A/N: This fic was originally written for the anonymous prince of tennis "beat the heat" fanfic exchange on livejournal. Many thanks to the lovely bjont, who agreed to beta even though she doesn't like Sanada/Yukimura!

Old and New Games

The forest seemed to be without end, but Yukimura knew that they would have to stop within a few days. Summer had arrived, and they needed food and rest.

He glanced back at his ragged band, at their ribs, all too visible, and the circles beneath their eyes. Sanada had grown to be taller and more muscular than the rest of them in the last few years, and he needed new clothing, or he would soon be completely naked. Renji, the oldest of the group, followed close behind, his face thin and impassive. On his shoulders sat Bunta, who was, despite his scrawniness, too large to be carried in such away. Not that they had a choice. If he were to walk, they would make even slower progress.

Next to them walked Jackal, and behind, the two boys next oldest in age, Niou and Yagyuu. All of them carried heavy packs, laden with their only precious possessions—a few blankets, knives, an axe, a metal bowl, and containers for water.

Sanada quickened his pace and fell into step beside Yukimura.

"Where's Akaya?" he asked. "I didn't see him go."

"He wanted to scout," Yukimura said, gazing vaguely ahead through the trees. "He'll be back soon, I'm sure."

Sanada nodded. Yukimura wondered if he was really as unconcerned about the youngest member of their group as he appeared. Sanada wasn't the sort to let his emotions show, except in the strange, unguarded looks he had started giving Yukimura in the last few months.

"He may well find something—some shelter or water," Yukimura said. Akaya's eyes were one of their group's greatest assets—he could see far beyond the normal range of human vision, and in the dark as well. It was one of the most useful eye-gifts he had even encountered, unlike Bunta's unpredictable visions. And unlike Bunta's blindness, Akaya's eye-gift had no negative effects, as far as they could tell.

Of course, it was probably only that the price had not yet been discovered. Eye-gifts always had their price. Sometimes, as in Renji's case, they were almost too much to bear.

He turned yet again, to meet Renji's gaze. Although he was, at twenty, older than Yukimura by several years, Yukimura was the leader, and Renji never offered unprompted advice. Even so, Yukimura could hear his words, as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud.

"We're stopping," Yukimura said. "Rest."

"Water?" Niou asked, licking dry lips.

"We don't have much left," Yukimura said. "But Akaya may find some. We're not in the desert any more. So have a little." Sanada passed around the waterskin, and the younger boys each had a mouthful. Renji lifted Bunta from his shoulders, and Jackal led him over to a tree to rest.

Yukimura noticed that Sanada and Renji took no water for themselves, and he also refused when Sanada offered him a drink.

"I'm fine," he said, although his tongue felt heavy.

He lowered himself to the ground. He had planned to rest only for a moment, but soon his eyelids dropped and his head nodded.

"He's asleep," he heard Sanada say to Renji, as if through a heavy fog.

"He's tired, too," Renji said. "And sometimes…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Suddenly the sound of light footsteps crunching upon dead branches yanked Yukimura from sleep.

"Yukimura! Renji!" Akaya shouted, his eyes flashing red in excitement. "I found a river! And a building!" He hopped from one food to another, tugging at Renji's arm.

Yukimura rubbed his eyes.

"Calm down," he said, putting a hand on Akaya's shoulder. "Tell us what you've found."

Slowly, and with careful prompting, they drew a report from Akaya of what he had seen.

Further up the trail, the woods dropped away into a deep valley, through which a river ran. And in the middle of the valley, Akaya with his eye-gift had seen some sort of building—the first man made dwelling they had encountered in years. Akaya had seen no signs that it was occupied.

"It's warm enough that they would not need a fire," Sanada pointed out. "There could be people. Especially if the building is as big as Akaya says it is."

Yukimura bit his lip. It was true that risking an encounter with an unknown group was highly dangerous. The last time it had happened, they had been nearly killed in a scrap over a couple of rabbits they had snared. They had been lucky that the group they had stumbled across had been only three in number, and had only wanted to chase them away. There were bands out there that had gone entirely savage, and would not have balked at killing other humans for food, or at taking the boys by force.

On the other hand, their situation was becoming more and more dire. At the very least, they needed to get to the river and replenish their water supply.

