( imagined you saw me ) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imaginedyou) wrote2006-11-14 06:55 pm
imaginedyou) wrote2006-11-14 06:55 pm
Entry tags:
- characters by team:fudomine,
- characters by team:hyotei,
- characters by team:rikkai,
- characters by team:seigaku,
- fandom:prince of tennis,
- pairing:atobe/fuji,
- pairing:fuji/sanada,
- pairing:fuji/tachibana,
- pairing:tezuka/fuji,
- prompt table,
- setting:first year,
- setting:germany,
- setting:second year,
- type:gen
Tezuka/Fuji Prompt Table
Prompt table, condensed from here. Sources cited in that post; just find the appropriate prompt under it's original number.
Prince Of Tennis; Tezuka/Fuji mostly, whether it's paired, gen, or mixed with others.
COMPLETED: 23/25
| 001. | Five shades of white. ( a. IVORY b. BONE c. GHOST d. CHALK e. SNOWY ) |
002. | Everything you ever wished for. | 003. | The effect of impact on stationary objects. | 004. | Your pretty blue eyes are just stained glass. | 005. | As long as you're mine. |
| 006. | A dark heart, beating. | 007. | Beneath these hands. | 008. | The heart of your gesture. | 009. | Hard, but much truer. | 010. | Eyes meeting over the noise. |
| 011. | The possibility of zero. | 012. | In praise of surfaces. | 013. | Tomorrow is something we remember. | 014. | these children-no-longer-children. | 015. | a fine line between genius and insanity. |
| 016. | many nameless virtues. | 017. | A lie told often enough becomes the truth. | 018. | who can not forgive himself. | 019. | I had to be the good one. | 020. | the language of the visionary and the idealist. |
| 021. | Writer's Choice #1: Under Glass | 022. | Writer's Choice #2: Crossroads | 023. | Writer's Choice #3: Hunger | 024. | Writer's Choice #4: Finding New Prey | 025. | Writer's Choice #5: Winners Take Chances |
Prince Of Tennis; Tezuka/Fuji mostly, whether it's paired, gen, or mixed with others.
COMPLETED: 23/25
no subject
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Under Glass
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Everyone is hunted in their own way at Seigaku. From Inui's Data Tennis, strewn with numbers and probablity, to the group of Freshmen who come to 'oooh' and 'ahhh' over every single match. Everybody analyses in their own way, but for some reason Fuji is not persecuted for it.
Inui's tactics could be seen as somewhat underhand, if you were trying to find flaws in his winning streaks. Picking out weakness and predictabilty is what any good player would do. Capitalize, and win. His own flaw, Fuji knows, is that he relies on numbers, and forgets the human element. All players have their finishing moves and styles they come to rely upon, but the kind of players Inui wishes to compete with are the kind who will easily learn to adjust, mimic, and seal other players counters within a heartbeat of a game. Echizen is one of them; Fuji likes to think of himself as another. Tezuka does not even need to think about playing that way; his style surpasses the Junoir High level, and you can't compete with that which is far beyond you. You can only try, and fail.
Echizen knows this; Fuji does too. It fires the will to learn.
Tezuka may understand the human element of tennis better than Fuji himself; a better player all round for his sheer love of the game. It's not his people skills that make his eye so good; it's his knowledge of how people's emotions and game-plays effect whether they win or lose. That is how Fuji and Tezuka differ on their analysing, though they will always come to the same conclusions. Fuji enjoys watching people, knowing them. The more you know, the easier it is to worm your way in and destroy them from the inside, out. Perhaps that is underhand, but when you do it with a smile on your face, no-one sees it that way.
No-one knows you better than yourself, supposedly. In Fuji's case this is mostly true.
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no subject
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Crossroads
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What he does, he does for the love of tennis, and the team, and their shared dream of reaching the Nationals, but just because your journey begins on one path, does not mean you won't end it on a different one.
Intentional or not, the mind strays, and Fuji; as usual, is the first, and perhaps only, to notice it. There comes a point where Tezuka knows what he's doing is just plain reckless, even for someone as deeply fanatical as he, but by then the pain has penetrated to the heart. Fuji can read it like a map; the adrenaline rushing through Tezuka's blood vessels making them stand out like the lines of the roads. He radiates madness, and his golden aura responds not just to intensity of the game, but to self-inflicted pain.
That's what this is, Fuji thinks to himself, and smiles a little more. Now that he has seen it in the flesh, in Tezuka's flesh, he cannot decide which type of pain he prefers to observe more: inflicted by him, or inflicted by one's self.
