IT'S… ALIIIVVVVVEEEEEEEEEEE!
*…sniffle* FUUUUUUUUU-! *sob* I LOVE YOU GUYS! I can't even describe how happy I was to see all of your reviews encouraging me and saying that it was fine! To make up for my unforgivably long absence, this chapter's the longest EVAH (just over 6K). Oh, and remember, they're speaking English now! ONWARD!
Here We Go Again
Chapter Twenty: Meanwhile, In America
Part I
"So… ah! What do you- take that! Want to do next- gah!"
A yellow streak shot past him, and Kevin sighed. "45-15, you," he announced. Unfortunately, Ryoma's skills had not dulled as much as he thought they would have, and he was just barely managing to keep the game interesting for the both of them.
In response to his question, Ryoma just shrugged. It didn't really matter to him where they went and what they did. Even staying at this park all afternoon was fine. Even though a few passers by had stopped to stare at their game, it was peaceful here. How a city as immense and completely urban as New York could have such beautiful flecks of green never ceased to amaze him. He held up one finger and mimed a serve, saying he wanted to stay for one more point. The blond was decent at lip reading, but still not so good that Ryoma knew he could get his point across without gestures.
Kevin nodded. "How's all or nothing sound?"
The boy smirked and settled into the server's position. This time… I'll definitely get it this time, thought Ryoma as he closed his eyes. He had been working on a new serve for the Open, though he didn't know if he would need it yet. At the very least, he could use it at the Kanto Tournament.
Focus…
His eyes snapped open, and he threw the tennis ball into the air. It seemed to move in slow motion as it began to fall back down to him, and he had no trouble striking it viciously with his racquet. Inside the split second of contact, he put one of the oddest spins he'd used yet onto the ball with a downward twist of his racquet's gut.
The serve shot towards Kevin with a cross in between heavy sidespin and topspin. It bounced, and shot in a circle around the surprised teen's ankles. After making another half-revolution, the ball spiraled out of the court. Kevin's jaw was dangerously close to the ground.
"Well. That's a new one," he commented once he regained the power of speech.
Ryoma smiled triumphantly and wiped his brow. My game, he thought. That troublesome serve had been in the making for some time now, and the fact that he'd finally hit it perfectly was extremely rewarding.
"So, what'd you name it?" asked Kevin while he dabbed the sweat off of the back of his neck. Ryoma knelt next to him to put away his racquet, and he mouthed something in reply.
The blond, who had been watching carefully, thought for a moment before responding. "Well, since it looked like either "Old Spruce Turf" or "Corkscrew Serve," I'm just going to have to go with the second one."
The silent boy smiled slightly and nodded. He tapped his temple, pointed his friend, and made a thumbs-up.
"Of course I like it! It's totally insane!" Energetically, Kevin threw his hands into the air and grinned. "You know what would be totally awesome? If you could get it to go around, like, five times before it flies off. But I guess you'd need hell of a lot of spin for that, wouldn't you… Either way, it's really cool! Seriously fun serve you thought up there."
Ryoma, looking amused at the bubbly American's antics, leaned back and sipped a Ponta as he watched the small crowd outside of their court disperse.
"Man, I can't wait to see the look on the poor sap's face when he sees you standing across from him tomorrow. So tragic, being eliminated in the first round," joked Kevin.
The Ponta addict raised an eyebrow, nothing more. Kevin had brought up something mildly interesting, though. He had forgotten for a moment that the Open started tomorrow, but now it was in the front of his mind. The next week or so would be a good time to relax and rehabilitate a little before the battles started to heat up. He could also test his limits further than he had today with Kevin. Something told him Cyclone Smashes were out for the moment.
"Well," said Kevin, "Since the good policemen of New York might come after us if we filthy teens loiter too long, I suggest we scram." He picked up his bag and motioned for his introverted friend to follow him off the court.
Not caring where they went, Ryoma did so. The two walked aimlessly through the park for a few minutes, looking for somewhere to sit without being bothered. Eventually, they settled down under a tree by a small pond.