"We'll approach carefully," Yukimura decided. "Yagyuu, Jackal, I'll send you to scout when we get closer. We can't afford to pass by good shelter and a source of water just because there might be danger."

Niou's face fell.

"Yukimura, send me," he pleaded. "I'm older'n Jackal, an' I move just as quiet as Yagyuu."

"Jackal is smaller," Yukimura said, keeping his expression stern. "He'll fit in tight places. And I don't need to send both you and Yagyuu."

Every time he sent somebody out, away from the comparative safety of the group, he knew they might not return. If he was not there, he could not protect them.

Niou knew this. And, because he and Yagyuu were so close, almost like twins, Yukimura saw that he did not want to be left behind. But he had a feverish look to him, and Yukimura was not going to send out someone who would collapse where they could not reach him.

Niou nodded at Yukimura's words, apparently too tired to argue more.

Yukimura turned to Bunta.

"Do you see anything?" he asked, more out of habit than for any other reason. Bunta closed his eyes. Yukimura had no idea why, but he always did this when trying to summon a vision, even though he was completely blind and had been for years. He was never wrong—foresight was his eye-gift—but there were many, many occasions on which he saw nothing at all. And at other times, he saw things so vague that his visions were as good as useless.

"I see a strange object," he said. "It's round, and it moves."

Yukimura felt an icy chill grip his chest.

"A gun?" he asked. He had never seen such a thing, but Renji had told them stories.

"It's yellow," Bunta said, shrugging. Yukimura looked over at Renji, who shook his head. Not a gun. "I see rain, too," Bunta added.

Yukimura sighed. "Thank you," he said.

Bunta grinned, obviously proud of himself, and for once, Yukimura was glad that the boy couldn't see Yukimura's expression. He wasn't sure that he could force cheer, or even hope onto his face.

He had to wonder sometimes. What was he keeping them alive for? What was the purpose in trying so hard to find food and water, to avoid danger? There were so few moments of happiness, and even those were always tainted with the prospect of future hardship.

But he sensed that they desired to live. Something inside them made them endure, and as long as that was what his strange little family wanted, he would lead them, even if he didn't understand why they kept walking day after day, when it would be so much sweeter to lie down forever and sleep.

What could any of them hope for in life?

Sometimes it seemed that he also wished to live, but usually, in order to force himself to take the next step, the next breath, he made himself think of Renji's grief if he were to die, or the horror on the face of Akaya, who had never lost a loved one before. And so, he got to his feet and motioned that they should continue.

Yagyuu and Jackal returned, and reported that the valley appeared to be deserted, and the building empty.

"It's huge," Jackal said, his eyes wide with awe. "Bigger than anything I've ever seen."

Yukimura himself was amazed at the sight of the enormous construction—it was made of mostly concrete, and looked as though it might have dozens of rooms. Some parts of the roof had caved in, but most of it was intact.

"Did you go in?" he asked Jackal.

Jackal nodded. "I didn't search the whole thing, though."

"We'll have to be careful," Yukimura said. "It doesn't seem occupied, but it's big enough that there could be surprises. But for now, the sun is starting to set. Refill the waterskins and canteens over at the river, and come inside. We'll explore the area tomorrow."

They huddled in the room they had chosen as darkness fell. Instinctively, they formed a circle around Renji. Sanada placed himself next to Yukimura, and Akaya curled up on his other side. Niou and Yagyuu lay next to each other, Niou's arm draped over Yagyuu's shoulder.

"Tell a story, Renji," Akaya pleaded.

Renji gave the thin-lipped half-grimace that served him as a smile. "What story would you like to hear?"

"Everything!" Akaya said. "How the cities fell, and our band formed. And how I was born," he added.

"Akaya," Yukimura scolded. "You shouldn't make Renji tell that story tonight."

"He always tells it when we reach a new place," Sanada said. His eyes, intently focused on Yukimura's, said: you just don't want to hear it.

"It is good to remember," Renji said, also looking at Yukimura. "Even pain."

Renji, who could not forget, had to tell himself that, Yukimura thought.

Renji cleared his throat and began the story that was too familiar to all of them.

Once, not too long ago—when you were all children—we lived in a city. It was not as large as I am told cities once were, but there were hundreds of people who lived in it. Maybe a thousand. Many of them had enough to eat, and there were men and women who could make things that we needed, the clothing and tools.

