and asked for his. He never seemed to add mine, or intended to, and he only gave up his after I pestered him about it for two weeks.

There was this one time when I spent all Sunday lounging inside his apartment. I smoked as I talked about my most recent break-up.

"Mina-chan and I… we broke up."

I looked at him and waited for a reaction, and finally, he looked up from his laundry for the first time.

"I know."

I was surprised. It was the first time that he had ever said something else other than "so" or "oh" and more often than not, nothing at all. I wondered how he knew though. Considering how he, uh socialized, Ryoma didn't seem like the type.

As if he could read my mind, he elaborated. "Ishida told me after Kitayama's class today."

Ishida was one of my more tight-lipped classmates; we hung around sometimes. He was tall and looked pretty good, but very quiet, so the girls thought he was kind of cool. It was surprising that Ishida would share something like that with someone else. But I knew that he had been trying to get close to Ryoma for a while. Ishida had been transparent. I knew he was jealous with whatever I had with Ryoma.

I knew Ryoma preferred batting for the home team. I simply couldn't stomach him being with someone else. I refused to. Which bothered me most – him growing up and drifting away from me or him liking boys that were not me – I was not sure.

I didn't have the right. He was twenty, no longer twelve and in need of a good eye. He was almost an adult, no longer the brat I used to know. But I was stubborn and childish. I kept on comparing him to the younger version of himself.

And then, we went into another silent phase as he went into the kitchen. I gazed at the ceiling and exhaled rings of smoke. "She said that she didn't know what I was thinking," I had gotten used of Ryoma's typical lack of reply it didn't bother me when I received virtually no response. "Said something about not knowing if I really loved her or not… and she was tired of it."

I heard the sound of running water from the kitchen and the faucet being turned off. Ryoma returned with another batch of clean laundry and headed for the hangar room near the veranda.

"She found someone else." I paused, unsure of how to proceed. I was admittedly distracted Ryoma's hanging the laundries. The sight was so normal, so unsuited for him.

"I told her, that's good I hope you'll be happier with him. And you know what she did?"

Ryoma surprised me by giving another reply. "She cried?"

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow, one expression Ryoma seemed to be particularly fond of employing. "How did you know that?"

He shrugged. I wouldn't be getting an answer by the looks of it.

That night, I drank at his house. And for the first time, he didn't do anything about it and let me. He didn't try to comfort me and he didn't say anything. He just sat there and pretended like he was listening, if he was pretending at all. I had a suspicion that his mind was somewhere far away. I had to do something about that, but I was drunk and my brain was somewhere up there and refused to come down to let me think properly again.

"… You're not going to ask me to stay, huh?" I muttered quietly; my words muffled by the arm I used to pillow my face.

Ryoma looked away from me. He dumped the empty cans into a disposable plastic bag. I was surprised when I heard him spoke suddenly, although his tone was disinterested. "Is that what she said?"

"Uh-huh. I've been waiting for you to say it, she said. She was crying her eyes out." I continued, gulping down another can of cold beer. "Why would it matter to her though? Didn't she find someone else?"

Sometimes, even I didn't understand them.

Women.

"Fuji,"

I looked up: it hadn't been the first time that Ryoma didn't put any attachment to my name. I figured it started somewhere at the beginning of summer that year – or was it in the middle? I found myself that I didn't mind. It sounded somewhat more intimate than Fuji-senpai.

Ryoma stared at me with a blank look. It was only then I realized how annoying that mask on his face was.

"You're the worst."

I blinked and I laughed.

So much for comforting: Ryoma would get a huge F if it was a test. Trust him to say something like that in this situation. He offered nothing but raw, unedited truth. But then, didn't I come to him because I knew he didn't offer pity and comfort?

"She said that too."

"Hn."

"She and the one before her, and the one before that. And the one before the before one," I laughed though not feeling the slightest bit humorous though a whole lot tipsier than normal. "They all said it. You're the worst."

"It's because you are." Ryoma paused as if contemplating something, before he added in a deadpan tone, "Jerk."

I laughed again. It felt a lot better already.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

For almost four months, notifying almost a year of our re-acquaintance, our relationship had not changed. The good thing about it was the fact that it didn't change for the worse because even I couldn't think of what else could be that word than what we had then. The bad thing, it was still as bad as it had been four months ago.

