For most of your life, love has meant that someone is losing. Aside from that you've rarely given it a thought, so it's strange and annoying to find yourself unable to think of much else. These days, love is wanting your matches with Tezuka-buchou to last forever, so that you never have to take your eyes off him - never have to let him go.
Love is the little smiles that are always hiding in the corners of Tezuka-buchou's mouth, and the way that no one else ever seems to see them. It's the way your fingers itch to fist the front of his jacket so that you can swallow those smiles and take them for yourself.
Love isn't boring, the way you always thought it would be.
Love is frustration, because you can see the way Tezuka-buchou looks at you, watches you, but he never says or does anything about it. And no matter how far you get into his personal space, no matter how much provocation you engage in� you're always left watching that stiff, retreating back.
Love is when curling up under the covers with Karupin, warm and fuzzy and purring, isn't enough any more. It takes you a while to figure out why, and longer to stop feeling disloyal to Karupin. Sometimes it feels like playing a match against Tezuka-buchou, both of you going all-out, could almost substitute for all that you know you want from him. And then sometimes it feels like you could never get enough of him.
Love is watching Oishi-senpai and Eiji-senpai, and wanting that kind of closeness even though it would probably bore you to death within seconds. Tezuka isn't that kind of person, though, and neither are you; there is too much passion in each of you. On good days, that excites you.
Love is pushing, constantly, and hoping that one day Tezuka-buchou will realise that you're not a child any more, and that you're waiting for him to push back.
Love is watching silently from the bench as he pulls out everything he's got against an opponent, and getting so stupidly jealous that your mouth tastes of iron instead of Ponta. It's hitting so hard in your warm-up that you dent the lamp post you're aiming at.
Love is knowing that you're behaving childishly and being unable to help it because at least this way you can keep his eyes on you. Love is twenty laps around the courts at least twice a day, and feeling like it's worth it.
Love is feeling like you need to expressly deny those rumours that have you dating Ryuzaki-sensei's granddaughter, even though anyone with eyes should be able to tell that you have no interest in her. Irritation is the way Momo-senpai and Eiji-senpai immediately assume that you must have a secret girlfriend, and spend half of lunch break trying to pry girls' names out of you, and the other half spreading stories around the school.
Love is the way your legs lose all muscle tone when Tezuka-buchou smiles at you. That's only happened in a match once, when he was on the other side of the net. You lost 6-3, and he stopped smiling; you kicked yourself all the way home, and haven't been so stupid since.
Love is too many nights spent wondering what it will be like to kiss him, whether his hair is as soft as it looks and his skin as smooth. It's mornings of sneaking the sheets out to wash and cursing your stupid father for being an early riser.
Love is all about patience, and that's never exactly been your strong point. You want to grab him by the shoulders and make him see you instead of his own preconceptions, but you know you have to wait until he's ready. You don't have to like it, though.
Love is ducking your father's attempts at sending you out with girls, and serving balls at his head when he mocks your dedication to the Seigaku team.
Love is the way you just know; it's the way facing Tezuka-buchou across the court feels so perfectly right that match-point comes as something of an anticlimax.
Love is avoiding questions about why you stayed on with Seigaku instead of going pro straight out of middle school, because the answer is tall and stern-faced and watching you from the corner. It's being able to tell without looking when his eyes are on you, and the warm shiver that always runs down your spine.
In the end, love is throwing patience to the winds and dragging Tezuka-buchou behind the clubhouse so that you can pull his mouth down to yours. It's desperation and awkwardness and need, twisting in your stomach as you arch up to him. And best of all, better than anything you've ever imagined� it's the way his arms tighten around you as he kisses you back.