I don't know who my parents were. They didn't give me a family name, such as some of you have. I might have been an orphan, or, more likely, just one too many mouths to fed. I grew up begging, and scrounging what food I could. From a very early age, I realized that I had an eye-gift. Whatever I saw, I never forgot. I even learned to read. I read a great many books, whatever I could find. My memory made me useful, and eventually a kind widow took me in, although she was already sheltering three children.

She had her own baby, a tiny red-haired thing. It was almost blind, and not very strong. She hoped that the blindness was because it would have an eye-gift, but she wasn't sure. She never named it, hoping not to get attached, I think. Never told us her own name, actually. We just called her Ma. Anyway, we called the kid Bunta, once it was old enough to need a name. We had to call him something.

Then, there were the other two boys. They were just a couple years younger than me. Ma called them Sei and Gen, but one day she told me that they had real names—Yukimura Seiichi and Sanada Genichirou. They were from good families, she said. Their fathers were warriors—men who fought. She had been given payment to keep them. Their parents were dead now, because there was a lot of fighting in those days. But Ma kept them anyway. She wasn't nice—she had a tongue like a whip, and a quick temper, and not a lot of sweetness in her, but she was kind. She kept us.

When I knew what Yukimura and Sanada's names were, I called them that, always. A person's family is important. Lots of people don't have one.

Somehow, we scraped by for a few years. We lived in a house, not as big as the building we're in now, but it had a few rooms. We managed to have enough to eat most days. I think Ma might have sold herself, but I'm not sure. There are some things that you can't understand until you're older.

Things got worse and worse in the city. People started to arrive from other places in swarms, like insects, and there was less food every day. There were dangerous men out there, with weapons, maybe even guns, and it wasn't safe outside of the city. And cities were attacking each other, too.

Ma told us that once upon a time, there had been weapons so powerful that it could destroy that entire city in an instant. People had used them. Before that, life had been better for people, even better than in the cities now. But that had been a long time ago, before she had been born. Anyway, she said, people should have learned that fighting did no good. But they couldn't help themselves. They got desperate, and greedy. That's why Yukimura and Sanada's fathers died, I think. Men from another city attacked, and then they went to go attack that city, and they died.

First, there was sickness one summer ten years ago. Ma was very ill. Maybe she would have died. A lot of people did die.

Then, the men came back to our city, except there were more of them. A lot more. They killed most of the adult men who hadn't died in the sickness, and they took the women. They were rough with them. The city burned. I think they wanted to live there, so I'm not sure why they burned it. An accident, or just viciousness.

I'm not sure what would have happened to us if we had stayed. They didn't have much use for boys. Yukimura was pretty enough that I was worried about that. But to strike out into the wilderness by ourselves, with Bunta (he was three, we couldn't just leave him, he was family)…it seemed suicidal.

"We're going," Yukimura said. "I'd rather die free. And I know there are other cities out there. We'll find one."

And so we took as much as we could carry—a little food, but mostly tools, the same knives and things that we still have—and we found our way out of the city. It was then that we found Yagyuu and Niou. They were about five, and they were carrying big knives they had found. Their families were dead, and they joined us. It was just going to be a temporary thing, until we all found a new place to live. But here we are. And a few years later, we found Jackal…well, I'm getting ahead of myself. We were fleeing from the city.

We hardly noticed the infant when we found it a few miles outside of the city. It was about a year old, abandoned under a tree, and already growing weak. We glanced at it, and turned away. There had been so much death and so much suffering that one more death meant nothing at all to us.

But Yukimura picked it up.

"It has red eyes," he said.

"Probably an eye-gift," I told him.

"Akaya?" he said, quite softly.

"What?" I said, not understanding.

"We'll call it Akaya," he said. "For the eyes. Lucky eyes."

It was then that I realized he meant we should keep it. I'll admit that I argued with him at first—we all did. We already had one small child with us, and none of us were really old enough to walk for long distances. I was the oldest, and I was only ten. But none of us were about to argue with the look in Yukimura's eyes.

Renji paused in his story, and they became aware of Akaya's soft breathing, and the rise and fall of his scrawny chest. Renji smiled. "He's asleep. The rest of you should do the same."

Grumbling, they sprawled out across the floor, covering themselves with thin scraps of blanket and some dry grass they had collected that afternoon. Soon, they were all asleep.

