Prince of Tennis, Mizuki/Yuuta, ten years later
Face to face with someone he'd only seen on the television or in the pages of tennis magazines for the past few years, Mizuki Hajime found himself at a loss for words. "I suppose you don't even remember me," he said, and then cursed himself for the inanity of it.
But a grin split across Yuuta's face anyway. "Mizuki-san! Is it really you?" he asked, and didn't wait for confirmation before shaking Hajime's hand anyway. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same thing." Hajime glanced over Yuuta's shoulder at the club's dance floor, pointed. "Aren't you meant to be training for the Open?"
Yuuta's grin didn't even waver. "We're taking the night off. Some of the guys have never been to Tokyo before, so I said I'd show them around."
Hajime surveyed the club, which was dark and smoky and crammed full of Tokyo's youngest and brightest. "And you're showing them all the most cultured things, of course."
Yuuta laughed. "Nothing but the best." He grinned again. "You here with anyone?"
"No," Hajime admitted, after a startled moment.
"Great!" Yuuta caught his hand again. "You can catch me up on how you've been."
"But--your, ah, friends--?" Hajime protested, even as Yuuta pulled him away from the dance floor, over to one of the tables where it was marginally quieter.
Yuuta shrugged. "They're all dancing. They'll be fine." He sprawled into a chair, all lean limbs and grace, and grinned at him, mischief in his eyes. "Think they're planning on getting themselves laid tonight, anyway. I don't think I'll see 'em again until they drag themselves in tomorrow morning."
Hajime supposed he could sympathize with that. "If you're sure I'm not intruding..." Yuuta gestured at a chair, insistent, so he sat. "I knew you were in Tokyo, but I didn't think for a second I'd actually run into you." He moved his chair closer to Yuuta's, so they wouldn't have to shout at each other to be heard over the music.
"Yeah, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I turned around and saw you standing there." Yuuta leaned closer. "So, how've you been? I haven't heard from you in forever."
Hajime's fault, that; he'd become slower and slower to answer Yuuta's emails after he had left, as it became increasingly difficult to find things to say to him that weren't commonplaces, things that couldn't possibly be interesting for Yuuta to hear. "I've been well," he said, and shrugged. "It's mostly the usual."
"Yeah?" Yuuta's smile didn't waver. "So tell me about it."
Hajime did, telling Yuuta about his job (financial management, responsible for juggling investments, and if it wasn't as immediately gratifying or unpredictable as managing a tennis player who always found a way to surpass his expectations, it was satisfying in its own way). He kept a careful eye on Yuuta, wary of boring him, but Yuuta listened like every word thrilled him. Maybe they even did; maybe he hadn't needed to be leery of emailing Yuuta with everyday things after all.
Still. There was no point in babbling, and he stopped himself. "What about you?"
Yuuta shrugged. "Tennis, tennis, and more tennis," he grinned. "I tell you, it's a rough life."
"I can see how much you're suffering," Hajime told him; it made Yuuta laugh. "I always knew you'd go far."
Yuuta's expression shifted from its good-natured grin to something surprised, and almost shy, before he ducked his head to hide it. "Wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for you," he said, gruff, soft enough that Hajime had to lean close to hear it.
"Don't be stupid," Hajime told him, "of course you would have." Someone as bright and driven as Yuuta couldn't do anything else. "I knew that from the first time we met."
"Mizuki-san..." Yuuta looked up again, and his smile was something softer, more open than Hajime had expected; it caught him somewhere under his ribs and lodged there, glowing warm. "Thanks."
"It was my honor," Hajime said, suddenly deeply conscious of how close they were sitting, and of the clearness of Yuuta's eyes, and of the weight of the things that had gone unsaid and undone when they'd been too young to know how. "I should--"