PoT: Tezuka/Ryoma - "Missing You to Death", PG
Title: Missing You to Death
Author: regulusa
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters and Pairings: Tezuka/Ryoma
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 2072
Spoilers: For the end of the anime.
Summary: He lies in bed for hours at a time, some days, silently stroking Karupin and memorising the pattern on his bedroom ceiling.
Notes: Sequel to my (much shorter) ficlet, Such Great Heights, which you don't need to have read to understand this. If you have read it and were among those who asked about a sequel… well, here it is. ;) The rather fragmented structure toward the beginning is completely intentional, and the title, of course, comes from the song "Such Great Heights", by The Postal Service.
Ryoma wears his Seigaku jersey to every match he plays in the U.S. Open, all the way to the finals. It feels natural and he can't imagine wearing anything else because Tezuka-buchou had said it himself - he will always be part of Seigaku, their pillar of support, and Seigaku will always be part of him, part of his tennis.
He loses in the finals, but that's all right. There are, after all, a lot of strong players out there, and sometimes even he forgets that he's only twelve. He's still mada mada dane.
::
After long days of practices and schoolwork, Ryoma goes to bed. In the moments between wakefulness and slumber, he thinks of Japan, of Tokyo, of Seigaku, and his friends.
He thinks sometimes of Tezuka-buchou and thinks that perhaps he might miss the older boy's quiet encouragement most of all, even more than he misses burgers after practice with Momo-senpai.
His mind will always stray the most late at night, but eventually he falls asleep. If he dreams at all in America, he doesn't remember the dreams when he wakes.
::
Gone are the days when no one took Ryoma seriously. He has taken games and matches from pros several years his senior and no one doubts his skill. The name "Ryoma Echizen" is whispered in every locker room before every match, and screamed by fans reminiscent of Tomoka and Sakuno as soon as he steps out onto the court.
It's annoying, but at least people take him seriously now.
Another thought will always accompany this one in Ryoma's mind: Buchou always took me seriously.
He gives this thought the consideration that any thought concerning Tezuka deserves, but after a few moments, he ignores it and goes on to win (or to lose, in some cases).
::
A year passes, and Ryoma has been all around the world, to Australia and France and England and back to America again. He never wins a Grand Slam title, though - he doesn't even come close - but that doesn't stop the whispers of "prodigy" and "genius" he hears everywhere he goes.
He is not a genius, he's just a kid, Ryoma wants to tell them. He's a kid who has been pushed in a certain direction for so long that he hadn't even realised that the pressure was suffocating him. He's a kid who is only where he is right now because he has stood upon the shoulders of giants.
If anyone deserves the title of prodigy, Ryoma wants to tell them, it's Fuji-senpai.
Or Tezuka-buchou.
But no one in America knows who they are.
::
Ryoma and his parents visit Tokyo for a week during the holidays, arriving just a few days before Ryoma's fourteenth birthday, and Ryoma is surprised to see that little has changed. So much has changed for him, inside him, that he fears that he will no longer fit in here, that cousin Nanako won't recognise the person he's become.
"Still as apathetic as ever, I see," says Nanako, smiling at his frown as she messes up Ryoma's hair. "But my, you've gotten taller, Ryoma-san!"
Maybe he hasn't changed as much as he had thought, after all. Or maybe it's just that Nanako hasn't noticed. Ryoma feels the urge to go out and knock on all his former team mates' doors, perhaps even a few of his old opponents', to ask them if there's anything different about him that extends beyond the physical - surely they would notice.
But perhaps he just wants an excuse to leave the house, because he wants to see all of them again more than anything else in the world.
The holidays are filled with family, though, and he returns back to America yet another year older. The trip, he feels, was not at all what he had hoped it would be.
::
He lies in bed for hours at a time, some days, silently stroking Karupin and memorising the pattern on his bedroom ceiling. He performs a mental comparison between this ceiling and his ceiling in Japan and finds this one lacking in several insignificant ways. His mental comparison of Japan and America in general very quickly finds America lacking in several extremely important ways.
"Young man? You okay?" his father's voice at the door makes him blink, but he allows himself no other reaction. When he doesn't reply, Nanjiroh leaves him there, mumbling something about dinner being ready and closing Ryoma's door behind him.
He knows his parents are probably talking about him - maybe they're even worried. Maybe they have reason to be, because maybe moving back here wasn't such a good idea after all.
