Title: The Last Game
Rating: G
Disclaimers: Prince of Tennis is not mine.
A/n: Erm. This is mostly an experimental work. I was trying out a new writing style and I wrote this on a whim... so yeah. I hope it isn't too confusing though. Unbeta-ed so there might be mistakes here and there. Feel free to point them out.
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He stands on the other side of the court, hand loosely gripping his racket and eyebrows furrowing in confusion, as he gazes at the bent-down figure ahead of him. Yukimura stands up after securing his shoelaces and looks at him, teal eyes distant and serious.
"Seiichi-"
Yukimura takes out a ball from his pocket and throws it at him. It bounces against the clay court once, goes over the net and bounces again before he catches it in his hands.
"Serve."
Before he can even protest, Yukimura has already positioned himself in his side of the court, directly diagonal from where he is standing. He is crouched down to a receiving stance, racket ready, eyes intense.
He heaves out a sigh and swallows as he bounces the ball against the court. He pauses, steals a glance at Yukimura, and throws the ball over his head.
Thwack.
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Yukimura looked at the envelope sitting on his clipboard.
"What's this?" "A resignation letter." It took approximately thirty seconds for Yukimura to digest the weight of those words. "Why?" He asked in the calmest tone he could muster. A deep breath and a moment's hesitation before his questioning gaze was answered. "There are… more important things to me right now."
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Thwack.
"15-Love."
He curses under his breath as the wire fence rattles from the impact of the smash. He looks up and sees Yukimura adjusting his wrist weights and examining his racket handle. He isn't watching him or smirking at his expression like he used to do in their previous matches.
Then again, this isn't anything like their previous matches.
He walks over to retrieve the ball and takes his position on the court once again. Yukimura is already waiting for his service.
Thwack.
He is momentarily frozen as Yukimura sends the ball zooming between his legs.
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Yukimura didn't speak to him that day.
And the next day. And the day after that. He knew Yukimura was angry. Yukimura had every reason to be. But in the briefest moments when he would meet Yukimura's eyes, what he saw surprised him. Instead of fury, he saw pain.
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"Five games to three."
Yukimura's voice is flat and monotonous as he announces the current score.
His jersey is bathed in sweat. The sleeves stick to his arms; the drenched fabric clings to the contours of his body as he pads to the other side of the court.
Yukimura's jersey rustles with the wind as he walks past him. He doesn't even spare him a glance as they exchange positions on the court.
He breathes in deeply, trying to calm his racing heart, as the rhythm of the bouncing ball drifts to his ears. His eyes focus on what is ahead – the ball flying upwards, the frame of Yukimura's racket glistening in the sun, Yukimura's elegant form when delivering his serve.
Thwack.
Yukimura stares as the ball whizzes past him and bounces against the wire fence.
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"Is it true? Are you really quitting the team?"
He nodded slightly as he gave Jackal a sideway glance. Disappointment was written all over the other boy's face. "But the regionals is already next we-" "I know." He mouthed firmly, cutting Jackal in his speech. Jackal sighed as he adjusted his tennis bag. "I guess we can't force you to stay then." The rest of the walk down the school corridor was accompanied by a heavy, awkward silence.
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It's strange, he thinks to himself as he sends a cross shot over the net. He feels as if his body is on autopilot today. His swings, his forehands and backhands, his smashes – they seem to be executing themselves even if his mind is not entirely on the game.
He misses a fairly easy shot by an inch, and Yukimura's eyes flicker darkly.
"Stop playing around," Yukimura tells him icily as he retrieves the ball resting near the net.
He picks up the ball and looks at Yukimura calmly. "I'm not playing around," he replies in a reticent manner.
Yukimura frowns at him as he prepares to serve.
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He took one look at the person standing outside his house and resisted the urge to shut the door.
"If it's about my resignation, I really don't-" "I didn't come here to talk you out of quitting." Heaving a sigh, he opened the door fully and let Sanada in. The other boy slipped out of his shoes and stepped up the small platform that led to the inside of the house. They walked in silence towards the living room. "Would you like tea or juice?" He asked as Sanada took a seat on the couch. Sanada removed his baseball cap and placed it on the coffee table before looking up at him. "Tea would be fine." "Excuse me for a second," he said as he turned to leave for the kitchen. Sanada cleared his throat before he was out of earshot. "Why did you do it?" The question seemed to reverberate in the quiet room. He stopped in his tracks. "I have my reasons."
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They are rallying for about twenty minutes now.
Yukimura is unrelenting with his shots. Each swing is accurate and the force of every delivery is consistent. His precision never falters as he sends a fifth ball towards the intersection of the baseline and the left sideline.
He has already determined the trajectory of the ball and has positioned himself within the area where he can make a proper return. The ball comes in contact with his racket, but the timing is off and the angle of contact is wrong.
His hand drops the racket, which hits the metal pole with a loud clang.
Yukimura looks at him disappointedly.
"Is that the best you could do?"
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His mobile phone rang when the clock struck one in the morning. He glanced at the name displayed on the screen before answering the call.
"School courts at nine. I'll be waiting." "Good night, Seiichi."
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Thwack.
He falls back into position as Yukimura returns his drop shot effortlessly. He volleys again.
"40-15."
Yukimura seems unfazed at the fact that the tides are against him. He takes a ball from his pocket, bounces it against the court and throws it over his head.
"Come at me with everything you've got!"
He answers the serve with a cord ball.
"I intended to do so from the start."
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A soft thud resounds in the quiet courts as his racket makes contact with the ground. The ball rolls to a stop next to the net.
"You won."
He gazes ahead and meets Yukimura's cold teal eyes, unblinking and devoid of any emotion.
Yukimura turns on his heels and makes his way towards the side bench. He watches silently as Yukimura puts his racket inside his bag and pulls the thick straps over his shoulders.
"I'll see you around."
Yukimura doesn't even look at him as he walks out of the enclosure. He swallows the lump forming on his throat as he watches Yukimura's retreating back, until it becomes a speck in the horizon.
A soft breeze blows past him, caressing his cheeks and tousling his hair. He closes his eyes for a moment, and inhales the calming scent of the air around him.
When he opens his eyes, he sees a sheet of paper hastily stuffed in his bag's pocket. Half of it is sticking out and flapping against the wind. He walks over to the bench, tosses his racket carelessly onto the ground and takes out the paper. He immediately recognizes it as the resignation letter he handed in days ago. Yukimura's signature is scrawled on the lower left corner of the page.
He now understands why Yukimura lost.
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A/n: Supposedly SanaYuki, but the fic wrote itself and turned into YanaYuki.
Comments, suggestions, corrections and the like are very much loved. Feedback is not required, but is very much appreciated. Thank you for your time.