Crumbling

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.

Author's Notes: Aw! I'm so surprised by all the reviews I got! Okay, I have a question. Who should Ryoma be paired with? Tezuka, Fuji or Momoshiro… I was thinking of doing Atobe as well but I find him very difficult to write so maybe I'll save that for the future. You're suggestions are appreciated! xD

Warnings: The chapters will be short but will be updated frequently. I'm not very well with Japanese as Prince of Tennis is one of the few anime's I've watched, so forgive me for misspelling stuff or saying the wrong words.

"Hey, Echizen! Hurry up, Captain Tezuka's gunna kill us!"

Ryoma didn't seem to hear him as he slowly walked over to Momoshiro, tennis bag slung over his shoulder, his head ducked down over his hat. His feet seemed to drag across the ground and his shoulders were slumped slightly.

"Echizen, we can't be late." Momoshiro scolded, oblivious to the boy's trudging. "We just can't."

"We're already late." Ryoma grunted, finally looking up. He hoped his cheek didn't look pink; it still stung from when his mother had hit him. He shifted, watching as Momoshiro leaned against his bicycle, examining him. "Something's off, Echizen…something's off."

The boy blinked, before clearing his throat. "Mada Mada Dane."

"You say that to everyone, you little brat!" Momoshiro joked playfully, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. "Let's hurry, before we miss the whole morning practice itself."

You little brat…

Ryoma stopped, pausing, as Momoshiro's words reminded him of his mother's previously. 'You ungrateful brat.' He felt his lips tug into a frown that looked more like a pout, wondering why everyone called him that. He had never minded before, knowing he was better than them all anyway, but it was starting to get annoying.

Or maybe it was just starting to get annoying because his mother called him that – something she never did before. Almost instinctevly, Ryoma's hand went to his cheek, and his eyes softened. "Nanda?" he mumbled to himself.

"Earth to Echizen." Momoshiro shouted. "Get on the bike, or I'm leaving!"

Startled, Ryoma weakly replied, "Ois."

Morning practice was underway as Momoshiro and Ryoma ran onto the courts. Captain Tezuka was standing in the corner, observing with narrow eyes. Eiji and Kawamara were playing against each other, as were Inui and Fuji. Kaidoh and Oishi were still running laps, and Momoshiro vaguely wondered why.

"Hey guys!" Momoshiro waved his racket as he walked in, Ryoma following closely behind him. It was excruciatingly hot for the morning, the sun beating heavily on the regular's already sweat-dripping faces, and the skies cloudless. The moment Momoshiro spoke up, Tezuka's eyes shot over to them.

"Momoshiro, Echizen, why are you so late?" he said sternly, pursing his lips in a thin line.

"Well, you see, I kind of over-"

"50 laps for coming to practice late, now."

Momoshiro's mouth dropped. "Demo-"

"Make that 60 laps."

The spikey-haired male clamped his mouth shut, his shoulders drooping as he threw his tennis bag and water bottle down on the bench. Ryoma glared at him menacingly as he did the same. "Thanks a lot Momo-senpai." He said, bending down to tie his shoelace. "You made us get another ten laps."

Momoshiro took a long swig of his water, before twisting the lid shut and wiping his mouth. He shrugged meekly. "I was just trying to explain myself."

"Che," Ryoma scoffed. "Whatever you say, senpai."

"You can't show so much attitude to your seniors Echizen. You just can't."

Ryoma ignored him as he started into an easy jog, settling into pace and controlling his breathing. Running was something that came naturally to him – even with his shorter strides; he managed to keep up with all of the taller regulars. His feet pounded lightly against the ground as he turned the corner, and he could heard Momoshiro closing in behind him. "Oy, Echizen! Wait for me!"

"Yadda!"

However, despite their athleticism and stamina, by the 40th lap, both Momoshiro and Echizen were panting. The heat had affected them both, and sweat drenched their skin and clothes as the padded around the courts, hearing the tap of the tennis ball from the rest of the players.

"Go Ochibi! Go Ochibi!" Kikumaru yelled as he returned a shot to Taka-san.

Momoshiro frowned and shot Ryoma a look. "How come he's always cheering for you? I'd love some 'Go Momo's' every now and then."

"Okay then." Ryoma smirked. "Go Momo."

The older male rolled his violet eyes, before wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and speeding up his pace, practically challenging Ryoma. Before they knew it, they were in a desperate competition to see who could reach sixty laps first. As the golden-eyed 12-year old skidded past another turn, his mind strayed to earlier that morning.

"You ungrateful brat."

He shook his head brusquely, his stomach feeling queasy again. He still couldn't believe his mother, Rinko, who was always so gentle and composed had – had hit him. He instinctevly touched his cheek for the second time that day, which although was no longer sore, still reminded him of the two times she'd done it.

And for what? Showing some attitude? Leaving his dish on the table?

"Echizen, you're slowing down." Momoshiro teased as the breeze ruffled his hair.

"Momo-senpai," Ryoma said breathlessly as he fought to catch up with him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Are ya trying to distract me or something?"

"Mada…it's just a question."

Momoshiro spun around and proceeded to run backwards, winking at his friend. "Shoot." He encouraged, in a good mood, despite the rolling heat waves. Ryoma felt the words he wanted to ask clog up in his throat, desperate to escape. "It's just…" his voice was tight and suddenly he was embarrassed.

"What is it Echizen? Girl problems?"

Ryoma sighed, fighting off the uneasiness and trying to sound like he couldn't care less about what he was saying. "Say, have your parents ever hit you?"

Momoshiro stopped in his tracks, utterly caught off guard. His feet planted firmly onto the ground and he stared at Ryoma, who had been forced to stop as well, with wide eyes. The younger boy immediately wished he hadn't said anything and pulled the brim of his tennis cap further down his face, hopelessly trying to hide the pale blush forming on his cheeks.

"My parents hitting me?" Momoshiro asked slowly. "Nanda?"

"Just asking."

"Did your parents hit you or something?"

"Mada!" Ryoma said a bit too forcefully, shaking his head. He stuffed his hands in his pocket, meeting Momoshiro's eyes and trying to prove that he was simply asking out of curiosity. The purple-eyed teenager found it hard to believe that Ryoma would just ask that out of the blue, but decided to answer anyway.

"Well, there was this one time." Momoshiro said, and they began to run slowly. "I was around your age and I was being reckless. I was on the sidewalk when my tennis ball rolled into the middle of the road…so…I went and got it, but I didn't see a car coming…and I nearly got into an accident…"

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, I was a stupid back then. So anyway, the car stopped just in time, but my parents were so freaked out…so my mom hit me for worrying her so much."

Ryoma swallowed thickly. "I see."

"It wasn't hard or anything. I guess I deserved it." Momoshiro let out a low chuckle.

Ryoma didn't answer as he pumped his legs harder, uncertainty suddenly filling his golden eyes. An uncomfortable feeling formed in the pit of his stomach and suddenly his American breakfast was ready to come up.

So Momoshiro's got hit before…

He sprinted harder.

But for a good reason…my mom hit me…

He could feel his heart thudding louder by every passing second.

….for not putting a dish away?