Winter

Ryoma sat under the tree he sits under in tennis season. He waits. He waits for the tennis season to return, his life to be restored. To feel the tennis racket in his hand, the sunlight beaming down on his face, the happiness of victory.

Losing was not an option.

His birthday had come and gone, not a single person outside his direct family sending him a card or even a simple mumble of 'happy birthday'. His birthday was Christmas Eve and it seemed International holidays were more important than the day of Ryoma's birth.

Every year, Nanjirou would tell Ryoma the precise day when he first returned a shot on the courts. The memory was hazy, but Nanjirou spoke it like a well rehearsed speech.

I remember when you were just big enough to hold a racket...

Ryoma stood in front of the courts he held dear. No one was playing, the ground moist from the melting snow. He got out his racket and practiced his serve, sliding across the wet ground like an excited puppy on floorboards. But no one watched. No one cheered out his name like they had in the summer.

He threw the ball in the air just once more, twisting his body to hit a perfect shot. His entire body followed through as the shot returned backwards, the spin so strong Ryoma could play against himself.

One wrong step and Ryoma slipped, his racket hit the ground on the side and Ryoma's left arm came down on top of it, the weird angle snapping the bone clearly in half. He felt tears roll down his cheeks, but not from pain.

No, not pain. From the fact he couldn't play competitive tennis again for at least six weeks, if not longer because he would have to build his strength up again. Sure, his right arm could handle some matches, but others he would be desperate for his left hand again. He couldn't write, or eat properly for that matter, and would just struggle.

Worthless to everyone around him.

He continues his day like nothing happened, nursing his left arm on his lap and writing with his right, no matter how terrible his handwriting looked. His classmates didn't seem to notice. His teacher only scolded him for messy handwriting then left as if she didn't notice the tears welling up in Ryoma's eyes.

It was only when Ryoma was awkwardly carrying his books to his locker did anyone notice the obscure angle his arm pointed in, bone almost piercing through his skin. No one other than Sakuno would have noticed this tiny detail.

She scolded him gently then escorted him to the school nurse. It was clear it was broken. Sakuno just left Ryoma there without a word.

With a cast put on his arm, Ryoma felt even more worthless. He had a few months until tennis began again, but he couldn't wait that long.

For tennis was his life. Nothing else mattered.

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A.N: Really random. I can't get to sleep, so I wrote this. Yay! Anywho, please review. I hope you enjoyed it!