Ryoma couldn't sleep. Even the slightest touch sent his nerves ablaze; sending signals of pain throughout his small body. As a result he found himself tossing and turning the whole night through, his skin too sore and tender to allow him any rest; Or any peaceful rest at least. He had smeared lotion all over his skin and enveloped his midsection with gauze—if only to keep the oily substance off his sheets. Yet, it wasn't helping much at all. He wished he could fill up a tub with cold water and just sit in it forever, but then he might develop hypothermia, and besides the electric heaters would probably start up inside the bath.

He must have tried everything.

He tried sleeping under the covers, but they soon grew warm as fire so he tried sleeping without covers, yet no matter what he did there was still the warm underbelly of his mattress beneath him. He opened the window, but the air was still outside and it barely helped. He couldn't move the blind lest someone see him. So he tried sleeping part way on top of his pillow, but it grew hot. He flipped it over, but that side grew hot as well. He couldn't fall asleep before his pillow needed to be turned over once more. He finally grew exasperated with the entire process and tried the floor. Only the floor was to stiff to sleep on. He placed a blanket underneath. Only the blanket grew warm. Over and over the same dilemma, he was going to lose his mind.

1am

He shuffled back on top of the mattress leaving his bedspread to gather dust on the floor.

2am

He placed his now cool blanket underneath him and took off his shirt.

3am

He took off his pajama bottoms and tried sleeping in just his underwear.

4am

He tried ignoring the warmth and pain to count sheep.

5am

He sat up deciding against sleeping entirely and stumbled around searching for his book bag.

5:16am

He turned the page of his newly checked out book groggily, trying his best to comprehend the text that was all jumbled together. Everything blurred and smeared into one giant heap of ink, and he couldn't remember what had happened after he read it anyway. There was an illustration of a sword stuck in a boulder on some waterfall; and after awhile, by some miracle, he drifted off into a restless slumber.

HE WAS LATE! He hopped around struggling to put on his tennis uniform and jacket. His rail card, where did he put his rail card? He scrounged around putting on his socks and sweat bands at the same time. He could only imagine the noise his father was hearing coming out of his room; Bounce, bounce, thud, thud, crash! He was wrestling with his own clothing for peep sakes! At long last he spotted his wallet and house key on the drawer and calmed down a bit, tying up his shoes. Shorts? He had put on a pair of white shorts. He looked up and down his legs searching for bruises. Nothing. There was a light bruise on his right shin, but his sock could cover that up nicely. Shorts, shirt, jacket—hat, keys, racquet—phone, lunch, wallet. He scurried around the house grabbing the items of his mental checklist as fast as humanly possible. His dad was up earlier than usual sitting at the table, his head sagging low, probably from a headache, and a mug of coffee pressed to his lips. Today was Saturday, dad always woke up early on Saturday. Those reporters would be here again. The first time they showed up dad was lucky enough to be up and about ringing his bell. Dad wouldn't take any chances. Not with those tabloid vultures.

"What's the rush Ryoma?" Nanjaro chuckled, setting down his drink, "Don't tell me you're late for a date?"

"No" the tennis prodigy muttered grabbing his bento from the fridge and stuffing it into his tennis bag. "No time to talk—tennis."

"Okay then, have f-!" Only Ryoma was out the door before his father could even complete his sentence. He grabbed his cell-phone scanning the screen for the time.

"Shit eight minutes!"

And he ran; ran fast and hard toward the bus stop. Sprinting as fast as his tiny legs could push him. He couldn't miss that bus. He would have to wait a whole half hour longer if he missed that bus. Or catch the subway, and he'd probably be trampled there. The place was a zoo. He was already late for the train. He nearly darted into traffic but caught his footing at the least minute. Several people gasped, pointing at him, he had come just inches away from getting hit by a taxi. Crap. He breathed in deeply feeling the pain from his burns set in from last night. Pain killers, he had forgotten to bring pain killers. No matter. He tapped his foot impatiently waiting for the damn light to change from the red to walk. It was taking way to long.

1

2

3

He could still feel some lingering gazes, probably from making a spectacle of himself earlier, but pushed it toward the back of his mind. Fuck, he was going to be late! He hated the crowds and crowds and crowds of people. He needed to get to the damn stop.