Ryoma rarely expressed himself too freely; although he did get this sour look on his face most of the time he saw me. I dismissed it anyway.

Everything changed one day. It was kind of sudden; like a clap of thunder in the middle of a cloudless day.

Ishida finally dropped the bomb. He asked Ryoma out to a movie. I found out about it accidentally when I was looking for Ryoma at the library. Ryoma was sitting at one corner he seemed to be fond of. I was about to approach him, but Ishida got there faster.

I decided to watch what was going to happen, ignoring that spiteful feeling that was blooming within me. When I saw how Ryoma stared at the ticket Ishida flashed him with a shy smile, I knew that Ryoma was going to reject him and it brought my consciousness vindictive satisfaction.

"I'm sorry. I've never thought of you in that way."

Ryoma sounded professional, as if he had practiced this to perfection – from the words to the tone.

"Can't we give it a chance?"

Ishida was pleading and desperate.

"… I'm sorry. I can't."

It was so simple, so straight. Painful. People would think that he was cruel. But I knew better. Ryoma might not show it and would never admit it if I knew him as well as I thought I did, but he was not a cruel human at heart.

Somehow, I felt compelled. Maybe it was because I eavesdropped on something so private. I pitied Ishida, and yet, there was unreasonable jealousy and vindictiveness that was angry at Ishida for even thinking about it.

Ishida confided to me later over a drink, but I already knew. It felt like I was betraying his trust. Then again, a crueller part of me thought that Ishida deserved it. As I said, Ryoma was never good at saying no. Rejecting Ishida it must have put him in a difficult position.

The other reason was because I was jealous, perhaps. There was a part of me that seemed to stake a certain claim on him.

To think that someone else, new and almost a stranger to our history, would be closer to him and put more distance between us made me felt like something was choking me from the inside.

I realized that I was selfish. I couldn't bear the thought of him being together with someone else and leaving me behind again.

-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-

Ever since the Ishida's incident, I was painfully aware of how possessive I had become over Ryoma. The way I none too subtly hovered over him made people raised their eyebrows at us and wondered about our relationship.

I didn't bother correcting them. Ryoma could care less about it. We weren't exactly the best of match and he wasn't being all that discreet in showing that he didn't really like me that much but he didn't push me away.

I knew that I'd have done something to Ishida had Ryoma not rejected him. Something awful. I also realized that the next time something like that happen, I'd do something drastic.

And it really happened.

There was this girl in from my lecture class. Her name was Tomomi, but everyone called her Tomo-chan. She was sweet and cheerful, almost everyone liked her. She was cute too, with small face dominated by big, doe eyes and dark hair.

After class that Friday, she approached me with a smile on her face.

"Ne, ne Fuji-kun, do you know if Echizen-kun has a girlfriend?"

So that was how it was. I flashed a kind smile: a Judas' smile. It was an honest answer. Technically, I knew that he didn't. He wouldn't. He didn't have interest in girls.

But Tomo-chan didn't ask that. I didn't feel guilty; I didn't even lie. I merely omitted some part of the truth.

"He doesn't have one? Yay!"

I knew that she was a nice girl. Tomo-chan never spoke ill of others, was always helpful. But when I thought about how even she wanted to take Ryoma away from me, I could almost hear something in me snapped: either the string of my patience or my sanity. Perhaps, both. Or maybe, it was something else. To me then, she was the enemy like Ishida had been.

I wanted to see how Ryoma rid of her. Ryoma, I noticed, was always more polite and thoughtful to girls. I wanted him to crush that girl's hope himself.

Maybe I was punishing Ryoma for how he treated me, for making this chest tightened so painfully every time he brushed my hand away, every time he refused to look my way. Maybe I was punishing Tomo-chan for thinking that she was good enough for Ryoma. I was being possessive and irrational and cruel.

I was the worst. How twisted I was, I thought with a glee, and how I enjoyed being the bad guy.

I saw Tomo-chan approached Ryoma during break at the cafeteria. They talked a little. Then, I saw Ryoma's eyes widened. His shoulders stiffened slightly and his facial expression shifted slightly, before he regained himself. He looked around and caught my eyes, tossing an accusing, venomous glare at my direction.

