Title: Life Must Go On.... Part 4
Fandom: Prince of Tennis: Fudomine Chuugaku
Characters: Tachibana Kippei, Kamio Akira
Prompt: 087 - Life
Word Count: 651
Date finished: 07/17/2008
Rating: G
Summary: Life begins to pick up, at least a little.
Author's Notes: Not much to say here.... Parts one (004), two (038), three.
Disclaimer: Characters are owned by Konomi Takeshi, and whoever did the anime. At any rate, it's not me.

"You are allowed a life outside of work, you know," Kippei told him one morning as they cooled down together.

Akira shrugged, reaching just a little further, and sighed as the tension in this shoulder eased. "I'm happy." He hated lying. From the look on Kippei's face, the older man didn't believe him, either. But he didn't press.

In truth, while he wasn't exactly happy, Akira did feel better. He'd cut off all contact with his parents, and only spoke occasionally to his older sister. She seemed to understand, for whatever reason, and never brought them up when they spoke.

His conversations with Shinji (yes, conversations, not monologs) flowed freer, too, as if something or someone had convinced his best friend that this trip - job - would do him good.

Others, however, were not so ready to leave it alone. "Is it true?" one of the other support personnel for the team asked, joining him in warm ups.

Akira glanced at him, trying to place him and failing. Maybe he did need to get out more. "Is what true?"

"Tachibana hired you to fill his bed."

Akira didn't pause - and somewhat to his surprise, didn't even get angry. "It won't matter what answer I give you," he said flatly. "You've already decided. Play me a game - one set match - and see if I can't change your mind."

The man hesitated a moment, then nodded.

Akira finished his warm ups, and got to his feet. "You serve," he said, put a couple of balls in his pocket, and took his place at the baseline.

Through the first game, Akira wondered that the man this guy - he had to find out his name - worked for had done so well on the team this winter season. Because seriously, if this was all the better he could play… well, unless the player wanted this.

Yeah, he needed to get out more.

Whatever. He wasn't going to hold back. His turn to serve came up, and he smashed the ball across the net. Hm. Maybe the conversation had angered him some.

The man across the net frowned, and then he shifted his stance. Akira smiled. His opponent would take him seriously, now. His next serve flew faster, but the other man caught it, barely. He still didn't believe he'd lose. Akira's smile stretched wider. He'd have to teach the other man to take him seriously. He felt comfortable with that. He'd done it his whole life.

The next games flew. Akira could feel himself stretching - okay, he could understand why the guy had been hired, now - something in him opening, that he hadn't felt in so, so long. Far too long.

And then the match ended, and he stood there, wanting so much to keep playing, to be in that place where nothing mattered but the ball, the racquets, the ebb and flow - and rhythm, how he'd missed that - of the game.

"So you can play," his opponent said, and Akira blinked as he brought himself back to now.

"Yes," he answered woodenly. "So can you."

The man hesitated. "Care to play again tomorrow?"

Akira forced his eyes to focus. "Yes," he said, feeling more… normal. "I'd enjoy that."

He had to ask Kippei the man's name. And who he worked for.

Kippei relayed the information with a smile Akira didn't try to interpret.

That daily match led to others, and he improved so that he could push Kippei to grow more, to become better. And slowly, the fog he'd lived in for the past… year and a half, since An and Daiki had died, began to lift.

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