Dedicated to Sakuno's birthday (which is not here yet, I know, but I don't think I'll have time to post then. Darn school!).
--
There is a park near Ryoma's house where he frequents, sometimes to catnap under a particularly shady tree, sometimes to hit a few balls against a training wall there. What really attracts him there, however, is the pond at the very centre of the park. The reason is mysterious to him as well. It can be he's fascinated by the rambling green moss under the clear glimmering water, extending into an intricate mosaic pattern only nature is capable of. Or perhaps he just likes the soothing way the ripples broaden and disappear. Whatever the reason is, he finds himself always staring into the sparkling filmy waters, lost in another world.
This day, he is strolling towards the pond as usual, when he sees a girl with ridiculously long russet braids leaning over the pond. He stops, questioning. The girl stands up and runs off, not before Ryoma catches a brief glimpse of large chocolate eyes shining brightly in the afternoon sun. He recalls her as his coach, Ryuzaki-sensei's granddaughter.
Ryoma continues his walk towards the pond, expecting to see the translucent waters and the undisturbed surface as normal. Instead, a new existence is added to the peaceful ecosystem – a paper boat floating merrily on the waters. Ryoma raises an eyebrow, and reads the word written on the boat.
I want to get better at tennis.
A smile tugs the corners of Ryoma's lips. He extracts a pencil from his schoolbag and fishes the boat out of the water, adding the words 'Make sure your form is good, and you'll get better. Practise hard.' to the boat.
He straightens up and promenades away with hands in pockets. The shadow casted by the brim of the baseball cap does not hide the grin on his face.
*
*
*
The next day, Ryoma goes to the pond again. There is that similar boat drifting merrily on the pond, leaving a wake of ripples in its trail. Hazel irises widen when he notes a fresh set of writing on the boat. Quickly, he tows the boat out again.
Thanks for the advice. I'll try my best to improve my form!
Ryoma resists the urge to smirk at that. Then, he perceives some more words written at the side of the boat.
Anou... You sound really good in tennis, and I have a question to ask you if you don't mind. There's a boy in my school who always says my hair is too long to play tennis well. So I was just wondering if hair length really influences my tennis playing.
Thank you very much for your help!
Ryoma almost collapses at the query. This time, he doesn't smother the amusement bubbling in his chest. Once again he takes out the pencil – which he wonders why he brought in the first place – and scribbles some words onto the paper boat.
No. Hair, as long as tied up well, has no effect whatsoever in playing tennis. The jerk is just pulling your leg.
He sends the boat into the waters again, gazing after it longer than usual, before he stands up and ambles away, musing on what the bizarre fluttering in his stomach means.
*
*
*
The third day, Ryoma does not bother resisting the urge to carry a pencil along anymore, twirling it between his fingers as he settles down beside the pond. He extends a hand and effortlessly hauls the paper boat out. There is a novel series of now-familiar handwriting again.
I'm really grateful for all your help, really, but please don't call my friend a jerk! He may come across cold, rude even, at first, but I know he's really nice in heart. He really cares for those around him in his quiet, unique way.
So please don't think of him as a jerk! Thank you very much.
An alien warmth abruptly emerges in his chest, blossoming into something that curls his lips upwards uncontrollably. He reads the words over and over again, until the ebbing threads of sunrays remind him that he needs to get home soon. He rapidly squeezes some words into the remaining clear space on the boat before promenading off.
Whatever. It doesn't matter.
The cat-like smirk on his countenance disagrees.
*
*
*
Ryoma never expects that he will double back to the pond again. But he does, when a sudden cold drip of water splashes on his arm.
He looks up into the sky, and sees the ominous dark clouds gathering overhead. More raindrops splatters on his skin, and he succumbs to his first impulse – to rescue the paper boat.
Using the amazing footwork he acquires in tennis, he lopes towards the pond, heaving a sigh of relief when it comes into view. His keen golden eyes make out the gradually-soaking paper boat still hovering over the waterline, and he immediately leaps into action. He spans one arm towards the centre of the pond where the boat stubbornly stays, and when it is not enough, kneels down and stretches with all his might to reach the boat, oblivious to the smudges of mud sprayed onto his clothes and the heavier splatters of rain on his body. Eventually he does, and he yanks it out, hastily wiping the drenched crumpled mess on whatever dry part on his clothes he has left.
"Ryoma-kun?"
Ryoma prides himself for rarely being caught unawares, and even rarer being surprised, but this time, he is most definitely both. He brusquely turns around to see Ryuzaki Sakuno staring at him, perceiving the way her mahogany eyes travel from his face to the blob of paper in his hands. They enlarge moments later.
"You were the one who was writing to me?" she gasps out. Gradually, crimson patches appear on her cheeks.
The third aberration occurs. Ryoma finds himself speechless.
Finally, the wetness of his garments – and the clingy quality Sakuno's clothes tend to develop after they are saturated – gets to him, and he rolls his eyes, grabbing her wrist and half-dragging her towards the nearest shelter, which comes in the form of a shady tree.
"Mada mada dane, Ryuzaki," Ryoma says.
She does not persist further with her question. The pair of silken lips approaching hers are answers enough.
Ponds are the best, after all.
--
I know paper boats are unlikely to last that long on water too, but humour me. XD
It is certified. I canNOT write drabbles. T_T