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no subject
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Hunger
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There is something bigger than tennis, and yet entirely nothing else but the game, holding the three of them together. Tezuka challenges, and Ryoma and Fuji respond. Fuji hopes never to add the word 'jealousy' to his vocabulary; it's unlike him. Instead he looks past the attentions Tezuka gives to Ryoma for the sake of improving the freshman's game, and sees darkness.
Tezuka drives people to be better; to become who they truly are inside, wrapped up in potential like it were cotton wool, sheltering them from the world outside. To try, after all, is to risk failure. Ryoma is not too familiar with failure. Neither is Tezuka; neither is Fuji. They have that much in common. Tezuka drives barely beatable players to become unstoppable ones, but not just for sheer love of the game. It is not done to share around his passionate affair with tennis and spread the lust of a win, which will eventually turn into the game that keeps your soul alive.
Tezuka is lucky that his passion comes with skill, and he knows it. Not that he hasn't worked to get where he is, but so much he has accomplished could not have been if it weren't for natural skill. So now he sets out a challenge; beat me at my own game.
He is waiting for his students to surpass their teacher. And when they do, he will savour every painful, humiliating moment of it; blood, sweat and tears.
When Fuji realised this, he realised also that he wished to be the first one to obtain it.
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no subject
a. IVORY
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ivory; noun
"ivories", Slang:
a. the keys of a piano or of a similar keyboard instrument.
b. dice.
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They never would have gotten to this point on a normal day; Ryuuzaki Sensei would have decided the players in the matches, perhaps with a little of Tezuka or Inui's input, and her word would have been final, until Seigaku had one of their usual upsets and unexpected happenings. But Sensei was unwell, and left to their own devices, Tezuka had unexpectedly produced a bottle of vodka and he and Fuji had begun to trade shots. Fuji had been amused at first by the alcohol, though it was easy to see this wasn't a habit so much as an attempt at spontaneity, and soon became hysterical after getting himself accidentally almost-drunk.
Luckily Tezuka was in much the same state. The decision of who was to be playing First Singles in the match wasn't intended to be decided by who could handle their first taste of drink better, and never would have worked if it was. But now that they were relaxed, their arguments as to why they should each be the one to do it would flow more freely.
Except Fuji was busy; he had noticed the piano in the corner of the room, which belonged to Tezuka's mother, and was trying to tap out a tune. Tezuka narrowed his eyes while he concentrated and tried to discern the music, if you could call it that. It sounded like... Chopsticks.
Fuji might have been an excellent tennis player, but he was no musician. Tezuka told him so.
"It sounds now like you're on my side," he replied amiably, "is that not a good reason it should be me to play?"
"Your sister reads tarot, doesn't she?" Tezuka asked, "let's leave it to the hands of fate."
He opened his fist to reveal two dice, which he let fall to the floor. They rolled backwards to him.
"Zero-Shiki," Fuji smiled, unphased, "but I thought these were dice."
"They are numbered." Tezuka pointed out.
"Is this really about fate, or skill?" Fuji asked carefully. Tezuka just looked at him.
"You decide."
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no subject
b. BONE
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bone; noun
5. "throw a bone", a small concession, intended to pacify or quiet; a conciliatory bribe or gift: The administration threw the student protesters a couple of bones, but refused to make any basic changes in the curriculum.
—Idioms 14. "feel in one's bones", to think or feel intuitively: She felt in her bones that it was going to be a momentous day.
16. "make no bones about", b. to have no fear of or objection to.
17. "to the bone", b. to an extreme degree; thoroughly: chilled to the bone.
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"Fujiko-chan," Eiji dashed towards Fuji, eyes wide and full of anticipation, "Inui said he believes you decided Tezuka is playing in Singles 1?"
"Yes, we did," Fuji nodded. "We all know Tezuka is the better player, after all."
It was a reasonably quiet exchange, but Tezuka could hear it if he ignored the murmurs of the freshman practicing and the other Regulars having their minor debates. I may not be the better player. He thought to himself. We both know that. Why don't you try?
"So... Why did you debate it in the first place?" Eiji asked suspiciously. "It's unlike you."
Fuji shrugged. "Tezuka offered me a chance, we discussed it. I'm fine with the outcome."
"Oh, of course!" Eiji grinned. "Tezuka can't lose! We all know that."
"Well then, there's no need to worry, is there Kikumaru?"
Eiji was left speechless for a moment, realising he would get no real answers from Fuji. And from Tezuka? It was impossible to even try.
