Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ Hourglasses ❯ My Friend, My Foe ( Chapter 6 )

Hourglasses

 

Chapter VI

 

Karupin had been staring at his master for over an hour now as he rummaged around his closet, throwing random miscellaneous things into a large duffel bag on the floor beside him. Ryoma grunted darkly as he extracted a pair of handcuffs from between an old pair of jeans.

 

“Stupid Oyaji,” he muttered as he tossed them into the wastebasket. He then dumped the jeans they were hidden in along with them. After several more minutes of this repeated extraction and disposal, Ryoma plopped down onto the carpeted floor and allowed Karupin to jump into his arms happily. The cat purred blissfully as Ryoma ran his fingers through his silky fur. “How do I get myself into these situations, Karupin? I knew I shouldn't have told Fuji anything.”

 

Yes, Ryoma decided that from now on he would keep his personal life a secret from the conniving prodigy. As if the impromptu welcome home bash wasn't enough, now Fuji had planned a ski trip for two days in the cool and refreshing regions of the countryside. But Ryoma supposed he shouldn't have been too annoyed. Most likely, with the extravagance of this trip, Fuji had it all structured out even before Ryoma informed him of his ultimatum to Tezuka. But now he was sure that the brown-haired man would be doing everything in his power to somehow get him and Tezuka alone for a majority of the trip.

 

Ryoma sighed wearily and picked up Karupin, looking at his friend directly in the eye. “Your master is in for some crazy mess,” he stated dryly.

 

Karupin meowed loudly in agreement. The golden-eyed man smiled at the feline warmly.

 

“Ryoma! Telephone!”

 

“Who is it?” shouted back Ryoma as he resumed in cleaning out his overstuffed closet. He had really been putting off this task for far too long now—it was several years overdue of a good breather. He had forgotten how much junk he had stored back in junior high.

 

“Keigo!” replied Nanako.

 

Ryoma stopped his pace and stood up slowly. He took the portable from its stand and turned it on. “Keigo?” he said into the phone. He promptly heard a click as his cousin got off the line.

 

A low chuckle filled Ryoma's ear and he cringed. Yes, it was Atobe all right. “This is surprising,” he continued, walking back to his closet and picking out a container filled with condoms.

 

What the devils had his father been stuffing his closet with these past five years he was in America? He shook his head but stored the box in the drawer below his bed. At least he had a better chance of using the condoms than the handcuffs.

 

“I heard you were leaving soon.”

 

Ryoma snorted. “Man, word gets around quick in Japan, huh?” he replied.

 

“Well it depends on your resources, Ryoma. I happen to have very good ones.”

 

Atobe still possessed that otherworldly ability to drive Ryoma over the edge with a few simple words it seemed. Ryoma held the phone between his shoulder and chin as he folded a sweater and tossed it into the duffel bag marked for donation.

 

“So what's your point, Keigo? Don't tell me you're calling to say you'll miss me,” he retorted.

 

An indulgent laughter sounded on the other line. “I was just wondering why. You seem to be very close to reaching your goal after all. Why give up so quickly?” he said.

 

There was no disguising the smugness in Atobe's words. So he thought Ryoma was giving up? The younger man smirked to himself. Ah, he still had a lot to learn. But those lessons could be saved for later—after he showed Atobe exactly how to properly play the game and win. Until then, he would handle the sidelines.

 

“Well, I do have other interests, Keigo. And staying in Japan isn't exactly ideal in order for me to pursue them,” he said.

 

There was a pause before Atobe finally responded. “Other interests?” he inquired, sounding faintly curious.

 

Ryoma grinned and tossed an old coat into the duffel bag. “Yeah. I'm through with tennis for now. And there are just so many other sports in the world for me to conquer,” he replied airily.

 

“You're rather confident in your abilities,” Atobe said, returning to his normal mocking tone.

 

“Kunimitsu seems to think I can do it,” Ryoma pitched in, knowing how those words would affect Atobe. He bit back a laugh as a dramatic silence ensued.

 

Finally, Atobe cleared his throat. “Tezuka is always like that I'm afraid. He's much more idealistic than most would think. But then four years ago… Well, I guess after that he decided to pass on his dreams to other people.”

 

Ryoma's ears perked. “Four years ago?” he repeated.

 

“Yes, when—wait, you don't know? Now, now, Ryoma. You should know everything about the object of your affection,” drawled Atobe sadistically.

