Entry tags:

40_loves, an fanfiction, ayame fanfiction

27, 28, 29

Title: Changes
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Sanada Genichirou/Kamiya Ayame (OC)
Claim: Prince of Tennis General Series
Prompt: #27 Skin
Word Count: 1542
Rating: G
Summery:  Ayame felt weird.  It was gratifying to know there was one person who liked the old way.

Ayame felt naked.  She felt like she had been stripped bare and left to flounder alone and exposed.  It was strange to be able to see the world without having to look through tiny panes of glass.  The weightlessness was awkward.

It wouldn’t even have been so bad if her hair didn’t feel strange as well.  Girlier than she was used to, it had none of the cute, mousiness it used to have.  It was sleek and sophisticated, half up in a ponytail, half down framing her face.  Her mother said it was good to change, to blossom.  Her blossoming was just a little late.

Still, why the middle of the year and just before a major tournament?  She personally thought her mother and An just wanted to shock everyone.  After all, the whole tennis community would be there, and An had laughed gleefully as she mentioned it.

The tennis park looked over her like a giant’s toothless mouth waiting to swallow her whole.  She would be late if she didn’t hurry, but her feet refused to move.  Her heart throbbed and there was a lump in her throat.  It was difficult to quantify the terror crashing over her.  Why was she afraid?  She had known these young men for three years.  They hadn’t been scary since the beginning, why did it matter what she looked like?  Most of them had never cared before.

Oh dear.  She was really going to be late.  She still had to drop off her analysis to Seigaku before finding her team before their match.  A quick glance at her pretty silver watch (a present from her team after last year’s National Championship) told her that she would have to run to make Seigaku with enough time to explain and get to the Rikkai game.

Taking a huge breath in, Ayame scampered into the park, weaving in and out of the bodies crowding the park.  It was busy that day – the first day of the tournament always was.  She didn’t notice the admiring glances that fell on her as she wandered unobtrusively.  Many a uniformed male gave her notice and not expecting it, it didn’t register to her.

Ayame eventually caught sight of the blue, white and red uniforms of Seigaku High School division’s tennis team.  She stopped briefly to pull a notebook out of the bag she carried over her shoulder.  Taking another deep breath in, she made her way towards the milling boys.  “Ah, gomen!” She greeted, smiling brightly at her friends.  “Got hung up.”

The Seigaku team turned to the girl they assumed was hailing them.  Several blinked.  She was vaguely familiar, but wasn’t someone who should be greeting them with familiarity.  Pretty and delicate, the girl’s red-brown hair was glossy and well styled.  Her violet eyes were wide and large, adding innocence to her face.  Oishi smiled congenially.  “I’m sorry, can we help you with something?”

What?  Ayame blinked rapidly.  It only dawned on her slowly that he was being polite, but aloof – like she was some random girl.  Like he didn’t know her.

This was she was afraid of.  Her lips trembled and her eye saddened.  She should have never let her mother and An talk her into contacts and a hair cut/style.  Or the make up.  She spent seventeen years gaining confidence in herself, only to have it destroyed in a single night.

Still, they should have known her.  She didn’t look that different.  Suddenly exhausted, Ayame sighed, struggling against the embarrassed tears.

Fuji stiffened just behind Oishi, his usual perception kicking in.  Alarm crashed over him and his eyes opened.  His had seen that expression before.  There was only one person who wore it.  “Ame-chan?”

Ayame looked up, startled at Fuji’s soft exclamation, one that was followed by stunned looks and gasps from the rest.  “Ha-hai.”

She hadn’t stuttered in a long time, which spoke to her level of emotional distress.  Oishi immediately apologized, genuinely sorry.  Kikumaru bounced over, crying over her new looks, joyful and exuberant.  He was followed by several others – each in their own way.  Ayame overwhelmed, forgot her tears, and blushed bright red with a nervous smile.

“Oi, Seigaku.”

Seigaku turned, acknowledging the approaching Rikkaidai team.  Yukimura nodded, pausing only briefly on the girl under Kikumaru’s arm, whose face he couldn’t see. “Our manager has not shown up, we were wondering if you might have seen her.”

