Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Solitaire ❯ Solitaire 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Long Way Down

Sequel to Solitaire and Stare At The Sky.

The moment he walks onto the courts all hell breaks loose. Or at least it seems that way; there's a familiar, gleeful cry of "Ochibi!" and two seconds later he is surrounded by suspiciously happy-looking senpai. Kaidoh-senpai Ryoma can deal with; he nods a brusque greeting and that's it, but Inui-senpai has his notebook out, and Fuji-senpai is smiling dangerously widely. Momoshiro and Kikumaru seem determined to smother him, or squash him, or both, and Ryoma wonders whether they've forgotten that he was up here to practice just a few weeks ago.

"Oh, Echizen! Welcome back!" Oishi-senpai exclaims, hurrying through the gate to help pry away his partner, who immediately glomps onto him like a leech, babbling some nonsense. Ryoma breathes a little easier, knowing what this means…

"Why is everyone standing around on the courts? Twenty laps!" Tezuka-buchou at least sounds no different than he always has; it's something of a relief. As the Regulars, grumbling and resigned, head off, Ryoma makes for the clubhouse to change out of his annoying new uniform. He glances up at Tezuka-buchou as he passes and is somehow surprised when their eyes meet.

"We've been waiting for you," is all Tezuka says, but Ryoma finds himself unaccountably blushing.

"Aa," he mutters, ducking his head and escaping into the locker room as fast as he can. Running laps alone is no fun.

He pushes himself, stretching his still-shorter legs and catching up to Momo-senpai on the final lap. Afterwards, Oishi-senpai calls everyone over; it all seems so familiar that Ryoma starts to wander into the middle of the group of Regulars before belatedly realising that he isn't one yet. Instead he shoves his hands into his pockets, racquet under his arm, and elbows his way to the front of the bunch of nervous freshmen. Tezuka-buchou glances at him as he explains that ranking matches will begin tomorrow, and Ryoma wonders whether he's imagining the smile that hovers at the edge of his mouth.

"Regulars, serve practice." Tezuka's eyes, silvered with the sheen of light reflecting from his glasses, sweep the assembled club members. "We intend to take the team to Nationals this year; I expect total commitment from all of you." Ryoma is waiting for orders of his own, but Tezuka-buchou doesn't so much as glance in his direction as he strides off to the courts. It leaves him vaguely confused, and feeling weirdly cold, but he shakes it off as Oishi-senpai beckons him over.

"Echizen, you can practice with Inui. You should work on returning fast serves accurately." Ryoma nods, a little relieved to be separated from the mob of low-standard club members. Oishi-senpai opens his mouth to say something else, but at that point Kikumaru-senpai, clearly tired of waiting, bounces up and latches onto his arm.

"C'mon, Oishi! Practice!"

"Just a second, Eiji." Oishi tugs himself free, but his expression is weirdly gentle, almost indulgent. Ryoma blinks a little, then shrugs, heading over to the far court where Inui-senpai is just tossing the ball up to serve. His glasses catch the sun when he sees Ryoma, and he mutters something inaudible that probably has to do with data and percentages. The ball smacks into the service box and bounds into the fence with a rattle.

As he takes up his position across the net, shrugging his shoulders to settle his shirt, Ryoma happens to glance back over at the clubhouse, eyes caught by some movement. The rest of the club members are scattering with baskets of balls, but it isn't this which freezes his muscles and turns his stomach to lead in the shock of realisation as Inui-senpai's Supersonic Serve whistles past unheeded. It's the way Oishi's fingers curve around the back of Kikumaru's neck, just for a moment, as the golden Pair head towards the court.

It takes Inui-senpai's calling his name for Ryoma to blink himself back to reality, suddenly realising that that whistling sound in his ears has been balls flying past him.

"Echizen, are you entirely well?" Inui asks, with that look on his face which suggests he is mentally adding things up again. Ryoma blinks again, then shrugs and deliberately turns away from the distraction, focusing his attention on the ball in Inui-senpai's hand. This time, as the data collector serves, he is already moving to intercept. He's still just a little short, the ball impacting the racquet frame with a shock that almost jars his fingers from the grip, so it's easy then to absorb himself in the practice, stretching, responding, reaching for the ball. He's wished more than once in the past two years that Kawamura-senpai hadn't quit the tennis team after middle school, because it would be good to have some practice returning power serves as well. As it is, he has to rely on Momo-senpai, who always wants bribing with food before he'll play Ryoma. Kawamura-senpai makes good sushi, though.

Practice ends far too quickly. Ryoma, suddenly stupidly conscious of being a first year again, gathers the balls from the court before heading reluctantly to the clubroom. As expected, he's mobbed again by the more overenthusiastic of his senpai, the few second and third years who've transferred in since middle school staring in open confusion.

Ryoma protests as Momo and Kikumaru seem determined to rub all the hair off his head, but doesn't make much headway until Kaidoh hisses something about idiots. Momo-senpai whirls immediately, of course, and Ryoma manages to duck away from Kikumaru while he's distracted by the impending fight. For some reason, now that he's noticed he can't seem to stop noticing – the way Kikumaru and Oishi look at each other, just tiny little glances, as though their eyes constantly seek each other out. His own gaze flickers automatically to Tezuka-buchou, bent over a familiar folder of paperwork beneath the notice board. For some reason he can't quite fathom, Ryoma feels his cheekbones heat; he ducks his head, hiding his face beneath the brim of his cap, and exits precipitously.

