by weirdlyyours
Ryoma found art class a waste of time and just as boring as English. He propped his head up against his arm with his sketchpad balanced precariously in his lap. It had taken him awhile to decide the ranking tournament slots yesterday, and he was exhausted. A nap, he thought, and was dozing within minutes.
A slam of the door shook him back to reality, and he found himself staring at his disheveled and very late teacher. Ryoma grumbled about tardiness and wondered how many laps Buchou would have assigned sensei.
"Class," Wataru-sensei said excitedly, looking far too awake for eight in the morning and far too thrilled for something that wasn't tennis-related. "Class, please welcome our model for today. He took time out of his busy school schedule to help us out."
Ryoma was thoroughly unconcerned and debated going back to sleep.
"Hello, my name is Tezuka Kunimitsu."
His pencil dropped from hands, and Ryoma was not sure whether to rub his eyes (surely this was a hallucination because he had only gotten seven hours of sleep yesterday) or to find his cap (because he's sure he looked stupid with his jaw hanging open like this). Instead, he settled for mouthing "Buchou" soundlessly, still gaping.
Buchou, the model? Ryoma bent down to pick up his pencil, and no matter how he tried, he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea.
He glanced furtively at his art class's special guest, and found brown eyes already eyeing him. He smirked slowly and realized that even if Buchou didn't belong in the art room, this was going to be fun. Buchou was more interesting to draw than fruit anyway.
"Tezuka-san, please sit on this stool in the middle of room," Wataru-sensei instructed cheerfully, leading him to the wooden stool.
Whispers started at Ryoma's left, where the girls had gathered. They giggled and pointed and whispered some more. When Tezuka glanced over at them, the girls flushed bright pink, and Ryoma absentmindedly wondered if there was a shade of paint in that color.
A girl--tall for ninth grade, Ryoma noted, taller than him--slipped off her stool and dragged it noisily in front of Tezuka. "Hi," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Tezuka stared at her quietly before nodding in greeting. "My name is Namada Mitsuko. Class 3-A." She paused meaningfully, before slanting a secretive look at the high schooler. "Single."
Ryoma's pencil snapped.
--
Ryoma hadn't finished sketching Tezuka by the end of the period, and Wataru-sensei had reprimanded him. His sketchpad was full of holes from where he pressed too hard, and all but one of his yellow pencils had broken in half.
"You will have to find a new model to sketch," Wataru-sensei said reprovingly.
He bowed and slung his bag onto his shoulder. Tennis, he thought. Tennis, and didn't think of what he would like to do to Namada Mitsuko-san.
--
Buchou was leaning against the fence after afternoon tennis practice, his Seigaku High uniform zipped up and his tennis bag slung over his shoulder.
Namada was standing next to him, smiling and batting her eyelashes. She pushed out her bottom lip in a pout, tugging on Buchou's jersey. Ryoma thought she looked ridiculous.
"Buchou," he called when he was close enough, and Buchou nodded in acknowledgement. Namada looked confused, and Tezuka excused himself, pulling his arm out of her grasp.
By the time Buchou finally got onto the court, Ryoma was already at the service line. "You can serve," Ryoma told him, and bounced lightly in anticipation for the game.
He watched the line of Tezuka's body when he served, watched the racket meet the ball, and wished he could draw Buchou when he was playing tennis.
--
Ryoma stumbled to the net, exhausted but still pumping with adrenaline. Buchou's tennis, he thought, is amazing.
He took the outstretched hand across the net and was unreasonably happy when Buchou complimented him. "You're evolving again," Buchou said, and there was a smile lurking at the corner of his lips.
Heart pounding from the adrenaline of the match, Ryoma pushed onto tiptoes and slid his lips over Tezuka's. He felt Tezuka go stiff underneath him before trying to pull away, murmuring something about Namada, but Ryoma wound an arm around Tezuka's neck and pulled him closer.
That was when he heard the intake of breath and remembered that Namada was still watching them. Ryoma disentangled himself from Buchou and watched her with one raised eyebrow. Namada's head whipped between Tezuka and Ryoma before staring at Ryoma's hand on the back of Tezuka's neck.
Oops, Ryoma thought as Namada's footsteps faded away. He turned to see Tezuka looking disapprovingly at him. Ryoma just shrugged and made his way over to the bench, where his can of Ponta was waiting for him.
"Hey Buchou," he said thoughtfully between gulps of the carbonated drink, "could you model for me? I still need to finish my art assignment."
Ryoma took Tezuka's silence for a yes, and slid the sketchpad out of his tennis bag.
--
The girls in his class marveled at his finished drawing. "Echizen-kun," one girl (he was pretty sure her name was Kimiko or Kiwako or something) exclaimed, "how did you get him to smile?"