All Seigaku eyes fell on Ayame.  She turned under Kikumaru’s arm.  She was shaky, but sure she could handle whatever reaction they might have.

Of course, nothing went her way.  Just as she turned, An’s voice called and the strawberry blonde bounced miraculously through the crowd, stopping at Ayame’s side.  “Ame-chan!  You look even cuter today!” She wound a bit of Ayame’s bangs around her index finger, “I like what you did with the style – it suits you.”

“Kamiya?!”

Ayame’s flush darkened at the surprise of the Rikkai team.  Apparently they hadn’t recognized her either.  Her clear eyes met her captain’s first.  Yukimura was less surprised than amused.  His own indigo eyes flashed at hers before shifting to his vice-captain.  Said vice-captain was scowling as he looked at her.  His hazel eyes looked furious and dark.  Ayame blushed even more and looked away.

“Why.”

Sanada’s deep voice shattered the silence, but only increased the tension.  His brow furrowed.  Ayame flinched, suddenly strangely ashamed.  She didn’t know what he meant, but she knew he was angry.  “Why what?”

Hazel eyes narrowed from behind the brim of Sanada’s hat.  “Why would you do that to yourself?”

New tears stung her eyes.  Her heart compressed in her chest. An sprang to her defense in an instant, glowering at the tall, third year.  “Sometimes people want change.  She looks beautiful.”

Sanada’s countenance darkened further.  “She was fine the way she was.”

In the past, Ayame might have let them continue to talk as if she wasn’t there.  However, she had grown much during high school.  One of the things she had grown was a backbone.  While she remained soft spoken and shy, she no longer let people walk over her if she could help it.  “She is standing right here,” Ayame said in a firm, if quiet voice.

Yukimura and Fuji gave her approving smiles, which drove her confidence higher and allowed her to continue.  “Sanada-kun.  I’m sorry you dislike my appearance.”  Her voice shook a bit as she said this, her stomach clenching.  “An-chan, thank you for the support, but I can handle it.”

Sanada stared at her for a long moment.  Assessing, his gaze was hard, and so typical of him that Ayame wanted to smile.  Then, with no preamble he snapped, “Kikumaru, remove yourself from Kamiya-san.”

The order was so strong that even Kikumaru, with his defiant streak instantly obeyed.  An’s laugh, which quickly followed, broke the last of the tension.  The dark blond grinned wickedly and learned toward Ayame, cupping her hand around her mouth.  “You should sooth his pride.  I think he is truly upset – about everything,” she winked, glancing at Kikumaru, “It might throw off his game.”

Ayame was dubious, but decided An was probably right.  Sanada was difficult, particularly about change.  Maybe he felt a change in her looks meant a change in her fundamentally?  Sighing, she held out the notebook to Inui, smile.  “I got you the data you wanted.  Put it to good use!”  There was a tinge to his cheeks as he took it, nodding.

“Ah, she’s helping the enemy!”

Ayame ignored Kirihara.  She had already discussed it with Yukimura.  Her expression softening, she turned to Sanada.  “Do you have a moment?”

Yukimura took the hint and subtly moved the team off, bidding Seigaku farewell with a fairly sincere “Good luck.”

Sanada and Ayame trailed behind the rest as they made their way toward the designated court.  The silence was surprisingly comfortable, but Ayame knew she had to speak.  Lord knew he wasn’t going to.  “Thank you,” she said after awhile, shy.

He slanted her a look, his face stony as it usually was.  Ayame fumbled, wringing her hand in front of her. “For… for saying what you did.  It meant a lot.”

“Why?”

A small smile touched her lips.  “Not for any silly reasons you might be thinking – you know, like catching a boy’s attention,” she blushed, suddenly fascinated by her feet.  “My mom thought contacts might be a good idea... lighter and all that.  I like them.  The hair was more that I needed a cut…and it kind of felt nice to have non-dull hair for once.”  She didn’t know why she was telling him, her inner-most thoughts, her rationalizations.  It felt right however.  “The make up is just mom and An getting carried away.  I have no intention of carrying on with it.”