4

5

6

FINALLY! The light changed and dozens of people began crossing the road in an orderly fashion. Well dozens of people minus Ryoma who was weaving through the crowd like a madman on a mission. Take a right. His feet automatically guided him through the backstreets. Take a left. He found himself breathing heavily and felt a sharp pain pool around his chest, squeezing the life out of him. Two more blocks. Sweat glistened off the top of his brow and he was vaguely reminded that he didn't put on deodorant that morning. No matter. He could still play tennis. Finally he came to a familiar apartment complex. 'Legs don't fail me now' he mentally chided picking up his pace running headlong toward a tall wire fence. Before he knew it he had tossed his bag over the barrier and scaled the links with ease. He could hear the land owner's door open in alarm and someone shouting, dogs barking and snapping and growling. FUCK! Not now. He stumbled around grabbing his things then ran for his life through the garden and the parking lot trampling over a ton of flowers as he hastily made his grand escape. Somehow the old man and his viscous animals had given up on his pursuit. Hopefully he hadn't called the cops. Sirens. Sirens were not a good sign. Half a block. Shit shit shit as if he hadn't had enough to worry about. He skidded to a stop nearly falling over on the slick ground in front of the bus sign, breathing heavily. The cops wouldn't, the cops wouldn't he was too exhausted to think clearly. There were a few other people at the stop giving him funny looks. They were older, but not quite full grown yet, probably high school students. Ryoma tilted down his hat. Who cares what they thought? At least he hadn't missed the damn bus. He barely had time to pull out his cell phone and check the time before the vehicle came to a rolling stop and the doors swung open with a hiss.

Echizen stepped onto the bus fumbling around with his wallet; his hands still shaking and his ears still ringing with the sound of sirens and dogs. And it felt good. He couldn't pin point why. It felt almost as good as winning a match against a challenging opponent, almost as good scoring a point against his father, almost as good as sipping a fresh bubbly Ponta beneath a cherry tree on a crisp spring day. He smiled swiping his card and walking toward the back of the bus. There were no seats. He had to stand. Still, that was okay. He felt good. Invincible. Unbeatable. Great. Fantastic. On top of the world.

Everyone wanted to know why he was late for sign-in. It hadn't occurred to him to come up with a proper excuse while he was biting back stabs of pain on the bus—so he told everyone he was in the delivery room helping some person have a baby. Probably not the best lie he had ever told. No one bought it. Yet, no one pestered him further and everyone seemed happy just to see him. His game wasn't for a few hours, so he had time to kill. It might have been nice to know that before he rushed out of the house like a convict who'd just escaped from prison. Apparently Horio had put on a jersey and impersonated him. He had no clue how the team had pulled that off.

The viper hissed as he walked by but Ryoma just waved him off pulling his hat down over his eyes to block the sun. His team mates seemed worried about him, but to skittish to ask why he was late. He inwardly laughed, somewhat amused. He had just trespassed, destroyed private property, and evaded the cops. How would he explain that if they asked, 'Oh I just took a stroll and lost track of time.' He was already in enough trouble for a minor theft. It was a miracle he was allowed to play at all today. Not to mention the night before. Yeah because getting a prescription for a drug from some shady character that might not even be a real doctor was totally legal. Yet he had gotten away with all of it, and it felt nice. It felt like he was in control for once. Luck was on his side. He just prayed the tides wouldn't change, not until the current swept him far away.

He had set down his bag by the courts and extracted his racquet and a ball. Now was as good of a time to practice as ever ne? He just needed to find a wall, and maybe a bottle of Ponta. He walked around aimlessly halfway searching for a Ponta and halfway searching for an icepack to get rid of his stinging burning pain.

He found the soda machine entirely to quickly, and was almost disappointed that it was so easy to find. He wanted to wonder around a bit longer. Oh well. His pocket was full of disorganized yen, and he accidentally pulled out a ten thousand while he was trying to pull out a thousand. He fumbled around a bit trying to smooth over the bill enough so that the machine would accept it before realizing the bill was to large. Embarrassed he stuffed the paper into his pocket and fished out the correct bill. Then, suddenly, a fresh bubbly Ponta and a handful of change was within his grasp. He hadn't had a can of his favorite fizzy drink in ages, well a few days. He was almost too eager to have it, like a drug addict getting his fix.

An ice cold soda, time to kill, breaking a few laws, lying. He was doing pretty well today. Now if only his burns weren't pestering him each time his clothing touched his skin. He had examined his injuries further on his own the night before while trying to sleep, and found a lump surrounding one of his ribs. It was tiny. No bigger than a marble. He might have dislocated a rib or something when he fell on top of his dad. He wasn't sure. He didn't hear a snap though so it didn't really concern him too much.