Oops, I thought, although it sounded unrepentant even to me. It seemed like I was discovered.

I raised an eyebrow at him and shrugged. His glare intensified.

Well, no matter.

Later in the afternoon, Ryoma approached me; his eyes flaring into life with emotions. He dragged away me by the collar. I knew that we were being the centre of attention and I knew that he was mad; I knew that a mad Echizen was never something good.

I really didn't give a damn.

My heartbeat accelerated and my breathing quickened. Adrenalin and excitement rushed to my head so fast, I felt dizzy and giddy. It was wrong; wrong on so many levels.

"Why did you do that?"

His tawny eyes smouldered with fury. The colour was so precious. It was beautiful to see how the usually cool gaze had become like that.

I feigned ignorance and plastered on a smile that would've fooled even the master conman but still wouldn't work on this boy. Playful, subtle, manipulative, and a little cruel had always been my foremost nature. I was shameless and I was desperate, and I was completely out of my mind. Nothing good ever came out of that combination.

"Why did I do what?"

His glare intensified. "Don't fuck with me, Fuji."

I never heard him curse before; insult and taunt, yes. Curse, no. I was a little surprised, but still very amused. Ryoma looked really cute when he was angry; he would be completely unguarded and then you would see his eyes glower until the flecks of light brown and the ring of gold around his irises stood out prominently.

"You did it on purpose. You know I won't be interested in her and you—! What do you want from me, really?" he hissed. I might have been a little too far this time, but I didn't regret it. "Why can't you just… just leave me the hell alone? You son of a—" He switched to his mother tongue, like he always did when desperate, and I stared at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting and almost daring him to continue. It wasn't a threat as much as it was a challenge.

He stopped suddenly, looking annoyed at both me and himself. Biting on his lower lip, he settled with an exasperated sigh instead. "You really are the worst, Fuji, you know that? Shit, of course you do. You're the lowest."

He didn't yell.

It caught me of my guard. He actually dropped it like that. His face tight and flushed, his eyes dark, and his lips formed a frown. He looked mad and tired at the same time.

He raised a hand to push his stubborn bangs to the side; I only noticed now that his fingers were long and slim, just like the rest of his body. It was the fingers that used to hold a racket, but now the hands were less calloused. Something told me he hadn't held a racket ever since his disappearance a few years back.

Right. Why?

Before me was Echizen Ryoma. Tennis was his life, the blood in his veins. Why did he give up tennis? What changed?

Now, Ryoma was standing here with me. He was wearing baggy winter ensembles; off-white sweater topped by a winter coat with fur-trimmed hood, scarf, a beanie with ears, a pair of denim, and converse shoes. I was tempted to ask if he couldn't stand a little cold but I figured that it was a suicidal move to make.

He looked even smaller dressed in all that.

When I realized that, I couldn't help but also realized that he was so slim, he was almost too thin. The lightly tanned skin I remembered had paled: he looked unhealthy. His eyes seemed too bright and his hair too dark against his face. So delicate.

The fingers that curled around my collar earlier were nimble. His scent was musky and gentle as it assaulted my nostrils. His lips were full and red and dry. They were begging to be kissed and moistened.

I was depraved for just thinking about it. But then again, since when was I sane? Since when did any of us for that matter? Had Ryoma ever been? I doubted it.

Dozens of times before, I tried to convince myself that he was not a girl. There was nothing about him that reminded me of a woman, as he would every so often remind me with that brush every time I touched him, with the look in his eyes.

I am not a woman.

It was left unsaid and hung heavily in the air.

So don't act like I'm one.

How I wished he was though. It would have been far simpler that way. If only he had been a girl, it wouldn't be like this. I wouldn't be like this. I wouldn't have become weird and I wouldn't have felt like a freak. I wouldn't have felt like I'm abnormal. We might even have a normal relationship if he was a girl. But then, he wouldn't be Ryoma. We wouldn't have met.

He would just be another girl, only that she would have been Ryoma had she been born a boy instead: a twisted, reverse logic. I didn't make any sense. I was thinking and talking like I was losing my mind. I suspected that I already had.

No.

Unlike any other who was charmed and captivated by his magic, I knew better than to let it get to me. Unlike them, I would never fall.