“Good.”

She finally laughed, recognizing his gruff exterior for what it was.  The clenching around her heart released.  Sanada was a man of few words and she liked to think she was one of the few that understood him.

When he smiled at her (a tiny, stern smile that was barely recognizable), she knew she was right.  With a light giggle, she slipped her hand into his.

Title: A Moment of Your Time?
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Sanada Genichirou/Tachibana An
Claim: Prince of Tennis General Series
Prompt: #28 Lips
Word Count: 1,359
Rating: G
Summery:  It was partly revenge, partly interest.  But she was unlike any fangirl he had ever met, and wanted to know just what her problem was.

It was a bright, disgustingly happy day the day that Tachibana An made a complete fool of herself over a boy.  She had honestly never thought the day would come, but it had, and instead of being sensitive to her distress, the world kept on turning, glowing as if it hadn’t a care in the world.

Of course, An, being who she was, wasn’t the type to take such treatment – by the world or anyone! – lying down, and so she made it her mission to obtain that which was so thoroughly alluding her (and, for that matter, embarrassing her): the affection of one Sanada Genichirou.

Oh sure, there were other fish in the sea, nicer fish who didn’t look at her with disinterest and impatience, but she was never one to give so easily.  Especially when embarrassed.  Some called her vindictive, but she liked to think of herself as resourceful and determined.

Thus, when she saw him again (which just happened to be at a match of his, she just happened to be at) she waved at him and smiled in a mischievous sort of way.  And when he, predictably, attempted to ignore her, she said, extremely loudly, “Ooh, see that, there!  Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”

It was worth the giggles and the snickers and the nasty comments (the latter coming from Hyotei Gakuen, who just happened to be Rikkaidai’s opponent of the day) just to see Sanada’s shoulders tense and his head bow so that the brim of his hat shadowed his eyes.  It was doubly worth it when he finally turned to look at her, a fire in his eyes she hadn’t seen outside of tennis.  Maybe I’ve finally managed to get his attention?

He was embarrassed.  She could see it in his comportment and in the snapping hazel of his eyes.  It almost made her cackle, and she almost expressed it in a giggle, but it was best not to show all her cards just yet.

There was no point in letting him know her number one priority was revenge, and her intention of gaining his romantic attention was only second.

The loud whispers weren’t helping the state of his embarrassment.  Comments like, “He’s so mean to his girlfriend!” and “He should be a better man.” Or the worse: “What kind of man is so cold to such a cute girl?”  It worked in An’s favor that none of her friends were there, and that several of his teammates were the ones making some of the comments.  She blatantly ignored the hissing of Kirihara Akaya.

He attempted to stare her down, using his patented glare to try to shake her foundations and send her fleeing.  Unfortunately for him, An wasn’t given to intimidation, from anyone, and so she simply stared back at him, her lips quirked and her hands on her hips.

This was a challenge she would never back down from.

--

Sanada Genichirou had had his share of fangirls in his relatively young life.  He was used to the giggling, the flirting, the whispers.  Bottom line: he was used to the attention.

But never before had he experienced one quite as candid as Tachibana An.  There were girls who had confessed to him of course, and girls that had left him letters, and ones that had made their intention perfectly clear, yet never before had he been called out so openly.

He supposed it could be bizarre form of revenge.  Girls, he had been told by a smirking Niou, could be vindictive when they were embarrassed.  Not that he could think of anything he did that would have embarrassed this particular girl.  Though he had vaguely known of her existence for three or so years, he really couldn’t discern why she would want revenge on him.

Her persistence was aggravating, especially since she had all but told the entire tennis court that they were involved some how – at least in a round about way.  She wanted something from him, but he wasn’t quite sure what, and he honestly wished she would just come out and say it so that he could dismiss her like he did all the rest of his fangirls.

Once he realized that his glare wasn’t having any effect what so ever on her, Sanada sighed quietly, with all the annoyance he was feeling.  “Tachibana-san.” He all but growled, hand gripping his tennis racket tightly.  “What do you want.”