He was hitting his ball against the back of a building when Sakuno found him, mumbling as usual so that he couldn't tell at all what she was saying. Her annoying friend what's her face was there too. The fan club girl. She was especially annoying. He didn't know how men unraveled the mystery that was women.

"I-it's almost time for the first m-match." Sakuno mumbled suddenly finding her shoes very interesting, "R-Ryoma?"

"And" Echizen spoke disinterested, still hitting the ball, creating a rather large round skid mark on the brick wall. He was not even so much as giving a second glance to his couch's granddaughter. He was too absorbed in his sport. It was the only thing keeping his mind off of the searing pain now spreading like fire across his entire ribcage.

"A-and T-Tezuka said to get you."

Why hadn't she just said that to begin with? Ryoma wondered catching the ball in his hand and squeezing it between his fingers; using it to keep himself preoccupied. His feet found themselves making their way toward the courts –taking on a mind of their own—as he squashed the life out of his greenish sphere beneath his fingertips. He was supposed to play doubles today. He wasn't quite sure if he could pull it off.

He had played doubles with Momo before on the street but that was nearly a week ago when his cousin was still—he paused mid thought. The match! Of course the match would give him a reason to call Nanoko and who knows, maybe she hated America just as much as he hated dad. He grinned trying to keep himself cheerful, but quickly came down off his high when reality crashed into him. His cousin was probably loving the states. He couldn't tell her to come back out right, she'd be suspicious. He squeezed the ball so hard that it literally popped, making a loud noise as it expired. He hadn't realized that his feet had stopped in front of his team minutes ago. Everyone was staring.

"Ne Ochibi?"

Echizen looked dazed, dropping the flattened object to the ground before making his way to the bench like a zombie. He was too depressed to care. His cousin was going to be gone for the rest of the school year plus some and there was nothing he could do about it. Who knows, she might even move into a dorm and leave for good when she got back. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but he couldn't let them fall. The sky, he'd look up toward the sky and catch the droplets before they had the chance to cascade down his face. He could just lose himself to his own little world, get stuck in the clouds. Sometimes as a child he would stare at the clouds for hours on end, drawing shapes with his fingers and imagining what was going on between the fluffy people and the animals high up above the ground. He thought they were made of cotton balls and often wondered how planes could slice through them so easily. It had been a major disappointment to him when he got to ride his first jumbo jet only to discover that clouds were water vapor. Somehow the magic was lost. Today the clouds were a beautiful gray with barely any light filtering through them. Would the angels cry for him today? Or would they wait until after he was locked up in his room?

"Earth to Echizen" Momo yelled out sarcastically waving fingers above his face, blocking his perfect view. "Geeze he's being a bigger brat than usual."

He snapped out of it quickly grunting in acknowledgment of his sempai before tilting down his cap and leaning back. Now was as good of a time as ever to nap, right? If only he could. He eyed his captain for awhile but turned away when Tezuka began to eye him back. No, he couldn't bring himself to ask for an aspirin. Besides his bachou would be way too skeptical about it. He wasn't even so sure that kids his age were even supposed to use aspirin at all. Maybe the first aid kit had some ibuprofen? He paused biting the inside of his cheek secretly when someone accidentally nudged his side. Oww, shit that hurt, the inside of his mouth was bleeding now. He had bit down to hard. Crap, crap crap. He looked around; good no one had noticed his involuntary wince. He had already figured it all out. He'd just have to suffer through it. It was his own dang fault for waking up late anyway. If he pulled out the first aid kit it'd be like opening up a bucket of honey around a swarm of bees. Everyone would quickly congregate around him. He didn't need the attention.

"Warm up Momoshiro, Echizen." Coach Ryozaki barked sometime later, "I expect nothing less than your best out there."

Echizen sighed wondering if the bags around his eyes were noticeable at all. Oh right, he had that whole allergies excuse now. He smiled just a little. At least something was going right today. Momo slapped him on his back on the way out of the half shelter making Ryoma bite his tongue to hold back from screaming. Stretching, stretching, he had to focus on stretching. He reached down touching his toes suppressing another yelp. He could do this. It was only one match. And then there was a different weird contortion, and another and another. 1 and 2 and 3 and 4. He sprung back up glad that the torture session was over. The prince hopped around a bit getting into his split step, noticing Inui and the reporters jotting down notes. Not now of all times, couldn't they wait until he was actually in top form?