"So for tomorrow, it looks like you won't be having any problems. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Probably not even the day after that. Possibly the-"
Seeing that the blond was just listening to his own voice by now, Ryoma flicked him on the forehead. He shot Kevin a look saying "really?" out of the corner of his eye and leaned against the tree trunk with his eyes closed. "Anyone interesting this year?" he asked, speaking slowly so that Kevin could understand.
"Hm… Other than the usuals? Not really. None that would be any fun, anyways. Well, there's that Djokovic guy, he got really far last year, but he isn't really new. Then Federer, Nadal, Murray and a few others. You've beaten them all before, though, so this should be a ea~sy."
Ryoma traced the line where, under his bandages, the cut lay.
"Oh, that? Well, even though you're not very flexible with those things, you seemed fine earlier. If you can beat me, you'd better be able to win the Open," Kevin said confidently, flashing a grin. "You're stamina's probably not what it used to be, but you'll be able to build it up over the next few days. Same with your muscle strength. You won't be back to normal, that'll take forever, but it'll be enough to win the tournament."
Although he didn't look pleased at the word "enough," Ryoma didn't protest. It would take hell of a lot for him to lose all of his strength - he had spent years building up those muscles, and they weren't going to disappear that easily- but at the same time, half a month sitting around would leave anyone weaker than usual.
"Oh yeah, and you probably figured this out yourself, but Cyclone Smashes are a no-no."
The dark haired boy waved his hand carelessly and closed his eyes.
Kevin sighed in resignation. "Right. No suggestions for the marvelous Ryoma-sama."
If Ryoma had been paying enough attention to have heard, he hid it well. He didn't stir at all, and stayed lazing against the tree with his eyes shut.
After a moment of silence, the musical beeps of Kevin's phone began playing cheerfully from inside of his pocket. Looking slightly surprised, (who would be calling him, after all?) the American answered.
"Where in hell's name have you two gone!"
Kevin winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. Damn near blew out my eardrum, that. "Mr. Davis, look, you don't have to be so mad! We just went to the park for a little!"
"A little! No one's heard from you since breakfast! Would it kill you to leave a note? Or, even better, just stay put!"
"Yes, I do believe it would. We're growing boys who need their exercise, you know."
"Oh, I'm sure! You're professional athletes, you get plenty of exercise! I can't be spending your entire stay in the US chasing you all over New York City! And you know just as well as I do that Ryoma needs to be careful! Both of you, get back here right now!"
"But we just got here!"
"Don't give me that! If you're not back to the hotel in fifteen minutes, Justin and I are coming to find you!"
Kevin shuddered. Justin was Ryoma's personal trainer for the occasional days that Ryoga was too busy to work with his little brother. The man was huge, a monumental testament to "American muscle." If they were caught by an angry Justin… It would be best to just throw Davis a bone. "Alright, alright. We'll be right back."
"Thank-"
"Right after we stop by the store."
"No! Kevin, wa-"
The blond boy hung up with a pointed tap. "Well," he said to Ryoma, "Just be glad you can't really talk on the phone anymore. It is saving you a lot of pain."
The troublemaker raised his eyebrows and pointed to the phone.
"Ah, right. The führer said we have to get back to the hotel. He okay'd a quick snack stop, though," explained Kevin with a cheeky grin.
Ryoma gave something between a snort and a "tch" and stood up. He slung his bag over one shoulder and began to walk off, knowing that his friend would follow.
The pair of tennis players walked confidently through the bustling streets of New York, knowing their destination by heart.
They reached the hotel well within their time limit, but instead of returning as they had been told, they turned to the small convenience store across the street.
Ryoma led the way into the shop and made a beeline for the ramen and Ponta. Kevin shot for the candy.
In less than a minute, the two had filled their arms with enough junk food to give Justin an aneurism.
Right as they stepped forward to pay, their eyes fell on a rack next to the cash register. Tucked away behind dozens of tabloids sat a few sports magazines. One in particular caught their attention. A large picture of Ryoma hitting a backhand with burning eyes and a slight smile dominated the cover. The caption read "Samurai Junior; Number one in the world? The young shooting star's story!"
Kevin and Ryoma smirked at each other.
"Just for the fun of it?" asked the blond with one hand reaching out slightly.