Ryoma wonders how it's taken him almost two years to come to this conclusion and goes downstairs with a new determination.
His tennis career can wait - right now he just wants to be a kid while he has the chance. He hopes with all his heart that his parents will agree, that they'll take him back to Japan, and that he'll soon find it within himself to be happy again.
"I want to go back to Japan," Ryoma tells them without preamble.
Nanjiroh looks at him like he's sprouted a second head, but his mother looks at him knowingly, a soft expression on her face.
Within a month, Ryoma sets foot in Japan again, hopefully for good. He's come just in time, because the tennis season is about to start.
::
Horio is going to be Seigaku's buchou.
Ryoma allows himself several moments to digest this surreal, impossible, blasphemous information. His eyes are closed but one eyebrow is twitching, and if he wasn't biting his lip he knows that he would say something extremely impolite, and this is certainly not the time for that.
Finally, he takes a deep breath and looks to Ryuzaki-sensei, who is watching him with no small amount of amusement. "You can't be serious," he says monotonously.
"But I am," she says with a smile, and Ryoma suddenly understands why she annoys his father so much.
"I refuse to call that moron my captain."
"Hmm," Ryuzaki says, and Ryoma senses a challenge coming on, and he steels himself for it. "It's true that Horio-kun was my first choice for the position, but since the season technically hasn't started yet…"
Ryoma blinks. Oh. So that's what she was getting at.
"Heh," Ryoma smirks. "What do I have to do to get the job?"
::
Ryoma still has to work with Horio as his vice-captain (the idiot never stops complaining about "stupid Echizen coming back at the worst possible time"), but he can deal with that.
It's the pressure of living up to the standards expected of the captain of Seigaku's tennis team that really gets to him. He can't hope to be half as good a captain as Tezuka-buchou, but he can damn well try.
At any rate, Ryoma discovers that he does, in fact, enjoy bossing people around more than he probably should. It is as he orders some wide-eyed freshmen to pick up the balls and sweep the courts that Ryoma sees him, standing outside the fenced-in courts and wearing a high school uniform, tennis bag draped over his left shoulder like a third arm.
Tezuka.
Ryoma forgets to breathe when their eyes lock - he is as subtle in expressing any emotion as ever, and Ryoma's expressing no small amount of shock and awe. Slowly, carefully, Ryoma makes his way towards his captain (always his captain), and wraps a few of his fingers tightly around the fence that separates them.
"Echizen," Tezuka greets him. "I had heard you were back."
Ryoma is afraid that his voice will break, that he'll sound twelve years old all over again, but when he does speak, his voice is clear and he's smiling. "Tezuka-buchou."
The corners of Tezuka's mouth are turned upward just a bit, and Ryoma suddenly realises that the top of his head only comes up to Tezuka's chin.
It seems that he is not the only one to have grown.
"Welcome back," Tezuka says, and just like that his hand is touching Ryoma's from the other side of the fence. "Congratulations on your captaincy, as well."
Ryoma's stomach is doing back flips and summersaults and it's all because two of Tezuka's fingers may or may not be intertwined with his own and oh God…
"Thanks…" he manages.
They lock eyes for a moment and that's all it takes - that's all it ever took.
"Today?" Ryoma asks, suddenly nervous.
"Aa," Tezuka says. "The usual place, after you're done here. I'll be waiting."
Tezuka's leaves, and Ryoma lets go of the fence. His fingers tingle where Tezuka had been touching them, and he shivers.
This will be a good match.
::
And it is. Tezuka has been working hard, improving upon his Zone and refining it so that it's like going up against it for the first time all over again. Ryoma loses the first three games straight, but it's not for lack of trying on his part.
Tezuka does not say it, but Ryoma can see it in the older boy's eyes and he can hear it in his own mind, within his heart: "Echizen, show me your tennis!"
And he does. With Tezuka, it's so much easier to do than with anyone else - easier than it had been at the U.S. and Australian Opens, even. Ryoma doesn't know what it is about Tezuka that sets him apart from every other player Ryoma has gone up against - perhaps it has something to do with the past they share, or how easy it is for them to communicate wordlessly, even after two years.
Perhaps it's in the way Tezuka-buchou moves, graceful yet precise, or the way his hair falls across his eyes in wild and perfect strands of multi-faceted brown.
