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lucathiaTitle: He Never Knew part 2
Day/Theme: 31. See the place you live through fresh eyes
Series: Prince of Tennis
Character/Pairing: Echizen Ryoma
Rating: PG
Words: 1,400
Notes: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31days_exchange, 31_days masterlist. The style in this part is... completely different from the previous part, haha... good thing they're two separate parts. This fic was going to be one huge oneshot instead. That would have been weird with the sudden style change. It's still weird...
Previous Part
Part 2: A Life Without Tennis
Losing the championship when they had been so close should have meant more to him, but it didn’t. All he knew was that these people - his teammates - were now looking at him with enough pity to suffocate him. They were uncomfortable in his presence, always shifting their eyes away and fidgeting, as if they didn’t know how to treat him.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to act either. When he’d given up and lost, his teammates had rushed over to him. Deprived of his sight, his hearing, and his memories, he’d fallen into despair only to be pulled back by a strong pair of hands and cool, wet tears. When his hearing had slowly come back to him, he’d heard sniffling and bawling, what he took to be heartbroken wails for an escaped dream that had nearly been in their grasp. When his sight had finally come back to him, he’d seen the tear-streaks and the red-eyes even on those who had been silent, those who had tried so hard to be strong, like the one who had told him he was Seigaku’s pillar of support. But try as he might, his memories had not come back, and he could not understand the depths of their regret.
Losing hadn’t felt real to him, but having his world plunged into darkness and silence had felt more real than anything.
He didn’t ever want to pick up another racket.
-----
They tried to tell him the tennis match he had played with the owner of that deceptively soft voice was not the norm. That it was Yukimura Seiichi’s tennis that was frightening and not tennis itself. They should not have made him play despite hoping for a miracle, for his memories to come back in the middle of the match, for his body to remember what it felt like to play. Perhaps then he would not have become scared of tennis.
They had tried to honor what they thought he would have wanted if he had not lost his memories. He would never back down from a challenge, they had said. In fact, he would have hated doing so. But for someone with amnesia who was unsure of what tennis meant to him, who had been searching for an answer, for a connection, Yukimura had been perhaps the worst opponent possible.
He tried to listen to what they were saying.
He knew they weren’t lying to him.
But he, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it.
Tennis was... frightening.
-----
At school, he answered questions and helped the teachers only to have them freak out. They asked him why he wasn’t sleeping in their class, why he wasn’t ignoring them and doing his own thing. They made him wonder what kind of student he had been for them to react in such a way, for surely an amnesic student would have to pay extra attention to stay on top of things.
Once, during lunch, he laughed at his loud friend’s joke about having two years of English experience only for his three friends to ask him if he were in his right mind, because Ryoma would never have laughed at such a lame joke. Right after, his friend with the bowl cut apologized for all three of them for asking such an insensitive question.
He merely fell silent, and wondered.
-----
When he refused to go to tennis practice and “Momo-sempai” yelled at him, no one apologized.
-----
At home, nothing was familiar either. He was like a stranger borrowing someone else’s body, fumbling as he tried to imitate who he was supposed to be, claiming he was “Echizen Ryoma” when there was nothing that made him “Echizen Ryoma”. His behavior, his questions, his fear of tennis - every action, every little thing that defined who he was in the present made them stare and wonder where Echizen Ryoma had gone.
He was everything that Echizen Ryoma was not.
Who was Echizen Ryoma, really?
At the breakfast table, the woman who was his mother always cooked what was supposed to be his “favorite” foods. He hated American breakfasts, they told him. Japanese was his favorite. It was unsettling to be told what he hated and what he liked by others when he himself didn’t even know, but when he took a bite out of his white rice and his tamagoyaki, he found himself taking a second bite, and then another, and then he even emptied out his bowl of miso soup while still chewing on his rice.
He smiled and placed his chopsticks down neatly.
“That was delicious. Thanks for the meal.”
Sitting across from him, his mother smiled and wordlessly started cleaning up the table. It was the person next to him - his cousin - who reacted more emotionally. Suddenly, he found his face rubbing against the scratchy yarn of her sweater. She’d planted his face in her shoulder and was now patting him on the back.
It was kind of comforting if not for the scratchy yarn.
“Oh Ryoma,” she said. “Since when have you ever been so polite?”
Apparently, he never thanked people just like how he rarely apologized, but at least his taste buds hadn’t changed. He didn’t know what he liked and wasn’t sure if he liked being told what he liked, but at least he was sure he would slowly find out more about himself. He didn’t feel like Echizen Ryoma and they were telling him at every turn that this wasn’t something that Echizen Ryoma would have done, but surely, surely he was fine this way too?
Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around his cousin, returning the sudden embrace.
“Oh,” she gasped.
Apparently, he wasn’t very affectionate either.
-----
Deep inside of him, he knew how important tennis had been to him, how important tennis still was for his father, the man who had been the first sight he’d seen when he’d woken up without his memories by the waterfall on some absurd tennis training trip they’d gone on together. How could he not know when they had a tennis court right outside their house in their yard?
Yet the very sight of the tennis court made him shudder every time he had to pass by it.
“Going to school?” his father asked from the porch. Beside him lay a wooden racket on top of several magazines. Here was yet another person who no longer knew how to act around “Echizen Ryoma” now that he no longer played tennis.
He nodded. Before his father could ask him for a match in the evening, he walked away with hurried steps. He could picture his father looking at the empty tennis court because ever since he’d lost his memory, that was all his father ever did.
He knew his father was waiting.
Waiting for him.
But even though he didn’t know much about what he liked anymore, there was one thing he was very sure about.
He didn’t like tennis.
-----
He didn’t know if a life without tennis was strange because he had no idea what a life with tennis was like. But everyone he ran into asked if he was okay, not because he didn’t have his memory, but rather because he was not playing tennis.
Echizen Ryoma without tennis was unheard of.
He found himself with tons of free time. He wondered what his hobbies were, other than tennis. He soon discovered his love for bubble baths when he compulsively dumped a bag of bath salts into the tub after wondering what it was for.
The bubbles.
The scent.
It was familiar.
After filling his tub with water, he let himself in, savoring the feel of hot, scathing water, breathing in the scent of sweet lavender. Outside his tub, his cat - Karupin, they had told him - purred and swished his tail, relishing in the warmth of the room. This was a hobby he could get used to. It was relaxing and soothing.
He closed his eyes.
-----
Breakfast.
School.
Ryoma, let’s play.
No, I don’t want to.
What? Echizen would never...
A life without tennis.
Rinse and repeat.
-----
He drained the water from his tub, watching as the water swirled down and away. As he watched, mesmerized, Karupin brushed against his legs. Absentmindedly, he scratched his cat behind his ears.
-----
His life without tennis continued peacefully.
Until Yukimura Seiichi came to his door.
-----
to be continued
Next Part
Day/Theme: 31. See the place you live through fresh eyes
Series: Prince of Tennis
Character/Pairing: Echizen Ryoma
Rating: PG
Words: 1,400
Notes: for
31days_exchange, 31_days masterlist. The style in this part is... completely different from the previous part, haha... good thing they're two separate parts. This fic was going to be one huge oneshot instead. That would have been weird with the sudden style change. It's still weird...Previous Part
Part 2: A Life Without Tennis
Losing the championship when they had been so close should have meant more to him, but it didn’t. All he knew was that these people - his teammates - were now looking at him with enough pity to suffocate him. They were uncomfortable in his presence, always shifting their eyes away and fidgeting, as if they didn’t know how to treat him.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to act either. When he’d given up and lost, his teammates had rushed over to him. Deprived of his sight, his hearing, and his memories, he’d fallen into despair only to be pulled back by a strong pair of hands and cool, wet tears. When his hearing had slowly come back to him, he’d heard sniffling and bawling, what he took to be heartbroken wails for an escaped dream that had nearly been in their grasp. When his sight had finally come back to him, he’d seen the tear-streaks and the red-eyes even on those who had been silent, those who had tried so hard to be strong, like the one who had told him he was Seigaku’s pillar of support. But try as he might, his memories had not come back, and he could not understand the depths of their regret.
Losing hadn’t felt real to him, but having his world plunged into darkness and silence had felt more real than anything.
He didn’t ever want to pick up another racket.
-----
They tried to tell him the tennis match he had played with the owner of that deceptively soft voice was not the norm. That it was Yukimura Seiichi’s tennis that was frightening and not tennis itself. They should not have made him play despite hoping for a miracle, for his memories to come back in the middle of the match, for his body to remember what it felt like to play. Perhaps then he would not have become scared of tennis.
They had tried to honor what they thought he would have wanted if he had not lost his memories. He would never back down from a challenge, they had said. In fact, he would have hated doing so. But for someone with amnesia who was unsure of what tennis meant to him, who had been searching for an answer, for a connection, Yukimura had been perhaps the worst opponent possible.
He tried to listen to what they were saying.
He knew they weren’t lying to him.
But he, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it.
Tennis was... frightening.
-----
At school, he answered questions and helped the teachers only to have them freak out. They asked him why he wasn’t sleeping in their class, why he wasn’t ignoring them and doing his own thing. They made him wonder what kind of student he had been for them to react in such a way, for surely an amnesic student would have to pay extra attention to stay on top of things.
