Ryoma had only gone to the bookshop because he had somehow managed to leave the house without his tennis racquet or anything that would give him something to do(save a wallet, which didn't have enough money to buy more than a cheap book or two anyway) and he had got a couple miles away before realising it. He was, however, reluctant to go in. The bookshop was small and looked rather dusty and didn't look like it had anything interesting in it.

As he stood across the street from it debating whether or not to go in or to just go and find something else to do, he noticed a young man open the door and go in. The man caught his eye because of the tennis bag slung over his shoulder, and the way he moved. Ryoma was two thirds of the way across the street before he was aware he was doing anything.

He had been right; the bookshop was dusty, but not unbearably so, and it was like a small world apart from the rest of the city, mostly because it was very quiet inside. Ryoma wandered the store, glancing around to see where the young man before could be while at the same time looking for a shelf that was home to a genre that wasn't boring. He found his mystery man in the classical literature section, which was located right beside the sports section, which gave him a very convenient excuse should he have need of one. Ryoma idly thumbed through a tennis magazine he had picked at random, but his mind wasn't really on the words or subjects, and his eyes were definitely fixated elsewhere, for he had gotten a glimpse of the man's face. Once or twice, their eyes met, briefly, both silently expressing mild curiosity.

He ended up staying until the other young man left. Ryoma bought the magazine and a manga, then left as well.

The next day he found himself at the bookshop again, and no sooner had he gone inside than the other arrived and gone in too. They exchanged glances and went about their search for something to read that only ended in more exchanged glances. The same thing happened for a week, nods occasionally accompanying the silent greetings. Occasionally, they stood side by side in the same section, glancing over books and seeming to have entire conversations involving nothing but silence and eyes meeting and fingers brushing accidentally.

For a couple of days, Ryoma didn't see the other young man at all, and lingered in a lonely fashion in a corner of the shop, the woman at the register looking at him concernedly from time to time. He went home both days feeling slightly betrayed, though he knew that it was stupid to feel like that.

The young man returns the next day, however, and for a few more days their routine is back to normal. And then one morning, they both happen to have tennis bags with them. A raised eyebrow and a slight nod, followed by a short bus ride, leads them to the nearest tennis courts. They secure one for themselves and start to play.

Ryoma thinks he has never played a more beautiful game in his life. When it ends with the other the victor, the eyes of his opponent tell him that the feeling is mutual. They shake hands. Ryoma is elated, despite having not won the match, perhaps because some part of him feels like he's won something better.

And still without ever saying a word, they go for a late lunch.