The Japanese boy shrugged. Kevin smiled and added the magazine to the pile of sweets, chips, and soda in his arms. "I think seeing what they think of you will be hilarious."
"Who cares?"
"I do!" replied Kevin indignantly. "And since I'm better than you, that means we're buying it and laughing at it as soon as we get home."
Ryoma sighed. There were so many sarcastic comments he could make in response to that that it was just too easy to be worth responding to. Peroxide head was going to buy it either way, and it would probably be amusing to read. Articles like that usually were.
Kevin stepped forward, handed the clerk his money, and began to help sweep their purchases into a bag. Just before he could finish, Ryoma snatched a Ponta for himself.
"Well someone's eager. Didn't you just have one?" Kevin said as he grabbed the bag and waved goodbye to the man at the counter.
"Doesn't matter."
Kevin laughed and walked across the street, swinging their bag of groceries carelessly. "You know, they're hosting this fancy-schmancy dinner party tonight for the major players, literally, figuratively, and monetarily, in the tournament. We going?"
Ryoma's face twisted in distaste. He definitely didn't want to go to some social night designed for the sponsors and administrators only. There would also be reporters there, without a doubt, and he was trying to keep the situation with his voice under wraps for as long as possible.
"Yeah, I don't really want to go either," drawled Kevin, "But it sounds like the kind of thing Mr. Davis will make us go to for appearance's sake and all that jazz. We'll just have to find a happy medium and be fashionably late due to him having to drag us out the door. And it's not like we're going to stay the whole time, so we might survive."
Despite Kevin's attempts to reassure Ryoma, the boy still wore a slight scowl as they headed into the hotel lobby and up the elevator to the top floor.
Once the two reached their room, they hesitated. Two pairs of eyes bored holes in the door, trying to measure the amount of danger hidden behind it.
"So… What do you think our chances of survival are?" Kevin was looking at the door as if it was made of pure poison.
Ryoma didn't bother to respond. All he could do was steel himself, grab the doorknob, and hope that when he opened the door, Mr. Davis wouldn't be there.
As if they would get that lucky.
"Well it's about time!" shouted Mr. Davis the second they stepped inside. "Everyone's been tearing their hair out looking for you!"
Both teens flinched slightly and took a step back. "Ah, so sorry about that…" Kevin called insincerely, running past the man into his room. Ryoma was right on his heels.
The blond slammed his door shut and locked it, wincing at the sound of Mr. Davis pounding on the door. "Young man, you open up this door right now!"
"Thanks Mom, but I'll pass!" Kevin yelled back through the door. He plopped down on the bed next to his friend, who had been leisurely munching on a piece of candy, and snatched up a bag of chips. "Look, I said I'm sorry!" he yelled when Mr. Davis didn't stop banging on the door.
"No, you're not! If you actually meant it when you said sorry, you'd have stopped wandering around ages ago! Why do insist on doing this to me?"
"Aw, now you're making up feel bad. Just get it into your head that you can't stop us and it'll cause you a lot less stress, okay?" Kevin was barely paying attention to what he was saying, a fact made clear by the mouthful of chips he was speaking around.
Ryoma's poor manager sounded about ready to wring the blond boy's neck by this point. "Oh, no, you're not getting off that easy. I'll assign Justin as your full-time babysitter if that's what it takes!"
For once, the man's threats had an effect on his two charges. They both shivered. "I assure you, Mr. Davis, such drastic measures are not necessary," said Kevin, thinking of the muscle-bound coach.
"And I assure you that they are!" replied Mr. Davis. "Now, don't go running off again, unless you want me to go call Justin right now. You've got the welcome dinner at five thirty, and don't think you can get away with blowing it off. I'll be right downstairs talking to the sponsors."
They heard the sound of irate, stomping footsteps and the main door slamming. Kevin carefully opened the door, looked around, and sighed in relief. "He's gone…" The American collapsed back onto his bed. "Well that was interesting."
Ryoma nodded, flopping down next to his friend.
"So… do you want to read that magazine now?" asked Kevin, bouncing back from the scolding easily.
The dark haired teen opened his mouth slightly in surprise and looked at Kevin. Then, he smirked and nodded. "Why not?" he mouthed.