That day, we stumbled into his apartment. He was angry. I followed him as he went into his room. He told me to get out and pushed me towards the door. I pulled his head and kissed him in retaliation as soon as he touched me.

He wasn't expecting it and backed up until he fell back on the futon. The neatly made sheets – where he slept so vulnerably every night, where he might bring his lovers into – creased when he tried to put some distance between us by climbing on the futon and crawled backward, as far away as possible from me. I didn't want to let him go; not when I managed to corner him like this.

I reached and touched his skin. I marvelled at the softness of flesh I felt under my fingertips. Like the rest of him, Ryoma's skin was cool, like a milder shade of sculpted ice compared to his gaze.

His eyes widened and he frowned. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said that he was a little scared. He touched the hand I held against his smooth cheeks.

"Fuji?"

This was a good expression.

"I'm not a girl." Every time I looked at him, he was sure to notice why. He said that so many times, as if he wanted to remind me not to make the wrong move because he wouldn't stop it.

He was not a girl. Everything about him told me, reminded me that he was not.

"I'm aware of that."

I did. I really did.

I confirmed that myself many times over; his sharp eyes, his face, his long limbs, his male body, his voice, his strength – not a girl. But still.

"That's true." I muttered, taking in and drinking his profile like a man denied of water for days to end in the dessert. "But I can still kiss you."

I pushed him down and claimed his mouth. He tasted as innocent as tentative sin. I wanted to ruin that innocence. I wanted to ruin it so badly, it hurt.

"I can still have sex with you."

What would he do now? What should I do then? What should I do with this insolent, gorgeous brat I had beneath me?

"Fuji, you…"

I looked up to his face.

"You… really are the worst." His sigh was heavy with resignation. His dark, messy hair was tousled and his skin was flushed. Even now, he was so quiet. I was not used to it: girls had always been more vocal. I want to hear him more.

All the girls I've been with had been sweet. They smelled nice, tasted nice too. They mewled, screamed, and begged. Most had been eager, some had been coy, and a few were more dominant than the others. Sex had always been good and everyone went home a winner.

Ryoma did none. Like most of the time I spent at his apartment, talking and drifting, he let me and listened, but did nothing more.

As I sampled his body, as I slowly stripped him, as I moulded myself into him; one thing remained in my fogged brain. Sharp pleasure raked every nerve in my body as my senses were enveloped in a strange, sensual consciousness.

God, in this shenanigan, in this debauchery, I never felt so guilty calling out that name. But God, God, God. It was amazing. He was so wonderful, so wanton. I could feel him: every bit of him like I've never felt him before – around him, inside him. It burned all of me, sensitizing each senses until they felt raw and numb.

"Ryoma, breathe. It's tight."

So tight, so warm, so good. Fuck, he feels good.

With the lack of preparation and foreplay, I guessed that it had hurt. I had always heard that it hurt. Girls had the necessary equipments and were able to produce their own lubrication. Their body was adjusted to feel less pain, was meant to be penetrated, and they were bound to feel more pleasure each time.

It wasn't just about the physical. Having some other guy dominating your body and having him penetrate you like this, it must have taken some guts to do it. Giving up the control of your body to someone else and taken like a woman, I knew I wouldn't be able to live with it.

Ryoma didn't seem that unfamiliar with this at all. I knew that I wasn't his first; this straining role he took up wasn't unfamiliar to his body. He didn't flinch when I entered him dry. As if he knew how to numb the pain, he simply accepted my intrusion and pushed out to accommodate my size. How did Ryoma endure that, I would never know.

It reminded me a little of that one-time unfinished match in the rain. Now that I thought about it, it was kind of romantic, wasn't it? Standing in the rain, eyes set on one another like no one and nothing else existed mattered, savouring the intense thrill and longing for an even higher ecstasy, trading subtle taunts, knowing smirks, and pure passion. I sounded so pathetic and soppy even to my own mental ears.

Now, we were playing a different kind of game: a more adult game, not poetic love but of intricate, twisted emotions, unlike the innocent sensation of a simple tennis game. So much more intensity, more chance shots, such incomparable pleasure, everything was different. We were no longer children in a play anymore. It was not inside court, not with someone else to make the call, not a game of hitting a ball. It wasn't cold like that time either.