An recognized the quality of his tone and the fact that his words were a demand, not a question, and so she finally let out the small laugh she had been holding in.  After all, she had succeeded in making him crack, and that in itself was an accomplishment.  Eyes dancing, she replied, “A moment of your time, perhaps?”

“You’ve had one.”

Her eyebrow quirked as he turned on his heel to make for his tennis bag, content to ignore her for the rest of his life.  But once again, An was not easily deterred.  “A different moment, if you would.  One containing the privacy not available at a tennis park?”

Outwardly, Sanada was unmoved, but inwardly he twitched.  He should have known she wouldn’t take his dismissal without complaint.  She was, if anything, persistent.  “No.”

An’s unfazed snort was enough to alert him that something was coming that he wouldn’t like.  He stilled before he could even reach into his tennis bag to put away his racket.  “I could keep going all day, Sanada-san.  I could even start to cry, although I don’t really think tears are becoming of either of us.”  She said from directly behind him.  It was quiet enough so that only he heard, and he wondered how she had managed to move so close to him without him sensing it.

His eyes narrowed as he finally turned once more to stare down at her from his eight inch height advantage. She was sneaky as well as vindictive.  Yet there was more than malice in her dark blue eyes.  Actually there was no malice at all, just determination and mischief and a touch of humor.  It made his eyes narrow further and wonder what she really wanted.

Sanada dredged up everything he knew of the little sister of Tachibana Kippei.  She played tennis, once went to Fudomine Chuu, now went to Rikkaidai, had pushed Kirihara down the stairs…had an older brother that was a passable tennis player.

Yukimura liked her, in a friendly sort of way, and though she played on the Rikkaidai girl’s tennis team, he couldn’t remember if she was any good.  She generally avoided the boy’s tennis courts and didn’t usually make a spectacle of herself in the places she went.

That was it.

He had had many fangirls in his relatively young life, but none of them were at all similar to Tachibana An.  There wasn’t even a classification for what she was.  She was a smiling enigma sent to annoy him into doing whatever it was she wanted him to do.

It wasn’t in his nature to give in to other people’s manipulation.  Normally, it slid off his back as if it didn’t existed.  Girls maneuvered, girls giggled, girls flirted and girls cried, but it had never bothered him.  Their lives were their own and if they chose to cry over something so insignificant as rejection, they were certainly not worth his time.

However, he was seriously considering agreeing to her ‘proposal’, if one could even call it that.  Yukimura’s humming was really getting on his nerves.  “Fine.  Ten minutes.”

An’s eyes lit up and her smile widened.  She would never know whether he meant give him ten minutes and he’d be ready, or if he meant he would only give her ten minutes.  It didn’t matter to her.  She had succeeded. 

Winking, she tapped her lips with one of her fingers then quickly, before he could fully react, reached up and tapped his lips with the same finger.  “Ten minutes,” she laughed and flounced away.

And that was how Tachibana An got Sanada Genichirou to go on a date with her.

.

Title: It All Comes Around
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Yukimura Seiichi/Kamiya Ayame (OC)
Claim: Prince of Tennis General Series
Prompt: #29 Eyes
Word Count: 2857
Rating: PG
Summery:  Partly future/Auish.  Ayame was the only one that confronted him.  Thirteen years later she is faced with the irony of her words.

There was something infinitely wrong with confronting him just after he had lost to a boy two years younger than he was.  Especially when he wasn’t used to losing and was taking the defeat pretty hard. 

But it was unlikely she’d get any other chance, and the anger that had been brewing in her since the semifinals would not be put off any longer.  She had no intention of ever seeing him again, and if her team were to find out… well, tennis season was over, and they had got what they wanted.  They probably wouldn’t need her anymore anyway.

She was so angry she could barely see straight and she had been working her rage up higher and higher since doubles 2.  All her suspicious were proved correct in that match and she had been forced to watch Kirihara attack her team viciously – forced to watch one of her dear members become just like Kirihara.

But she saw now that it was more the captain’s fault than Kirihara’s.  He had used the younger boy’s potential and turned it into a weapon, cultivating violence within him.  It was inexcusable, and she meant to tell him just that.