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no subject
c. GHOST
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ghost, –noun
2. a mere shadow or semblance; a trace: He's a ghost of his former self.
3. a remote possibility: He hasn't a ghost of a chance.
7. "ghost image", a secondary image, esp. one appearing on a television screen as a white shadow, caused by poor or double reception. Photography; a faint secondary image in a photographic print resulting from reflections within the camera lens.
—Idiom22. "give up the ghost", to die; to cease to function or exist.
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"According to my data," Inui began, "this is an unbalanced match. I don't believe this player was the one they intended to play Singles 1 originally."
"What? Why?" Eiji asked.
"He's just... Nowhere near Tezuka's level."
"It's almost a insult." Fuji said softly. "He's shaking."
"Huh?" Everyone's eyes went quickly to the opponent, who was indeed shaking, if only slightly at the knees.
"He's not going to win!" Horio exclaimed, folding his arms across his chest. "I bet he doesn't even get one point."
"Hey now, it's not even begun yet," Oishi said reproachfully, frowning a little.
"You never know what to expect."
The comments from Seigaku's side were almost more concerned than their opponents. Inui looked around and began to feel suspicion growing inside.
"You sense something too?" Fuji asked quietly, but the ever-perceptive freshmen also heard.
"What, Inui-senpai?" They asked.
"I don't know," he replied. "But, something. Let's wait for the match to begin."
As the rest of the team looked to the court, Inui pulled out his notebook thoughtfully. Fuji's eyes narrowed.
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no subject
d. CHALK
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chalk, –noun
4. a score or tally.
8. to make pale; blanch: Terror chalked her face.
—Verb phrase
11. chalk up, a. to score or earn: They chalked up two runs in the first inning.
b. to charge or ascribe to: It was a poor performance, but may be chalked up to lack of practice.
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"0-1."
"0-2."
"0-3."
"0-4."
"Perhaps you were wrong, Inui," Oishi said carefully, "it seems to be going all Tezuka's way. And though his opponent has stopped shaking, there is no colour in his face."
"No, I still believe something is amiss." Inui replied. "The data speaks for itself, but data can change."
"Data can be skewed," Fuji said. Inui stared at him, and then at the player on the court.
"You're right." He said. "You have never allowed me to collect data on you. Perhaps that is what's wrong; we don't know this player's true form."
"Standing still and shaking!" Horio insisted. "It's the Captain's reputation: it has scared his opponent past being able to play."
"15-0!"
"...What?"
"Tezuka dropped a point?"
"On his own serve, too."
Fuji opened his eyes. "He was attempting to lure Tezuka into a false sense of security. And not just Tezuka, but everyone. Leading us all to believe he was a less-than-average player."
"That's so underhand!"
"Eh, it won't work," Echizen shrugged. Everyone looked at him, Fuji smiled.
"Tezuka will not be thrown off; he never underestimates anyone." He explained to the others. "If anything, he does the opposite. He draws out the hidden potential in us all. The direction of the wind has not changed."
"It wasn't even startled," Echizen agreed.
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no subject
e. SNOWY
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snowy
–adjective,
5. immaculate; unsullied.
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"15-15!"
"Tezuka is back!" Momo shouted excitedly.
"What else would you expect?" Inui replied.
"15-30!"
"15-40!"
"Game, Seigaku's Tezuka, 0-5."
"One more game and Tezuka will have won!" Eiji cried out.
"Even if his opponent could reach Deuce," Fuji began, "Tezuka would take the final points and the game. Funny that the score will show no points against him in the end."
"Yeah, especially after his opponent managed to get that one." Echizen pointed out. He and Fuji shared an ironic smile.
"Game and Match, Seigaku's Tezuka, 0-6."
The team and the supporters began to cheer, so loud that Tezuka could barely hear himself think. He approached the net and spoke firmly to his opponent.
"You should try harder sooner. Pretending you are what you are not will get you nowhere."
He got a surprised but accepting look in return, and the two shook hands. Tezuka made his way to the sidelines, every member of the team watching him as he approached Fuji.
"Next time," he began, "you can play Singles 1. I will play your Singles 2 match; it was far more challenging."
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no subject
Fuji, Atobe, Tezuka. Two egos, two masochists, two motives, only one possible result.
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It was late, and the first spray of light rain was beginning to spatter on the tennis courts. It was easy enough to ignore, but it added to Atobe's impatience. He was lucky Atobe really had come alone when asked; he didn't usually follow rules, he just made them. But if he didn't turn up soon, he would find no-one to meet him.
