Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ The Games We Play ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter Five

 

 

 

As the cab pulled up to the curb, Ryoma wasn't sure how he felt about where Tezuka-buchou had chosen to take him. Not that he disliked the place; in fact he'd been there several times himself over the years. The food was good and the atmosphere as relaxed or electric as you wanted, depending on the time of day and where you asked to be seated. It was a place you could take a group and hang out. Or you could go on a date like this one - although it's not really a date, Ryoma reminded himself - and have a good time without feeling conspicuous.

 

He noted vaguely that Tezuka had gotten out, thanked the driver, and paid the cab fare. Then his door opened. He blinked himself out of his reverie and looked up at Tezuka, waiting patiently for him to exit. Buchou stood straight, as always, with one hand curved over the door and the other hidden in the pocket of his gray slacks. His head turned slightly, his gaze directed at their destination across the street. Behind the glasses, even without direct contact with his own, Tezuka's gaze looked sharper than Ryoma remembered.

 

Ryoma realized it didn't matter where they were. Everybody's eyes would be on Tezuka. Hell, he couldn't seem to make his own eyes leave the stunning man either.

 

He did however finally make his body obey his brain's command to move. He could already hear the bass pulsing from the back bar as he stepped out of the car. The overtone of people sitting and talking at the outside tables along the front and sidewalk around the building also met his ears.

 

As the cab pulled away, Ryoma noticed a few of those couples had already stopped talking. As they crossed the street, already those men had begun to stare. Ryoma saw no recognition on any of their faces which would indicate they knew who either he or Tezuka-buchou was. All he saw in their expressions was very evident visual appreciation.

 

Once glance at Buchou confirmed he too had noticed the attention they'd already drawn. Ryoma realized he should probably offer another suggestion for dinner. Obviously Tezuka-buchou could tell now why he had tried to deter him from taking him to a restaurant in this particular neighborhood.

 

He took an unconscious step closer to Tezuka, and their arms brushed against each other. Just as he opened his mouth to say…something, Tezuka's eyes narrowed at the nearest pair. Then, to Ryoma's astonishment, that same arm moved behind him, and Tezuka's hand came to rest, almost possessively, on the center of his lower back.

 

The touch made his skin tingle beneath his shirt, but the breath which suddenly swept across his forehead damn near took his legs from him.

 

“Echizen…”

 

Ryoma jerked his head upward and faced that deep voice on instinct only to find himself eye to eye, nose to nose with his former captain. In that moment, just like in his memories of a dark night on a tennis court and the task he was given then, Tezuka-buchou's presence swallowed the world around them.

 

Tezuka softly said, “Let's go in.” Ryoma could do nothing but follow that command as well. Despite his compliance, in the back of his mind, he noted that Buchou's hand remained in the same place until they were seated.

 

 

During their meal, Ryoma remained mute as Tezuka told him about college in Europe and how he'd double-majored in psychology and education. He talked about like in the minor circuits and tournaments he'd won. He spoke of his intention to become a tennis coach once he could no longer play professionally, though he had no preference as to where he did so when the time came.

 

To Ryoma, everything Tezuka-buchou had volunteered about himself sounded like static, absolutely meaningless. But then he was still preoccupied with their close encounter outside the restaurant.

 

In fact, the waiter had picked up their dinner plates and brought new drinks when Ryoma began to feel like he was coming back to himself. On one hand, he felt relieved that they'd been seated in the quietest area of the restaurant. On the other hand though…

 

He glanced at the booth across the room in time to see the men sitting there share a kiss across the table.

 

…the atmosphere was more intimate than he'd expected.

 

“Are you feeling all right?”

 

Startled, Ryoma cleared his throat. “Yeah, I'm fine.” His voice cracked, so he took a drink before trying again. “I've just never been in this section before.”

 

“But you have been here before?”

 

“A few times.” He shrugged. “I usually just sit in the bar.”

 

“You came here alone?”

 

Ryoma's eyebrow quirked, but he chose not to answer that question. “As I recall, Buchou, it was my turn to grill you this time.”

 

Tezuka nodded once and took a sip of his wine.

 

The request so quickly accepted threw Ryoma for a minute. Buchou had already offered some of his history, although Ryoma was far from satisfied. The truth was he had lots of questions, and they all seemed to run together within his mind all the sudden.

 

He heard his first question as though someone else had spoken it. Before he could take it back, however, it was too late.

 

“Buchou, what exactly happened between you and Fuji-senpai?”

