Disclaimer: I don't own these characters! I'm making no money off whatever I'm writing here.

Author's Notes: First BeyBlade fic here, give it a chance, it's kinda of an experiment. I haven't see VForce or G Revolution yet, so it's a bit AU. The pairing is Tyson/Kai. It is Kai's POV right now.

Impossible

I remember when I first knew I loved Tyson.

It was years ago in Moscow, Russia at the world tournament. The ice that Tala's beyblade had created was gone, and there was Tyson, victorious, his Dragoon blade still spinning. His eyes lit up, and it finally hit me that he had won. He had done the impossible and become the world champion.

It was in that moment that I knew what it was I felt. That feeling, the very second my heart realized what it was that had been plaguing me ever since that fateful rescue on the ice, Tyson had looked over at us from the beystadium and I was helpless. I smiled, and just as the ice had melted, something inside of me did as well. He had done it. Ninety-nine percent of the stats went against him, and he pulled through with that last percent every time.

Before Tyson, I did not believe that anything was impossible. All I had known back then was that with my Dranzer blade, I was invincible, and the outcome of any and all bey battles would eventually have me as the winner. That was, until he beat me. As much as I didn't want to admit it, him defeating my Dranzer, a mere rookie, had struck a chord within me. After that, he managed to worm his way into my mind and break my focus at least once a day with his annoying comments.

It drove me insane how he constantly invaded my thoughts. It eventually got so bad; I sometimes could not see anything but him. The way he was so loud, obnoxious and lax in his training got on every single one of my nerves. He had a certain way of pushing my buttons that no one else could duplicate. With Tyson, he either brought out the best in you, or he brought out the worst in you. I always thought he was going out of his way to make me angry by acting the fool. I didn't understand why he bothered to treat me as though I were a friend. Or why he time and again preached about us being teammates. I didn't need those sorts of commitments to a bunch of wannabe bladers.

It wasn't until much later that I realized that he cared.

It took a while, of course, but Tyson- he's got a charm about him that you can't help but wonder about. I was attracted, and even though I was technically team captain, it was Tyson that shone bright like a shooting star and pulled everyone else along for the ride; a ride that I was very reluctant to take. If I had known back then how much I had missed out on, how many lost moments there were, I would have shoved away my pride and shaken Tyson's hand when he first offered it to me.

As it was, it was a long time before I realized that I cared about him, too.

But that is all in the past. Presently, years later, I am the owner of my grandfather's company, Biovolt, only now the aim is to protect the sacred spirits instead of steal their power for malicious purposes. Not nearly as large and fearsome as before, Biovolt is no longer a billion dollar corporation, but it does take quite an effort to maintain. My days are filled with work, and I find myself training less and less. The weight of my shooter in my hand is no longer a familiar feeling, and the rush of my beyblade along the surface of the beystadium is but a memory…

Was this where I saw myself ten years ago? I doubt it, but no one sees themselves as they will truly be in the future. But whatever future I saw for myself, he was always going to be there, at my side, even when I didn't want him to be, because that's how Tyson was… And when I remember that, whatever I have made for myself now feels inadequate without him. Those days when I stand up to give a presentation to some business associates, I half-expect to hear Tyson wish me a hearty good luck. One time, I actually thought I heard him say it…

Even so many years later, he haunts me, and my feelings refuse to change or weaken in the least. To be honest, it scares me. If I cannot get rid of these feelings for Tyson, I fear they will stay with me for the rest of my life. I won't ever be able to be with someone else, not ever. I can't imagine what it would feel like to be bound to another, though I sometimes wish that were the case. But, I think that, if we could pick and choose who we give our hearts to, like clothing in the morning, the world would surely be a much darker place.

I know even for all of Tyson's kindness he would not be able to accept this love. How could he if I can barely accept it myself? I always tell myself it is impossible; he could never return these feelings. But you know how I feel about impossibility, and Tyson has proved on more than one occasion that he is capable of anything- but is he capable of loving me?

Sitting alone while attending a conference with other protection agencies, a woman hesitantly asks to sit down. Bored, I allow myself to engage in her small talk, and notice as she moves closer to me the longer we speak. She tells me how she has followed my work and I flirt back somewhat, like I always do with a woman who recognizes me.

But even as I look at her now, I'm not looking at the person she is, but how she compares to Tyson. Her hair is light, not dark, and her eyes are green instead of a murky blue.

The young woman hands me a paper with a phone number and address on it. But all the women I could be with will never in a thousand years measure up to him- the one I cannot.

"That's the hotel I'm staying at, and my number." She smiles nervously at me. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Kai."

"The pleasure was all mine." I reply smoothly, and she walked off, her long hair flowing behind her. Watching her go, I realize that I can't remember her name, or even what we had been talking about. When I am sure she is gone, and out of eyeshot, I carefully crumple the paper and toss it into a garbage bin.

At home, the mail is delivered to my study by one of my house aids. Usually all of the letters contain bills and the like, but this time, a stiff envelope is shifted to the top of the pile, and I stare at the return sender's name for a long while.

Max Tate.

After no contact for so long, why now of all times? Why would Max suddenly decide to contact me? Wasting no more time, the thin paper is torn open easily, and I pull a piece of lined paper and a thick piece of bluish card out. Flipping the coloured card around, I read the curvy embossed script once, twice and a few more times after that to understand.

The impossible message read:

You are cordially invited to the marriage of Tyson Granger and Naomi Walker.

The card slipped from my suddenly trembling fingers. So that was why…

****

To be continued?