Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ The Games We Play ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )

Chapter Six

 

 

 

Ryoma entered his own hotel suite, ignoring the sudden silence as the TV turned off as well as the blue eyes fixed on him from the sofa. He slipped through the adjoining bathroom to reach the bedroom, yanking his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. As soon as he reached the bed, he flopped down and toed his shoes and socks off. Using both forearms as a pillow under his head, he closed his eyes and allowed the sigh he'd withheld because he was in front of Tezuka-buchou to finally escape from his chest.

 

Buchou…

 

And who had he accused of changing, of running away? Why did Buchou make him feel like he was twelve again and even more powerless than he had been then? Hell, when he was twelve years old, he would never have turned tail like he did tonight.

 

“Shit.”

 

He stubbornly kept his eyes closed because even though he was emotionally exhausted, his mind and body felt wide awake. He knew sleep was necessary; he actually had a match worth playing tomorrow. Against the same man he suspected was now standing in the doorway.

 

It was confirmed a moment later. “Ryoma.”

 

Damn it. “What? I'm trying to sleep.”

 

A pause. “You were with your old captain tonight.”

 

Because it wasn't a question but stated as a fact, Ryoma did open his eyes. “Who said I was with Tezuka-buchou?”

 

Kevin shrugged, and Ryoma saw both acknowledgement of his question and the confidence in Kevin's initial observation. After so many years of rivalry and the past few years of more substantial companionship, Ryoma knew lying was pointless.

 

Ryoma snorted and turned his gaze to the window. “Are you jealous?”

 

“Not really,” Kevin said. “Should I be?”

 

Despite himself, Ryoma grimaced. No, Kevin definitely didn't have any reason to be jealous. He suddenly muttered, “I'm tired of tennis.”

 

He caught Kevin's scowl out of the corner of his eye. “Say that after you beat me tomorrow.”

 

Ryoma nodded negligibly. It might not be easy, but he knew he could beat Kevin.

 

“And say that after you've beaten Tezuka.”

 

For a moment Ryoma considered that challenge. Would he be able to defeat Tezuka-buchou now? He'd seen enough of Buchou's matches on video to know the man's game was on par with his own. If Tezuka-buchou came at him with everything he had and could surpass his own limits as he'd forced Ryoma to do years earlier, then no one could honestly predict who the victor would be.

 

“You know, I actually hope Buchou beats me.”

 

Ryoma surprised himself as much as he surprised Kevin with the admission. However the moment he spoke those words, he knew they were the absolute truth.

 

“I won't let him take it,” Ryoma clarified. “I'm gonna go at him with everything I have, but honestly...I hope he still wins.”

 

“Why?” Kevin sounded genuinely curious rather than angry, so Ryoma saw no need to avoid the question.

 

“Because if he can't beat me,” Ryoma began, then shook his head, frustrated at his own inability to explain himself. He clenched his teeth and tried again. “If he doesn't want it enough, doesn't care enough to win against me, then there's no reason for me to do this anymore.”

 

 

Kevin remained in the doorway for several more minutes. Ryoma had threatened retirement plenty of times, but this was only the second time his lover sounded serious. And this time, unlike the last, Kevin sensed no conflict within Ryoma.

 

Perhaps this is how the earth felt every evening when the sun fell, stealing its light and warmth along with it.

 

Even in his adulthood, after years of secret reflection, Ryoma had not yet discovered the true catalyst behind his increasingly chaotic nature. Kevin had believed seeing the rest of his old teammates from Japan would enlighten Ryoma, or at least guide him a little. And in a way it had, thanks to Tezuka's ex-boyfriend. Unfortunately the way it pointed Ryoma had been the wrong one.

 

Kevin remembered playing Ryoma during the French Open after that, fighting to keep his composure when he really wanted to forfeit the game just so he could knock the shit out of the guy who dared impersonate Ryoma Echizen with such a stiff, heartless play style.

 

Kevin had realized then that something - the something, the intrinsic thing that belonged only to Ryoma, the feeling that only he could project and control and weave around everyone he met - was beginning to vanish.

 

Unfortunately he understood the true nature of Ryoma's internal torment and the toll it was taking on him. He knew it all to well, what it meant to have your heart belong to someone else before you were even old enough to know that's what happened to you. To realize that the admiration you once felt for a person hadn't diminished but, like their games, had transcended into something stronger and infinitely more treacherous.

 

Kevin knew what Ryoma truly meant when he said he wanted his former captain to defeat him.

 

“If he doesn't want it enough…”

 

If Tezuka didn't want Ryoma enough…

 

“Doesn't care enough to win against me…”

 

If Tezuka didn't care enough about Ryoma to win against him…

 

He didn't know what had happened between Tezuka and Ryoma since their reunion, but he recognized the defeat Tezuka had already served Ryoma that evening had been a crushing one. Details, like jealousy, were unnecessary at the moment. All Kevin cared about was putting his golden eyed sun back in the heavens where he belonged.