They had won. The coach wasn't pleased by how they had won but that wasn't the point. They had won. So what if they had divide the court into halves to do it. Some of his teammates had taken to ruffling his hair and another one squeezed him. His mouth was open when Eiji came up and gave him a bear hug. He couldn't suppress the pained gasp and grimace that omitted from his small being.

"Ochibi Ochibi I didn't hurt you bad Ochibi I didn't mean to—" Echizen was still wincing grabbing his side, he stumbled back into the player house where the other players fretted over him. The photographer had come over to take a picture only to be shooed away by the coach. "—are you okay? I didn't mean to I swea-"

"I'm fine" Ryoma tried his best to be convincing but the pain radiated through his voice box, "You just grabbed onto a bruise is all."

"A bruise?" Eiji asked frowning, "It's that bully isn't it?"

"No" Ryoma sighed scratching his ear with his racquet. "I was clumsy." He paused, another lie another lie. He had to make it believable this time. "I had to stand and the bus started before I could grab a hold of a railing and I kind of fell and hit my side in a nearby chair."

"Echizen" Tezuka spoke lowly, "You're not lying right?"

"Of course not boucho!" Echizen spoke faking outrage, "It's not that bad just a slight bruise, I'll go to the clinic if you want."

"Do that," a command; Tezuka was actually ordering him to see a doctor, "Injuries to the chest can be more severe than they appear on the surface."

"Yeah Ochibi" Oishi cut in.

"Lift up your shirt so I can evaluate the damage" Inui but in creepily, "This may be affecting my data."

"Data?" Eiji shouted, "Ochibi's hurt and all you care about is data!"

Echizen sank deeper into his seat, no they couldn't lift up his shirt. No No No. A lie, he needed a good lie. "I-its to cold, Tezuka you can look at it if you want in the bathroom where its warm."

"That won't be necessary." Tezuka readjusted his glasses, "I just need to feel for broken bones."

Crap, Echizen frowned, he thought if he offered that he'd be off the hook entirely. "Where do you want to feel". He tried to sound confident, even if he was scared fo discovery.

"Your injury of course" Eiji cut it laughing, "I don't think bachou's a pervert."

"A-hem" Tezuka coughed now bending down, ready to begin his examination, "Does it hurt still."

"No"

"Good" Tezuka murmured, pressing down against each rib he felt gently through Ryoma's coat. Ryoma was all the while trying to avoid cringing. "Everything seems to check out." Tezuka sighed.

"Told you" Echizen replied cockily, smoothing out his shirt, "Wait, can I still play?" Echizen would be damned if his first officially sanctioned singles match in Japan was shot because of a damn bruise.

Tezuka looked taken aback for a second before his emotionless face returned, "Only if you promise to see a doctor and only if you promise not to play if its hurting you. AT ALL."

"All right", Echizen paused, "I'm going to take a walk" the youngest regulars member murmured getting up and brushing past his captain arrogantly, "I'll be back before my next match."

He grabbed another soda than sat back on a bench basking in the sun, bouncing a new ball on his racquet, fidgeting. He needed to get his mind off of the dreaded full physical exam. Something. Something. He needed another match. He took a sip of Ponta still bouncing the ball, this time on the narrow edge of his racquet. He needed a distraction- fast. Not even the tennis team walking past him was enough distraction. Even telling them they had a way to go wasn't helping to distract him. He needed something more. He crunched the can in his hands than stood up to watch the next match, one foot after another, making his way back to the rest of his team. Distraction, distraction, he needed distraction.

Yet, distraction could not come fast enough. Echizen inwardly grimaced. He could go to the hospital on his way home, but then the doctor might ask about—he sighed. No he couldn't really see a doctor. That would screw up everything and the police might even get involved. His eyebrows knitted in worry trying to figure out a way to overcome this little hurdle. Why couldn't Tezuka just leave him alone? It was just a bruise. It's not like his rib was jutting out of his skin or piercing his heart.