"Awesome!" yelled the blond. He punched the air cheerfully and whipped the tennis magazine out of its bag. "Okay, let's see what we got here. Coverage on you, coverage on the Open, coverage on your opponents, and technique and history stuff. You're on page twenty-one." Kevin flicked through until he found a large picture of Ryoma, smiling confidently with his favorite red racquet slung over one shoulder. "Found it! Alright, let's see what the reporters of America think about you!" He cleared his throat and began to read.
"Ryoma Echizen. It is a name known around the world as the greatest tennis player of our time, but some are unaware of the "Prince's" remarkable story. His father, Samurai Nanjiroh himself, trained Echizen since childhood. Every day, the two would play relentlessly for hours on end. Eventually, the future star reached a level above all others his age. Some years later, Echizen made his official debut into the tennis scene and won three consecutive American Junior National Championships. Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the Echizen family vanished.
In reality, they had returned to their original home of Japan. Nanjiroh Echizen entered his son into Seishun Middle School, commonly known in Japan as Seigaku, Nanjiroh's own alma mater. Ryoma joined the tennis club in anonymity and worked his way up into the ranks of the Seigaku regular squad. These eight young men, nine with the addition of Echizen, were considered the best of the best. Selected through a ranking tournament unique to their school, they were the most talented tennis players that the club had to offer. It was also this group that would represent Seigaku in official matches against other schools. Through various twists and turns, the team battled their way into the National Tournament, their long-time goal. Along the way, they faced some of the best teams in the country, all of which displayed a skill level beyond even most high school and college students. Echizen and his teammates were forced to improve, shooting above and beyond what was considered possible for middle school students."
"Dude, how do they know all this?" asked Kevin, looking somewhat scared. "It's kinda creepy."
Ryoma shook his head and mouthed, "Paparazzi."
The blond nodded sagely. "They work in mysterious ways."
"By this point, Echizen was at the level of top professional players. The US Open administration took note of this, and in the late summer of 2008, Echizen was invited to the tournament as a wild card. It was the start of a career that would shake the world. A dark horse in every way, Echizen took the tournament by storm. Despite being younger, smaller, and less experienced than his opponents," Kevin had to stop to laugh at this point, whereas Ryoma looked about ready to run the magazine through a shredder, and then a furnace. "Despite being younger, smaller, and less experienced than his opponents, Echizen defeated all in his path, including the number one seed in the world at the time, Australia's Lleyton Hewitt. After the shocking victory, the elusive teen disappeared to Japan once more. He helped in leading Seigaku to the national finals against the defending champions, Rikkai Academy. After a series of heated matches, and Echizen's stunning defeat of the undefeated "Child of God" Seiichi Yukimura, Seigaku stood as the best team in Japan. After this happy completion of his team's dream, though, Echizen returned to America again to train. After a summer there with his family, he continued in his globetrotting. He began to take on tournaments all over the world, in countries such as Germany, China, France, Russia, and Australia."
What was the full list again? Ryoma wrote in a quick scrawl across the top of the page.
"Um…" said Kevin hesitantly, thinking hard, "The five that they had, plus Brazil, Italy, Egypt, Spain, Switzerland, Serbia, and Argentina. A lot of those were in between your Grand Slam last year, though."
The mute boy nodded and motioned for Kevin to continue.
"The young star was now gaining worldwide renown, though it was still nothing in comparison with the shockwave produced when he reappeared in the Grand Slam tournaments.
After several months of participating exclusively in small tournaments, Echizen appeared and announced that he would take part in the "Big Four" that year, and that he would win them all. He made good of his promise and took the Australian Open's top spot that very month. For the next year, Echizen continued in his travels, participating in more minor tournaments between the Grand Slams. On top of all this and his training, he was also keeping up with his studies. These studies, besides the typical middle school curriculum, involved learning proficiency in the language of whatever country he happened to be in at the time."
"Man, they're making you sound like some kind of superhero. Got to love how no one mentions all your naps, disappearances, and general laziness. And you barely speak Russian at all!"
Your German sucks, wrote Ryoma.
"And so does your Portuguese!"