 

“If you want to quit,” Kevin said, “I won't stop you.” He suppressed a grin as Ryoma's head jerked up off his arms and his eyes went wide. “But you have to play me first. Right now.”

 

Ryoma rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

 

“I'm serious.” And he was. More so than he had been in a long time.

 

Ryoma propped up on his elbows and stared for several long moments before shrugging. “Sure, why not. I'm not tired yet anyway.”

 

Kevin looked Ryoma over as he got up from the bed. “Do you want to change first?”

 

“No need.”

 

Kevin kept an eye on his companion as he shouldered both their bags and walked out of the room, headed for the outdoor courts nestled between the hotel and the sports arena. He chuckled to himself; Ryoma hadn't even bothered to re-button his shirt or put his shoes back on.

 

 

Tezuka opened his eyes, again, annoyed that he still couldn't fall asleep. A glance at the clock beside the bed mocked him even more. He had intended to be up by six to begin preparations before the crowds started to arrive. At this rate, he would have to wait until the warm-up courts opened in the arena just to make sure his body was completely prepped for his game.

 

“You better win, Buchou.””

 

Under no circumstances would he allow himself to lose.

 

He finally sat up, tossing his covers aside and walking to the bathroom to wash his face. When he returned, Tezuka glanced at the balcony window and frowned. Although his room was a few floors above a set of outdoor tennis courts, his view was completely blocked by the stadium next door. He had yet to even pull the curtain back and look outside, save for the few times he'd heard the tennis courts below in use. And so far each pair he'd seen had been pro-hopefuls at best. Now it was after midnight, and the last set of players had long retreated to their own rooms.

 

Which was why he was so surprised to hear the unmistakable creek of the gate around the courts open, then clang shut a moment later. But then this was California, and tennis enthusiasts were the same, be it noon or twilight. No one worth watching would be playing at this time of night anyway…

 

As soon as he heard the first serve, that telltale sound the ball made when it smashed against a seasoned player's racket, he knew he'd been mistaken. He stood motionless in the middle of his room, eyes closed, and he listened.

 

The serve had been fierce, the return equally powerful. Tezuka knew the rally that commenced would have wowed most people, yet somehow he knew it was just a greeting between the two anonymous players. The interval between each shot and the next remained consistent, calculated. Both players had probably taken fewer than two steps each since they started.

 

The rally ended, and Tezuka realized his jaw was stiff from clenching his teeth. The players on the court were both outstanding, and Tezuka was pretty confident that neither had used half of their real ability. Both were pros without question, which meant he had some stiff competition to look forward to.

 

The second serve came, and the ball's impact sounded…different, almost familiar. As did the sound of the same ball as it hit the fence rather than the opposing player's racket. Tezuka's eyebrow quirked, although his eyes remained shut. The initial niceties had obviously ended.

 

The third serve sounded stranger still, and this time, Tezuka's eyes flew open at the same moment he heard the ball once again rattle the fence. The sound of the fourth serve removed all doubt.

 

Three service aces. Three varying degrees of one phenomenal play.

 

Twist serves.

 

The last three plays had all been twist serves.

 

Before his brain registered the movement, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and yanked the curtains aside. He slid the balcony door open, exposing the scene below.

 

He made it to the railing just in time to see Kevin Smith point his racket at his seemingly dumbstruck opponent.

 

That opponent's name escaped Tezuka's lips as though someone else had pulled it from him. “Echizen…”

 

Even from his place above them, he could see Kevin's triumphant smile as the blond yelled, “You better get serious, Ryoma, because next time it'll be four in a row!”

 

 

So Kevin was getting serious. Knowing that, Ryoma couldn't help but smile to himself. It wasn't worth playing if Kevin didn't go all out against him.

 

He picked up the balls on the ground behind him. He pocketed two and fingered the third as he got into position.

 

Kevin's twist serve was certainly impressive, and Ryoma noted the blond had improved on his ability to control the angle of the ball's bounce.

 

But Kevin's serve wasn't his. Ryoma demonstrated that fact clearly with his first service ace. And the second. And the third. He retrieved a fourth ball from his bag and threw in top and side spin, a ruthless kick serve, to claim the final point just for the hell of it.

 

“Looks like you were right,” Ryoma said as his grin broadened. “Four in a row.”

 

Ryoma watched Kevin saunter toward the back of his end of the court to pick up the balls on the ground. “You know, you look just like your dad right now,” Kevin shouted over his shoulder.