Yukimura and Renji sat near the door in near silence.

"That isn't the end of the story," Yukimura said at last.

"Real stories never end. That was the beginning. Your beginning."

"I've never understood," Yukimura confessed with a laugh. "Why aren't you the leader? You're the oldest. You're the wisest. Why did you listen to a little brat of a seven year old?"

"I'm not a leader," Renji said. "I see, and remember, and sometimes I think I understand a little bit. But you always gave the impression that you saw further than what the eye could see."

"I don't have an eye-gift."

"It's not the same."

Yukimura slumped forward, until his head rested in his hands. He was very tired. "Is it gone now, the thing you saw in me?"

"I don't know," Renji said. "Dim, perhaps, but not gone."

"You should have chosen Sanada. He doesn't ask questions, or doubt. He doesn't wonder."

"You think so?" Renji said. "Yukimura…" He paused. "You know, sometimes I turn around and expect to see you still seven, and I'm surprised that you're a man already. It doesn't seem so long ago to me…Seiichi."

The sound of his own name, so unfamiliar, almost brought tears to Yukimura's eyes. It had been so long since he had heard it. He couldn't remember being called anything other than "Yukimura". He couldn't really remember Ma, or life in the city, or hope. It hadn't been so long ago that he should have forgotten, but his old memories had been dulled by disuse. That might have been another lifetime. He only remembered walking, and hunger, and thirst, and the sense that each new day would bring only the same old perils.

"Renji," he said. "Was it better in the city?"

Renji turned away. "Does it really matter?"

Yukimura closed his eyes to sleep. He hadn't noticed he was crying until gentle fingers brushed the tears away from his lowered lids.

Sanada shook Yukimura awake the next morning. The sun was already high, and Yukimura wondered how he had slept so late.

"There's a lot to be done," he said, once everyone had gathered. "Niou, Yagyuu, you two are in charge of setting snares in the area."

"How about hunting?" Niou asked, his eyes lively. Water and a night of sleep had restored his spirits considerably.

"Later," Yukimura said. "Jackal, go with Akaya to look for any fruit that might be in season, or other edibles. Watch out for Niou's snares." The boys nodded. "Renji, if you could do your best to survey the area and commit as much to memory as possible. I'm sending you alone, so take one of the knives. Sanada and I will search this building for anything that could be of use to us."

"Should I take the other knife?" Sanada asked.

Yukimura blinked. "You might as well," he said, handing one to him. He was suddenly struck by how old Sanada looked—he understood what Renji had meant when he had said he was surprised to see that Yukimura was no longer a child.

He saw Sanada every day, but somehow, at this moment, his tall and muscular frame seemed to belong to a stranger. Where was the silent boy, and the gangly and awkward youth? They had vanished, and in their place was this man, whose eyes were unreadable.

Sanada slipped the strap that held the sheath over his bare shoulders, so that the knife dangled against his side. "Let's go."

Most of the rooms were empty, except for piles of broken-down furniture. The same furniture in every room—small tables, and chairs. The windows were gaping holes in the solid walls. Yukimura wondered what the place had been, all those years ago. He found it eerie.

"Let's go back," Sanada said, after they had been searching for a long time, and the sun was reaching its peak in the sky.

Yukimura looked up from where he had paused to lean against a wall.

"Oh," he said, breathing out sharply. "All right."

They walked back together, following the white stones Sanada had used to mark their trail. A stifling silence hung over them, thick and heavy. Each time that Yukimura felt that Sanada was about to speak, he would glance over and their eyes would meet. Something in Sanada's eyes made Yukimura profoundly uncomfortable. It was almost like pity, but more stern. The sight of it made his stomach clench and his skin tingle.

At last, Sanada's lips parted. Yukimura took a deep breath.

"Do you ever feel like we are the last people in the world?"

"What?" Yukimura said. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but Sanada's comment took him by surprise. "We aren't the last people. We can't be."

Sanada leaned towards him, and Yukimura backed towards the wall until Sanada had him pinned. Yukimura's heart began to pound. He didn't understand why. It was only Sanada, and yet he was trembling.

"What would you do if we were?" Sanada said hoarsely.

"I don't understand," Yukimura said. Did Sanada share his doubts, his confusion? It didn't sound like he did, but his words were so strange.

