Title: Three Accidental Meetings
Author: Luce Red
Disclaimer: Characters and situations are the property of Konomi, Jump and Shueisha.
Notes: General fic. Ryouma and Sanada meet. NOT romantic.

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The first time he saw Echizen Ryouma face to face, the boy had looked up at him with clear, challenging eyes—and fainted on him. He’d held the thinner, shorter body for a prolonged pause, feeling the muscles in his arms and legs trembling, and hearing the sound of his shallow breaths before he pushed the boy into Renji’s grasp, telling himself he had to take care of the disruption caused by Akaya first.

The 6-4 score only fazed him a little. It was not sufficient to remove his anger, nor did it stop him from dealing with Jackel and Akaya both. It was, however, enough of a sting in his pride that he volunteered to take the boy home—or rather, he asserted that he would do so, and no one argued with him. Renji provided the address. The boy’s father had appraised him with a curious, challenging that reminded Sanada of Ryouma’s own gaze at him, but had said nothing. Sanada found himself intrigued that the boy’s father did not seemed to mind that his own son had been brought back home in an exhausted, unconscious heap. The only comment he had made was a “huh” at the bruised knee, which he palpated with skilful hands, and the pain made Ryouma whimper. Sanada made no excuses; he left as soon as he could.

The first match they ever played was at the Prefecture finals. Between anger at his defeat and despair at disappointing Yukimura, he had decided that Ryouma was a rare genius, good enough to play Yukimura if he were well, before putting the boy out of his mind.

********

It was his fate, clearly, to have the boy faint on him whenever they met by accident, Sanada decided.

“Ryouma-kun!”

The loud shriek hurt his ears and made him look up in time to spot a girl in a Seigaku uniform approaching, who was now staring at the limp body in his arms.

“What happened?” she asked, anxiety overcoming any any shyness she might have felt at approaching a total stranger.

Sanada took the opportunity to drag the boy—he was not about to carry him—to a nearby bench—before feeling the boy’s forehead. It was only a show, though, he could already tell, when he gripped the boy’s body, what the problem was. “He’s burning up with a fever,” he said. “He should be resting at home.” In the past, Sanada would have dismissed something as trivial as a fever, but Yukimura’s illness had taught him that even superhuman constitutions were, well, human.

“It’s my fault,” the girl said, her face tearing with misery. “I shouldn’t have asked him to stay and teach me tennis… he was caught in the rain yesterday...”

“Did he come with anyone else?” Sanada interrupted her words roughly.

The girl looked even more miserable, shaking her head. “We… some of us arranged to come here to play, but Ryouma-kun was late, he didn’t come until Kachiro-kun and the others had left. He looked tired, and I was going to buy him his favourite drink…”

Sanada noticed for the first time the canned drink in her hand. “I’ll just have to see him back home, then,” he decided.

The girl’s eyes widened. “You… how do you know where Ryouma-kun lives?” she asked, before she flushed red and bowed. “Sorry!”

“I’ve played tennis with him before,” Sanada said. “I’m Sanada Genichirou, vice-captain of Rikkai’s tennis club.”

“Oh!” the girl said, flushing red, then bowed again. “I'm sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Ryuuzaki Sakuno. I’m in the same year as Ryouma-kun.”

“Excuse me, I think I’ll make a move first.” Bored with making conversation, he lifted the boy easily, and left.

He was treated to another long appraisal from the boy’s father, and was forced to endure several minutes of effusive thanks from the boy’s mother. Ryouma woke up as he was deposited on a non-too-neat bed, but his bleary gaze didn’t seem to take in anything of his surroundings, and if he tugged at Sanada’s clothes, it was because—his mother explained with an embarrassed laugh—Ryouma had confused him with part of his bed. This time he had to endure being subtlely quizzed on his name, his age, his family, his school, and his connection with Ryouma by a woman who still looked too young to have borne a tennis monster son like Echizen Ryouma, and who, Renji had once remarked, was one of the leading attorneys in Tokyo. He extricated himself as soon as he could.

********

This was becoming a habit, Sanada thought.

The armful of Echizen Ryoma was not as compact as it had once been; the seventeen-year-old, now a rising star of the professional tennis circuit, was still considered small for his age, but he was, after all, no longer 151 cm (according to Renji, again). He was also somewhat heavier.

“My god. Is he all right?” his opponent said, appearing from the other side of the court.

Sanada looked at him, a cynical curl on his lips. He didn’t know what made Ryouma play street tennis on this trip back to Japan—after defeating the world no. 1 in an upset match the week before—but he had seen the way the man had aimed his shot. Having Akaya for a team mate helped in these things. He didn’t know what made him approach—certainly he wouldn’t be able to shout a warning in time—but it did mean that he’d just saved the world no. 11 from an ignominious slump onto the dusty court.

“He’s all right,” Sanada heard himself say, feeling Ryouma shifting in his arms. The boy always had a hard head; it would probably take more than a tennis ball to the head to knock him cold. “Do you mind if he takes a break for ten minutes?” Feeling the twitch of Ryouma’s head, he amended, “Five minutes.”

The man's lips split in a grin that looked almost nasty, but Sanada had seen far worse, and no doubt, so had Ryouma. “No problem,” he said. “Take as long as you need, kid,” he smirked.

Sanada sat Ryouma down on a nearby bench, and went to get a canned drink. He came back to see Ryouma gingerly probing the bump on his head with a wince. “Here,” he said, “put this on the swelling.”

Ryouma looked up, and said, “Sanada,” in recognition before he took the can. “It’s my favourite,” he said, blinking at the can of Ponta. “How did you know-“

Dismissing all thoughts about a girl in a Seigaku uniform gripping a similar can in her hands, he shrugged. “Lucky guess,” he cut off Ryouma’s question. “Are you all right to continue playing?” he asked.

Flinching at the coldness as he pressed the can to his head, Ryouma nodded, a challenge filling his eyes as he watched his opponent. “Mada mada dane,” he suddenly said to the man, and Sanada had to suppress an unexpected urge to smile. His opponent suddenly frowned.

Five minutes passed, and Sanada watched as Ryouma removed the can from the side of his head, popped the tab, and drained it in a long gulp. He picked up his racquet and stood up, before staring at his opponent. “Let me teach you to play tennis, Kosuke-san,” he said, before he shifted the racquet, with a playful toss, to his left hand.

Sanada felt strangely gratified by the startled look on Kosuke’s face at that. He sat, and watched the game continue.

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Luce (redacanthus@yahoo.com)