 

Ryoma blinked at the comment he may have considered an insult in his younger years. Then took a good look at himself. He'd hardly noticed his shirt was still wide open and his feet were bare. He wiggled his toes against the clay. It didn't feel too bad to play barefoot, actually.

 

The days when that kind of thing would have provoked him had long past. Instead he held his arms out wide and smirked. “Are you kidding? I look way better than my dad.”

 

Kevin's eyebrows went up, and the blond player laughed. “I admit, you look good enough to beat, Ryoma.”

 

As Kevin assumed his service position, Ryoma did likewise. He could already see it in those blue eyes and the firm line of Kevin's mouth. Kevin's next serve would mark the real beginning of this match.

 

Ryoma lost track of time as they played. In truth he didn't care how long the game against Kevin lasted. Normally he would've been at a disadvantage against tomorrow's opponent due to his lack of sleep, except that in this case his opponent would be suffering from the same problem. And nowadays he enjoyed non-regulated matches more anyway, especially against a powerful, creative player like Kevin.

 

So why was he still doing this? Why didn't he retire already? Everything he could think of was another reason to quit the elite pro circuit.

 

No sponsors bidding to decide which brand of shoes he wore or what racket he used…

 

No manager demanding he endorse products he'd never heard of, let alone tried…

 

No reporters asking him stupid questions about why he started playing tennis in the first place or his goals for the future…

 

No trainers insisting he stick with a more “traditional” style…

 

No doctors predicting he could only continue to play professional tennis for two or three more years before his body started to give out…

 

At that moment, on the nameless court without an audience to watch, Ryoma was playing the game he'd admitted long ago he loved, against a truly worthy adversary. When he played tennis against Kevin, it was a challenge, but it really was the game of all games.

 

And it was fun.

 

Ryoma took another point and grinned across the net at Kevin. “Six all. I guess that means a tie-break.”

 

 

Kevin watched Ryoma for several seconds in silence as Ryoma slipped his racket into his right hand, then flexed the fingers on his left several times.

 

He hadn't intended the game to go on as long as it had, but Ryoma…he'd looked so happy for a little while. Just to keep seeing that expression on Ryoma's face and the fire in his golden eyes, he'd let him keep playing. Of course now they had a tie game, and Ryoma wanted to continue until one of them won.

 

Despite the rare look of anticipation on Ryoma's face and the heartache it caused Kevin to take that away, he schooled his own features. He slung his racket over his shoulder. “We have an official match tomorrow. I'll be more than happy to finish you then.”

 

As expected the sun in Ryoma's gaze began to set, replaced by a silent plea. “What, are you scared to lose a practice match?”

 

I know you want to keep playing, Ryoma.

 

Kevin wanted him to keep playing too. He wanted Ryoma Echizen to be able to play forever.

 

But if we keep this up…if we really play until this game is over…

 

As it was Kevin intended to call Ryoma's trainer in early, because no matter how sore his companion was, Ryoma wouldn't do it. At best, Ryoma would at least need his muscles worked over thoroughly, although explaining why Ryoma needed extra attention would earn them both a hell of a scolding. Hopefully his trainer would have a dose of cortisone on hand, just in case.

 

Kevin walked around the net. “C'mon, handsome. We have to go to sleep sometime, you know.”

 

There's someone you have to play, Ryoma. Now that's here, you have to play him, and you have to beat him, even if it's just one more time.

 

Once you do that, then you can quit. You can stop without any regrets.

 

He noted the soreness in his own legs, particularly the invisible ice pick stabbing through his right knee.

 

And so can I.

 

Ryoma scowled at him, but Kevin ignored it. He came face to face with the frustrated genius, rested his free hand on Ryoma's shoulder, and drew him close. He pressed his forehead against Ryoma's. “Do you have any idea how bad you stink right now?”

 

Despite his evident disappointment, a faint smile appeared on Ryoma's lips. “Look who's talking.”

 

Ryoma was right; Kevin could feel his shirt pasted to his skin. He nodded in agreement, then trailed his hand up Ryoma's neck and weaved his fingers into the mop of sweat-soaked black hair. He dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “I guess we better take a shower.”

 

Ryoma's eyebrow quirked, clearly amused at the innuendo. “Sounds good.” Kevin felt Ryoma's free hand snake behind him, mirroring his own actions, taking a handful of his hair and maneuvering his head until their lips brushed. “I'm still not tired yet.”

 

Normally he wouldn't have kissed Ryoma out in the open, but almost every other hotel occupant had long gone to bed. So he did kiss Ryoma, deeply, passionately, with everything he had and everything he wished he could get in return.

 

If only it was still there for him to take.

 

If only it didn't already belong to the man he could still see over Ryoma's shoulder, standing like a statue on his third floor balcony, their game's sole observer.