Normally, intimidation would have made her avoid the defeated Rikkai team, but her rage was so high that she forgot about embarrassment or manners or morals.  All she could think about was telling Yukimura Seiichi that there was at least one person in the world that didn’t think he was great.

They were not that hard to find.  They had quickly departed the stadium where the victorious Seigaku was celebrating, but they hadn’t gone much beyond the stadium entrance.  As soon as she caught sight of them, her gaze narrowed on the captain, fists clenching at her side.

A “What do you want?” was spat at her by Kirihara, but Ayame ignored him, storming through the team as if they didn’t exist.  She only had eyes for Yukimura and when she finally reached him her hand lashed out and landed soundly on his cheek, snapping his head sharply to the side.

His team instantly came to his defense, protesting loudly even as Sanada grabbed her and dragged her away.  But Ayame didn’t notice, she was still focused on the captain, who didn’t move.  “A captain that cultivates violence in his team is worse than scum,” she spat, fury making her body vibrate in Sanada’s grasp.  “You purposely developed a younger member into a demon bent on hurting other players.  It’s your fault every bit as much as it’s his fault, and I sincerely hope one day you suffer your mistake first hand.”

Sanada’s grip on her arm tightened to painful proportions and the rest of the Rikkai team gathered protectively around their captain, some of them, namely Kirihara, spitting insults right back at her.  Ayame’s heart beat thumped in her chest and her breathing sped up and became increasingly labored during her heated lecture.  She could feel the closing of her lungs, but she wouldn’t gratify them into knowing they had set her into an attack.  She would finish what she came to say and she would leave, even if she had to drag herself half dead to do it.

Yukimura still hadn’t moved.

“I know my opinion means nothing to you,” she continued, conscious of the wheeze now present in her voice and how it was becoming harder and harder to breathe.  “But I will never forgive you.  Never. As far as I’m concerned you are worthless and unfit to wear the title captain.”

With all her remaining strength, Ayame jerked her arm out of Sanada’s hold and whirled.  Light headed already, she stumbled, but caught herself before she could fall.  A dignified exit was impossible now and so she resigned herself to pulling out her inhaler and taking the medication as she walked away.  She never looked back, never heard their comments, never saw Yukimura Seiichi again.

--

Yukimura stared down at the medical referral form blankly, eyes centered on the name typed neatly in the address column.  Curiously, old emotions never really forgotten stirred in his chest as he stared at that name wondering how on earth it had come to this.

“She’s young, and just starting her fellowship, but she’s already made a name for herself in the field of sport’s medicine.  It’s my belief that she is the best in Japan at treating tennis related injuries.”

Thirteen years.  It had been thirteen years and still his face stung.  He had carried her words with him throughout high school, college, and into his professional career.  To America and Europe and then back to Japan.  Everywhere he went angry violet eyes followed him in furious accusation.

The opinion of one little girl shouldn’t have meant anything to him.  He had done what was necessary to win, and even though it didn’t work out that way he never regretted it.  He still didn’t regret it.  Kirihara Akaya had turned into a fine tennis player.

And yet he had dwelled on her for a long time after Nationals were over.  For whatever reason, that small, plain girl from Seigaku had gotten under his skin and haunted him.  He never again cultivated a players talent like he had Kirihara’s, and though he never regretted his decisions, he never again let Kirihara go quite as far as he had during that tournament. 

And now she was his best hope for the future.  If what his current doctor was telling him was correct, she was an outstanding doctor now – the best in her specialization.  The best at healing tennis injuries.

She said she would never forgive him, but that had been a long time ago.  Half their life ago.  She probably didn’t even remember him.

“I’ve already talked to her and she’s agreed to see you right away, if that is what you want.  I really believe this is the best course of action, Yukimura-san.”

Yukimura nodded absently.  “When is my appointment?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Two days.  Two days and thirteen years of muddled emotions would come to an end and he could finally stop wondering if she had truly never forgiven him.  And perhaps even find out why her words had bothered him so much.

