THE BOTH OF US

Chibisuke.

Ryoma was still seething as he finished up his breakfast. Did Ryoga think he had permission to go around calling him nicknames like they were close or something? They'd barely known each other for more than a day, and already, this "Chibisuke" name had popped up. Ryoma wondered how much he would get teased as they got to know each other more.

Outside, he could see the tall buildings and sky scrapers that reached for the clouds. The sun shone out from a clear sky.

It would be a good day for tennis.

.

The tennis courts near his apartment weren't all that nice, but they were the only ones he'd found. The fence had been trashed. Random cans and litter lined the edges of the court. The net had a hole in it. But it still had that familiar taste of balls and racquet. Ryoma found a corner and started practicing.

Ever since his parents had died, it had been him and tennis against the world.

He felt so alone (and lost and broken) that he could do the only thing he knew how to: play tennis, again and again, over and over until he hit exhaustion. When he heard people talking about their parents, complaining about how their mom had made them clean their room, he felt pent up anger that he fought not to release.

When they saw him looking, they would hush down with pity.

In a way, it was nice being in Los Angelos. Being away from people who knew about what had happened. It made it easier to forget.

"You're here?"

Ryoma felt his grip tighten. Why the hell was he here?

Ryoga strolled over to him, dressed in tennis clothes. He was eating an orange and holding a racquet. "Geez, I swear, you're following me." He sounded annoyed, the edges of his tone sharp with malice. Even though the guy looked all friendly, he seemed to get pissed off really easily. Ryoma continued to ignore him.

"Can you go?" Ryoga asked.

Ryoma's breath was ragged as he played. "What do you mean?"

"I want to play alone."

"Well," Ryoma whirled around, halting with the ball in his hand. "I was here first."

"Yeah, I know, but you're staying with me so…"

"So you can just order me around?" Ryoma snapped. "Che, you're an idiot if you think I'll do what you say."

He didn't know why they were getting in each other's faces. Ryoga looked like he was in a bad mood, and Ryoma was frustrated with everything that was happening in his life: his parents, being away from his friends, stuck with a guy who didn't give a crap about what he said. Maybe this was all a very bad idea.

Ryoga sighed, and tossed his ball up and down. "Wanna play a match then?"

Ryoma blinked. "What?"

"A match." Ryoga shrugged. He smirked, lip curling. "If you're up for the challenge, Chibi-suke."

Ryoma recoiled. "Don't call me that."

"Why not, Chibisuke?"

"Stop."

"Chibisuke, Chibisuke, CHIBISUKE!"

Ryoma lifted his fist to throw a punch, but Ryoga caught his wrist deftly. His smirk grew wider. "Don't be so hasty," he said. "I was told you were a calm little one, but apparently that isn't the case."

Struggling against Ryoga's iron grip, Ryoma's mind went into overdrive. He didn't understand why Ryoga was making fun of him all of a sudden. Did he react in a funny way, so it encouraged him? Was this his way of trying to get closer? Ryoma yanked his hand back like it burned. He didn't need Ryoga to wade his way into his life.

They were already living together. Joking was on a whole other level. One Ryoma wasn't prepared for yet.

Ryoga's brow furrowed. "So you don't want to play?"

"No," Ryoma said. "Go away."

He heard footsteps fade behind him, and wondered if Ryoga had left. He didn't dare look back until five minutes later. Ryoga was still there, sitting in the corner with his legs pulled to his chest, starting on another orange. He was watching Ryoma, head tilted with a thoughtful expression on his face. Ryoma's body flooded with anger.

Ugh.

He wished he would go away.

"Why are you watching me?" he yelled over the sound of the swishing tennis racquet.

Ryoga grinned. "You're not bad."

"You suck," Ryoma said back, with his own, shaky smirk.

Ryoga arched his brow, and jumped to his feet. "Now, now, don't come to such rash conclusions, Chibisuke. You've never even seen me play."

"I'm better," Ryoma said. He didn't say, I love tennis more than you do.

Ryoga shuffled up to him, quietly, sucking on the last of his orange. Ryoma wondered if he had an addiction. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he asked. Ryoma felt a familiar dread peak in his stomach. The last time Ryoga had said that, he'd asked about his parents, and nearly made Ryoma cry.

