Tezuka, Ryoma, and the Advent of Facebook, a prince of tennis fanfic

Summary: The internet facilitates Tezuka's social and emotional growth

Notes: There are some discontinuities in the ATP calendar/ probably cannon. Set post-series.

Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with PoT, Peter Bodo, Kei Nishikori, Maria Sharapova, Andre Agassi, and the batches of all ATP players or the ATP.

Tezuka, Ryoma, and the Advent of Facebook

When Tezuka Kunimitsu wakes up in the morning, he receives an email from Facebook alerting him that Fuji has added him as a friend.

Tezuka spends too much time with Fuji as it is, like he needs more encouragement for Fuji to make snide jokes about his gay lavender shirts or dedicate his 5 page essays about James Buchanan wearing gay lavender shirts and being in love with his young senator or hear a million comments about pedastery. He's lucky to only have one class with him as it is, like he wants to extend their relationship to "social networking."

Tezuka joins Facebook anyway. It's the only way to see old Seigaku pictures without having to ask. Plus, everyone and their mother are on it. No really, he's seen his mom and dad playing Mob Wars.

Of course, three minutes later before he has a chance to set his security settings, he finds that somehow he is friends with Fuji through some sort of hax.

Instantly, Atobe friends him. Tezuka is only mildly surprised when he sees his religious views are not listed as "The Holy Trinity of Ore-sama, Ore-sama, and Ore-sama, but decides he can't stomach anymore and clicks Oshitari's profile as an excuse to view another page when he sees Atobe's activities are listed as basking in his own greatness described in 100 different ways. Some of them are good, a credit to Atobe's copyeditor, but he really doesn't need to read more.

Atobe's request is followed by one from Shudo Satoshi, whoever that is. Facebook is disturbingly extensive, Tezuka thinks before setting his profile as private. And addictive, he thinks as he clicks the profile of someone he's never met before. It continues like that, once he reads one profile, he reads another. With each progressive profile he views, he tells himself that it will take less time to do his history reading for class discussion tomorrow.

Without thinking, Tezuka lists his favorite quote as, "mada mada dane." That's all he has to say about facebook as it is, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop browsing.

The rest of his profile is sparse, due to what little information he deems to be public domain, but he still lists his interests and activities as tennis. Anything could get back to him in any form, so he wants to make his online presence as non-descript as possible. Still, he adds Seigaku as a network with a fair bit of pride.

Fuji sends him an IM:

CallowCacti: ^_^

REchizen: Che

Three minutes later, Tezuka receives an email alerting him that Ryoma Echizen (Brandenton, Florida) has added him as a friend. He tries to make himself wait three minutes before friending him back, just in case Ryoma knows he's online. He doesn't want to seem desperate. He also wants to be punctual, so he friends him as soon as 3 minutes has elapsed. After all, as the professor of the class he TAs for says, "Time theft is still theft." He wills himself not to think about whose time he's wasting.

Ryoma's at Bolleteri Tennis Academy now. Nick Bolleteri's Academy is what taught Agassi return as fluidly as he does and Maria Sharapova bash the ball like an aeroplane. Ryoma is going to learn something wonderful under those brilliant sunsets. He's going to learn the difference between an amateur and a pro.

When Tezuka conjures up Brandenton, Florida in his mind, he thinks of beautiful boys and beautiful beaches. He coughs to prevent his throat from tightening when he thinks of all of those tall beautiful boys without glasses he saw when he was invited for a promotional visit. If he accepted the invite at 12 and met Ryoma there 6 years later, would Ryoma look at him the same way he looked at those boys? Maybe Bolleteri made all of those tall and beautiful boys without glasses tall and beautiful, too.

But maybe not, because Ryoma's always been beautiful. And he certainly didn't need some overpriced tennis academy to be beautiful.

In Ryoma's profile picture, there's another boy: Nishikori Kei--the boy who would be a prodigy if not for Ryoma. He's better and younger than anyone Japan has ever seen except for Ryoma, but Ryoma's such an unprecedented outlier in the graph of Japanese tennis, that he wouldn't be able to wrap his head around Ryoma's success if he didn't actually see the progression for himself.

Tezuka knows that even though Ryoma lost to Nishikori in Doha, he has a counter for every aspect of Nishikori's developing game and most likely always will, but that doesn't help Tezuka from noticing the clear rivalry shared between the two. Tezuka wonders if they call each other by their first names because they both live in America. If being transient beings makes them closer. Or if Ryoma ever looks up to him like someone he needs to beat.