Echizen really couldn't focus on the tournament rankings and scores, try as he might. He eventually sat back withdrawing into the depths of his mind. He could hear Horio and his group babbling about something or other. Fuji's match had just finished due to some sort of injury in Takashi's wrist and the Golden Pair was up. They were playing some weird team. Fudomine, they were new apparently. Every so often the sound of a camera clicking interrupted his thoughts. His foot tapped a bit on their own accord, moving to the beat of the court. Clink-clink-clink-clink. The steady rhythm of a tennis ball being volleyed across the net, Clink, clink, clink, clink, clonk. And still he couldn't figure out how to get a doctor to forge a note. His physical wasn't due for another few months, he wasn't expecting this. He couldn't hide this.

"Clink, clink, thud, clink, skid, bounce, clink, thud, "

"Forty-Love"

"Clink, clack, clink, bounce, clink, thud, clink, bounce, bounce, bounce…"

"Forty-All"

"Echizen" Momo's voice, just great, the prankster was going to start poking him no doubt. "Echizen"

"What" the boy spoke disinterestedly, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and hideaway for eternity, trying his best to seem like his cocky old self.

"I'll take you to the clinic, you took the bus right?"

Echizen nodded swallowing the lump inside his throat, his saliva as thick as sand in his windpipe. No, he couldn't. He needed to—DAD! He looked up trying his darned best to look unfazed, and then sighed, "I'll call dad first, he might be able to take me and besides he'll need to know if I'm going to be late."

Momo laughed, and it scared the seventh grader, "It's no trouble at all, my parents will drive us, and Tezuka already left a message on your answering machine. Calm down, we know what we're doing. It's no different than if you were injured on the courts. Would you rather Ryuzaki drove you?"

"That old women?" Ryoma scoffed trying his best to come off with an attitude, "Pass"

Momoshirou laughed waving his finger back and forth, "My my you're a rude one." He paused noticing Ryoma wasn't even so much as blinking at his attempt to lighten the mood, "My mom will be here after the matches for both you and Takashi."

"Okay sempai," Ryoma muttered pulling his cap back down to cover his eyes, leaning back to sleep. Or at least fain sleep. Ryoma knew the truth, though he wished it wasn't the truth. He was royally screwed. Unless he could somehow fake seeing the doctor but he doubted he could pull it off. They'd probably walk into the waiting room with him and help him fill out the forms. He couldn't cry though. He had to be strong, convincing, and laid-back. He had to put back up his mask. All the way. He had to fix all the chips and cracks. He couldn't cry. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer.

"I'm going to go get some water." Ryoma muttered lazily, trying to find a way to escape.

"Ok just get back soon, matches are on you know?"

There was a group of boys back by the fountains putting on a show and scaring the other teams; just hitting the ball back and forth back and forth between their racquets. Ryoma wasn't even really paying attention. He simply held up his raquet and walked through on his way to the fountains, wowing the crowd, stealing his opponents thunder. When they grew irritated he simply spoke his famous catch phrase, "Madda madda dane."

They were beyond furious. Perfect. He wanted to laugh. They were going to get him now and beat him up. As if.

"Have you tried two balls?"

To bad Kaidou had to ruin his fun and defend him. He was actually looking forward to fighting them. He wanted to do something besides hold a racquet in his hands. He was itching to fight. Itching to take out all of his anger and frustration on something. Eventually the seventh grader found his way back to the courts, after wondering around for a bit out of boredom. His match was soon right? It didn't hurt to bad. He could pull this off. Maybe.

He just had to be cocky. His old self. He would survive just like he used to. If he was mean and arrogant than people wouldn't pry. It worked before and it'd work now as well. He twirled his racquet in his hand offhandedly, unthinkingly. Just when he was allowing his true self to shine through he had to put back up his mask and shield. He hated it. He loved it. He didn't know who he was anymore, but then again maybe he was just finding out who he really was. Maybe he really was a rotten apple after all. His dad was, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree right? Maybe this entire time he was just pretending to be happy and nice. He had to disillusion himself. He knew no other way to survive.

It was raining, raining so hard that the referee was considering cancelling the next match. Maybe even the angel's didn't know what to do.

I personally think it sucks, but please tell me what you think? Don't be afraid to tell me if it stinks. LOL, I like critics. I mean I write this for fun, but its still fun to know what people think and what not.I think its bad, but not that bad concidering I wrote this chappy in an hour to relieve some built up stress.

Why is it that y'all add this to your favs or alerts but don't review. It only takes a second lol. It doesn't really matter You dont have to review. It'd just be nice if you could. :P I like hearing from people who are reading my fics. Even if they hate my writing.