No, Ryoma realises as he hits a ball past Tezuka, having found a kink in the Zone. It's in the way Tezuka looks at him from across the court, as if Ryoma is the most important thing Tezuka knows - more important than their match, more important than winning or losing or even Seigaku.
Ryoma serves, and wonders if Tezuka-buchou feels at all the same when he plays him.
::
"Good game," Tezuka says, and once again they are shaking hands as the sun sets behind them. They are sweaty and Tezuka's palm feels as if it will slip out of his own if he isn't careful, so Ryoma grasps it tighter than he normally would.
"Yeah," Ryoma agrees. He's smiling and this time around there are no tears in his eyes, and no sad/proud look in Tezuka's. There is no crowd around them, no one is watching.
There are just two boys, and tennis.
The handshake ends, but they leave the court and sit down on the bench, close but not too close, to take a few sips of water and to watch the remainder of the sunset.
Ryoma feels the urge to lean against Tezuka, to put his head on his shoulder and simply breathe, in and out, in and out, feeling Tezuka's warmth and inhaling Tezuka's scent and watching as the sky puts on a show just for the two of them.
He looks to Tezuka out of the corner of his eye only to find Tezuka doing the same.
Another challenge, Ryoma thinks dryly. Slowly - very slowly - Ryoma shuffles over, and gently - very gently - he wraps his hand around Tezuka's and rests his head on Tezuka's shoulder.
The other boy freezes for all of a moment, and Ryoma wills himself not to panic. He thinks that he can feel Tezuka's muscles loosen, though, releasing tension and whatever else had been building up within him during these past two years, possibly even longer.
He feels Tezuka's hand tightening around his own, though, and he smiles. They never did need words for this, after all. He had read the nonverbal signs well.
"Ne, buchou," Ryoma says, his tone lazy but pleased. "It's good to be back."
Ryoma feels Tezuka's other hand on his cheek, then, and looks up, genuinely surprised as the older boy tilts his head and brushes his lips lightly against Ryoma's.
"Aa," Tezuka whispers. "It's good to have you."
Good to have me, Ryoma thinks with a knowing smile. Not just good to have me back, but good to have me.
It's been a long two years, but Ryoma is finally home.
Author: regulusa
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters and Pairings: Tezuka/Ryoma
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 2072
Spoilers: For the end of the anime.
Summary: He lies in bed for hours at a time, some days, silently stroking Karupin and memorising the pattern on his bedroom ceiling.
Notes: Sequel to my (much shorter) ficlet, Such Great Heights, which you don't need to have read to understand this. If you have read it and were among those who asked about a sequel… well, here it is. ;) The rather fragmented structure toward the beginning is completely intentional, and the title, of course, comes from the song "Such Great Heights", by The Postal Service.
Ryoma wears his Seigaku jersey to every match he plays in the U.S. Open, all the way to the finals. It feels natural and he can't imagine wearing anything else because Tezuka-buchou had said it himself - he will always be part of Seigaku, their pillar of support, and Seigaku will always be part of him, part of his tennis.
He loses in the finals, but that's all right. There are, after all, a lot of strong players out there, and sometimes even he forgets that he's only twelve. He's still mada mada dane.
::
After long days of practices and schoolwork, Ryoma goes to bed. In the moments between wakefulness and slumber, he thinks of Japan, of Tokyo, of Seigaku, and his friends.
He thinks sometimes of Tezuka-buchou and thinks that perhaps he might miss the older boy's quiet encouragement most of all, even more than he misses burgers after practice with Momo-senpai.
His mind will always stray the most late at night, but eventually he falls asleep. If he dreams at all in America, he doesn't remember the dreams when he wakes.
::
Gone are the days when no one took Ryoma seriously. He has taken games and matches from pros several years his senior and no one doubts his skill. The name "Ryoma Echizen" is whispered in every locker room before every match, and screamed by fans reminiscent of Tomoka and Sakuno as soon as he steps out onto the court.
It's annoying, but at least people take him seriously now.
Another thought will always accompany this one in Ryoma's mind: Buchou always took me seriously.
He gives this thought the consideration that any thought concerning Tezuka deserves, but after a few moments, he ignores it and goes on to win (or to lose, in some cases).