 

The amber-eyed man scowled and threw some rolled up hats and scarves into the duffel bag with unnecessary force. The entire bag tipped over onto the floor. It seemed everyone was keeping him in the dark about what happened to Tezuka. Ryoma pursed his lips. Well, they were going to be alone for two days in the mountains. He supposed that would be a better occasion than any to confront the man directly—again. And maybe with a little more subtlety. Last time, his inquiries had almost resulted in near disaster. Maybe he should include alcohol in his new plan. Ryoma shook his head at the direction his thoughts were going. It seemed he had been spending too much time with that idiot father of his. Now some of his crazy ideas were infecting his son.

 

“Fine, keep your secrets. I'll find out soon enough,” grumbled Ryoma as he righted the duffel bag. It was almost full. He sighed to himself. That had taken all afternoon. He now had three duffel bags to drop off at the shelter. But at least his closet finally had more room. Its overstuffed state had been irking him as of late. Perhaps it was because he discovered the other day that he had absolutely no room to store his coat. Ryoma shifted the phone to his other shoulder. “Hey, Keigo, want to go with me to the shelter?” he asked randomly.

 

If Atobe was in any way surprised by the inquiry, he made no notion of it as he answered in his usual sophisticated manner. “Planning to join a missionary are we?”

 

Ryoma chuckled. “I have some clothes I want to donate. It's called goodwill, Keigo. Ever practiced it?”

 

“Ah, how touching. Well, I suppose I can drive by and help you with your honorable quest.”

 

“If you have any clothes you don't want you should donate them too, Keigo,” continued Ryoma on a more serious note.

 

There were few things that he truly cared about in this world. Helping out those less fortunate had somehow climbed to the top of his list recently—along with surfing and Tezuka of course. Ryoma smiled. It seemed his priorities were somewhat jumbled. Fortunately, helping other people was something he always had time for. The other two required a little more dedication and skill—something Ryoma was still building up.

 

“Yes, I know, Ryoma. Honestly, you're such a saint,” replied Atobe, but his tone was less scornful and held a hint of a smile.

 

“So when can you come over?”

 

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

 

“Sure thing. See you then, Keigo.”

 

“Unfortunately,” was the older man's dramatic line as he hung up.

 

Ryoma placed the phone back in its stand with a smile. He then gathered the bags and went downstairs to situate them by the door. Karupin followed him as he entered the kitchen. Ryoma was intent on getting himself a drink for all his hard labor. After gulping down a glassful of water he cracked his back.

 

“Sitting cooped up in front of a closet all day long isn't ideal for humans, Karupin,” he commented idly as the cat jumped into his lap. Karupin blinked up at his owner with knowing eyes and Ryoma smiled again. “Of course, you will never have that problem. But the next time you see me attempt to clean out anything, remind me to take a few breaks in between, okay?”

 

The cat meowed in acknowledgement.

 

“Hey, shounen! What the heck's up with the dump by the door? I hope you don't intend on leaving that there!” blared out Nanjirou as he burst into the kitchen, his usual magazine tucked under his arm.

 

Ryoma glared at his father. “Cool your horses. They'll be gone soon enough,” he replied in English—just to smart his father's nerves. Nanjirou had always begrudged his son for being able to speak perfect English without an accent. And at times Ryoma would use that fact to his own advantage.

 

Nanjirou smacked his son over the head with his hand. “Don't get showy on me, brat,” he chided.

 

“That's child abuse, Oyaji.”

 

“Bah! You're not a child anymore!”

 

“I can still play to the jury's sympathetic side.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Ryoma had to keep his laughter in. It was a good thing Nanjirou never paid much attention to the American judicial system. It was amazing how ignorant his father could be in areas such as those.

 

“Oh, Ryoma! I noticed the bags by the door. Are you going to the shelter again?” quipped Rinko as she stepped into the kitchen.

 

Ryoma sighed to himself. There went his hopes for a peaceful and quiet departure. “Yeah, Keigo's dropping by soon to drive me over there.”

 

“Keigo? You mean that wannabe punk? I thought you were after the other boy!” Nanjirou pondered aloud.

 

“Kunimitsu, Oyaji. And Keigo's a friend—you know that already.”

 

“'Che, you need some more female friends in your life, shounen! I don't care if you do go for guys—”

 

“Nanjirou! Stop it already. You're going to traumatize our son!”

 

“Traumatize? He's my son! You knew he would come out screwed up!”

 

“I'm off!” chirped Ryoma as he left the room.

 

“And—oi, shounen! Get me some cigarettes while you're at it!”

 

“Get it yourself,” replied Ryoma just as Rinko began scolding her husband.

 

“Nanjirou, what did I tell you about quitting?”

 

“I'm trying, I'm trying… Hey, Rinko-chaaaaan! Don't be upset!”

 

The voices of his parents faded as Ryoma picked up his bags and walked outside. He stood by the gate and leaned back against the wall, a hand covering his eyes as he looked towards the sky.