The two decided that these were fighting words, and they both began to mentally reel off which languages they could speak. Then, after debating (arguing) for a minute, Kevin spoke with an air of finality.
"Okay, this is going nowhere. We're both fluent in English, Japanese, and Spanish, and okay at German, Mandarin and French. Your German may by a tiny bit better than mine, and so is your Mandarin, but I know Arabic and you don't. Plus my Russian and Portuguese can kick your Russian and Portuguese's asses any day, so that makes me the winner."
Ryoma didn't respond to his friend's triumphant speech. Just keep reading, he wrote.
Kevin deflated and complied.
"After defeating the world's top players one after one in a stunning display, Ryoma Echizen stood on top of the world. With support from his family and friends, the prodigy blazed a path up to the number one spot. As it stands now, he has won two of each of the Grand Slam tournaments, (the Australian Open, the French Open, Wimbledon, and the US Open) as well as over a dozen minor tournaments. The reason why is clear: Echizen possesses incredible stamina, strength, and technique, and he is currently the second person to unlock the fabled "Pinnacle of Perfection," the first being his own father. This is a trance-like state that enhances both his physical abilities and his technique past ordinary human limits. Also in his repertoire are a series of seemingly impossible shots created by Echizen himself. Truly, he has earned the title of "strongest."
Despite his incredible success, though, just after his most recent victory at Wimbledon, Echizen announced that he would be leaving the professional circuit for an indefinite amount of time. The world was sent into confusion, and amidst it all, Ryoma Echizen vanished. Without telling anyone or leaving a trace, he returned home to Japan again. Now, he is participating with Seigaku's sister high school and his teammates from middle school in the Japanese National High School Tournament. He has only been seen by the press a handful of times, though, so there are still no clues as to his motivation. One thing is for sure, though: Ryoma Echizen is going strong, and now the world waits for his next move with baited breath!"
"Hm… It was pretty much a mini-biography on you, so not very funny. I'd give it an eight for accuracy and a three for hilarity," said Kevin in review.
Ryoma shrugged noncommittally. Wasn't very interesting, he scrawled on the corner of the magazine's page.
"True that. But does having your life story floating around like this ever bug you?"
Not really.
"Eh… You're no fun…" sighed the blond. He fell over onto the bed again and shoved more candy into his mouth. "So… We've got a little over two hours before the welcome dinner… what do you want to do?"
By way of response, Ryoma grabbed the remote, turned on the television, and kicked back lazily. It was clear that he would be asleep within a minute.
"I rest my case." Kevin listened as his friend's breathing slowed and leveled out over the next few minutes. Sure enough, when he next looked over from the TV, Ryoma was sound asleep. He continued to flick through the channels, trying to find something worth watching. Settling for a cartoon he remembered seeing when he was a child, he sank down into his pillows. He looked over at his sleeping friend one more time. Eh. I'll get him up… later… he thought, moments before sinking into sleep.
"Both of you get up now!"
Two teenage boys bolted upright in bed, one of them shouting incoherently. Surrounded by a shifting black aura, Matthew Davis stood over them. "Do you know what time it is?" asked the man through gritted teeth.
Instead of responding, the two blinked blearily and fell back into bed. Ryoma pulled a pillow over his head, and Kevin rolled onto his stomach. "Nap time," came the blond's muffled voice.
"I don't think so," said the manager. He grabbed both of his charges by their shirts and hauled them up. "The dinner starts in ten minutes! Get ready, now! I don't want to see either of you in tennis clothes when you get back, got it? This is a formal event!"
Reluctantly, the two walked off to get changed. Ryoma began digging through his suitcase to see if he'd even brought nice clothing. Eventually, he stumbled on a white dress shirt and slacks, actually part of his school uniform. Kevin seemed to have thought along the same lines while packing, as he had discovered the same outfit in the depths of his bag. They threw the clothes on and made a halfhearted attempt at taming their hair (though Ryoma gave up quickly and just pulled his back) and walked out into the main room.
Inside, Mr. Davis stood with an impatient look on his face. When he saw that the only difference in outfit between the two was Kevin's loose tie, he sighed. "You two… Alright, let's go. There's a taxi waiting outside."
