Echizen Ryoma is a difficult person to forget, and when he walks out onto the Seigaku High courts after two years confined to the middle school team, it seems as if no time at all has passed. Kunimitsu cannot help but feel as though he should be past this by now, this heaviness of knowledge that knots in his stomach. He has seen Echizen many times since that hectic year of the Nationals, after all, and it's hardly the first time their eyes have met across the courts in such a breathless way. But � he cannot help the way the corner of his mouth quirks up as Echizen saunters across the courts towards him, as cockily self-assured as ever, any more than he can help the conflicting urge to turn away.
The way Ryoma � Echizen � smirks up at him twists something in Kunimitsu's chest, because yet again what he wants doesn't matter. He is the captain, and every word out of Ryoma's mouth reminds him of it.
"Buchou." It's the same focused, unblinking stare as ever, messy dark hair falling into wide golden eyes, and it takes all the detachment Kunimitsu can muster to step back and nod instead of reaching out.
"Welcome back, Echizen." He doesn't realise why the words feel so familiar until Ryoma's eyes widen abruptly. Too late, Kunimitsu remembers a stone bench and the first round of the Nationals. The way his stomach tightens is exactly the same as Ryoma turns away, deliberately flashing a wide-mouthed grin back over his shoulder.
When Kunimitsu forces himself to stop watching that retreating back, all easy grace and competence in a faded Seigaku shirt, the Regulars are staring openly and Fuji and Inui have suspiciously wide smiles. He gives everyone laps, as a reminder to himself, and ignores the complaints.
Tezuka-buchou is a difficult person to seduce, and Ryoma is uncomfortably aware that he doesn't actually have the first clue what he's doing. But every time he tries to get close, Tezuka backs away, or turns away, or stares down at him with icy detachment, leaving them at an impasse. It's incredibly frustrating, because Ryoma has never been good at patience; he wants what he wants, and that's all there is to it.
Tezuka-buchou is the patient one; it's easy to think that he's made of nothing else, until you see him on the court. Even then, his willingness to outwait opponents and sacrifice games fools a lot of people. Ryoma thinks they're idiots, because what Tezuka-buchou is made of is dedication.
Of course, he has dedication too, which is one reason why he isn't giving up on this one. Ryoma exhales on a slow breath, rotates his left shoulder thoughtfully, and watches Tezuka-buchou pivot crisply on the baseline. His serve is a breathlessly clean arc of smooth, understated power, and Ryoma smirks as the ball slams pinpoint-perfect into the corner.
"Buchou?" he calls, and lifts his racquet from his shoulder, extending it like a truce as Tezuka turns, ball in hand and eyebrow raised. "Are you done?" He watches the carefully-chosen words register like a Drive A, hazel eyes flaring behind the gilding sheen of glasses, and wonders if he's going to get laps again.
"One set," Tezuka-buchou commands after a long and uncomfortable scrutiny; Ryoma grins and tucks his racquet under his arm, sauntering over to the other side of the net. He tilts his head back as Tezuka spins his racquet for the serve, deliberately making eye contact.
"Smooth. Do you remember telling me to show you my tennis?" Ryoma asks, quietly enough that he knows he will not be overheard. Half the club seems to be drifting over to watch, attracted by the prospect of a match between Seigaku's top two. Pillars, Ryoma thinks, and smiles as the racquet lands rough.
"Of course." Tezuka's face is calm, only slightly curious; Ryoma nods decisively.
"Good. Your serve, buchou."
Facing Tezuka-buchou across the net, it's easy for Ryoma to give the game everything he has. He throws himself into the fight body and soul, and he's three games to love when he sees Tezuka's eyes flare with a sudden light. This is it, Ryoma thinks, as he pushes himself as hard as he can and still misses the ball by a fraction of an inch. This is the pivot point, the realisation, and now�
Ryoma brings his racquet down, angles his left arm deliberately, and returns Tezuka's volley with the zero-shiki to ram the point home. The look in Tezuka-buchou's eyes as someone or other calls the score feels like all he's ever wanted.
In the end, Ryuuzaki-sensei has to scold them out of continuing through tie-break as the sun disappears below the horizon. Ryoma, breathing hard but exhilarated, clasps Tezuka's hand over the net and wishes they could stay this way forever. His stomach knots as Tezuka-buchou meets his eyes unreservedly, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth, and nods.
"Game Echizen," Tezuka murmurs, smile widening, as Ryuuzaki-sensei shouts at everyone to clear the courts.
Ryoma grins, and doesn't let go of his hand. "It's only just started, buchou."