Hello! I'm new to Prince of Tennis fanfics, so please can you review? Comments on the characters would be good too :)

I love this pairing, and I know this possibly wasn't the best to start off with in oneshots. But ah well, I hope you enjoy! Please review too ;)

I do not own Prince of Tennis.

"Don't worry Syuusuke, I'll come back," he told me, a light smile upon his cat-like face. "I always come back."

I sat on the sofa, a book open in my lap, watching as his back disappeared through the door. His head appeared in the window, golden eyes glancing back, connecting with mine. He turned away though, his hair gliding behind him as he walked away.

11:47.

I looked down to the book on my legs, its pages clean and pristine. He had given this book to me, exactly a year ago today. It was the memories that mattered to me though, its story behind the pages. This book would never mean any less to me.

I waited outside the bookstore, tapping my feet against the pavement. People passed by me, walking around, into and out the shops. Sighing, I glanced through the glass window next to me, my gaze landing on my partner.

I smiled softly. A leather-bound book lay in the pale hands of his, his golden eyes soft as he flicked through the pages. Stood in front of a chestnut bookcase, his smaller figure stood out. He turned towards the bookcase, his back now facing me.

Sighing, I turned away from the window, leaning against the wall. I watched the people, the boring people; pass by, the sun slowly disappearing over the buildings. The sky had turned gray, clouds gathering above.

"It's going to rain." I muttered to myself, looking up. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, a light drizzle started to come down. I pushed myself away from the wall, heading into the store's entrance.

A woman's scream echoed throughout the city.

A man lay on the floor, blood pooling around his head. A phone lay abandoned on the floor next to him. Glassy, half-opened eyes stared up at the ceiling. Another man stood beside him, his head covered by a black hat and hood, a gun still levelled at the fallen man's head.

"Nobody move!" He shouted, glancing around the small store. A woman stood shaking to his left, his hands covering her mouth. Only four other people in the store remained, each trying to move away from the hooded man.

Suddenly the man moved behind the woman, cocking his gun against the side of her head. "Everyone to the floor!" He shouted again. "NOW!"

"Let her go." Someone said. Dread filled in my gut, I knew that voice. 'That idiot!'

"Make me!" the man said, aiming the gun far to right. I span on my foot, my eyes wide. But it was too late.

A shot fired. A body hit the ground seconds later.

"RYOMA!"

I blinked once. The telephone rang in the distance, it's clear tone breaking through my memories. I shook my head, my eyes flitting over the clock. Half past. I froze.

'Has it really been that long?'

The ringing returned, its music refusing to quieten. I pushed myself up from the sofa, my gaze landing on the offending object. Reaching to pick up the black phone, I answered it normally.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Ah hello," A male answered, "Is this Fuji Syuusuke?"

"Yes it is," I said, bringing the phone closer to my ear. "Is anything the matter?"

The man coughed suddenly. "I'm Officer Kimoto from the Police Station."

My body froze, my breath not leaving my mouth. 'Why, Lord, Why?! Why do you make me go through this again? Does he deserve it?'

"You idiot!" I scolded him, "You could have been killed!"

"Yes, but I wasn't." Ryoma said. The white walls of a hospital surrounded us, the younger boy present in the bed, me sitting in a very uncomfortable chair next to him. A bandage around his right shoulder peeked out from under his hospital gown.

My head fell into my hand. "I can't believe you."

A soft laugh came from the younger boy, before he winced. My head shot up. Ryoma held his shoulder, one eye closed.

"Do you want me to call the nurse?" I asked, standing up from my chair. Maybe I should stay standing…

"No, no. I'm fine!" He insisted, moving his hand away. "You worry so much."

"Well, how could I not?" I asked, moving closer to him. Our faces were so close. "It's my dear Ryoma-chan after all. I won't forgive anyone who hurts my property."

"S-Syuusuke! Distance!" The boy stuttered, his head sinking into the pillow. I chuckled, moving away slightly.

"I'll stop worrying once you stop making me worry." I told him, moving in and kissing his forehead.

He coughed, and I moved away. He picked up his bag which lay beside the bed, reaching in and pulling out a familiar leather-bound book. "Here," he said, placing the heavy book in my hands. "This is for you."

He smiled at me, suddenly leaning in and capturing my lips with his. "Happy Anniversary, Syuusuke."

"Sir please calm down," Kimoto said from the phone, his tone caring. "I believe you are the emergency contact for a male called Echizen Ryoma?"

I nodded. "Yes, I am. Something happened to him, didn't it?!"

"Sir, calm down," the Officer repeated. "He was involved in a car accident – the driver has been identified as under the influence of alcohol and has been taken into custody. He's currently in Tokyo Hospital but h-"

The phone fell from my grasp, colliding with the desk and swinging from the wire. I never heard the end of the Officer's speech; I was already out of the door, running towards the hospital – towards my love.

Twiddling string between his fingers, the boy glanced up to the light. Still on red. He sighed. His hands moved away from the string to his bag, clutching the strap tightly.

"What to get him, what to get him…," the boy muttered quietly to himself, the string forgotten. He shook his head. "Argh, I don't know!"

A ping of the lights interrupted the boy's muttering. He looked up, his hair moving out of his gold eyes. He smiled triumphantly, before stepping into the road.

A loud screech of tires made him turn to his left, his eyes widening as he saw the car sliding across the lanes and towards him. It was too close to him. He couldn't move.

"Syuusuke," He prayed under his breath. "I'm sorry!"

The book lay on the floor, its pages bent under the weight of its covers.

That day, he never came back.