They made their way downstairs and, true to the manager's word, found a bright yellow cab waiting for them on the curb. Ryoma hopped in first, leaving Kevin to shut the door. Mr. Davis gave the driver directions, also asking if the driver could get them there as quickly as possible, and they departed from their hotel.
Golden eyes studied the familiar lights of New York City as they wound their way through lanes of traffic. Though sometimes all the noise and people could get irritating, Ryoma truly liked this city. It was lively, competitive, big, and full of challenges. All in all, it had a great feel to it.
Slowly, he felt his eyes glazing over. It was probably because he never had a chance to wake up properly, that is to say, very slowly and with a can of Ponta. The muscles in his body were relaxing, and his vision was blurring.
"Oi, sleepyhead, don't fall asleep. I don't feel like dragging you into the party," said Kevin with a shove. "Just hang on for a little bit, we're almost there, and then we can get some food."
The American's words were effective, for at the word "food," Ryoma perked up, if only slightly. He managed to keep himself awake for the rest of the ride, and soon spotted the hotel's glowing sign.
The car pulled to a stop, Mr. Davis handed the driver a few bills, and the trio made their way towards the front doors. Ryoma was the first to step inside, and he immediately began to look around appraisingly. The place was upscale, even for New York, and had a warm, pleasant atmosphere. He could hear faint music and the soft murmur of distant chatter echoing through the lobby.
Pointing one slender finger in the direction that the noise was coming from, Ryoma turned to the other two. "Over there?" he asked.
"Looks like it," Kevin responded, carelessly lacing his fingers behind his head. The two freshmen began walking, knowing that Mr. Davis would be on their heels and watching like a hawk. The trio was able to walk quietly for roughly five seconds before the blond teen felt the need to fill the silence with conversation. "So," he began, "You ready for your epic reappearance, Ryoma?" It was an understatement to say that he was looking forward to seeing their competition's faces at the return of the five-foot terror.
Instead of responding, the boy smirked with an excited gleam in his eyes.
The music grew steadily louder, as did the sounds of laughter and chatter, and soon Kevin and Ryoma could feel their stomachs growling at the smell of food. Before long, the noise reached its peak, and the three came upon a large set of double doors through which they could see large crowds of well-dressed adults.
Kevin grinned impishly and rubbed his hands together. "Awesome, we're here! Let's go take all their food!" Leaving it at that, the boy charged into the ballroom in search of the buffet table.
Ryoma followed right away, albeit at a far more dignified pace. A murmur swept through the crowd around him as people recognized the tiny figure dodging through them. He knew word would spread quickly and soon, the entire assembly would learn of his arrival. Ignoring this, he wove between the different people, following the bright gold of his friend's hair. He could smell the delicious scent of his dinner, and he'd be damned if a bunch of suits and sponsors kept him from it.
When he caught up to Kevin, the boy was already in the process of piling his plate high with food halfway down the buffet table. Ryoma began to shovel copious amounts of food onto his plate. Once the two were satisfied with their respective piles, they took off together to find an obscure corner of the room to sit in and eat.
Eventually, they settled down in a row of chairs along the wall and began to dig in. When they took short breaks to breathe, they would glance around the room. A slideshow with various shots from last year's Open was playing in the front of the room, showing both posed pictures of athletes, managers, trainers and the like, and action shots from the matches themselves. Many pictures featured Ryoma's matches.
Occasionally, Kevin would point and laugh at a snapshot, reminiscing, but most of the next twenty minutes was taken up by the sounds of silverware on plates.
A few minutes after they finished eating, the slideshow began showing pictures from the finals last year. Shortly afterward, a picture of Ryoma holding his trophy wrapped the presentation up.
Right on cue, a portly man in a neat suit stepped up. Ryoma vaguely recognized him as one of the major supporters and organizers of the tournament. He began to give stereotypical opening remarks, welcoming, thanking, and congratulating people.
It took less than a minute for the two active teens to stop listening. Instead, they began to sort through the crowd. Some major competitors could be seen, formidable men like Nadal, Federer, and Djokovic. A few new faces could be seen that showed promise, Kevin and Ryoma could see it in their confident bearing and burning eyes, and a few veterans who were experienced but not major threats. A few were overlooked, such as the anxious newcomers, arrogant players, and veterans who had yet to show promise.