 

Ryoma realized that never before, and probably never again, would anyone see Tezuka Kunimitsu so visibly stunned. He may have enjoyed it more if the disbelief in his own audacity didn't overshadow that fact. As quickly as the expression invaded Tezuka's features, they fled. Tezuka's face became blank, devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

 

Ryoma closed his eyes, embarrassed. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -“

 

“What did Fuji tell you?”

 

He looked once again to see Tezuka studying his glass, his expression still unreadable. Honestly, Fuji had told him lots of things, but most of them were said while comparing him to their old tennis captain.

 

“Well,” Ryoma began, “he told me that you and he…got together…during your junior year of high school. And that you had to hide it from both of your families. And that he didn't care, because it was you.”

 

Tezuka showed no reaction. “And?”

 

“And…” Ryoma fumbled, his thoughts once again careening haphazardly in his head. “Well, he said you broke up during your freshman year of college, because…”

 

Ryoma paused. Tezuka looked up, silently commanding Ryoma to continue. And suddenly, the memory of Fuji-senpai's melodic voice came to the forefront.

 

“Tezuka will never love anyone more than he loves tennis.”

 

“He said you'll never love anyone more than you love tennis,” Ryoma repeated. He kept everything else Fuji-senpai had said that particular night to himself for the time being. For some reason, he felt vocalizing it would break Fuji-senpai's trust and trivialize those feelings. Even though he couldn't begin to guess how Tezuka felt behind the stoic mask he kept firmly in place.

 

“I see,” Tezuka responded finally.

 

The ambiguous response irritated Ryoma for several reasons. He could still hear Fuji-senpai crying softly against his shoulder that night over a year ago.

 

“Is that it? Is that really what happened?”

 

Tezuka seemed to consider his answer carefully before speaking, which pissed Ryoma off even more.

 

“I suppose that was part of it,” Tezuka admitted. “That is certainly how Fuji would see things.”

 

“What about you? How do you see it, Buchou?”

 

Tezuka frowned. “It was a mistake,” he stated, a hint of regret tainting his smooth voice. “It was something I never should have allowed to happen at all.”

 

A mistake? Is that all he could say? Ryoma pressed on. “Were you even in love with him? Ever?”

 

“No.”

 

Ryoma could only stare. And Tezuka stared right back.

 

Then Tezuka said, “That's why it was a mistake I should not have allowed to happen.”

 

Ryoma's brain seemed to stall. But if that was so…

 

“Then, why?”

 

“Honestly, I don't know.”

 

That answer made the whole thing even more confusing. Especially since Ryoma himself had not known about the relationship at all until Fuji-senpai told him, and by then, it had long been over.

 

“But then,” Tezuka said, interrupting Ryoma's thoughts, “I could ask you the same question.”

 

Ryoma blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

Perhaps it was the dim lights above or a reflection from the candle burning between them, but Tezuka's eyes suddenly looked as though they were on fire. Those eyes cut through Ryoma and his preemptive desire to avoid the oncoming inquiry.

 

“What exactly happened between you and Fuji?” Tezuka echoed, almost.

 

Ryoma answered the best way he knew how: serve and volley.

 

“What did Fuji-senpai tell you?”

 

Tezuka's mouth twitched downward. “Among other things, that you're a competent dancer.”

 

Ryoma had anticipated many responses, but that wasn't one of them. Why would Fuji-senpai say… Oh yeah, right, the wedding reception. Ryoma couldn't help but grin. “I'd forgotten that part.”

 

“I'm not surprised.”

 

The comment, and the angry insinuation beneath it, was like a bucket of ice water. Ryoma shuddered involuntarily. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

 

Tezuka said nothing, but the unspoken accusation manifested in his steely expression. Tezuka-buchou was challenging his previous condemnation of him. Tezuka saw them as one in the same when it came to Fuji-senpai.

 

It was true that, for a little while, he'd allowed himself to get lost in the memories of his former self, memories of the people who shaped the man he'd become. And yes, for one week Fuji-senpai had been his lover. But that was the only similarity Ryoma acknowledged.

 

He didn't try to hide his own anger as he leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I didn't pretend to love him, Buchou.”

 

“Neither did I.”

 

 

Behind the practiced mask of calm, Tezuka Kunimitsu was fuming.

 

He had no idea what Fuji told Echizen a year earlier, but he knew without question that Fuji's perception of their relationship was tainted by the tensai's own disappointment and resentment.

However Fuji was not completely to blame. No matter what Fuji could, and probably did, confide to Echizen, it was still Echizen's choice to believe Fuji's subjective assertions without question. And it was obvious Echizen had indeed believed him.

