A/N: Happy belated Solstice and early Christmas! Shout-outs to Matsuri, FireAndPowder, aku no tensai, Jaganthunder, Bokmal14, Shia Zen, silverskies87, lifeofparty2, Lord of the Plushies, Meadoresgayguys, and ShamelesslyUsed for reviewing the last chapter. Thanks to everyone for your patience. I'm incredibly slow.
Y'all ready for some angst? Great. Have a roller coaster ride.
Chapter 9
(Still) Monday:
When he rolled to a stop in front of the Echizen home, Momo was quite startled to see his kouhai's cousin, Nanako, leaning against the wall beside the gate. She pushed off the stonework and took the few steps to reach his side. "Ah, Momo-san!" she exclaimed with a smile. "I'm glad you're here."
He chuckled, rubbing a hand on the back of his head. "Ah, well, you did call me. It's no real trouble. Echizen and I usually go to school together."
She clasped her hands in front of her. "Yes, I know." She glanced over her shoulder at the house, bereft of all movement. "He should be out here soon."
Momo settled back on the bike seat, folding his arms and giving her a mischievous grin. "Yeah, he's usually running late."
Her eyes dimmed. "I suppose that's true." She cast another glance back. "But I'm afraid . . . ," she bit her lower lip, then finished lamely, "that he's a bit later than usual."
He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the house himself. He couldn't see anything through the tightly closed curtains. He shifted a bit on his bike, searching for a reply, but little came to mind. They waited a moment in awkward silence before Nanako turned toward the gate, saying, "I should find out what's keeping him."
Momo nodded. "Uh, sure."
It wasn't long after she disappeared through the front door that the motionless silence in the house shattered.
"NO! I'm not going! Not with my FACE like THIS!"
Momo started, staring in shock over the gate at the house. Was that Echizen? But he never raised his voice. He was like Tezuka, just slightly less stone-faced.
An older man's raised voice came out to Momo a bit muffled through the walls, but it certainly sounded like he was struggling to hold onto his fraying patience. Five beats of silence, then came the slam of the front door. With wide eyes, the junior watched a rumpled Echizen march down the concrete walk and yank open the gate. One quick, violent glance from beneath his cap, coupled with the still-obvious bruising on his face, was more than plenty to lock Momo's teeth together. The boy plunked down on the carrier above the bike's back tire and hunched over, clutching the strap of his tennis/school bag a bit too tightly in his right hand.
Still without a word, Momo pushed off, setting up a steady pace. The waves of tension radiating out from the boy behind him made his back and neck tighten in contagious response. He took a corner a bit too quickly, and he felt a small, stiff hand settle on his side for balance.
"Sorry," he muttered.
Echizen didn't respond, but then, he didn't really expect it – not in a mood like that. The younger boy's hand fell away, and Momo was just a little glad. He knew intellectually that he himself had nothing to do with Echizen's fury, but he still didn't like being touched with anger – too much pressure, too little regard for potential pain, and the emotion rang through loud and clear.
Resentment welled up in Momo in spite of himself. It wasn't as though none of the other regulars had gotten hurt – but they still went to school, some even with bruises and swelling on their faces like Kaidoh. Echizen's brusises weren't even black and blue any longer, but green. Damn arrogant brat. He hadn't thought he'd be so vain. The freshman had had a whole week off – the same week they'd planned for that disaster of a cruise – so what more did he want? He got his vacation.
Momo mentally shook himself. That wasn't fair. He'd seen firsthand how injured the boy had been and how he'd acted just afterward . . . although he still didn't know the details of what had happened when Sakurafubuki had had Echizen alone and everyone was searching the ship. Momo wasn't really sure that he wanted to know, in truth. What was enough to reduce an overweening, smirking Echizen to a trembling, near-catatonic mess?
Yeah, he probably didn't want to know.
It was two silent boys who dismounted the bike at the school, one fuming and the other cautious. Despite the frayed tension, they walked in lockstep toward the locker rooms. Momo, on the side closest to the courts, turned his head as they passed, noting that most everyone seemed to already be changed and milling around. He couldn't help a small smile: almost late again. Well, just under the wire was still under, so who cared?