Kei has a strong, fluid game, but Tezuka thinks he could smash him into dust, even though Nishikori beat Blake when Tezuka couldn't, even if it was a friendly match. Even if there's no such thing as a friendly match for Tezuka. Tezuka just knows he can beat Nishikori, he knows that there's more to tennis than match-ups. And when it comes to intangibles, Tezuka has him beat.

Ryoma smiles gamely at Nishikori. Not that familiar smirk everyone is familiar with, but something else. In the curvature of Ryoma's lips and locked eyes he can see competitive companionship. Maybe that's what's so different about Ryoma; Seigaku has taught him to become socially able. Tezuka doesn't know whether to be proud or feel like he's been left to the dust. All he knows is that he can and will smash Nishikori someday.

Ryoma's profile is as he knows him. No words, personal information, just his address, and an infinite wall of posts. What a familiar dynamic--thousands of people seeking to get close to Ryoma and Echizen offering nothing in return.

He notes that Ryoma puts his first name before his last. Part of being American he supposes, but he always liked having the softness of Ryoma's first name in comparison to his last as a secret to himself.

Tezuka brushes his teeth and washes his face for bed and morning as though he'd actually gone to bed, and not spent hours cycling through the same 147 (5 are private) pictures on Ryoma's profile. He changes into his pajamas too, as though someone like Inui or Fuji was watching him and would be able to tell by the state of his laundry that he's been up all night. When his alarm clock (he set it sometime around cycle five) tells him it's time for lecture, he gets up dutifully, understanding for the first time how students allow their personal lives interfere with coursework so easily. He may be just too tired to care that he's going to be virtually silent in discussion lecture for the second time in a week.

In his haste to prepare for class in an hour, he forgets to delete his internet history. He thinks about it all through class, thinks about how he's going to return to that reminder, like cigarettes in an ashtray, when he gets back and passes out from lack of sleep. You can't win everything, he tells himself.

His email tells him that Ryoma sent him a wall post. He drums his fingers on his mouse in an effort to repel his palpitations--Ryoma's always had a way of getting to him just by turning his eyes on him with certain looks or a few sparse words. The post alone is innocent. He can imagine Ryoma saying it, "coming to join me soon, buchou," in his spacy, breathy voice.

On his wall, the words are laden with innuendo and implication. He doesn't respond. He can't. He repeats the question every day in next week. It isn't until Ryoma posts, "i will just assume you're joining me in the next tournament then," that he realizes it's something he can't ignore. Ryoma isn't going to let him ignore it. More importantly, he's always prided himself as a man who met every challenge. He's ignored things which he felt were beneath him, but Ryoma isn't beneath him by any means.

For a moment, before he gathers, then regathers himself, he suspends reality and ponders the logistics of that (im)possibility. His next tournament is the Rome Masters on the reddest of red clay. Tezuka dreams: He would beat Federer in the first round as a wild card and use his ability to know more about his opponents than they do him to make the final and Ryoma would beat Nadal. Ryoma would win in 5 blistering, marathon sets and would fall to his knees in joy, leaving imprints of red clay on his stark white tennis outfit and just as pale, but living knees. Later, Tezuka's sheets would have red clay residue, too. Later, he would forget the match ever happened and be spent in all sense of the word.

He still doesn't answer, turns his head from the monitor and keyboard so he can't see what he's typing, and asks Ryoma when he's coming home. Ryoma responds fast as ever and his monitor tells him the Japan Open is where he will see him next. He doesn't dream this time. He imagines.

Within hours, Tezuka's RSS feeds tell him that Echizen Ryoma, Australian Open finalist 2008 and 2007 US Open Winner, has requested a wild card into the Japan Open. Analysts criticize the move calling it detrimental to his attempts to catch Nadal at number one and journalists he's managed to piss off accuse Ryoma of being bought off with appearance wants to agree with them (except he would never doubt Ryoma's integrity) and reprimand Ryoma like it still matters, but instead sends him a picture of their old tennis court and a time. He can't wait.

Ryoma tags two tennis balls in a bathtub as Tezuka Kumimitsu and Ryoma Echizen with the comment, "because you needed more pictures tagged of you."

Tezuka comments back, "Stop facebook stalking me, Echizen." After all, Ryoma has no way of knowing his indiscretions, right? Ryoma replies, "you first." And Tezuka tries not to flush too much before reminding himself that Ryoma can't see him.

Ryoma Echizen has poked Tezuka Kunimitsu.