 

That Echizen would think, even for a moment, that Tezuka would intentionally lead someone on, take him into his bed, and fabricate emotions he did not feel for the person was insulting to say the least. Speculating that type of behavior towards a stranger would be an insult in itself, of course, but then to insinuate he would do it to Fuji of all people…

 

The younger man's bewildered expression now only provoked Tezuka's rage. Beneath the table he clenched his hands into fists. Suddenly Tezuka's entire reason for bringing Echizen here, even his reasons for being in America at all, seemed meaningless. He rejected the foreign feelings immediately.

 

If this was the situation, so be it. This Echizen was a professional tennis player he would face during their careers, but otherwise he was a complete stranger.

 

Tezuka stood. “I'll find the waiter and take care of the bill. Excuse me.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Echizen sitting alone.

 

 

Thirty minutes after Tezuka returned to his hotel room, he was sitting on the corner of his bed staring at nothing in particular. He knew he needed to rest in preparation for his match the next day. It was probably going to be one of his toughest matches yet. His opponent was, after all, the number ten seeded player in the world.

 

However sleep eluded him, and instead of thinking about his game the next day, he caught himself thinking of the golden eyed man he'd left in the restaurant in West Hollywood. He wasn't concerned; Echizen would have no trouble getting back to the hotel.

 

His anger towards Echizen had subsided. Or rather, had been redirected. At himself. Their meeting had been inconclusive, his departure premature.

 

What's wrong with me?

 

Typically he could analyze his own unsatisfactory reactions and pinpoint the weakness which caused them. Whether it related to tennis or any other aspect of himself, he would quickly rectify those flaws. Since flaws were inevitable, there was no need to dwell on them beyond evaluation and solution implementation.

 

Echizen had always challenged that within him, both on and off the court. That part of Echizen's personality antagonized him as much as it drove him. It had been a long time since he'd faced someone who caused him to feel so conflicted. And that someone had been the pre-teen prodigy-to-be himself.

 

But this was not like their time at Seigaku. Inevitably they would both change to some degree with time and varying experiences. Tezuka understood that, but he hadn't expected the changes to be so drastic.

 

Despite the fact that Echizen had recognized his name and face when they saw one another again, that alone was inconsequential. Somewhere along the way, among the players Echizen had faced and the acquaintances he'd made, Tezuka felt as though Ryoma Echizen had forgotten him.

 

A sharp knock on the door brought him out of his sullen musings. He looked at the clock and sighed. His manager had apparently caught up with him, although he wasn't sure if he was in the mood to deal with the man at the moment.

 

His responsibilities superceded a bad mood, so he forced the stoic mask back into place and answered the door.

 

The mask fell away immediately as he was met with two daggers of gold.

 

“I was wrong,” Echizen said so softly Tezuka almost couldn't hear him. Almost. “You have changed.”

 

Tezuka scowled. Echizen bowed his head slightly, but Tezuka could still see the frustration written clearly across his handsome face.

 

“The Tezuka-buchou I knew never ran away from anyone or anything.”

 

Behind the stern exterior, Tezuka knew he wasn't ready to face Echizen yet. His own thoughts were still too incoherent. Forcing his jaw not to clench, Tezuka said, “I'm not running away. I apologize for what I did. However, I saw no point in continuing our conversation tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me -“

 

“Why not?” Echizen growled, sending his golden glare straight through Tezuka. “Because I asked about something you didn't want to talk about?”

 

“No,” Tezuka replied coolly. “Because you even had to ask at all.”

 

Tezuka intended to look away, to walk away, to close the door and get a grip on himself, but something new came into Echizen's eyes, and it stooped him short. Those golden eyes were still blazing with anger, but another emotion filtered in as well.

 

“Of course I had to ask.” Echizen muttered. “I haven't talked to you a single time in the last eight years.”

 

Tezuka froze.

 

“Everyone else…they called and sent letters and emails and stuff. I even came back and saw some of them a few times.” Echizen grimaced. “Except you. You were always somewhere else, doing something else. When you started high school, I sent letters and never got anything back. So after a couple years I stopped trying. Because I knew you'd turn pro, and that you were probably focused only on that. You had to come eventually, because you're Tezuka-buchou.”

 

“But everyone else seemed to know what you were doing,” Echizen continued. “You kept in touch with them, kept encouraging them. You never stopped being their “pillar of support.” And I couldn't understand why you treated me differently than them. I know I was only in the club for one school year, but I was one of your Regulars too.”