Once, during lunch, he laughed at his loud friend’s joke about having two years of English experience only for his three friends to ask him if he were in his right mind, because Ryoma would never have laughed at such a lame joke. Right after, his friend with the bowl cut apologized for all three of them for asking such an insensitive question.
He merely fell silent, and wondered.
-----
When he refused to go to tennis practice and “Momo-sempai” yelled at him, no one apologized.
-----
At home, nothing was familiar either. He was like a stranger borrowing someone else’s body, fumbling as he tried to imitate who he was supposed to be, claiming he was “Echizen Ryoma” when there was nothing that made him “Echizen Ryoma”. His behavior, his questions, his fear of tennis - every action, every little thing that defined who he was in the present made them stare and wonder where Echizen Ryoma had gone.
He was everything that Echizen Ryoma was not.
Who was Echizen Ryoma, really?
At the breakfast table, the woman who was his mother always cooked what was supposed to be his “favorite” foods. He hated American breakfasts, they told him. Japanese was his favorite. It was unsettling to be told what he hated and what he liked by others when he himself didn’t even know, but when he took a bite out of his white rice and his tamagoyaki, he found himself taking a second bite, and then another, and then he even emptied out his bowl of miso soup while still chewing on his rice.
He smiled and placed his chopsticks down neatly.
“That was delicious. Thanks for the meal.”
Sitting across from him, his mother smiled and wordlessly started cleaning up the table. It was the person next to him - his cousin - who reacted more emotionally. Suddenly, he found his face rubbing against the scratchy yarn of her sweater. She’d planted his face in her shoulder and was now patting him on the back.
It was kind of comforting if not for the scratchy yarn.
“Oh Ryoma,” she said. “Since when have you ever been so polite?”
Apparently, he never thanked people just like how he rarely apologized, but at least his taste buds hadn’t changed. He didn’t know what he liked and wasn’t sure if he liked being told what he liked, but at least he was sure he would slowly find out more about himself. He didn’t feel like Echizen Ryoma and they were telling him at every turn that this wasn’t something that Echizen Ryoma would have done, but surely, surely he was fine this way too?
Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around his cousin, returning the sudden embrace.
“Oh,” she gasped.
Apparently, he wasn’t very affectionate either.
-----
Deep inside of him, he knew how important tennis had been to him, how important tennis still was for his father, the man who had been the first sight he’d seen when he’d woken up without his memories by the waterfall on some absurd tennis training trip they’d gone on together. How could he not know when they had a tennis court right outside their house in their yard?
Yet the very sight of the tennis court made him shudder every time he had to pass by it.
“Going to school?” his father asked from the porch. Beside him lay a wooden racket on top of several magazines. Here was yet another person who no longer knew how to act around “Echizen Ryoma” now that he no longer played tennis.
He nodded. Before his father could ask him for a match in the evening, he walked away with hurried steps. He could picture his father looking at the empty tennis court because ever since he’d lost his memory, that was all his father ever did.
He knew his father was waiting.
Waiting for him.
But even though he didn’t know much about what he liked anymore, there was one thing he was very sure about.
He didn’t like tennis.
-----
He didn’t know if a life without tennis was strange because he had no idea what a life with tennis was like. But everyone he ran into asked if he was okay, not because he didn’t have his memory, but rather because he was not playing tennis.
Echizen Ryoma without tennis was unheard of.
He found himself with tons of free time. He wondered what his hobbies were, other than tennis. He soon discovered his love for bubble baths when he compulsively dumped a bag of bath salts into the tub after wondering what it was for.
The bubbles.
The scent.
It was familiar.
After filling his tub with water, he let himself in, savoring the feel of hot, scathing water, breathing in the scent of sweet lavender. Outside his tub, his cat - Karupin, they had told him - purred and swished his tail, relishing in the warmth of the room. This was a hobby he could get used to. It was relaxing and soothing.
He closed his eyes.
-----
Breakfast.
School.
Ryoma, let’s play.
No, I don’t want to.
What? Echizen would never...
A life without tennis.
Rinse and repeat.
-----
He drained the water from his tub, watching as the water swirled down and away. As he watched, mesmerized, Karupin brushed against his legs. Absentmindedly, he scratched his cat behind his ears.
-----
His life without tennis continued peacefully.
Until Yukimura Seiichi came to his door.
-----
to be continued
Next Part
no subject
Date: 2011-03-15 05:11 pm (UTC)Why is it making me cry a little
Why did you cut it off there? I need to read more dammit.
no subject
Date: 2011-03-29 11:27 pm (UTC)