"What if there are no other cities out there, or if they are so far away we can never reach them? Would that be a world you were willing to live in? Because--"

Yukimura could feel Sanada's breath against his cheek.

Sanada stepped backwards. He and Yukimura stared at each other, speechless.

"Yukimura! Sanada! Are you back there?" Akaya's voice echoed down the hall. "Come see what we've found!"

Both of them turned away, thankful for the interruption.

Not too far from the main building, Akaya and Jackal had discovered an enormous rectangle of concrete, almost a hundred feet long and about half that wide. It was partially covered in grass that had sprouted through its numerous cracks, but a patter of painted white lines was still visible.

"What is it?" Niou asked, scuffing it with a bare foot.

"Perhaps the pattern of the lines stands for something," Yagyuu suggested.

Niou rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Ow!" Yagyuu had kicked him in the shin.

Yukimura stared at it. It was such a simple thing, and yet they had no idea what it was. Just another sign of a life that no longer existed. He glanced over at Renji.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked.

Renji pursed his lips. "It looks familiar. Let me think." He closed his eyes for a moment.

Akaya was also gazing at the thing as if transfixed. His eyes flashed.

"What is it?" he asked. "What is it?"

Renji took a deep breath.

"Tennis. A sport, a game," he elaborated, seeing their blank faces. "I've never seen it played, but I saw it explained in a book once." He sighed, obviously realizing that books and sports were as far from their understanding as tennis, and squatting down in the dirt, using the sharp edge of a stone to draw.

" This cement thing is the court. There should be a net hung in the middle. You hit a ball back and forth. If the other person misses, you win."

"Why?" Sanada asked.

Renji shrugged. "It's a game. For fun."

"Do you hit the ball with your hands?" Yagyuu asked, tilting his head to one side in thought.

Renji took his stone and sketched a circular shape with a long handle.

"You use these things, racquets, to hit it," he said.

"But where are we going to get those?" Akaya mused, sticking out his lower lip. "And a ball? And we'll need a net-thing, like you said."

"We can make them," Jackal said. He was grinning. "Bunta can make us some grass ropes for the net, and I'm sure Renji can figure out the rack—whatever they're called."

"We'll need some good, sturdy wood for it," Renji said. "And lots of gut. And hide, to make the ball. "His smile appeared much more genuinely pleased than usual.

Yukimura looked from glowing face to glowing face with increasing irritation.

"Wait," he said. "You're planning to use this thing?"

"Yeah!" Akaya said. "It'll be fun. Right?"

Yagyuu, Niou, and Jackal nodded in agreement. Renji said nothing, but Yukimura could see the excitement in his eyes, and no wonder. For ten years, he had borne countless memories of a time that he knew was gone forever. Yukimura could not imagine how painful that must be. Now, he had the opportunity to make something from his memories real.

"There's too much work to be done," Yukimura said. His voice sounded thin and harsh to his own ears. "Food, supplies to be gathered before the summer is over. We can't afford to take the time for this…game." He turned to Sanada, expecting to find agreement in those stern eyes. But Sanada's gaze was, once again, inscrutable.

"I don't see any harm in it," Sanada said coolly. "We'll make sure everything gets done."

Yukimura stepped away from them.

"Do what you like," he said. "I'm just trying to make sure you don't starve."

Preparations for tennis seemed to fill the air, invisible and persistent as a swarm of mosquitoes. Yukimura saw the animals Niou set aside for their hide and gut, and the wood Jackal and Renji were fashioning into racquets. But no one so much as mentioned "tennis" to Yukimura, and all these things seemed to vanish whenever he came near them.

Very early one morning, after yet another sleepless night, Yukimura left the building where they slept for a walk outside. It was a slightly foolhardy thing to do, but the valley had proven itself to be safe enough.

And he didn't really care if something happened to him.

When he reached the tennis court, he found that Renji was there, carefully pulling the grass and weeds from the cracks in the concrete. One of the younger boys might have flinched at Yukimura's approach, or refused to meet his eyes. He was grateful that Renji showed no such signs of shame.

"Is it so important to you, to make this happen?" Yukimura asked. He stepped onto the court, the warm, dry surface feeling pleasant against his feet still soaked with dew.

Renji straightened, and tossed aside the weed he was holding.

