Chasing what is lost.

It was painful. It was excruciating and simply tormenting to watch someone so young and full of potential simply wither away. Just helplessly watch from the sidelines and beg God to make the process slower, to pray for the man to still be there the next day.

They could do nothing. Nothing at all. All that they could do was watch.

Ryoma was their idea of light, their silent little pillar that had helped them, encouraged them and simply was. He was their little rookie, their brat, their teammate, their Echizen Ryoma. He was a part of them, sill is, even now.

The first they find out about Ryoma's condition they simply couldn't believe it. For a young man, barely nineteen and a powerful player to be diagnosed with something so unthinkable – it was like the world stopped for a moment.

They didn't hear it from the boy himself, no. Ryoma was a strong one; he rarely spoke of his own problems and pain. He kept it all in and solved it on his own. He was like that by nature. But one day, one seemingly beautiful day, when Momo had knocked over the brat's bag a file had fallen out. They knew that Ryoma hadn't been his usual self for a while, but to think that that was the reason.

Alzheimer's. Incurable, unstoppable.

Something that they couldn't prevent or slow down, something that they couldn't overcome together, like always. Something that would slowly, painfully destroy their little rookie, their precious friend.

It was the first time that Ryoma had broken down in front of them. A weak, wounded human being, silently shedding tears that had been locked away for so long – that had been the first time that they had seen Ryoma like that. Their tough, unstoppable rookie, so sure of himself and so strong that he had earned the respect of many, now broken, wounded and desperate in front of them.

Only them.

And yet he still had hope; a weak ray of hope that the one thing he will remember the longest would be them – his friends and the indescribable joy of tennis. The freedom that came with the sport, the rush of adrenalin in his blood, the laughter and the disappointment of a loss and the incredible elation of a game well played with someone strong.

Ryoma still had hope and so should they.

In time, when the process of memory falling apart finally started, Ryoma dropped out of college, stopped going out and meeting people. He stopped creating new memories, in fear of losing the old ones even faster. His parents, his team and a handful of other people now were his connection to the world outside. He made journals, many of them. He wrote down all the precious memories, to the very last detail, every small thing that he could still recall.

Everything that he had seen, heard, done and lived through had been put on paper, sealed with words. His thoughts, his opinions, his memories, his true feelings about all those that he knew and cherished and hated and looked up to. His memories were now journals. Many, many journals.

He still played tennis though. His mind forgot, but his body remembered. In his own backyard he played games with his friends and teammates and father. But soon, so very painfully soon, his play became dull. No more special moves, no taunting smiles and confident remarks. He forgot his joy of tennis – he forgot his tennis.

He had disappeared. Their Ryoma was no more. What had been left behind was an empty shell. A human that was nothing more than a breathing doll, void of precious things and everything that makes him into a human. Dull eyes would look at them now, confusion deforming the face of a boy they used to know. But at times a look of recognition came across those lifeless eyes and Ryoma would softly call out their names like they were the most precious things to him.

It broke them.

But they came. They came every day. They talked to their little brat, told of things that they had seen and done. They would sometimes read Ryoma's journals, his most precious feeling and memories. It was heartbreaking, but they never stopped. Because Ryoma would have done this. If it were one of them in his place, the boy would have done this. Surely.

He was their little rookie, their brat, their teammate, their Echizen Ryoma. He was a part of them. Ryoma was their idea of light, their silent little pillar that had helped them, encouraged them and simply was. And he would continue to be, no matter what will happen, Ryoma would forever be one of them, a part of the team and a pillar that supports them.

A/N: Ueki gave me the idea, so.. blame her? Well, no. Don't blame her.

But I must say - form all the sad things that I have written so far, this has got to be one of the most heartbreaking. My hands were shaking while I wrote this. I don't even know what to say anymore. I did promise Uki to make a long a/n, but… Nothing comes to mind now.

Feel free to cry in the comments, I know I will.