This was messy, hot, tangled, dirty, wrong.

It was sex. When my brain finally processed that I was associating sex with Ryoma – that I was having sex with him – I knew it was too late to stop.

He writhed under me, clenching the sheets, and breathed harshly, as if slowly drowning himself in the sensation of sex. Not a word escaped him but gasps and quiet, breathy moans.

I was no stranger to this endeavour of highest physical sensation. I knew how a man did it with another man; I'd read books about them. Internet was always a wonderful, handy little thing. But to simply know what to do and how to do it was a completely different matter.

He sighed and arched his neck, slowly, sensually. He showed me his erogenous zones and adeptly looked for mine. Logically, since we were both males, we should know. Ryoma definitely knew what he was doing with his tongue and fingers. Definitely. He was aggressive, but not too much. He didn't tease. It was like this was really sex and nothing else.

Sex with Ryoma felt like nothing I've ever before.

It was awkward, a little embarrassing, and strange. Still, sex supposed to feel good no matter what. When he took me into his mouth, I lost grip on reality. Who knew that mouth was so soft, so moist, and so very warm? Who would've thought that he'd be willing?

Ryoma bobbed his head, sliding my shaft in and out – damn, it felt good – as he grasped the base and giving it a harsh squeeze. He licked the head – dipping his mischievous tongue into the slit – blew and engulfed it before he started to suck harshly. I bucked my hips and Ryoma stilled. His eyes flickered up and glared at me.

What?

Ryoma lowered his eyes and inhaled me and I couldn't help myself when my dick reached the back of his small throat. God, I wanted to cum.

My situation kind of reminded me of a nervous, virginal boy about to have his first sex with an experienced older woman. Except that it was different all together; neither of us were nervous virgin boy, neither of us were a woman.

"Ryoma…"

Saying that name in this situation felt so sensual, so wrong. It was different from how I usually did so many times before and I knew it would never feel quite the same again.

It was so different when I had sex with women. They were pliant and warm, with smooth curves where I could comfortably laid my hands on. This body I took wasn't as soft. But this exquisite burning he gave to me in return was consuming to a point of agony like a very potent drug.

It was intense, tight, and so filled with a sense of control.

Ryoma's body was lissom and his skin was now heated and smooth, even someone like me could appreciate his body that was a confusing balance of hard bones and subtle curves, if the molten heat rushing southward to pool in my groin was of any indication.

As we drowned further in this black, seductive sin, I lost myself even more. Ryoma reached and circled his arms around my neck. He pulled me closer and I was surprised when he kissed my neck.

Encouraged, I asked him to call my name as I did his. He didn't.

Why are you so quiet?

I had wanted to ask, knowing that I wouldn't get an answer. No matter what I talked about, he would only listen. He didn't react, as if he couldn't. Even just now, he only listened.

Why wouldn't he talk? What had changed him so much? I wished he'd talk to me.


End Notes: I… really didn't expect the response to be so good. Yeah, I've learnt how to really write a bit more seriously. Oh, but writing from Fuji's POV was fun and way easier than Ryoma somehow; it just flowed. I hope that he was pretty much in character in this chapter although I wanted to picture him shaken, confused, and the whole whatnot. The reason I'm doing this is because I'm bored of so many dominating Fuji and teary, sensitive Ryoma. So there you have it now, a seme in denial that couldn't help himself and a cold uke who didn't give a damn about pretty much anything. I love this combination. And I, uh… anyway, review please? I am thinking of raising the rating to M, should I?

Review Replies

Lonely Rain - Yes, of course! I'll try to update as soon as possible. Expect a mass updates around next month. Perhaps I'll be putting up the second chapter for this first and my two co-written fics with MoonExpression-chan…

MARYLOVER - I only hope that I can keep up with the promising part. I want this story to remain as attractive to you until the end. Thanks a lot!

Pax Silva - I have always wanted to explore Fuji who didn't come in term with his sexuality. Usually, it'll be Ryoma who's like that and there'll be nothing special about it if I do it that way. Look out for it and don't forget to reviews! ^ ^

megamilan - Thank you for the compliment. I think this answers your question? ^ ^

Kaoru Sayuri Kamiya - I'm really glad that you like it. Yes, it is my intention to make him a little OOC to fit the story. I hope it's not too much though.