"I suppose it is," he said.

"It's not going to bring back the city that burned ten years ago."

Renji blinked at him.

"That's not why I'm doing this, Yukimura."

"Why, then?" he asked, his throat closing painfully.

"Can't you see how happy it is making them?"

"It's a distraction," Yukimura said. "That's not happiness."

"Then what would be happiness? Being a child again? Finding another city?"

"I don't know." Yukimura almost laughed. "I can't remember. But hitting a ball with a stick is not going to change anything."

Renji put an arm over his shoulder, but Yukimura stiffened and pulled away.

"Don't pity me. I can't bear it."

"I don't," Renji said. "You've kept us alive for this long, after all. And I understand how you feel about the tennis, even if the boys only see it as you grudging them a bit of fun."

Yukimura squatted near the edge of the court and picked up the stone Renji had once used to draw pictures in the dirt.

"You tried to teach me and Sanada to read and write once, but it didn't stick. We had no books, and there was no need for it."

Renji smiled. "You said that there were no books in your future, and so there would be no need to learn. But I think perhaps you just hated the lessons."

"Well, it was easy for you, with your eye-gift," Yukimura said. "My brain wasn't about to hold all those funny symbols." He grew serious again. "Will you show me how to write my name?"

"Of course," Renji said. "Which part? Yukimura or Seiichi?"

"Both," Yukimura said. He stretched out his hand to offer Renji the rock, but Renji placed his own hand over it instead. His skin was warm to the touch.

"Like this," Renji said, as he guided Yukimura's hand through the smooth strokes. "And like this."

Yukimura stared at his the marks engraved deep into the earth. A name—his parents, people he had never known, had given it to him. But without Renji, he would never have kept it. In all his life, Renji had been the one constant. Brother, guardian, advisor, friend. Always there, always watching.

"You won't forget?" he said, clasping the older boy's hand.

"I don't forget anything, Seiichi." The name was a reminder, a gift.

Yukimura pressed his hand against Renji's heart.

"I mean here."

"You know you are precious to all of us," Renji said. "You needn't fear that I will abandon you. If anything, you will leave me behind."

"I—," Yukimura began to protest.

"You will. In some way or another."

Yukimura reached out and pulled Renji close, sharing his warmth in the early morning chill.

"It's ready!" Akaya cheered, dancing around the room one afternoon with a ball of leather and hide in his hands. "Everything is ready!"

With only a furtive look in Yukimura's direction, the boys sprang up and raced outside. The court had been cleared of weeds, and Bunta had twisted a grass-rope net for them. And Renji had finished making racquets the day before.

"Are you coming?" Sanada asked, as he rose to his feet.

"I'll watch," Yukimura said. "They've been looking forward to this for weeks." In truth, he was afraid that if he ignored them, he would only be further alienated from his band. He couldn't continue to radiate displeasure when they mentioned tennis—it seemed to have some hold over them greater than his own. And he did not want there to be a day when they refused to listen to his directions in some dangerous situation, and came to harm, all because he had allowed tennis to tear them away from him.

It was amusing to watch them, at first. Their swings with the wooden racquets were wild, and far wide of the ball. But gradually, they discovered how best to hold the racquets, and their control improved. Before long, they were hitting the ball back and forth with some dexterity.

Even Bunta managed to join in. He seemed to be able to use his keen hearing, and to some degree, his eye-gift, in order to predict where the ball would go. He wasn't as adept as the other boys, but he did well. And his smile was so wide, without even a hint of self-mockery.

Yukimura was not surprised to see that Sanada was by far the most skilled. He seemed to hold the racquet naturally, as if he had held one every day of his life. And his muscular body allowed him to move more quickly and strike the ball more powerfully than the younger boys.

Akaya, with his enthusiasm and enhanced vision, was the next best, and the two of them were soon engaged in a duel, neither willing to concede the victory. Sweat streamed down their faces and bare chests, and gleamed under the hot afternoon sun.

Yukimura was surprised at how serious they were. It was only a game. Akaya's intensity, he supposed, might be expected—he was only eleven, after all, and it was natural for him to be swept away by his excitement. But Sanada's fierce expression was a little bit frightening. A competition with a child couldn't mean so much to him. What was he really thinking? The memory of their first day in the valley when they had explored the building together rose to Yukimura's mind. Sanada had been so strange, and yet the image of his face at that moment had never been far from his thoughts.

