Rain Delay
By: Jyra
Disclaimer: Do not own Prince of Tennis. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this. Instead I'd be laughing about how I've created one of the best mangas in the world…
Written for Rome. Another clay court event and this chapter was written whilst watching Federer v. Djokovic and inspired due to the annoying rain delay. I have tried to capture here how Ryoma might feel inside but also how he might present himself to the outside world.
Oh and this chapter is slightly more suggestive than the others so I hope you like it!
Note: At the moment the match is a set each and on serve. I'm going Federer will win though!
.Pillar pair.
.X.
The match had been coming along nicely.
Had being the key word here.
The top spin had been phenomenal, the drop shots had been accurate and the smashes had been spectacular. The crowd's hands were raw from clapping and on the Japanese sports channels, the commentators were going wild.
But, at 4 games to 3 with the first set in his favour and serving for the break, Echizen Ryoma felt a splash on his cheek. Followed by another and then another until in a matter of seconds the sky had gone from a beautiful clear blue to an angry, stormy grey that seemed intent on ruining the lives of tennis prodigies everywhere.
God, Ryoma decided, if there was one, hated him. Really hated him.
As the officials gestured for the covers to be rolled across the red clay, Ryoma and his opponent, the word number 14th from Chile, were herded off the court and into the tunnel leading back to the changing rooms.
It was not fair.
Rain had a habit of winding Ryoma up. Mainly because it always decided to occur just when he was either really enjoying the match or had found a really good opponent to play against. Scowling to himself and pulling his cap over his face as to avoid the cameras that insisted on following him down the tunnel, he made his way back to the changing rooms with the intent drinking a can of ponta and sulking quietly to himself.
10 minutes later and he had finished the ponta. Bored, Ryoma took out the tennis ball that was still in his pocket and started to bounce it against the tiled floor.
15 minutes later and the ball had rolled over to the other side of the room and Ryoma really couldn't be bothered to collect it.
17 and a half minutes later and he sent his manager away to find out exactly how long he'd be sitting here for.
25 minutes later and the manager reappeared, nervously clutching another can of ponta as a peace offering and with the news that the rain was somewhat heavier.
35 minutes later and his coach appeared wanting to start a warm down due to the fact that added to the rain was now lighting.
55 minutes later, the manager and coach both scared off, and Tezuka arrived to take him back to the hotel room.
'Is there a tropical storm now?'
Ryoma had asked sarcastically, only to receive Tezuka's back in response. Trailing after the older pro, Ryoma satisfied himself with glaring at every window he saw where indeed it did look like there may not be any play for the rest of the day.
Stupid rain.
XXX
'Ryoma'
Ryoma didn't respond. Instead he sunk further into the bath, immersing himself completely in the hot water, taking the pain away from his...
'Ryoma, we're leaving in half an hour.'
Sighing, Ryoma pulled himself put the deep tub. Tezuka liked to be punctual and as much as it amused Ryoma wind his partner up by purposely making him 5 minutes late to whatever appointment they had to attend, Tezuka had played a hard game against Federer today, was exhausted and not in the mood for that this evening.
The television was playing the highlights from today's tournament, the presenter speaking fast Italian that neither Tezuka nor Ryoma could completely understand. Perching on the bed next to an already dressed Tezuka, Ryoma slipped his arms into the shirt when his own face came onto the screen.
'How do you deal with the rain delays?'
The onscreen voice asked in Italian and Ryoma heard his television self reply with a bored expression on his face.
'Just keep waiting.'
The interviewer, not fazed by the shortness of the answer had pressed on.
'Do you allow it to effect you?'
'As a professional player you can't afford to do that.'
Onscreen Ryoma had responded, before the camera had cut to Tezuka's semi final.
'Maybe you should follow your own advice'
The real Tezuka, sitting next to him, attempted to frown at the younger boy but Ryoma could see a small hint of a smile in his face.
Deciding Tezuka's words did not merit a verbal answer; Ryoma lent up and kissed the other pro. Maybe he could still make Tezuka late...
A couple of minutes later and Ryoma felt the shirt buttons he'd just done up being undone and a hand slipping under the shirt...
Half an hour later and Tezuka was wondering how he allowed himself to be caught so off guard.
'Ryoma we're late.'
He spoke sharply to the boy who was now looking slightly worse for wear.
'Buchou can help me get dressed then seeing as he was the one...'
Tezuka wondered where he'd left the aspirin but obliged all the same as he carefully buttoned up the shirt of the grinning boy. If only he hadn't got so careless, they wouldn't be late for...
'So who are we actually meeting?'
Ryoma asked, breaking Tezuka away from mentally assigning himself laps.
'Fuji.'
Ryoma sighed. Somehow, Fuji always did seem synonymous with rain
X
Only two left now! And then the end of this fic...