Theme is "Sunset."
Kunimitsu is a methodical person, and he makes lists in his mind, trying to decipher how and why he is being affected in this way. He knows the things that it is not: an infatuation, a passing crush, the friendship and care that is to be expected between a captain and a team member. What it is� the only word that really comes to mind is immediate.
It's the expression on Ryoma's face when he's only half-awake, shaken from lazy napping under a tree or dragged from his bed for morning practice. It's the way all his usual sharpness is dissolved in the remnants of dreamy haze and blurry, sleep-smudged eyes.
It's the complete lack of anything resembling patience, the way that Ryoma always wants everything now. Kunimitsu has been forced to play waiting games for so long that it's refreshing and almost fearsome to watch. It's the insistent way he reaches for the things he wants, the way he refuses to be held back by anything.
It's the atrocious manners, the arrogance and sarcasm that greets absolutely everyone, and the way the corner of his lip curls up in that tiny smirk that always makes Kunimitsu twitch with wanting to kiss it.
It's the way he dreams of that sometimes, and more; dreams of heat and sweat and skin, laughter and moans and gasps. Simpler dreams, too, of breath stirring his hair, callused fingertips on his face.
It's the way his smile lights up his face on the rare occasions it's seen, and the way his eyes soften when he is teased about his cat.
It's the way his eyes flash burning gold when the light hits them at sunset. Dawn, Kunimitsu thinks, could be even more spectacular, but there is little likelihood that Ryoma will ever be awake enough to open his eyes at sunrise and so he must shelve that particular desire. Sunset is enough, anyway; enough to shake him to his bones with wonder and wanting.
It's the laconic, bored expression that only comes alive briefly, for a very select few. It's knowing that Kunimitsu is one of those few.
It's the half-evil, half-gleeful, all-satisfied smirk that comes over his face when he's broken into an opponent's weaknesses and knows he's won.
It's the way everyone else fades into the background when Ryoma has a racquet in hand.
It's the way he burns, blazing across the court like a shooting star, like a fire that will never be quenched. He has a spark that can catch up an opponent and create something totally new and stunning from the game. Kunimitsu sometimes thinks that he's already been ruined for tennis with anyone else.
It's the way he's constantly challenging Kunimitsu, the way it sometimes feels as though they could take each other further and faster than anyone has ever gone.
It's the hitch in Ryoma's voice when he calls out "buchou," breathy and somehow almost desperate. It's the way Kunimitsu can feel when those golden eyes are following him, and the knowledge that it is happening more and more.
It's the aching, clenching feeling that grips Kunimitsu's heart every time he meets Ryoma's too-knowing eyes, pain and perfection and weakness and strength. It's the way Kunimitsu just knows that there will never be anyone else who can push him so far and so high.
It's probably love, and Kunimitsu has no idea what to do about it.