Suddenly, Sanada made an especially powerful return, sending Akaya's racquet flying from his hand, and the ball spinning far beyond the court.

"Are you all right?" Renji called to Akaya, who stood there, unmoving.

He did not answer. Yukimura saw that he was trembling.

Yukimura took a step towards him, onto the court. Akaya wheeled around to face him. His eyes were a brighter red than Yukimura had ever seen them. He snarled wordlessly, and lunged forward.

Instinctively, Yukimura shoved him away, but in a moment he was back again, growling, his teeth bared. By that time Sanada, Renji, and Niou had arrived by their side. Together, they wrestled the struggling boy to the ground.

"Akaya!" Yukimura said, shaking him by the shoulders. "What's wrong? Akaya!" But Akaya seemed entirely out of his senses.

Sanada struck across the face. His head slumped back, his eyes glassy, but still unnaturally bright. After a moment, his eyes closed, and his breathing became normal.

"I'll carry him inside," Niou said, hoisting him over his shoulders.

"What just happened?" Yukimura asked, his heat still pounding. "Is he insane?"

Renji sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Hopefully he'll be back to normal when he wakes. It might be his eye-gift. There's been no sign of a side-effect so far, but I always wondered if there might be one."

"That he goes berserk?" Sanada asked. He was still panting slightly from the exertions of the game, but his expression had grown grim.

"It's entirely possible."

Yukimura frowned.

"We'll have to hope it doesn't happen again."

He had known that no good would come from tennis. Now, even Akaya's lucky eyes had failed him.

The day was overcast, and so stiflingly hot that none of the band could bear to think about tennis, or anything other than lying indoors on the floor and trying not to overheat. The weather added to the kind of quiet despair Yukimura had felt ever since the day Akaya had gone mad. That had been several weeks ago, and it had only happened once more, again while Akaya was playing tennis. Yukimura had refused to let him so much as touch a racquet after that, the result of which had been that Akaya had stopped speaking to him.

He was so tired, and the heat only added to his weariness.

"It's going to rain today," Bunta murmured. "A lot."

"Hey, I don't need an eye-gift to tell that much," Niou said. "If you could see the damn clouds out there, you'd know it was going to rain."

"Well, I can't," Bunta snapped.

"Oh, be quiet," Yagyuu said. "All the hot air you two are producing isn't doing anything for the temperature in here."

"Is it safe here?" Sanada asked. He lay on his back, with his head extending through the doorway so he could watch the clouds gathering over the mountain. "We're very close to the river. It may flood."

"It might," Renji said. "There are caves in the hills on the other side of the valley. Perhaps we should head for those in order to wait out the storm." Both of them turned to Yukimura.

"What?" he said, shaking his head to rouse himself from his thoughts. "Oh. Yes, we might want to move. I've been thinking that maybe we should move on from here, anyway…"

"Move on?" Jackal said. "I thought we were going to stay here!"

Yukimura stared at him.

"Stay here? No one's said anything about that," he said.

"We have," Niou said. "It's a good place. It's not dangerous. There's food. And the tennis court," he added. "And this big building. It's like our own city. We like it here."

"Don't be ridiculous," Yukimura snapped.

A clap of thunder echoed through the valley, as if to punctuate his words.

"Let's go," Yukimura said. "Gather up our things. We don't want to be caught in a flood."

"No."

Akaya had risen to his feet. He looked Yukimura straight in the eye.

"We're staying here. You just want to boss us around. You're used to doing what you want, not what we want. Well, we're tired of walking and walking, and looking for stupid cities! Who cares about that?"

Renji raised a hand to calm him, but Yukimura shook his head. He understood.

As he looked around at their determined faces, he felt more puzzled than disturbed. They really wanted to stay here. And for some reason, they did not need him any longer. He knew how to keep them safe, how to keep them alive, but that wasn't enough now for these strangers, who had been his family for ten years. The only thing that bound him to the world

He stepped by Sanada, who had watched the entire exchange without betraying any emotion, and out into the heat of the day. A few raindrops brushed against his cheeks, the tears he didn't feel the need to shed.

On his way towards the hills at the other end of the valley, he passed the tennis court, and the spot where he and Renji had engraved his name into the dirt. He almost stopped to rub it out, but decided to let it stand. The rain would probably wash it out before long. Such was the nature of memory.