 

“Insane,” he muttered to himself.

 

Faintly, he heard the rumbling of an engine and knew that it was Atobe arriving. Only the rich and fabulously profligate Atobe Keigo had to make his entrance into Ryoma's neighborhood known by the roaring of his new Cadillac or whatnot. Personally, Ryoma never paid much attention to cars and could care less about any new “babies” Atobe picked up along the years. But as it was, when a piercingly bright car parked into his driveway, Ryoma could not help but stare at the vehicle in a daze.

 

“Yo, Ryoma. Admiring Heather I see,” greeted Atobe.

 

The younger man blinked slowly at the pink contraption moaning in his driveway. He raised a finger at it. “What the hell is that thing?” he asked with something akin to amazement in his tone.

 

Atobe smiled and caressed the steering wheel lovingly. “Beautiful, isn't she? I just got her custom-made,” he said happily.

 

“I am not getting in that…thing.”

 

“She is not a thing, Ryoma.”

 

“It's a car, Keigo. No matter how much you deny it…it will always be a car. A sexless—and lifeless—machine.”

 

“Do you want a ride or not, wonder boy?”

 

Ryoma suppressed a shudder as he climbed into the passenger's seat by Atobe's left. He threw the duffel bags behind him and began to close the door with painstaking slowness. Atobe tapped his fingers against the wheel testily and when Ryoma finally shut the door, pressed on the gas full blast. They zoomed forward with barely a screech against the pavement. Ryoma had to give him credit for that at least.

 

“Are you trying to kill me? I knew it was too good to be true when you offered to drive me.”

 

Atobe laughed and turned on the radio. “What, can't take the speed? And you want to go into surfing? Those ocean wipeouts are even more devastating than my driving!” he pointed out.

 

Ryoma rested his head in the palm of his hand. “But there's water, Keigo. Here there's nothing but rock pavement. Crashing here would bring about a pretty certain death,” he said. Suddenly, Ryoma paused. Perhaps talking about driving accidents was not the best topic to discuss when in a vehicle with a speed demon. He got a distinctly bad vibe from it. He looked at Atobe warily. “So how's your gang?”

 

The younger man was pleased to note the little crinkle that appeared in between Atobe's eyebrows. “You certainly do my friends an insult, Ryoma. Even I do not resort to such brutish terms for your…companions,” replied Atobe tersely.

 

“Yeah? Well—cat!”

 

The car swerved sharply to the left before screeching to a stop by the curb. Ryoma looked around the window and spotted the cat leaping away to safety. He breathed in a relieved sigh and then turned to glare at Atobe.

 

“Speedy Gonzalez,” he said pointedly.

 

Atobe frowned slightly as he righted the car. Luckily, they had been going down an empty street. “Speedy Gonzalez?” he repeated uncertainly.

 

Ryoma nodded, crossing his arms over his chest grumpily. “A little American culture for you. Look it up when you have free time. But meanwhile, try not to kill anyone, okay?” he replied disdainfully.

 

“You can hardly blame me for not seeing that cat. It just landed in the middle of the street.”

 

“Did I ever mention the cat?”

 

“You didn't—but I know you were thinking about it.”

 

“Don't presume to be a mind-reading psychic, Keigo. You're already too much of a poser as it is.”

 

Atobe whistled. “Well, well, someone seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” he remarked with some surprise.

 

That was the thing about Atobe—he was so damn presumptuous sometimes that Ryoma just found it hard to remain cool around him. The older man knew exactly what to say and do to get beneath his skin, and more often than not they spent their relatively few outings arguing the entire way. It was a fair balance, though. Ryoma also knew how to hit Atobe's nerves directly. They shared a very complex love/hate relationship that neither man would have preferred to talk about. It simply existed between them without further analyzing.

 

Nonetheless, it was a beautiful relationship.

 

“Well fuck. Give the guy a medal.”

 

Ryoma found himself behaving much more differently around Atobe than with any of his other friends. It was probably due to the fact that they practically lived to annoy the hell out of one another. Considering how similar they were, it was hard not to be antagonistic towards the other. And the fact that they both knew it was in good humor meant they could say very harsh things to each other without feeling guilt. At times the cutting bluntness of their verbal exchanges alarmed others not familiar with their relationship. All Atobe and Ryoma could then was laugh.

 

“Hmph. You know how I feel about language like that, Ryoma. And it isn't wise to be cursing in front of your senior.”

 

“You're two years older than me—not two decades.”

 

“Same difference.”

 

Ryoma smiled at Atobe's reflection in his window. “I'm curious, Keigo. Why are you after Kunimitsu?” he asked, bringing their discussion to a more personal level.