This time…would he?

"You already did," Ryoma snubbed.

Ryoga chuckled, shaking his head. "So lame,"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Ryoga laughed again, before his eyes got serious. "It's just…dad taught you tennis, right? He taught me a bit when I was there. Are you…" he fiddled with his racquet, staring up at the bright blue of the sky. "What did he teach you? Are you stronger than him?" The questions came softly but quickly.

Ryoma's throat grew dry. He could already feel tears growing in his eyes. "I can't tell you." He licked his lips.

"Please?" Ryoga said. "I want to know. He was my father too."

"No!" Ryoma heart jumped in his chest. "No, he wasn't. He was mine. And he's dead. Fuck off."

Ryoga eased a step back. "I just want to – "

"I said fuck off." Ryoma's voice held tremor. He felt his mind battle against crying and pride. He didn't understand why Ryoga was so adamant about talking about this when Ryoma had clearly conveyed he didn't want to. And it wasn't just that he didn't want to – he couldn't, without falling into a muddled mess of tears.

"I don't have to do anything." Ryoga spun the tennis ball on his finger. "I don't know if you recall, but you're living with me. You're under my rules."

Ryoma sneered. "Yesterday you said you're not my guardian, and that I can do whatever I want, remember?"

Ryoga's eyes were hard and narrow. He let the racquet fall onto the ground with a soft clatter. "I didn't ask you anything big. I'm just curious. I haven't seen dad and mom for years, and now they're dead, and the least you can do is at least tell me something – " shut up, shut up, shut up. Pulling himself together, Ryoma shoved Ryoga hard.

Ryoga stumbled backwards. The ball fell from his grip and bounced off to the corner. His eyes slanted.

"I don't know if you understand that I'm older than you, Chibisuke,"

"Older, and a manwhore," Ryoma said. "When I wasn't here, I bet you fucked every girl in Los Angelo-"

Ryoga bared his teeth, and before Ryoma could blink, his head hit the pavement with a thud. His mind throbbed in agony. Ryoga's body felt like brick and iron on top of him, one of Ryoga's hands holding down Ryoma's right shoulder. Pain vibrated through his back. He glared, harshly, at his older brother. Was this it? His so-called brother was going to beat him up now?

Great. Just great. For the millionth time, why couldn't he just be back in Japan, living with Nanjiroh and Rinko, playing tennis with his senpai-tachi? Tears burned under his lashes. It took all of his strength to hold them back.

Ryoga's fingers dug painfully into the fabric of his shirt. His breathing was heavy. "It's not about you. Just because your – our – parents died, doesn't mean that you can just come in and act like you own the place. I don't even want you here, you know that? How do you think I feel when a twelve-year old kid barges into my life, huh?"

He paused, teeth set. "My life was running fine and smooth before you came along."

Ryoma's lip quivered. "My life was running fine and smooth too." He felt his shoulders shake. "Before my parents died and I was forced to live under your custody. And stop saying they're your parents. You weren't there. You left."

"I…shit." Ryoga ran his fingers through his hair, roughly. "You're being so annoying. I just asked a question, alright?"

"A stupid one," Ryoma snapped. Ryoga's grip loosened, and Ryoma wriggled from the ground and onto his feet.

Ryoga stared at the sun, which was floating to hide behind a cloud. "I hate kids."

"I hate you."

He earned a sharp glower. "Maybe I should just kick you out. You know, let you get a taste of how it feels to live on the street."

Ryoma snorted, but panic clouded his mind. Would Ryoga really kick him out? Then where would he go? Some kind of adoption centre? No way in hell. But…well, he could always stay with one of his senpai. But then he'd need to go back to Japan. Did he have the money for that? Ryoga wouldn't actually…kick him out, right? He wasn't allowed to do that. Surely, he wasn't allowed.

Ryoga jammed his hands in his pocket, slinging his fallen tennis racquet over his shoulder. "I was joking, sheesh." He looked back, and made a face of distaste. "Can't believe I've got to let such a Chibisuke tag along with me. Yuck."

The words were said jokingly, the tone easing fluidly. Ryoma watched Ryoga's back, and felt his legs move. It didn't matter. Ryoga's words still hadn't left his mind.