Lapis - I'll try to update as soon as possible.

crassreine - Would you believe it if I said that it's because I realized how corny my old stories sounded? I want to redo everything once I have the time; including fixing the typos and grammatical errors. Originally, I'm very good with languages. Name it; I can learn it very fast. But when it comes to grammar, no matter what language, I always had problems. I learnt grammars from reading beta'd stories to learn about it. Because it was done by my own, I think there are still too many mistakes in this story. Can I ask how to change the story without alerting the reader?

In my opinion, Ryoma is flawed in his character. I mean, he's pretty much everything else. I tried to make my stories more realistic, I guess. Although some liked the old and descriptive ones, others liked the new and simpler ones. I guess, I need to mix between the two into a more balanced proportion. Thank God if you think there's no OOCness. I like modifying Fuji and Ryoma's relationship; it's just so dynamic and has never ending possibilities. And I think readers already have enough of perfect Fuji, ne? I don't know about putting them together. It depends on how the story flows, I think. I haven't thought about the ending. It can end tragically, one of them dying or even breaking up, or happily ever after (in my own context. I sucked at fluffs so the ending would be 'happy', just no 'fluffy' kind of happy).

joster13 - Actually, I've been dying to try something like this out; sarcastic and pure nonsense. I think Ryoma is supposed to be a little slow, but observant and sarcastic and indifferent. I don't really enjoy a light story, so I tried not to make anything quite as simple. I'm glad you think this story is mature and dark. The OOCness is a must for the story to fit but I can't imagine anyone else in Prince of Tennis that could be shaken mentally the way I did Fuji. In Prince of Tennis, he's easier to crush mentally I think. I like Fuji like this; he seemed human compared to the ethereal Fuji descriptions scattered everywhere. I respect everyone's ideas, but I still want my Fuji to be like this.

CherryBlossom YingFa - Uh, yeah. I'm going to continue this. I'm not really good at making one-shots so rest assured that this will be a series.

-X-Nefertiri-X- - Of course, and here you go. ^ ^

truckerhat52 - Hmm, I'm glad you think that Ryoma's spot on. I had been wondering how to explore Ryoma from this point of view and I'm glad that you like him enough. Tee hee!

Wuzzgoinon - Glad to hear from you even in this story. Oh, and don't worry. I've updated both The Art of Deception and Gakuen Story ~ Sensei Hours because plenty of my readers were pestering me for it, in a good way. Remember to review, pretty please?

JBubbles - Well, foremost, I appreciate your critic. Now let me reason a bit, because you've read my other stories. My Fuji, in each, are all different because he was easy to experiment and tamper with: a demure, but wicked tensai who could turn out very nice or otherwise. His character hadn't really shown wholly in the canon in my opinion. For me, Fuji is possible to turn out like anything, even this. Being a tensai doesn't mean one can't crumble. In fact, the pressure of being one can lead him astray because he's young and thus capable of having doubts in life. There are many interpretation of Fuji and I like mine as human with faults not as a perfect specimen. Ryoma I tend to describe him worldly beautiful but with flaws on his character. I like to believe we should catch different sides of a character and Fuji being a superficial sadist doesn't cut this story. I like Fuji, as much as I like Ryoma but even more so because he was able to show OOCness from time to time like the original one in the manga (when he went against Shiraishi, etc). Anyway, sorry if it's OOC for you, I guess it's different for each person.

MoonlessRoad - Thank you very much. I hope I didn't disappoint you and there's always a reason why I changed someone's characters… though it was more like a 'fault' in a character than completely changing it. Please review?

darknights - Thank you! Keep on R&R!

Kamiyoukai - Heya, here's the update! Hope you enjoyed it! ^^

nicki-gurl - You've always been one of my favourite readers! Well, I have fetish for angst and drama and complexities! I assure you that this will be one hell of a ride! I have surprises after all.

MaryLover - Oh, don't worry. The thrill is going to come soon enough, I guarantee that. And again, Fuji is 'weak' not because he was 'weak'. But even a tensai should have his weak points and I'm making his Ryoma.