 

For a while Atobe said nothing and drove on in silence. When they entered a crowded intersection and slowed down due to traffic, he turned around to face Ryoma. “The same reasons as you I suppose,” he answered smoothly.

 

The younger man arched an eyebrow. Oh, you don't know my reasons, Keigo. “You suppose. But that's not answering my question,” he shot back.

 

Atobe smirked. “Well, that's a very delicate question, Ryo. You don't think I'll actually give you a straight answer do you?”

 

“Don't call me that and stop diverting the subject.”

 

“If you want me to answer you'll just have to endure it, Ryo-kun.”

 

Ryoma's eyes darkened. “You're too crazy for Kunimitsu.”

 

“And like you're any better—you and your surfing dreams,” said Atobe insultingly. He swiped away a stray lock of hair from his face with a flair. “Tezuka needs someone more mature and less unsteady.”

 

The golden-eyed man regarded Atobe bitterly. “Of course, you're so much more mature and steady than I am, Atobe-sama,” he mocked.

 

“Precisely,” agreed Atobe with a pompous nod. “Tezuka has no time for children. And I don't think you fully appreciate the quiet and reserved side that is him.”

 

They pulled up to the side of the shelter. The streets were alive with shoppers and pedestrians. Ryoma got out of the car and pulled out his bags. Atobe followed soon after with his own large shopping bag in hand.

 

The shelter was in a hectic state when the two ex-pros dropped off their donations by the admissions desk. They left without a single word shared between them. The ride back to Ryoma's home was equally as silent—but there was no tension in the air. The two had merely lapsed into a peaceful reverie where no vocalization was required in order to know what the other was thinking. Such was their relationship.

 

By the time they had reached Ryoma's house it was nearing early evening. The younger man got out of the car placidly and walked to his front door, stopping. Atobe always waited in his car until he saw Ryoma enter the house before setting off again. The older man was uncharacteristically thoughtful in that fashion. But that was high society for you. Even a spoiled and conceited aristocrat like Atobe knew how to treat his friends and lovers with the respect they deserved——despite the teasing and sarcasm he liked to inflict upon them afterwards. He was a very contradictory person.

 

Ryoma turned around and looked at Atobe. “This debate will continue later,” he called out, knowing that he would understand.

 

The older man gave a lazy wave. “Sure thing. Shall I call you again tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah…,” Ryoma began before remembering the trip. “Actually, no. Two days from now.”

 

Atobe arched an eyebrow. “Going away?” he asked carefully.

 

“You could say I'm going to be spending two wonderful days alone with Kunimitsu.”

 

He had to give Atobe some credit, Ryoma thought. The man didn't even blink at his statement. Instead, he chuckled a little and shook his head.

 

“Ah, the extremes you'll go for Tezuka… It's amusing to watch really.”

 

Gold eyes flashed. “What's the point of playing if I'm not going to try my best,” he said calmly.

 

This managed to elicit a reaction from Atobe. Ryoma grinned to himself as the other man shrugged his shoulders, giving a final farewell, before driving off into the night.

 

Ryoma rotated his shoulders and stepped through his doorway where instant heat and light greeted him. He took off his coat and scarf and hung it by the hallway closet while slipping into his slippers. The house was eerily quiet.

 

“I'm home!” he called out as he ran a hand through his hair. He was tired. A few hours alone with Atobe always took a toll on his brainpower. He probably would not be able to think up of another witty response to his father's accusations if he didn't take a nap first.

 

Shuffling steps alerted the young man of an approaching figure. Ryoma looked up to see his cousin smiling at him. “Ryoma! Your parents went out for dinner. Also, Oishi-kun called before. He says they'll come by around nine to pick you up,” greeted Nanako as he began to head up the stairwell.

 

“Gotcha,” he called out while he trudged into his room and plopped down on the bed where Karupin had been resting. The cat jumped up at the sudden intrusion but comfortably settled down again on his master's stomach as Ryoma gave a tired sigh. “Today was a long day, Karupin. And it's not even over yet.”

 

The cat merely snuggled deeper into his master's warm body. Ryoma smiled softly and ran his fingers through Karupin's fur before nodding off himself.

 

—Only to be startled out of his nap by the ringing phone two hours later.

 

Groaning, Ryoma stretched over and looked at the time. How do the hours pass by that quickly? He gave a loud yawn as the phone continued its incessant ringing. Ryoma frowned. Usually Nanako was pretty good with answering the calls. He reached over and picked up the wailing portable on his desk.

 

“Echizen residence,” he said dully, still not fully awake. But he was feeling significantly more energized now.