"Please, tell nobody about this," were the first words out of Fuji's mouth. Atobe could barely make out his approach; dressed in dark colours, and clothes that clung, head lowered against the rain. It seemed Fuji had not prepared himself properly for this meeting. It would be interesting.
"Just make sure there's nothing to tell." Atobe replied, crossing his arms across his chest and giving Fuji a firm, hard stare.
"This is going to sound strange, but you need to win your match against Tezuka. I need you to win it."
Atobe laughed aloud. "I don't need your approval; I'm going to win anyway, when it comes to it."
"You don't completely understand." Fuji insisted, wrapping his arms around himself. The wind was whipping at his hair as though it were trying to tell him to get the hell out of there and forget whatever it was he had in his mind.
"Make me understand, then."
"Tezuka thinks his elbow is healed now, and I believe him," Fuji began.
"But?"
"But after so long compensating for it, I wonder if it's possible he's done damage to himself elsewhere. I notice things, pains... I see it in a twitch of his eye, or the flinch of a finger. You have an insight into these things; a terrible gift." Fuji looked up for the first time, and opened his eyes. "I need you to use it."
He held Atobe's gaze for just long enough to make sure he understood. Atobe nodded slowly and began to curve his lips into a deep, dark grin.
"If it isn't brought to light in a sudden way, Tezuka will slowly decline and it will escape everyone's knowledge as to why this is so. If there is a weakness there, use it." Fuji said. "He must be made to see the seriousness of his situation."
He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice barely carried over the wind.
"And I need to know how far he will go."
"I understand." Atobe nodded. "I'm not doing it for you, and I'm certainly not doing it for him, though. I will enjoy this, too."
Fuji seemed to understand that they stood on the same side in that respect.
"As long as the job is done." He replied solemnly, and disappeared into the darkness.
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no subject
Fuji, Tachibana, Tezuka. In the same continuity as 006 (http://fsop.livejournal.com/5206.html?thread=16470#t16470).
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"-And so, it is my fault that we are where we are; Seigaku scraping their way through to the finals, Tezuka miles away undergoing treatment and therapy and goodness only knows what." Fuji shuffled where he sat on the edge of Tachibana's hospital bed. "Are you shocked by me?"
Tachibana opened his mouth to speak, and thought better of it. He began again.
"It would be a lie to say not," he began with a small smile, "everything about you surprises me. Not least of all your interest in me."
"But you don't think me a terrible person." Fuji said simply. "I do. And when I decided it at first, I was so sure..."
"Maybe you did the wrong thing, but you did it for the right reasons. It was dishonest, but would your captain listen to plain words and reason?"
"It depends what for." Fuji smiled. "Not in tennis. There is no reason in tennis for Tezuka; only the love of the game."
"I know how he feels." Tachibana replied, gesturing to his leg. "This cast will drive me crazy soon."
"You have more patience than you would lead others to believe. And you're not as good a liar as you'd like to think."
"W- What?"
"Tachibana," Fuji began, "if I had told you anyone else had done what I have done to Tezuka, you would have been abhorred. So why are you still making excuses for me?"
"When I know the answer to that, I'll know how to break free of you." Tachibana replied determinedly as Fuji stood up and stretched. "Because I know that the moment Tezuka comes back I will have to. Will you tell him the real reason Atobe was able to take him out of the game?"
Fuji walked almost to the open door of Tachibana's private room before he glanced back and replied;
"He already knows."
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no subject
Fuji plays mind games with Echizen.
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Fuji does not dislike Echizen; in fact, he likes the freshmen a lot. He has attitude; sometimes too much it's true, but from the start at Seigaku various members penalised him for his talents. It is only one of his survival tactics.
Fuji does not know if his opinion matters much to Echizen, because the boy seems so unimpressed so often, but before he left, Tezuka asked him to try and boost Ryoma's confidence.
"He may not look like he needs it, but I think he does."
And that was all Tezuka had said on the subject. It was Fuji's way to nod agreement and not question why. He simply begun to look for himself and see if Tezuka's suspicions were true.
It was not hard to compliment Ryoma during or after a match, or to rely on him before one; every word spoken was true. He was an amazing talent, and he would do great things, if only he wanted to. Watching, Fuji had determined that he in fact did not.
Ryoma's father had been a big tennis pro, and living in that shadow was what drove Ryoma to try and break away from it. Tezuka had tried to deter him from having that as his only goal, but now that he was gone, Fuji could sense Ryoma's frustration. Tezuka had only switched the will to win from his own father to Tezuka himself. Maybe that had been his plan all along; it was no secret to Fuji that Tezuka would enjoy being beaten just once by someone really deserving of it. He had tried to make Fuji that someone. And now that there was a rival for it, perhaps he should do something about it. But it wasn't Fuji's way.