"I don't even want you here, you know that? How do you think I feel when a twelve-year old kid barges into my life, huh?"

"How do you think I feel?" Ryoma said bitterly.

Ryoga looked over his shoulder. "What was that?"

Ryoma looked at him, and felt Ryoga's acidic gaze pierce through his flesh. He knew, despite how friendly Ryoga acted at times, giving him nicknames and teasing him, that in the end, all he wanted was to be left alone. He didn't want Ryoma here. He didn't want a kid ruffling up his perfect little life. Ryoma gritted his teeth, and picked up his tennis bag.

Well – so what? He didn't want Ryoga either, right?

.

The penthouse was quiet. Ryoma leaned up against the balcony, watching the sea of people milling underneath him. The breeze on his cheeks was fresh, and he felt Karupin cuddle up between his ankles, pushing his furriness into his bare legs. Ryoga was inside, humming to himself as he ordered pizza on his laptop.

Ryoma had never felt so lonely. The sun was going down beyond the buildings. Crimson and orange melted into the sky.

Maybe he could… – his mind scrambled for options – run away?

No. That would be stupid. He didn't have money, he was twelve, and running around Los Angelos on his own was pretty much a suicidal statement itself. His mind felt thick with the heavy weight of lingering death. It was like his mind could never be freed from the images of his parents; their cold eyes in their graves, the paleness of their skin.

Even when he was talking, the weight still stayed. It just settled deeper in the back. Only tennis let him relax.

Ryoma gave out a frustrated growl in his chest. Maybe he needed therapy. Or maybe he needed to go seem some shrink. Or jump off this balcony.

He stared at the long stories below him. It certainely looking appealing. Hm. Suicide. Maybe…

"Here!" the balcony door whipped open, and a Ponta can was thrown at his head.

Or, maybe he simply needed a Ponta.

"You've been standing out there for an hour." Ryoga strolled in. "I ordered pizza. With pineapple."

Ryoma made a face, and uncapped the Ponta.

Ryoga shrugged. "Suck it up."

"I will suck it," Ryoma said, taking a sip from the Ponta to prove his point. Then, he realized how lame of a pun that was, and bit his lip. Ryoga just raised his brow, and chuckled under his breath, like he couldn't believe he was stuck with a loser like Ryoma. Whatever, Ryoma closed his eyes. His head hurt.

"You know, you shouldn't go around on your own," Ryoga said. "That tennis club is kind of dingy. Some guy'll probably beat you up."

"You nearly did," Ryoma said.

"Don't be a baby." Ryoga rolled his eyes. "I only pushed you." He paused, his eyes flickering. "So, don't go around by yourself, alright? It's not some friendly city. It's Los Angelos for god's sake."

"So?" Ryoma's eyes landed on him. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." Ryoga didn't blink. "But you're my responsibility. Can't let you get killed out on your own."

They just stared at each other. Ryoma turned around, his back ramrod. He went back to watching the shimmering pool below, and the seagulls swooping the great stretch of sky. It was a beautiful city. He reached his hand out, and felt the wind slip through the cracks of his fingers. Closing his eyes, he let wisps of his bangs tickle his forehead.

When he opened them, Ryoga was grinning.

"You're so…" he pressed his fist into his palm. "Weird."

Ryoma scoffed. Karupin purred in his defense. "Shut up."

Ryoga's eyes twinkled with a certain shade of light. "You've got a pretty awesome cat." He bent his knees, reaching his hand out. "He kind of looks like you – "

Ryoma stood in front of Karupin, effectively blocking Ryoga's hand. "Don't touch him."

Ryoga pulled his hand back. "Geez, what are you, some overprotective mother?"

Ryoma went silent. He scooped Karupin into his arms, holding the Himalayan close to his chest. He's the only thing I have left. You're not going to take him away too. Nobody's going to take him away from me. He could feel the slivers of pain slinking up his back, and curled into the warmth of his cat.

"I'm going inside," he said.

Ryoga stared at him. "No, no, wait…" Ryoma ignored him, and slipped in to the warmth of the couch. He would spend the day watching some tennis matches. Behind him, he heard Ryoga shaking his head, and muttering in a dazed tone, "What the hell just happened? I didn't even do anything this time!"