--

The small examining room looked just like any other doctor’s room he had ever been in.  There were more tennis posters on the wall, of course, and the specialized diplomas declaring Kamiya Ayame as a licensed doctor.  Diagrams and charts of knees, wrists, shoulders and elbows covered whatever was left, and it gave the room a very crowded feeling.  There was hardly a bare spot left on the busy wall.

She came in with a short knock some ten minutes after he had been seated in the small room.  Yukimura’s eyes were at once on her, even as her eyes were glued to the clipboard she was holding, her head bowed.

There was very little in this woman he remembered.  Her hair was longer now, tied at the base of her neck, but still the same shade of auburn-red from his memory.  Her glasses were simple and practical and her bangs obscured much of her forehead and ears.  It seemed to him that she was hardly bigger than she had been in middle school, but that now she carried a confidence with her that hadn’t been around when she was fourteen. 

“Yukimura Seiichi-san?” Her polite voice said into the room as she finally looked up from her clipboard.

If she recognized him, he couldn’t see it in her expression.  She was politely distant, a little cold, but all professional as she smiled tightly at him.  “Yes,” he replied softly, “Kamiya-sensei?”

Ayame had recognized him the moment she had gotten the call from his doctor.  She knew the name Yukimura Seiichi almost as well as she knew her own.  He was the cause of the one moment of loss of control she had ever had, and his name carried with it feelings of anger that never went away.

Yet to hear that he had been injured by another player while playing a tournament in America hadn’t made her as happy as it might have when she was fourteen.  Matured, she was beyond wishing him ill.  While she still believed she would never forgive him, she didn’t wish him to come to harm. 

She hadn’t expected to be faced with him again.  Thirteen years was a long time, but not long enough to forget the embarrassment over losing her temper.  She regretted her actions now, at least she regretted enacting violence against him.  Her actions had been hypocritical, and at twenty-seven, she could see that.

But embarrassment and lingering anger were not valid excuses to turn away a patient.  She took an oath to help those who needed it, and he needed her help.  There were few doctors in Japan that knew as much about tennis related injuries as she did, who had done internships and practicums dealing with these specific injuries.  And so she agreed to see him, all the time wondering if he would even remember her.

Ayame doubted it.

Seeing no point in formalities beyond what they had already gone through, Ayame pushed on, seating herself in the single rolling office chair.  The position put her at an even greater height disadvantage and she was forced to look up at him, seated on the clinical bed.  “I’ll be honest with you, Yukimura-san.  The damage to your leg is severe.  I didn’t see the match, but from looking at your x-rays and scans, I can tell that you played on it knowing that he had done significant damage to you.”

Yukimura nodded, gazing at her calmly.  He knew the damage to his right leg was bad – his other doctor had already told him that.  But her insight into how it had become so damaged was startling.  He had continued on with the match, even after his opponent had done the damage.

Ayame sighed.  “There is tissue damage around the initial injury sight.  Blockage has caused some muscle death, which in turn is causing pain.  Please take your pants off so that I can look at the injury directly.”

There shouldn’t have been any awkwardness to shedding his pants before a doctor, even if the doctor was female.  She was a doctor after all, and had seen men in various states of undress before.  But she wasn’t just a female, she was the prophet that had foretold his undoing, and he still wasn’t sure if she recognized him or not.

Yukimura was an attractive man.  He had been a handsome boy, feminine and graceful.  Now he was solid in his masculinity, thin, but strong, lithe and dangerous.  He had an athlete’s body, and though Ayame had seen many in her short career, his was especially appealing.  She didn’t know why.

Even with the swelling and the bruises and the sunken patches around the knee, he had finely toned legs.  He had obviously been continuing to work on them, or at least his left leg, in the two months since he had been hurt.  This had Ayame clicking her tongue.  “You did not listen to your doctor when he told you to take it easy, did you?”

Blinking, Yukimura followed her gaze to his legs and wondered how she could tell.  “Training is part of my nature,” he explained quietly, swinging his legs up onto the bed as she ordered.  “Once was enough to demonstrate the need to keep my body in good condition, despite injury or disease.”