 

“That took a while.”

 

Ryoma blinked several times. “Keigo?” he asked. Then he smirked. “Wow, you miss me already?”

 

“I've really messed up this time, Ryoma. I don't know exactly how I managed to miss it, honestly. I must be a goddamned idiot.”

 

Atobe's tone was cold and self-deprecating. It alarmed Ryoma and he frowned deeply. “What's wrong, Keigo? You don't sound right,” he asked, his apprehension increasing as Atobe continued his ranting.

 

“I don't know why I called you, Ryoma. I apologize for inconveniencing you. It's just somehow I picked up my cell and dialed the first number I saw. I'm really an idiot aren't I?”

 

The despair was evident in Atobe's words—something Ryoma had never known the other man to experience. Atobe was generally too proud and dignified to allow himself to wallow in self-pity. But the emotions he was getting off from the older man now wasn't simply that. Something was seriously wrong with Atobe—and Ryoma was beginning to worry.

 

“Keigo, listen to me. What the hell happened?”

 

“No, no, I can't disturb you any further than I already have. You have your trip…and Tezuka. I'll just go now. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine when you come back. Forget about this call, Ryoma. Please.”

 

The line went dead with a heavy click. Ryoma gritted his teeth and hung up. Dammit. Normally, he would have rushed off and confronted Atobe head-on. But the other man had said please. And for him that was no simple feat. He genuinely wanted Ryoma to leave him alone until he was ready. Ryoma looked at the time. Oishi and the others would be picking him up in ten minutes. He wouldn't have had time to drive by Atobe's house anyway. He narrowed his eyes. What could have happened to make Atobe so devastated?

 

Ryoma hoped in earnest that everything was all right. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. Just let it go. Atobe had wanted him to forget about him for the duration of the trip. Fine, Ryoma would do that. There was an unwritten understanding between them about certain things like this. But once he came back, he was going to get answers no matter what. Ryoma nodded to himself firmly. Atobe could be selfish now but Ryoma wasn't going to let him off that easily.

 

The phone rang again.

 

This time Ryoma answered it immediately. “Hello?” he said—probably more intensely than he wanted.

 

“E-Echizen? We're outside your house now. Is everything okay?”

 

It was Oishi. Ryoma closed his eyes and went over to his bed where a large black duffel bag stood waiting for him. “Yeah, everything's fine. Just got up from a nap. I'll be down in a few,” he said. He clicked the phone off and picked up his bag.

 

Karupin padded over quietly to his master and gave an affectionate rub around his ankles. Ryoma looked down and smiled gingerly. “Thanks, Karupin. You always know how to make me feel better. I'll see you soon, okay? Give Oyaji hell for me.”

 

The cat purred in delightful concord. Ryoma headed down the stairs in a rush and caught the note hanging by the front door as he put on his shoes.

 

Sorry, Ryoma. Had to go off to get some supplies. Be back soon. Nanako.

 

Ryoma quickly scribbled a message underneath his cousin's words: No problem. I'm leaving now. See you in two days. Ryoma. He then flew out the door and hopped into the black van waiting for him. Kikumaru was at the wheel and he turned around to grin cheerfully at the younger man.

 

“Ochibi! You were napping, huh? Did you spend the whole day playing, nya? Is that why you're tired?” he greeted enthusiastically.

 

Pushing away Atobe from his mind, Ryoma managed his usual glare. “Look forward,” he directed.

 

The redhead gave a salutatory affirmation as he brought the engine to life. “I'll get us there in two hours!” he declared loudly.

 

“Eiji…it takes two hours by train.”

 

“Nya, Oishi! Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

 

The rest of the team was talking up a storm as they drove along the swarming streets. Within the next fifteen minutes they had left the bustle of the city and was entering the more secluded parts of Japan. Their surroundings quieted down but the noise and laughter in the van only got louder. Ryoma was sitting jam-packed between Tezuka and the luggage—a scenario no doubt conceived by Fuji's scheming mind.

 

They sat in silence for an hour, allowing the others to make up for their lack of participation, but eventually one of them cracked. And it was Ryoma.

 

“I hope you haven't forgotten about my ultimatum.”

 

The other man stayed quiet for a long time. Ryoma considered the possibility that he might have fallen asleep but didn't care to check. He sat, staring out the window, as flakes of snow began to descend from the sky.

 

Then unobtrusively, “You'll have your answer by the end of this trip.”

 

Ryoma blinked and turned around. Tezuka's eyes were closed where he sat, a serene expression painting his face.

 

Suddenly, all thoughts on Atobe disappeared from Ryoma's mind as he smiled.

 

TBC