Instead, he would see if he could direct Ryoma's interest to the game itself. Though how he would do that he did not know; Fuji didn't know why he himself played the game, except that Yuuta had made him play when they were young, and he had found it a wonderful way to people-watch.
"Why do you play tennis, Echizen?" He whispered near Ryoma's ear during a practice match with one of the second years. It didn't put him off completely, but there was a noticeable twitch in Ryoma's shoulders when Fuji spoke. An unanswerable question, because the truth was unspeakable. I play to beat people. Not for love, or enjoyment, not for a friend or family, not for thrill or skill, and not even for the sake of winning. Just to beat two certain people. And Fuji would be a stepping stone to them, that he knew.
"Does Tezuka know your intentions, do you think?" He enquired innocently one day, in the middle of a completely different conversation. Echizen knew what he meant, but Fuji was gone before he could react.
"Would he still want you to support Seigaku if he knew?"
Soon Fuji did not need to ask the questions aloud; he could see it on Ryoma's face, he was asking them to himself. Was he being doubted by someone he did truly admire? Were his motives and intentions truly wrong?
The worst part was that Fuji began to wonder too. If he searched for eternity and still could not find his true potential, or the real reason why he played tennis, would Tezuka still have any interest in him?
He kept himself awake at night, and knew Ryoma was in the same position in his own bed, in his own room. Some moments, they both wished Tezuka would not come back, not just yet.
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no subject
"Finding new prey"
More interaction between Fuji and Atobe. In the same continuity as 006 (http://fsop.livejournal.com/5206.html?thread=16470#t16470) and 018 (http://fsop.livejournal.com/5206.html?thread=16726#t16726).
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"Ho, so I see I find you without a captain now."
Fuji froze his steps, but did not turn to meet Atobe. He could picture in his mind the way Atobe looked; standing there looking cocky, a big smile, on hand on his hip. Looking smugand self-satisfied. Fuji could only thank whatever deity existed for small mercies; Atobe had kept his word and not told anyone the true motivation to taking Tezuka out of their match. He enjoyed having everyone think he was just a dirty player, even though he didn't need to be. The element of surprise could prove very useful.
Fuji did not feel a need to reply. And Atobe obviously hadn't been expecting one.
"So is your Buchou at the hospital now, mmm?"
Fuji tried not to clench his fists tighter, lest he hurt himself. Atobe knew damn well Tezuka was at the hospital, he had caused the damage. And Fuji had asked him to; asked him.
He felt bad, to put it lightly, but he could not find it in him to regret his actions if they would come to a head and cause Tezuka to get real treatment. He would come back better than ever, and himself again. The right thing for the wrong reason.
"Fuji, why aren't you answering me? Have you gone deaf? Or have you learnt that speaking with me comes to no good, even when you think it's what you want?"
Fuji turned, and spoke quickly.
"It is still what I want," he insisted softly, "I'm going to tell Tezuka now that it was me. I would have told him sooner, but there were too many people around."
He began his steps away before he had finished his sentence. He was still walking on the last.
"Atobe," he said, barely glancing back to make sure his words carried, "I will not be your next."
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no subject
The gang visit Tezuka in Germany. Fuji plays it cool.
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All the way to Germany on the plane, Fuji pretended to sleep as much as possible. There was excited tension amongst the team, and happy comments escaping from everyone now and then. It had been far too long without Tezuka, Fuji knew that best of all. He just could not stand having to feign excitement when he was so frightened. Yes, they had spoken numerous times since Tezuka had been in Germany; exchanged emails as well as long phone conversations Fuji intended to pay his sister back for, eventually. But it was so much easier to offer forgiveness when the person was not standing in front of you anymore.
Now that he was really going through rehabilitation, Fuji wondered if Tezuka would have had enough time to change his mind. It would be like him to make sure things stayed the same until he could confront Fuji face-to-face. It was just his way.
When they got off the coach, everyone was overwhelmed; it was unexpected to find Tezuka standing there waiting for them. And speaking a lot more freely than they were used to; he had missed them all too. The team was woven tightly into his game of tennis, and they were in a whole other country.
Fuji had time to compose himself and find his usual comfortable smile, though inside he was torn apart. It took but a second.
It remained fixed upon his face the entire time Tezuka showed the team around the rehabilitation centre, even his room, which sent a pang of loss through Fuji, but as they walked down the halls to leave and explore the city, