Author's Notes: Oh! I'm so happy by all the reviews hehe how exciting. While writing this story, I feel like I'm writing Crumbling all over again. The tone and atmosphere of the two stories are similar, and it's really nice getting that feeling back. I love hurt/comfort, it's my fav genre, and I'm glad to be writing in it again – especially with my fav pairing. Anyway, thanks for all your feedback!

PS. Thank you to the guest comments! I didn't reply through PM 'cause you guys weren't logged in, but I still appreciate the reviews!

When Ryoma finally came to, he was shivering, his Seigaku jacket half-heartedly tossed over his shoulders and his shorts loosely back on his waist. The court was empty, with only his ripped shirt strewn to the side. I must have passed out, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back tears. Blood seeped down the inside of his legs, trailing slickly down his trembling muscles. His body ached in a way it never had before.

Aware of the exhaustion in every part of his body, Ryoma barely made it to his feet. When he did manage to get upright, he swayed, vision flickering several times before it became clear. Pain wore down on him, pressing onto his shoulders. Images flickered in his vision – roaming hands, a blinding pain, moans of twisted pleasure. Ryoma gagged, and threw up a bit on the ground.

Wrapping his jacket around him tighter – as if to protect himself from the darkness of the night – he stumbled out of the courts. His lips bled, swollen and red. His heart ached, and his skin twitched with the ever-reminent feeling of hands crawling up his bare body. In all his life, Ryoma had never thought something like this could happen to him.

It happened to other kids – not him. It happened to weak kids – not him.

But…it had…

He was so exhausted.

With shaking legs that barely held him up, Ryoma headed to the direction of the hotel, wanting nothing more than to bury himself under the covers and hide the shame that he feared would never leave him.

=][=

When he got to the hotel, he stripped down into his pajamas, not caring about staining them with blood. He was just too tired – his backside ached tremendously, and his stomach flip flopped with nausea. "Sleep…" he murmured to himself, padding over to the large bed. Pulling himself under the covers, Ryoma curled into a ball, enveloping himself in the lonely warmth.

Karupin crawled over him, and nudged his head with his paw. Ryoma let the gentle action comfort him.

"It…hurt…" he whispered into the darkness of the hotel room. Karupin nuzzled his cheek, as if sensing his master was in a fragile state.

The blankets were so thick and tight around him – trapping him to the security of the bed. Ryoma finally let his tense shoulders relax, let the exhaustion roll off his body and seep into the sheets. His eyes burned with tears that needed to be shed, but even after everything that had happened, he could not find the energy to cry.

With nothing left in him, he just closed his eyes, and let himself drift off into a dreamless sleep, not bothering to set his alarm for the match the following day.

It didn't matter anymore.

Really, nothing did.

Echizen Nanjiroh spent most of his life concealing his love for his son. He taunted the boy, let him wander wherever he wanted, and made it a personal mission to make fun of the kid whenever the opportunity came up. But in the deep crevices of his soul, Nanjiroh cared, and his own heart was beating thunderously as he turned on the TV.

It was night in Japan, but in America, it was early morning – the US Open finals were about to begin.

The TV blurred, before the channel cleared. Up front was Lleyton Hues, charming the crowd with a dashing grin and mischievous eyes. "I'm not really sure," the man was saying. "I'm really disappointed, though, because I thought I was going to be in for a really good challenge…I mean, it's nice winning but…"

Nanjiroh's hand froze around the remote. Had they already played the match? Had he got the timing wrong? Had his son lost?

"….I didn't expect to win by forfeit. I find it kind of ignorant that he just wouldn't show up."

What?

"…I kept thinking he was going to come at the last minute, but he just never did…winning by forfeit isn't as exciting as winning after playing a great game…"

Echizen Nanjiroh stared at the screen, mouth parted, fingers trembling around the remote control. He was a laid-back guy – sure – but for his only son to miss the opportunity of a lifetime? His own heart ached, while his body stayed still with shock.

"…I just want to say to all of America: Maybe Ryoma Echizen would have won against me. Maybe he wouldn't have. But I do know that someone who doesn't even bother to show up to the finals is undeserving to be the winner."

America cheered, and Nanjiroh turned the TV off, watching as it faded to black. He sat frozen on the couch, fingers clenched around the remote control, heart roaring in his ears until he could hear nothing but the blood rushing through him. Ryoma would never forfeit a game this important. He would never oversleep, or forget about it.

He knew his son.

The only reason for this to happen…

Nanjiroh stood up, and walked numbly to the telephone.

…was if something had gone terribly wrong.

=][=

"Whaaaat? Ochibi didn't show up!"

"This has to be a joke!"

"Echizen! If he overslept, I'm going to kill him…"

"How unusual."

"It wasn't in my data at all…"

"Would he really miss the US Open finals?"

"I can't believe it!"

The regulars were huddled at Kikumaru's house, lounging on the couch while others were sprawled on the floor. They had had a sleepover so they could all watch Ryoma's final match together, hoping their distant cheering would push him to victory. But they saw no match. All they saw was Lleyton Hues, talking modestly about his win and Ryoma's forfeit.

Ryoma hadn't showed up for the match, and the regulars could hardly believe it.

"Ochibi! Why?" Kikumaru was practically wailing, hugging the blanket tighter around him. The entire month, his only motivation to get through classes and grueling tennis practices was to know that Ryoma was working even harder, trying to reach the very top. And now he hadn't even shown up to the finals? Kikumaru felt like crying.

Oishi gave him a tender hug. "I know it's disappointing," he said briefly. "But…I'm sure he had a good reason…"

"Maybe he got kidnapped, nya!"

Everyone glared at him, not wanting to think about their baby boy getting kidnapped.

"Maybe he got distracted," Momo suggested. "You know…with…Ponta…or…something…" the second-year trailed off, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

All of the regulars stared at the TV screen, which was on mute. They could see Lleyton embracing the victory, and they bitterly felt that Ryoma deserved it so much more. But if he hadn't even shown up…maybe he didn't deserve it as much as they'd thought he did. Tezuka, in particular, was finding it hard to conceal his shock.

Being a stone and all, he did manage to look unperturbed at the news, but Fuji was smirking at him like he could see through all of Tezuka's silent façade.

Why had Echizen not shown up?

Why would he do this?

Why?

Why?

Why?

The word blurred in Tezuka's mind until he was sick of it. He could find no reasonable answer to satisfy himself. Worry gnawed in his stomach. He had had a match with Ryoma only two weeks prior to the finals, and after slimly beating him, Ryoma had told Tezuka: "I'll win the finals," he said. "So I don't disgrace you."

Tezuka had offered him a brief smile. "I believe you."

But now there was only the cold pit in his stomach, like something had gone terribly wrong. If Ryoma had a stupid reason for not showing up, like oversleeping, Tezuka didn't think he could ever forgive him. However, if it was a serious reason…well, that was almost worse.

"Worried?" Fuji shot Tezuka a carefree smile.

Tezuka adjusted his glasses. "It's a bit…worrisome, I suppose."

"What's your take on it?"

That was Fuji. Always asking everyone else about their opinions but never revealing a layer of his own.

"My take…" Tezuka said stiffly. "Is…nothing. I can't come up with anything. It doesn't make sense."

Inui popped up next to them, nearly giving Tezuka a heart attack (although he cleverly concealed his jitters with only an eye twitch). "My data shows that the chances of this happening were quite literally only 1%, and that was on the off chance that something tragic happened. But I don't think anything tragic could have happened to Echizen – based on my data, of course - so…" Inui faltered midway. "Yes, well, this is quite unusual."

"Inui doesn't even have any answers," Fuji's smile perked. "This is turning into quite the mystery."

Tezuka wanted – no, he needed an Advil. "Fuji, stop looking so happy," he commanded.

"Of course," Fuji said, his smile not dimming.

Kikumaru's living room was chaos. Kaidoh and Momo had resorted to having a pillow fight (probably as stress relief) and Kikumaru was now consistently wailing into Oishi's chest. Kawamura had somehow gotten his hands on a racquet and was speeding around the house yelling, "BUUURNING! ECHIZEN IS GUNNA GET BURNEED WITH A STOVE IF HE DOESN'T HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR MISSING THE FINALS!"

Inui was scribbling in his notebook, and Fuji was smiling sunnily at…well, air.

Tezuka sighed, the knot in his stomach refusing to budge. He raised his eyes and watched the mute screen, watching as Lleyton talked into the microphone, watching as he rose to a fame that he didn't deserve, watching as America roared in appreciation, apparently too quickly forgetting about the gold-eyed rookie that had captured their hearts just one week before.

They just wanted a winner. And drama.

Someone – probably Kikumaru – unmuted the volume.

Tezuka caught the news reporter's words just in time. "….now, the big question circling America is why did the 12-year old tennis star, Echizen Ryoma, decide to simply not show up for the biggest opportunity of his life? Why did he miss it? Why would he sacrifice everything he had achieved so far to blow it up into thin air? Why? Why would he…"

Tezuka frowned, and turned to go to the kitchen cabinets where he knew Kikumaru kept the Tylenol.

Why, indeed.

Ryoma woke up to sunlight hitting his face. Heaving himself up, he blocked the heavy light with his free hand, the other crumpling the blanket. For a moment, he forgot. He didn't remember what had happened – he didn't remember why his body ached so badly, or why the queasy feeling of anxiety wouldn't leave.

But then it all came rushing back, like a vacuum releasing all its pent-up dust. "So lovely to devour." Ryoma shivered, hugging the blanket around his body, covering himself up as much as possible even though he was wearing pajamas. He stared at Karupin's sleeping form, wondering idly if what had happened had actually happened.

It's not supposed to happen to me. It happens to other people, but not me.

He felt like he was in a daze.

Like his soul had been ripped out and torn to nothing.

He felt…numb.

Ryoma pulled his legs over the bed, getting to his feet. The hotel was filled with afternoon light, the big window painting the walls golden. He checked his phone, and was not surprised to see nearly twenty missed calls and a gazillion text messages. He had missed the US open finals. He hadn't shown up.

Ryoma walked slowly to the bathroom. He didn't care.

In the bathroom, Ryoma stood in front of the mirror. A boy stared back at him, with wild black-green hair, large gold-brown eyes, and blue pajamas that drooped off his right shoulder. The boy had an injured lip, and no smile. The boy was…. "Let me touch you." …dirty. The boy had let himself get raped. He hadn't fought back hard enough.

Ryoma reached his quivering hand out, and touched the cool mirror.

This couldn't be him. He didn't want it to be him.

Ryoma stared at the mirror, stared at himself.

For once in his life, he didn't want to be Echizen Ryoma. He wanted to be anyone else – anyone normal, anyone carefree and happy, anyone who never had problems like these. He wanted to be Momo, or Kevin, or Kikumaru, or… or maybe Tezuka. Nothing like this would ever happen to the captain.

Tezuka was strong. He was invincible.

Ryoma was…

Ryoma closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around himself, rocking on the heels of his feet.

Why didn't I fight harder?

I could have stopped him.

Maybe…did I want it?

No!

Of course I didn't….

I just…

What if…I hadn't gone on the run…

It wouldn't have happened!

I shouldn't have went…

Why did I go? How could I be so stupid?

Ryoma knew the "What if's?" and "Why's?" could not possibly stop. His body felt weak, torn, played with as if he were an object. He felt like a broken toy that no longer worked. His skin felt prickly, like someone was constantly brushing their hand across it, and he could barely move without wincing in pain.

Jadedly, Ryoma stared at the mirror once more.

Dirty.

Wrong.

Unworthy.

Ryoma brought his knuckle to his mouth, pressing it between his teeth as tears filled his eyes, making a choking sound against his skin.

He would not cry.

He could not give Lleyton anymore than he had already given.

With unshed tears, Ryoma turned on the shower.

Maybe if he rubbed the soap hard enough, he would become clean again.

=][=

Ryoma came out of the shower two hours later with his skin rubbed raw with soap. His hair fell damply over his forehead, and a towel hugged his body. He had tried to wash off all the blood between his legs, and had scrubbed insanely hard to get rid of Lleyton's touch. But he still felt impure. He still felt disgusting.

His cell phone was ringing.

Ryoma took a quavering breath, steadying himself. I can pretend it didn't happen, he consoled his exhausted mind. I can't avoid them forever, but I can keep lying forever. If I pretend it didn't happen, maybe I'll forget about it. And if I pretend long enough, maybe even I'll start believing it myself. Ryoma padded across the room, wrapping the towel tighter around him.

The cell phone continued to ring.

Ryoma checked the screen. The Echizen residence.

Act normal. It didn't happen. Nothing happened.

With trembling fingers, Ryoma grasped the phone.

He stared at it for a moment, watching it ring.

Then, with his heart in his throat, he pressed talk.

The answer was immediate.

"Seishounen? Seishounen? What the hell! Why haven't you been answering? Your mother and I – I mean, just your mother and your cousin have been worried sick! You better have a good explanation for not picking up the phone!..."

Ryoma listened. He listened to his father's obnoxious, familiar voice, and felt a little safer.

"Oi, brat, are you there?"

Ryoma squeezed his eyes shut.

"…gaki, why didn't you…you know…the finals…"

Breathe, Ryoma.

"Oi, answer me! I can hear your breathing, you know!"

Ryoma clenched his fist, and finally opened his eyes. He took a deep breath.

"Oyaji?" his voice was smooth, free of cracks. Thank god.

Nanjiroh was silent. "What's wrong?"

Of course his dad could tell. Even with Ryoma sounding normal, his father always knew.

"Hey…kiddo…"

Ryoma bit his lip so hard he thought he would bleed.

"Oyaji…" he released his fist, let his fingers spread free. "…I'm sorry."

More silence. Then, "Okay."

A beat passed.

"Oyaji?"

"…yeah?"

"I'm coming home."