 

At some point, Tezuka wasn't sure when, he had moved aside and allowed Echizen to enter his room. Upon realize it, he closed the door. Echizen moved inside just enough to allow that, but did not move another stop from his spot in the entry.

 

He too remained in the same place, unable to move as Echizen's words struck him over and over.

 

Echizen leaned heavily against the wall. “And then, at Oishi-senpai and Kikumaru-senpai's wedding, when I saw Fuji-senpai again and he told me about you two, it was like…” The younger player's shoulders fell. “It was like you'd moved on and forgotten about me. I know that sounds stupid, but you're the one who changed my game. You changed me, Buchou. You turned me into a real player.”

 

“Echizen…”

 

Echizen's gaze looked distant, and Tezuka suspected he knew where the man's mind has gone before he said anything else.

 

Echizen spoke anyway, his voice equally disassociated from their present time and place. “When we played that last time, when I finally beat you, I know everybody else thought that was to settle things between us. It's true, I didn't feel like I deserved to compete in the finals at the US Open until I'd won against you. But that wasn't supposed to be the end. If I'd believed that, I never would have left.”

 

Tezuka's eyes were so wide they burned. He too found himself back there, at that court where they played their final game eight years earlier. He remembered well the pride he felt that Echizen had kept his promise, that he had indeed become strong enough to defeat him. He'd told Echizen that he had become their pillar of support, that he needed to go back to America with no regrets, and he'd meant every word. Tezuka himself had never second-guessed that decision.

 

But he had not done so without repressing his own selfish jealousy. He had ignored the sting of that defeat, and the knowledge that came with it.

 

Echizen would go to back to America, and he would probably win the US Open and many more professional tournaments to follow. He would enter the world stage and conquer each obstacle he faced. His game would progress and evolve. His level would continue to elevate until no one could reach him anymore.

 

He vowed not to let that happen. Although the roles had reversed, he knew he would reach an even stronger Echizen, and then he would surpass him.

 

Tezuka was willing to do whatever it took to perfect himself to that end. Unlike Echizen, however, Tezuka had other obligations to fulfill. After watching Echizen's first few professional tournaments during his freshman year of high school, he'd asked Ryuzaki-sensei to recommend him for the tennis academy in America she had spoken of the year before. He'd hoped his family would approve since they'd allowed his extended rehabilitation in Germany. But they had denied his request. While Echizen played the best players in the world, he was forced to continue playing at the regional and, twice, at the national levels in Japan.

 

For Tezuka, that had been a painful setback. He persevered of course, but by the time he had to choose between entering one of the minor pro circuits in America or going to college, he believed his time had not come yet.

 

He too had needed to face players around the world. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been worthy to even stand on the court with Echizen Ryoma.

 

Did I wait too long?

 

For the sake of his tennis, he knew that was false. He would have been no match for Echizen after high school.

 

“I'm glad you're here, Buchou. I was starting to wonder if you'd ever come.”

 

For Echizen's sake though…

 

“Buchou, what exactly happened between you and Fuji-senpai?”

 

Maybe even for his own sake, not as a tennis player, but for himself, perhaps…

 

“But that wasn't supposed to be the end. If I'd believed that, I never would have left.”

 

Tezuka realized his mouth was open even though he couldn't think of anything to say in his own defense. He closed it and tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. Then Echizen pushed off the wall opposite of him, his expression one of utter submission.

 

“I don't know what I'm saying. I didn't mean to go off on a rant. Again. I just came here to apologize.” He offered an artificial laugh that tore at Tezuka more than anything he'd said or done yet. “I'm sorry I was such a bad date, Buchou.”

 

What Echizen had said about his intention to apologize initially was a lie, obviously. Knowing he'd chose to say something like that in order to hasten his exit normally would have earned him Tezuka's condemnation. Instead Tezuka felt paralyzed as Echizen reached for the doorknob and let himself out into the hallway.

 

“By the way, about your game tomorrow…”

 

Tezuka gave himself a mental shake and refocused just in time to see Echizen turn back.

 

“I won't be there to watch it, but you better win, Buchou. I won't forgive you if you don't.”

 

Then the door closed, and Echizen was gone. Tezuka remained rooted in place, staring at the door, his mind fighting to decipher all that Echizen had said, and all that the younger player had left unsaid as well.

 

He planned to take the evening to regroup mentally and emotionally. He and Echizen were far from finished, of that he had no doubt. And If he lost tomorrow, Tezuka knew he would never forgive himself either.