Echizen shoved open the locker room door and let it begin to slam shut behind him. Half a step behind, Momo had to slam a hand up to stop the heavy metal from ramming into his nose. He scowled at his kouhai's back, muttering, "So mean, Echizen. So mean."
As expected, the brat did not react. A quick look around showed absolutely no one else still changing. The junior grimaced. Maybe they were later than he thought. He moved up to his cubby a little ways down the row from Echizen's and pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it in on top of his other waiting clothes. In the process of kicking his shoes off, he glanced to his left at the freshman and paused mid-motion. The other boy was just standing there, staring at his own clothes, or maybe at nothing at all. Momo finished pulling off his shoes, finally asking, "Hey, Echizen, you all right?"
The twelve-year-old's head snapped toward him, hazel eyes narrowed. "Fine," he snapped – his first word of the morning.
Momo just shrugged, deciding to take the response as what it was: an improvement over the silence. "Okay, then." In short order, he'd finished changing, while Echizen had yet to even make a move toward doing so. He hesitated, wondering whether he should wait for him as usual or not. However, the other boy wasn't exactly in a sociable mood, to put it mildly, and so Momo headed out onto the court alone.
Ryoma breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut behind the junior. He'd take being late and running laps over having to change in front of anyone, best friend or no. It had been such a relief that his black school uniform went from toe to wrist to neck, even with enough of a collar to hide most of the finger imprints on his neck. Unfortunately, he couldn't wear the outfit during practice – he'd melt in the heat, at the very least, though he wouldn't mind that too terribly; rather, he wouldn't be allowed to wear it. Quite frankly, even though it was for tennis, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to bare that much skin.
But with a bracing breath, he took off his cap, gripped the hem of his shirt in both hands and inched it over his head, wincing as the motion pulled at still-healing injuries. Goosebumps rose along his arms. If anyone would have walked into the room at that moment, he was sure they would have gasped in shock at the sight of his back, which was turned to the entrance. More green now than purple, the massive bruising was obviously painful and must at one time have been grotesque; he hadn't dared look fully.
With shaking hands, Ryoma reached out to his cubby, then removed and unfolded his Seigaku blazer, holding it out by the shoulders. He surveyed the crisp white and blue cloth, the slight creases from sitting unused for a week, the mild wear at the wrists. He let out a little sigh. Thank goodness the matches for regular spots hadn't been too long ago. It would have been horrific to face the possibility of losing this, too – to lose it because of what happened. So much, too much was already stolen from him.
Setting that aside for the moment, he pulled on his Seigaku T-shirt, settling it across his shoulders with a shrug. He roughly kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned and unzipped his black slacks and hooked his thumbs in the waistband. Again, he hesitated. With a mental slap upside the head to stop being so foolish, he shucked them in one quick motion and immediately yanked on the shorts. Breathing a little easier, he leaned over, a wince twitching across his cheeks, and tugged on his tennis shoes. After tossing his hat back on, and after grabbing a racket out of his bag and slinging said bag over his right shoulder (he'd just have to pretend to be right-handed today), he strode out of the locker room. He deliberately did not look down at his bruised lower legs or the handprint marks on his bare upper arms from where he'd been carried around like a rag doll. Everyone else would just have to deal with it.
Despite his brave words, his shoulders drew into a tighter and tighter knot the closer he got to the chainlink gate and beyond that, all the other tennis club members. His feet came to a halt by themselves as he stared, trembling, at all the people. Oh, god, there was the freshman trio always cheering him on at matches. Were the girls there? He couldn't spot them at the moment, but that didn't mean much, not when they were in the habit of sneaking up on him and doing strange things like shoving handmade posters into his face.
He was not ready for this. As a matter of fact, he was going to kill his dad the minute he got home for making him do this. His injuries were so obvious,it was ridiculous. Sure, Nanako had offered her concealer for his face, but he'd be damned if he'd accept being any more girly than he already felt for being so god-awfully weak. Besides, what would it matter when he had to bare his arms and legs for practice? It was pointless.
Ryoma was positive: everyone was going to look at him and know, know just how helpless he was, know that he couldn't defend himself when it mattered most. All those other freshmen who looked up to him for being a regular – practically a frickin' hero – would never want to look at him again. Hell, he couldn't stand to look at himself, so why would they? Why would anyone?
Oh no, the Captain was looking his way. If Ryoma hadn't already been frozen stiff, he would be now. His feet might as well have been encased in solid concrete for as likely as they were to move. Just relax, he thought, they can't see anything from this far away, much less his petrified expression beneath his cap's shadow. Only the Coach and the Captain were facing this direction, as all the others were lined up ready and waiting for the morning practice. Nevertheless, he'd been spotted – by Tezuka no less – and so he could no longer afford to stand here like a rabbit waiting for the wolf to pass by. Self-disgust rose in him, causing him to gather up the shreds of his confidence, simultaneously bolstered by and humiliated by the steel, unflinching gaze of his Captain.
Heaving a breath that shuddered throughout his chest, Ryoma forced his wooden legs into motion, a motion consisting of halting steps that were of half a mind of their own to turn tail and take off out of there, leaving the whole situation in his rearview – but only half a mind, as the rest of him firmly refused to be that much of a coward. These people were his friends, or at least his teammates. It would be fine.
Much to Ryoma's surprise and pleasure, neither Tezuka-buchou nor Ryuzaki-sensei spoke a word when he edged into the line of regulars at the front, late on his first day back, though both watched his progress unreadably. Despite what his hunched shoulders were anticipating, no whispers broke out behind him either, not in indignation at his lack of punishment nor in speculation at his week-long absence; the silence felt ominous, and it stretched to the breaking point. He felt the stares of the other regulars and the team members behind him – or at least he thought he did – but he kept his gaze firmly on the court beneath his white tennis shoes, face shadowed as much as possible by his cap and his bangs.
Then practice began as it always did, as though nothing had gone so horrifically wrong, as though it was simply another nondescript Monday in a long string of Mondays. Ryoma breathed a sigh of relief, but was unwilling yet to let down his guard; he had all of the day yet to get through, and it was going to be a bear of a day – he could feel it in his bones. Before long, the team dispersed, and he found himself back beside the fence, although this time firmly on the inside of it, and digging through his bag to unearth his favorite racket.
Then an all-too-familiar cry, growing rapidly closer, rang out from behind him. "Ryoma-sama!" one of the girls screeched. "You're back!" Against his will, he straightened and turned slowly to face her, his expression tight. She stumbled to a graceless halt, grinning from ear to ear at him. He watched as she raked her gaze over him, lingering over the dark, painful patches of his skin, and her countenance shifted from joy to dismay. "Are . . . are you all right?" she asked, a hesitance foreign to her nature etching into her voice. Ryoma's right-handed grip around his racket tightened, though he still maintained the presence of mind not to clench his left hand into a fist as well, or he'd risk cracking open the scab on his palm for the umpteenth time. His jaw had locked down with anger, his teeth gritted together so tightly they ached. Any and all words he could have scratched out would have only served to alienate her, and so he said nothing.
The red-head's customary pigtails were all in disarray, presumably from her mad dash toward him, and a light gust of wind lifted out the red slash of fabric barely holding up her sagging left pigtail. The hair dropped and slid into her face, making her sputter indignantly, but Ryoma's eyes were glued to the crimson ribbon fluttering to the ground.
Ryoma's hands were useless lumps of flesh, clutched painfully tightly in a single much bigger fist and pressed to the bed above the boy's head. The man smiled down at him, his goatee lining thin lips that only spread thinner with that smile's mockery of gentleness. A cherry red strip of fabric dangled, waiting, from the man's other hand, and then the gag was between his teeth and digging against his cheeks. It tasted like soap and felt rough against his tongue, quickly soaking up what saliva he had left in his desert-dry mouth.
Why did the fabric taste like soap? If he wasn't already gagging from the forced French kiss of a moment ago, that tang alone would have pushed him to the edge of vomiting. He wouldn't have minded puking all over the man, but as it was, he had no choice but to fight against the urge or he'd choke on his own bile.
That horrible smile faded from the man's face. "Oh, now look. I cannot kiss you."
Tears pricked at Ryoma's eyes. He would have bowed down and worshipped Kami-sama if a kiss was all the man wanted, but he knew . . . he knew it wasn't.
Tomoka Osakada watched in surprise and confusion as her hero stared at the hair ribbon lying innocuously at his feet. Shadowed by his cap, she couldn't see his wide, wide gaze, but she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and she stared as the visible heaves of his chest grew faster and faster while he edged toward hyperventilation. A fine trembling began throughout his body. She took a step toward him. "Ryoma-sama?"
He didn't seem to hear her. "No," he began to chant under his breath, "no, no, no, no, no. . . ."
The man leaned in toward his face, wafting in the acrid scent of cigar smoke on his breath and pressing his stubble-rough cheek next to the boy's smooth one. "Soon now," he whispered into Ryoma's ear, giving it a quick flick with his tongue, "soon you will realize how much I love you." The wet touch against his ear felt warm for an instant, then cool and disgustingly wet.
Tomo-chan glanced a bit desperately around the courts, but no one else had noticed anything yet. She reached out and gripped his shoulders, shaking him back and forth, but he just kept up his unnerving mantra of, "No, no, no, no." Frantic now, she snatched up the ribbon he was staring at and stuffed it in her pocket, yet he still continued to stare through the ground where the fabric had lain.
"Oi, Tomo-chan!" Sakuno Ryuzaki called from behind her, waving a hand. "Ryoma-kun!" She slowed as she approached, noting the fear on her friend's face and the unnatural, listing posture of the freshman regular.
"Sakuno!" the other girl cried. "Get your grandma!"
The contagion of fear spread to Sakuno and she tensed for a moment, frozen. Then she bolted across the courts. It only took a moment for the girl to reach her grandma's side, and she pointed with her arm out straight, staring up with fright in every line of her body. The coach snapped her head toward the two freshmen. She didn't quite come running, but it was close.
Tomoka scrambled back out of the way once the woman got there and scurried to Sakuno's side.
Ryuzaki Sumire got her first good look at him and had to bite back a gasp. Those bruises! She shuddered to think of how they must have looked when they were fresh. No wonder Nanjiroh had been so terrified and angry when he called her, demanding to know what had happened to his son. She almost cringed when she recalled how dismissive she'd been: "Well, I'm sure he'll be okay." That was all that she had to say in response to this? Shame swept over her.
It was all so much worse than what she could have imagined. What was this—a disassociation? A flashback? Some variation of catatonia? The other regulars' description of what had happened on that cruise shriveled up and paled; words could never suffice. This, this is what she had allowed to happen. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let them go by themselves? Maybe if she'd been there. . . .
Ryuzaki heaved a composing breath and shoved her guilt deep inside, to be dealt with later. She crouched in front of Ryoma. "Echizen," she said gently. He just continued to stare at the ground, rocking back and forth slightly, his bandaged hand clutching his middle and his other white-knuckled around a racket.
"Echizen," Ryuzaki repeated, a little more forcefullly. Still, he did not react. She frowned to herself. "Echizen!" He flinched, but finally stopped that nerve-racking muttering. "Echizen, look at me," she requested quietly. "You're safe, Echizen. You're safe here. It's all right. No one's going to hurt you." Still, no change.
She was beginning to edge toward desperate, but she could still sense the two girls hovering behind her. Their little group was drawing curious glances from the other members of the team now. Ryuzaki snapped at herself that she was the adult here, and she could not afford to crumble to pieces in sympathetic fright.
