Ryoma gripped his racquet tighter, low on the handle with his thumb a bit loose to the side. The world stretched out in front of him, beginning with a white line that traveled sharply around a field of green, and stilted by a white net that cut off part of Ryoma's vision. The world ended on the other side of the court with a pair of smiling brown eyes hidden coolly behind a pair of lenses, a pair of tensed lips that would be warm to the touch, and an arm that had just dropped thirty degrees, by Inui's in-absentia calculations, based on statistical proof. Drop shot.
Ryoma's feet were running in the air and then pushing him frantically to the front court where, for the first time, he managed to hit that Drop Shot. It nicked the net and began to roll over to Tezuka's side only to have a gust of wind come through and blow it back to Ryoma's side. "Buchou!" Ryoma screamed. He sank to his knees, dropped his racquet and grabbed the ball, spinning it on the ground in frustration. "I almost had it," he whispered through the net. "I almost had you."
Tezuka stepped forward, leaving a small circle behind from the pivot point of his Tezuka Zone. He put a hand on the top of the net and looked over at Ryoma. "You have to take weather into account, Echizen."
Ryoma pounted his bottom lip slightly. "That was the first time there was any wind at all today. Why couldn't it have come early when you barely made that shot on me?"
Reaching over the net, Tezuka offered his hand to Ryoma. "Something like fate?"
Letting himself be pulled to his feet, Ryoma continued to pout slightly. "Right. That was just the red string of fate getting in the..." He paused and looked at Tezuka, his line of sight being pulled to the other man's neck. "Buchou..." Ryoma reached up and put a hand to Tezuka's shoulder and pulled him closer. Before he knew it, Tezuka's lips were on his, sweet and warm and soon divided by Ryoma's tongue.
A cool wind blew across the court as Ryoma let his other hand drop the ball it had been holding to raise to caress Tezuka's jawline. He pulled away suddenly to smile. "Buchou?"
"Echizen?" Tezuka responded, just barely breathless.
Ryoma held up a hand that a single red string was entwined in and smiled. "You had a red string hanging from your collar. At least this time it didn't get in the way?" He picked up his racquet and the ball and tapped it toward Tezuka. "Your serve, buchou."
Tezuka gripped his own raquet and let fly with a serve that had Ryoma running once more.