AN: Thanks for reviewing.

Disclaimer: I do not own the PoT characters.

WARNINGS AU, slash, many, many Ocs (original characters)

Chapter 4

"We have a new student today. He's a transfer student from Seigaku High and I want you all to make him feel welcome."

Whispers rippled through the class as people turned to their neighbors.

"Seigaku? Isn't that where Echizen is from?"

"I've seen him before! He's on the Seigaku tennis team."

"No, really? They're supposed to be one of the best in Japan."

Fuji gave a slight, polite bow, smiling his usual, deceptively innocent smile. "Hajimemashte watashi wa Fuji Syusuke desu, dozoyorishiku."

Ryoma scoffed silently as the tensai introduced himself. He could tell from the talking that everyone had been taken in by the seemingly benevolent expression, never guessing that the person standing at the front of the room beside the English teacher was more akin to the Devil incarnate than any angel.

Though not one for asking others for aid, Ryoma prayed silently that Fuji remembered the promise he had extracted from the prodigy that there would be no 'funny business' in school on the first day.

"There is an empty desk beside Echizen Ryoma," the teacher noted, turning to Fuji. "You can sit there, and he can show you around later. I understand the two of you both went to Seigaku Junior High."

The whispers sprang up again as Fuji moved to take his seat beside Ryoma.

Te younger boy pointedly ignored all the envious looks he was receiving from some of his classmates, wishing he was allowed to wear his hat during class.

If only they knew.

---------------

Ryoma had always wondered what went on in Fuji's head—though on second thought, he had always come to the conclusion tat he had no desire whatsoever to find out. Thre years hadn't seemed to have changed the tensai much, if at all, for the better or for the worse.

Lunch found the pair seated at a table tucked away in a far corner of the noisy cafeteria.

"You have chemistry next," Fuji stated.

It was not a question.

"Hn." Ryoma didn't even bother to ask how the other knew. Knowing Fuji, he had probably memorized his schedule.

"I'll be taking photography," Fuji explained, retrieving a piece of sushi with his chopsticks, "so I'll be seeing you after that."

"I have history," Ryoma reminded him.

"Your history teacher has already excused you so you can show me around the school."

"…"

A cheerful greeting interrupted the stalemate. "Hi."

They looked up as a girl with straight, auburn hair that fell to her waist slid into the chair next to Fuji. "So, you must be the new student. My name's Rika and its nice to meet you."

Ryoma stood abruptly, interrupting her stream of chatter as he picked up his tray. "I'll be going. See you later, Fuji-sempai."

And turning, he left as quickly as he could without seeming to rush. His emotions were all confused at the moment and he did not feel inclined to sort them out just yet.

Why couldn't life be simple?

And then again, a world with Fuji in it was never simple. The tensai seemed to exist for the sake of chaos.

This was going to be a grueling year.

----------------------

Ms Muri was concerned. Tall and dark with wavy blonde hair that she kept held back in a braid that reached her waist, she was the drama teacher at Keitou High.

The folds of her elaborate blue dress rustled with every step as she paced the vacant stage, chewing on her bottom lip.

"You wanted to see me, Ms Muri?"

She turned as the principal entered the theatre, his crisp, gray suit almost black in the faint illumination.

"Yes," she sighed, leaving the stage by the set of steps that led down to the ground on either side of the platform and sinking into one of the seats in the front row. "I've just got several calls. All my best students are leaving midway through the year. There won't be enough people to open the class come Christmas. What are we going to do about the end-of-the year performance? It's always the capping event of the evening—we can't just omit it."

"No," the principal agreed, frowning.

The two sat in stewing silence for several minutes.

Ms Muri brightened suddenly. "Well, there are a great number of clubs at our school…."

---------------------

Touring the school was most definitely not Ryoma's favorite pastime. The halls were mostly quiet with all the other students in class. And every time they passed a classroom window, people turned their heads to stare curiously at the new student and the tennis team captain.

Ryoma wasn't sure what to think about attending the same school as Fuji again, let alone living in the same house and—well, the rest of it. It had been quite a while after all.

While he identified the places they past in fragmented or one-word phrases in a bored monotone, Fuji updated him on the goings-on with his old team.

"Girl's restroom," Ryoma muttered, followed steps later by, "boy's restroom."

"The others will be visiting at Christmas."

Just then the bell rang, signaling the end of school. Only one more place, the younger boy thought with relief.

"This," Ryoma sighed, grabbing the brass handles and pushing ajar the left side of a set of heavy, double doors that had been crafted of a deep mahogany wood, "is the theatre."

Following the shorter boy into the chamber beyond, Fuji shut the door without a sound, surveying their surroundings with veiled interest.

The theatre was furnished in shades of deep reds and blacks. A row of small lights just above the stage illuminated the room with a dim light that cast everything into a somewhat shadowed perspective. The crimson-cushioned seats were divided into three areas, each row of chairs descending like tiers towards the raised stage, ending roughly three paces before the edge of the platform.

In the vast, darkened chamber, all sound seemed muffled somehow, and an almost unearthly stillness lay like a feathery blanket over the secretive atmosphere.

"I have to go," Ryoma said abruptly, glancing impatiently down at his watch. "I have tennis practice."

"No need to rush," Fuji murmured, his smile now almost sly as the two made their way back to the theatre doors. "You never know who might be listening. After all, they say that every theatre has its ghosts."

AN: Thanks for reading and please review.