Once applause began to sweep through the room, the two young stars stopped their appraisal and began to clap politely, pretending to have listened. The man stepped off the stage with a big smile and waving arms, and a new movement began to take place in the ballroom. A few dozen men and women in the simple black and white clothing of servers streamed in and began to move tables and chairs from the center of the room, making way for their coworkers to set a dance floor. In the back, a smaller group began to unveil trays of desserts.
Immediately focusing on the latter change, Ryoma and Kevin stood as one and made a beeline for the sweets. Within a minute, they had returned to their spot with large plates of cake. After that, the only thing left to do was eat and watch as the adults got more and more intoxicated.
Kevin, who was having a laugh at all the "totally hammered snobs," didn't notice his companion's yawning. In the end, it took Ryoma's almost nodding off for the blond to remember- the eternally sleepy pro had always been the more susceptible to jet lag between the two of them.
"Oi," he said, flicking Ryoma in the forehead. "All the grown-ups are way far gone and you look dead. Want to go?"
The boy, who had returned to his senses at the physical contact, nodded, yawned, and stretched. He stood up and jerked his head at the door, meaning, "Let's go."
They drifted out with no fanfare, not bothering to tell their manager where they were going. He knew where to find them.
Kevin was in no mood to wake Ryoma up and get him out of a cab (or worse, carry him inside) so he decided for them that they would walk back. Their hotel wasn't far, so it wouldn't make too much of a difference.
They strode confidently through the streets, enjoying the different scenery. Something about the noise, smells, and general organized chaos of the Big Apple gave off an energetic feel that Tokyo lacked. It was, after all, the city that never sleeps.
Ryoma and Kevin quickly wove through the flow of people that lingered on he sidewalk, and they soon reached their hotel. The two tired boys sighed quietly as they walked into the room filled with warm air. The fact that they were back to their (temporary) home was relaxing both of them, and both were making plans to fall into bed as quickly as possible.
Ryoma rubbed his eyes, catlike, and yawned as he walked into the elevator. Knowing that the short teen would probably push the wrong button in that state, Kevin did it for him. They glided up in silence, struggling not to fall over, and after a minute emerged onto their floor.
Ryoma's eyelids were fluttering again, so Kevin was once again forced to take control. The blond grabbed their key from his friends' hand and swiped it through the slot on the door, eliciting a cheerful beep.
The two stumbled inside, shedding their coats in any place that was convenient. Each headed straight for their bags, pulled out pajamas, and began to change. Neither bothered going into another room to switch outfits, their sudden exhaustion being just that strong. I guess we spent more time at the tennis courts than we thought… thought Ryoma sleepily.
Kevin flicked out the lights, and Ryoma heard the sound of him flopping onto one of the two queen sized beds in the room. The boy followed suit, jumping backwards onto his own soft, plushy comforter.
Just before he let himself drift into sleep's embrace, Ryoma checked his phone to make sure his alarm was on for tomorrow morning (though it would probably do no good). On the screen, he noticed that he had received a text from Fuji.
Good luck "today."
It was a simple, encouraging message, but the teenager could see the dry humor in Fuji's reference to the time change. He smiled.
It's really starting tomorrow… he thought, quickly losing coherency. Should be fun…
Who else feels really bad for Mr. Davis? The poor, poor soul.
Hahaha I went back and read the first few chapters of HWGA, and I was like "Oh God why…" Well, it wasn't too bad, but the writing was kinda different and there were a few things I did that looked unprofessional (cause this is sooo damn pro). Might be going back and making minor changes, who knows.
BTDubs, you all owe Self a big thank you, because without him kicking my ass into gear (by all means necessary, might I add) God knows when this chapter would have been finished. Big English project sucked up all my time…
This is for all you KevRyo fans (which apparently includes my own beta Self, who said, "I know it's Thrill Pair but where's my KevRyo fanservice") I know that was a perfect opportunity and sorry if I disappointed you, but what did you want me to do that was still reasonable? Respect da bromance.
Remember, I love you all (reviews are good too, I do like reviews... hint hint XD)!