The way home passes in something of a daze; it takes Karupin mewing and twining around his feet as he toes off his shoes in the genkan to distract him from the confusing welter of too-loud thoughts. Indignant at being ignored, even momentarily, Karupin bats at his ankle and yowls; as always, Ryoma can't help but smile. Scooping up his cat, he wanders up to his bedroom.

The house is quiet, which means his mother is still at work and his annoying father is outside somewhere, probably lazing around out back with his magazine collection. Ordinarily Ryoma is in the habit of heading straight out for more practice, but right now it doesn't even occur to him; he flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling and petting Karupin absently as the cat complains.

Ryoma isn't used to this kind of doubt; he's not sure at all how he's supposed to feel about this, and confusion isn't his best emotion. The idea that two of his teammates might have a relationship that goes beyond the team, or even beyond a doubles partnership, is something he's never even considered, so why does it feel so familiar? It's almost like d้jเ vu, as though a part of him recognises whatever it is that makes Oishi-senpai and Kikumaru-senpai look at each other in that way.

***

Saturday seems like it takes forever to come. Ryoma fidgets through classes and expends his nervous energy precipitously in the ranking matches, crushing the pre-regulars and beating Momo-senpai easily. He can't seem to stop remembering how it was three years ago; how Oishi-senpai and Kikumaru-senpai had looked at each other in a special way even then. They had always been the Golden Pair, a unit of two; it's strange to see now just how deep that bond goes, and Ryoma is caught up in wondering whether it was always like that. The familiarity of it, the way it almost seems like he recognises something in those little glances and touches, has only become stronger.

He makes his way out to the gates after Saturday practice more from habit than anything else. Seeing Tezuka-buchou standing there by the bus stop jolts him out of his confused thoughts. Ryoma starts, then shrugs and moves to join him.

"You played very well against Momoshiro yesterday," Tezuka-buchou remarks after a moment of not-quite-comfortable silence. Ryoma nods, knowing that it's a statement rather than any kind of compliment; he'd gone up against Momo as though he were qualifying for the Nationals, not merely the Regular team. Still, it feels… right.

The clock chimes behind them, and Ryoma realises that it will be another ten minutes until a bus arrives. Tezuka-buchou must have been waiting here for him on purpose. Shrugging his racquet bag higher on his shoulder, he slants a quick look at the captain from the corner of his eye.

"Buchou?" he blurts out before he can allow himself to think better of it, "are Oishi-senpai and Kikumaru-senpai… are they…?" Somehow the word 'dating' sticks on his tongue; he's heard it from his stupid father too often..

"Ah." Tezuka-buchou understands anyway, and thankfully doesn't try to patronise him by telling him he's observant. "Yes, they are." His tone is so calm that Ryoma can't even begin to imagine what he might be thinking; nevertheless he can't help but relax despite himself. "That's been coming for a long time."

"Aa." Ryoma ducks his head in understanding, feeling that distant familiarity stronger than ever. Tezuka-buchou isn't looking at him at all, just staring straight ahead into the road. It doesn't matter.

The bus arrives before Ryoma can fit words around the jumble of questions and confusions and certainties filling his mind. He follows Tezuka-buchou to a seat in silence, not knowing quite what to say even though he feels Tezuka glancing at him. Something in his head remains infuriatingly just outside his grasp.

They play a full match, for the first time; three sets. Ryoma is slightly surprised, then gratified, to realise that Tezuka is giving him everything he has, and then some. By the time he finally loses (7-5, 4-6, 7-6), he's exhausted and trembling with the excitement and adrenaline of it. He collapses onto the bench, gasping, and watches through half-closed eyes as Tezuka-buchou clears the court and exchanges polite bows with the next players, who always seem to Ryoma to be gaping like fishes.

When Tezuka sits beside him, handing him his water bottle, Ryoma finds himself reaching to tug down the brim of the cap he isn't wearing, and blinks in confusion. To cover it, he takes a long drink, suddenly very aware of Tezuka's eyes on him.

"You need more practice in multiple-set matches," Tezuka-buchou tells him quietly. Ryoma doesn't dispute it; he knows he's at the disadvantage now, having only just come up from middle school and about to compete seriously with second and third years in the high-school circuit. He makes a mental note to badger his father into extending their practices, too.

"Buchou?" he asks eventually, when the cold spring wind is drying the sweat on his skin. "Is that allowed?" Tezuka slants him a look, and Ryoma wonders why his mind is making such strange leaps today. "Oishi and Kikumaru," he clarifies hastily, turning his head to watch the players – more old men – warming up on-court.

"Ah." Tezuka considers the question with his usual perfect composure for a long moment, but doesn't answer until Ryoma glances over at him from the corner of his eye. "There's nothing specifically stated in the rules about relationships within a team. It would probably only be a concern if a captain were… involved… with a team member."

That is the exact moment when it happens; when it all comes clear in Ryoma's mind. It feels like being hit with every power serve he's ever faced at once, and there's no way he could look away right now if he wanted to; Tezuka is all he can see.

"It happens occasionally with doubles pairs… Echizen?" Tezuka-buchou frowns at him; Ryoma starts, realising that he's staring wide-eyed like one of the stupid girls who always hang around the courts..

"I…" He can feel his face flushing bright red, cheekbones burning helplessly. It's all too much. "I have to go." Snatching up his bag, he all but sprints for the entrance and the bus stop, not slowing until he's out of sight of the courts.

When he gets home, still strangely breathless, his stupid father takes one look at his face and almost falls down laughing, crowing something about girls and crushes. Ryoma serves so hard trying to shut him up that he breaks three strings on his racquet; afterwards he looks at his hands and is surprised to find them shaking.