::
A year passes, and Ryoma has been all around the world, to Australia and France and England and back to America again. He never wins a Grand Slam title, though - he doesn't even come close - but that doesn't stop the whispers of "prodigy" and "genius" he hears everywhere he goes.
He is not a genius, he's just a kid, Ryoma wants to tell them. He's a kid who has been pushed in a certain direction for so long that he hadn't even realised that the pressure was suffocating him. He's a kid who is only where he is right now because he has stood upon the shoulders of giants.
If anyone deserves the title of prodigy, Ryoma wants to tell them, it's Fuji-senpai.
Or Tezuka-buchou.
But no one in America knows who they are.
::
Ryoma and his parents visit Tokyo for a week during the holidays, arriving just a few days before Ryoma's fourteenth birthday, and Ryoma is surprised to see that little has changed. So much has changed for him, inside him, that he fears that he will no longer fit in here, that cousin Nanako won't recognise the person he's become.
"Still as apathetic as ever, I see," says Nanako, smiling at his frown as she messes up Ryoma's hair. "But my, you've gotten taller, Ryoma-san!"
Maybe he hasn't changed as much as he had thought, after all. Or maybe it's just that Nanako hasn't noticed. Ryoma feels the urge to go out and knock on all his former team mates' doors, perhaps even a few of his old opponents', to ask them if there's anything different about him that extends beyond the physical - surely they would notice.
But perhaps he just wants an excuse to leave the house, because he wants to see all of them again more than anything else in the world.
The holidays are filled with family, though, and he returns back to America yet another year older. The trip, he feels, was not at all what he had hoped it would be.
::
He lies in bed for hours at a time, some days, silently stroking Karupin and memorising the pattern on his bedroom ceiling. He performs a mental comparison between this ceiling and his ceiling in Japan and finds this one lacking in several insignificant ways. His mental comparison of Japan and America in general very quickly finds America lacking in several extremely important ways.
"Young man? You okay?" his father's voice at the door makes him blink, but he allows himself no other reaction. When he doesn't reply, Nanjiroh leaves him there, mumbling something about dinner being ready and closing Ryoma's door behind him.
He knows his parents are probably talking about him - maybe they're even worried. Maybe they have reason to be, because maybe moving back here wasn't such a good idea after all.
Ryoma wonders how it's taken him almost two years to come to this conclusion and goes downstairs with a new determination.
His tennis career can wait - right now he just wants to be a kid while he has the chance. He hopes with all his heart that his parents will agree, that they'll take him back to Japan, and that he'll soon find it within himself to be happy again.
"I want to go back to Japan," Ryoma tells them without preamble.
Nanjiroh looks at him like he's sprouted a second head, but his mother looks at him knowingly, a soft expression on her face.
Within a month, Ryoma sets foot in Japan again, hopefully for good. He's come just in time, because the tennis season is about to start.
::
Horio is going to be Seigaku's buchou.
Ryoma allows himself several moments to digest this surreal, impossible, blasphemous information. His eyes are closed but one eyebrow is twitching, and if he wasn't biting his lip he knows that he would say something extremely impolite, and this is certainly not the time for that.
Finally, he takes a deep breath and looks to Ryuzaki-sensei, who is watching him with no small amount of amusement. "You can't be serious," he says monotonously.
"But I am," she says with a smile, and Ryoma suddenly understands why she annoys his father so much.
"I refuse to call that moron my captain."
"Hmm," Ryuzaki says, and Ryoma senses a challenge coming on, and he steels himself for it. "It's true that Horio-kun was my first choice for the position, but since the season technically hasn't started yet…"
Ryoma blinks. Oh. So that's what she was getting at.
"Heh," Ryoma smirks. "What do I have to do to get the job?"
::
Ryoma still has to work with Horio as his vice-captain (the idiot never stops complaining about "stupid Echizen coming back at the worst possible time"), but he can deal with that.
It's the pressure of living up to the standards expected of the captain of Seigaku's tennis team that really gets to him. He can't hope to be half as good a captain as Tezuka-buchou, but he can damn well try.
At any rate, Ryoma discovers that he does, in fact, enjoy bossing people around more than he probably should. It is as he orders some wide-eyed freshmen to pick up the balls and sweep the courts that Ryoma sees him, standing outside the fenced-in courts and wearing a high school uniform, tennis bag draped over his left shoulder like a third arm.
Tezuka.