.

Pizza was a silent affair.

Ryoma munched quietly on a stupid slice of pineapple, while Ryoga nearly swallowed the box whole in his hunger. Ryoma glanced around the kitchen again, drinking in the sight, hoping to notice something interesting. He saw a picture of Ryoga with his arms around a girl on the fridge. She was pretty. But then there was another picture, of Ryoga with another girl. She was pretty too. The last one was of him with a couple of guys. He stared at them, and thought about Momo's headlocks, and Kikumaru's painful hugs.

He stopped chewing and put his pizza down.

Ryoga paused mid-chowing. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Ryoma said, to himself. He finished up his slice, and dug out his phone. Then, he holed himself back out the balcony for privacy. After a few rings, he felt the phone pick up, and a groggy voice filled the other end.

"Nyaaa? Who is this? Mr. Bear and I are trying to sleep…"

Ryoma's stiff shoulders relaxed. "Kikumaru-senpai?"

He heard another long yawn. "Ochibi? Is that you, Ochibi?" Another yawn. He could practically see Kikumaru's sleepy smile, stuffed bear hugged to his chest. "I've been missing you Ochibi," he sang tiredly. "How's Los Angelos? And your brother?"

Ryoma rested his elbows on the railing. He stared out into the distance. "Fine." He secretly hoped Kikumaru could tell it wasn't.

He couldn't.

"Hoi…that's great…" Kikumaru yawned again. "Sorry, you caught me in my sleep."

"I just…" Ryoma's throat felt dry. "It's different."

"Have you been playing tennis?" Some enthusiasm peppered into Kikumaru's tired tone. "You have to go the top for us, okay? Oishi and I will be cheering!"

"Heh…of course." Ryoma tried to sound arrogant and natural, like he always did, but instead, he sounded frail and exhausted. Kikumaru must have finally sensed something wrong with the conversation, and an awkward pause exchanged through the call. After a moment, the older cleared his throat.

"Are you okay?"

Ryoma choked up at the words. "No."

More silence. Then, Kikumaru spoke in a voice softer than Ryoma had ever heard him: "Want me and Mister Bear to come over there and give you a big hug?" When Ryoma didn't say anything, he continued, "But Mr. Bear gets airsick, so I guess we can't come after all. But cell phone hugs are available." His voice was anxious. "Want one?"

"Kikumaru-senpai." Ryoma sighed. "Really?"

"What?" Kikumaru defended. "I give them to Oishi."

Ryoma smirked. "Oh?"

"What's with the tone?" Kikumaru seemed relieved to see Ryoma's attitude become lighter.

"I don't know. Kikumaru-senpai, isn't a stuffed bear a little childish?"

"What? Are you kidding me? Mister Bear and I are together for eternity!"

Ryoma snickered. "Whatever you say, senpai."

A brief silence. Then: "I would choke you to death if I could get to you, Ochibi."

Heh. "Too bad."

Kikumaru started to reply, but Ryoma heard a sudden muffled shouting the background. He heard Kikumaru whine, "But it's Ochibiiiiii," before there was some more yelling, and the door slamming shut. Finally, Kikumaru returned back on the phone, huffy, "I have to go sleep now. Some stupid test tomorrow. Bye bye, Ochibi?"

Ryoma's heart sank. Already? If felt so nice talking to his friend.

He shrugged to himself. "Yeah. Bye."

"I miss you with everything," Kikumaru sang. A moment later, the line hung up. Ryoma held the phone in his hand, feeling strangely awful about everything. He had this sudden urge to curl up and cry and travel back to Japan. Pushing past it, he slipped back into the room. Ryoga was washing the dishes in the sink.

"I'm going to sleep." Ryoma's voice cracked. "On the couch."

Ryoga nodded, glancing at him. His eyes softened. "Hey…" he sounded uncomfortable. "You…okay?"

What the fuck? Now he cared?

Ryoma glared, and moodily flopped onto the couch.

"Yeah." His voice felt empty even to himself. He rolled over and hugged Karupin, closing his eyes. The couch was cold. "Yeah. I'm fine."