But that didn't mean she quite knew what to do, either. She just knew that somehow, she had to get him to respond to her, to return from wherever his mind had taken him. With a deep breath, she risked resting a hand on his upper arm. He flinched again, but that was all. Ryuzaki called his name, saying, "You're safe. Come on, look at me." She gave a little shake, encouraged when his gaze wavered for the first time. "Come on, that's right, Echizen. Look at me." Ever so slowly, his eyes lifted to hers.
She gave him an encouraging smile, thinking fast. How could she anchor him here, in reality, away from whatever memories had frightened him so? "Can you describe for me what you're seeing here, at the tennis courts? Tell me five things that you see." His wide hazel eyes, trembling with tears, stared at her before flicking around the courts.
After an eternity, he murmured, "Net. . . balls. Uh, fence. Bench." His gaze returned to her face, searching for something there that she hoped she was giving. "Ryuzaki-sensei."
Her gentle smile widened, and she nodded. "Good, Echizen. That's good. Now can you tell me five things that you hear?"
Ryoma shivered, but complied. "Um . . . rackets. Wind. . . ." He trailed off and fell silent for so long that she grew afraid she'd lost him.
"Go on, Echizen. Three more. Just three more things that you can hear right now."
He licked his lips, the flinching around his eyes heartbreaking to see. His voice cracked as he muttered, "Tennis balls. Uh . . . people talking?" He stopped and eventually shook his head, unable to name any more.
"That's all right, Echizen. You did a good job." She patted his arm. "Why don't you come sit with me on the bench here?" she asked, shifting her touch to a guiding presence at the back of his shoulder. She rocked back to flat-footed from where she had crouched on the balls of her feet and stood, ignoring the painful creak of her knees. "Come on, Echizen. Right next to your bag, okay?"
He shuffled over a few half-steps to the bench and collapsed on it, slumped against the wooden back. Sniffling, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes.
"Is he all right, Ryuzaki-sensei?" Oishi asked hesitantly, startling her heart up into her throat.
Ryoma gasped and recoiled, staring with wide eyes at the Vice Captain, whose concerned expression shifted into self-deprecation. "Sorry!" Oishi exclaimed, before dropping his watery gaze and repeating in a whisper, "Sorry." He took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just . . . are you all right, Echizen?" he asked, glancing up with eyes wide and earnest.
Ryoma just stared. Oishi looked away again, chewing his lower lip.
Ryuzaki looked past the Vice-Captain to the two girls clutching at each other, to Momo hovering just behind them, then to all the other team members staring and trying to look like they weren't. For the lack of volume throughout the incident, they had still somehow managed to become the center of attention. She glanced at Ryoma, but his head was tilted skyward and resting on the back of the bench, eyes closed. He didn't seem to have noticed yet.
"Vice-Captain," she commanded, "your team is slacking off."
Oishi's back stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder and when he turned back, she knew he understood by his expression. After one more glance to Ryoma, he whirled on his heel and waved his arms, calling for everyone to get back to practice. And if his voice cracked a little, no one dared comment.
Momo shuffled forward, his movements hesitant and awkward. "Echizen?"
Ryoma's voice was weary and strained. "Momo-senpai."
The older boy shuffled his feet. "Are you . . . okay?"
"No." He brought his head up, leveling a flat, watery look at the junior. His face was sickly pale. "I'm not."
Ryuzaki hesitated before asking gently, "Would you like to go up and visit the nurse, Echizen? Or maybe go back home for the day?"
He let his head flop against the back of the bench, closed his eyes and shrugged. He looked wrecked. Perhaps a week was still too soon to return to school. Did anyone know what had happened before the other regulars had found him, while he was alone with that monster?
"I could call your father," she offered at last.
Again, he just shrugged. She glanced up at Momo, but he looked helpless and near tears himself. She knew they were close. Perhaps he could do with a break, too. "Would you like to take him? I know you usually ride together."
Hope lit the junior's face. Then he bit his lip. "Echizen?"
"Yeah." Ryoma heaved himself upright. "Okay." He scrubbed surreptitiously at his eyes again and stood. "Let's go."