Renji had promised not to forget him, though, and that was a promise he could trust.

As he walked, the rain began to fall harder. He wondered if he should take shelter. He had always thought that he might one day walk away from his band and die, but he had not expected it to be in the rain.

He started to climb the hill. Footsteps behind him.

"Yukimura."

It was Sanada.

"What are you doing here?" Yukimura asked. It had been less than an hour since he had left the building, but he felt as if he was looking at a ghost.

"The caves are close to here," Sanada said. "I'll show you." He took Yukimura by the wrist. Yukimura almost resisted, but allowed himself to be led to shelter. It wasn't a very large cave, but both of them fit into it comfortably.

They ducked inside, out of the downpour. Already, the unbearable heat was gone, and they were shivering and soaking wet.

Sanada shook his head vigorously, sending water flying in all directions. Then, he sat down, and leaned against the back wall of the cave.

"Are you determined to leave?" he asked at last.

Yukimura said nothing. The sight of Sanada did not make him want to leave.

"I thought this might be my last chance to see you," Sanada continued. "But I can't imagine not seeing you, not really. Even though I expected it would come to this."

"You expected me to leave?" Yukimura said.

"Since the beginning of the summer, it has seemed like you were already dead. It hasn't been easy for us. Why are you so unhappy?"

"Unhappy?" Yukimura felt mad laughter bubbling in his throat. "I'm not in the least bit unhappy. I don't know what happiness is anymore. A day in which we stay alive, so that we can try to stay alive tomorrow? Or is it tennis? Why should tennis bring happiness? Renji has never been able to tell me what it means to be happy!"

Sanada's face was hidden in shadow.

"A moment you have wished for. A moment that you wish to last forever." He leaned forward, so that their faces were almost touching. Then, ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to meet Yukimura's.

Yukimura was too stunned to move, and yet a part of him had been expecting this, perhaps for years.

"I didn't realize you desired me," he said. "Maybe I should have. It isn't as if there are very many of us, and–"

Sanada's hand grasped his shoulder. Something in the intensity of the firm grip made Yukimura's skin tingle.

"It's not about desire." Sanada's voice was harsh. "Or desperation. Even if the city had never fallen, even if we were never alone in the world, I would want to hold you." He pulled Yukimura forward into his arms. "We don't need gifts, or curses, or fate. There is still happiness."

"Fine," Yukimura said, his breathing already coming quickly. "You are Sanada Genichirou. I am Yukimura Seiichi." He pressed a kiss against the side of Sanada's mouth. "We'll choose this."

Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed over the valley, but they hardly heard it over their pounding hearts. Torrents of rain shielded the cave from the world, and it was as if they were truly the last people on earth.

The sun was shining.

"Told you so!" Akaya shouted, sticking his head into the cave. "Found them."

Yukimura rolled over and opened his eyes. Next to him, Sanada was still fast asleep. Yukimura gave him a nudge with his foot, and he groaned.

"You tracked us down?" Yukimura asked, putting a hand to his aching back—he was sore all over.

"It only flooded a little," Akaya said, looking as pleased as if he had personally held off the water. "Are you going to come back?"

"I don't know," Yukimura said.

"I told him you might not," Renji said, appearing behind Akaya's shoulder. Yukimura ducked out of the cave, and lifted a hand to brush Renji's cheek.

"You came to find me," he said, half-amused. "Even though you didn't think I would come back."

"There's knowing something here," Renji said, touching his forehead. "And here." He pointed to his heart. "I hoped you would come back. You look better," he added.

Yukimura laughed.

"Do I?"

They walked back in silence. Akaya raced ahead to join the other boys back at the building.

The rain had washed away his name from the ground, but he didn't mind. All things ended—cities and lives of men.

But death was only another kind of change. Nothing stayed the same forever. Even if they were the last people in the world, they still changed.

He had until the end of the summer to decide whether to remain in the valley. Before then, there were still so many things to do, and so many games to play.

Sanada's eyes met his. The look in them had softened, and it didn't frighten him any longer, or seem so strange. There was gentleness in them, or maybe it had been there all along.

Sanada leaned over to place his mouth next to Yukimura's ear.

"Do you want to go play tennis?" he asked.