Ryoma forgets to breathe when their eyes lock - he is as subtle in expressing any emotion as ever, and Ryoma's expressing no small amount of shock and awe. Slowly, carefully, Ryoma makes his way towards his captain (always his captain), and wraps a few of his fingers tightly around the fence that separates them.
"Echizen," Tezuka greets him. "I had heard you were back."
Ryoma is afraid that his voice will break, that he'll sound twelve years old all over again, but when he does speak, his voice is clear and he's smiling. "Tezuka-buchou."
The corners of Tezuka's mouth are turned upward just a bit, and Ryoma suddenly realises that the top of his head only comes up to Tezuka's chin.
It seems that he is not the only one to have grown.
"Welcome back," Tezuka says, and just like that his hand is touching Ryoma's from the other side of the fence. "Congratulations on your captaincy, as well."
Ryoma's stomach is doing back flips and summersaults and it's all because two of Tezuka's fingers may or may not be intertwined with his own and oh God…
"Thanks…" he manages.
They lock eyes for a moment and that's all it takes - that's all it ever took.
"Today?" Ryoma asks, suddenly nervous.
"Aa," Tezuka says. "The usual place, after you're done here. I'll be waiting."
Tezuka's leaves, and Ryoma lets go of the fence. His fingers tingle where Tezuka had been touching them, and he shivers.
This will be a good match.
::
And it is. Tezuka has been working hard, improving upon his Zone and refining it so that it's like going up against it for the first time all over again. Ryoma loses the first three games straight, but it's not for lack of trying on his part.
Tezuka does not say it, but Ryoma can see it in the older boy's eyes and he can hear it in his own mind, within his heart: "Echizen, show me your tennis!"
And he does. With Tezuka, it's so much easier to do than with anyone else - easier than it had been at the U.S. and Australian Opens, even. Ryoma doesn't know what it is about Tezuka that sets him apart from every other player Ryoma has gone up against - perhaps it has something to do with the past they share, or how easy it is for them to communicate wordlessly, even after two years.
Perhaps it's in the way Tezuka-buchou moves, graceful yet precise, or the way his hair falls across his eyes in wild and perfect strands of multi-faceted brown.
No, Ryoma realises as he hits a ball past Tezuka, having found a kink in the Zone. It's in the way Tezuka looks at him from across the court, as if Ryoma is the most important thing Tezuka knows - more important than their match, more important than winning or losing or even Seigaku.
Ryoma serves, and wonders if Tezuka-buchou feels at all the same when he plays him.
::
"Good game," Tezuka says, and once again they are shaking hands as the sun sets behind them. They are sweaty and Tezuka's palm feels as if it will slip out of his own if he isn't careful, so Ryoma grasps it tighter than he normally would.
"Yeah," Ryoma agrees. He's smiling and this time around there are no tears in his eyes, and no sad/proud look in Tezuka's. There is no crowd around them, no one is watching.
There are just two boys, and tennis.
The handshake ends, but they leave the court and sit down on the bench, close but not too close, to take a few sips of water and to watch the remainder of the sunset.
Ryoma feels the urge to lean against Tezuka, to put his head on his shoulder and simply breathe, in and out, in and out, feeling Tezuka's warmth and inhaling Tezuka's scent and watching as the sky puts on a show just for the two of them.
He looks to Tezuka out of the corner of his eye only to find Tezuka doing the same.
Another challenge, Ryoma thinks dryly. Slowly - very slowly - Ryoma shuffles over, and gently - very gently - he wraps his hand around Tezuka's and rests his head on Tezuka's shoulder.
The other boy freezes for all of a moment, and Ryoma wills himself not to panic. He thinks that he can feel Tezuka's muscles loosen, though, releasing tension and whatever else had been building up within him during these past two years, possibly even longer.
He feels Tezuka's hand tightening around his own, though, and he smiles. They never did need words for this, after all. He had read the nonverbal signs well.
"Ne, buchou," Ryoma says, his tone lazy but pleased. "It's good to be back."
Ryoma feels Tezuka's other hand on his cheek, then, and looks up, genuinely surprised as the older boy tilts his head and brushes his lips lightly against Ryoma's.
"Aa," Tezuka whispers. "It's good to have you."
Good to have me, Ryoma thinks with a knowing smile. Not just good to have me back, but good to have me.
It's been a long two years, but Ryoma is finally home.