He hoped the reference to his past would draw a reaction out of her, and he was not disappointed.  It was only a fraction of a second, but there was a touch of hesitation as she reached forward to examine his right leg.  She remembered him.

“Yes, I imagine it would be,” was all she said in reply, starting her examination in earnest.  “You haven’t exacerbated the damage in your right leg, so I won’t scold you for not following doctors orders.  I will, however, caution you to be aware of your physical condition and limit use of your leg if at all possible.”

Her fingers were gentle as they brushed over the skin from his mid-thigh to mid-shin.  She never pressed, and there was no pain in her observation process.  But her touch had an effect on him nonetheless.  Stirrings of improper emotion began to fan from the site of her clinical touch, and Yukimura found himself having to break his gaze away from her and focus it on the ceiling. 

Ayame noticed his quiet state and glanced at him.  He was a thousand miles away, his eyes locked on the ceiling.  She hadn’t missed his allusion to the past, and that had been enough to tell her that he expected her to know about his disease and the operation he had undergone to fix it.  Now either he assumed she would know because she had read over his medical history, or because he knew she would know because she had known him, vaguely, when he was fifteen and going through it.

She wasn’t quite ready to make the assumption that he did remember her and so she continued with her examination, noting various things on his chart as she did so.  After awhile, she finished up and sighed, pulling away from his warm skin and attractive form.  “Though the damage is severe, you’ll be happy to hear I don’t believe this will be the end of your tennis career.”  She said into the silence, turning to seat herself in her chair once more.

Yukimura was slow to sit up.  She was right, he was happy to hear that.  He honestly didn’t know what he would do if he wasn’t able to play tennis anymore.  Tennis was his life, had been since he was old enough to hold a racket.  To lose it would be to lose apart of himself.  “How long do you think it will take to heal?” He asked after a few minutes, finally looking at her once more.

Ayame met his eyes and felt her insides soften towards him.  Thirteen years of anger was unhealthy, it did bad things to a person’s soul and mind.  It wasn’t in her nature to be unforgiving, to carry grudges, and looking back it was hard to tell if she really had meant to never forgive him.  “That depends on you,” her voice was as soft as her insides now, her eyes filling with the regret she had carried for thirteen years.  “If you follow my instructions and my therapy program, you could be back to top shape in a year, perhaps even competing again in eight or so months.”

A weight was lifted off his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there the moment he saw the regret in her eyes.  Years of wondering, of pondering disappeared and for that moment, it didn’t matter that she told him he was going to lose a year of playing time to this injury.  The enigmatic fourteen year old who had dared to strike Yukimura Seiichi, captain of Rikkaidai Fuzoku was set free in his mind.  He no longer had to carry her anger, no longer had to think about why it mattered, why it bothered him.  He didn’t need an answer, because she had done what she swore never to do: she had forgiven him.

“For what it’s worth, Yukimura-san,” Ayame said softly, clutching the clipboard against her chest like an insecure little girl.  There was no point in hiding that she knew him, he probably already knew, and even if he didn’t remember, it would make her feel better to apologize.  “I’m sorry this happened to you, no matter what I said when we were in middle school.”

Yukimura smiled at Ayame then, the first smile she had seen since coming into the small room.  It was reminiscent of the one he used to give to everyone back when he was fifteen, only a little more sincere.  “It was a lifetime ago,” he said, and it truly felt like a lifetime ago.  “And neither of us is in middle school anymore.”

Flushing, she smiled back at him, finally letting go of the last bits of her resentment.  This man was not the same boy who had used others to win, who had created a monster.  He did not appear to regret his actions, but he was right when he said it was a lifetime ago.  Holding on to thirteen year old grudges was foolish, and it just wasn’t in her heart anymore.  Especially when he smiled at her like that. 

“No, we’re not.  I look forward to seeing you again Yukimura-san, let’s say in a week?”

Yukimura nodded, taking the paper she was offering him, surprised that he was looking forward to it as well.

“Follow that program for the week, I’ll have something more permanent next week okay?”

“Thank you.”

Ayame paused at the door, glancing at him one more time before she left.  A teasing smile touched her lips.  “Take care of yourself, Yukimura-buchou.”

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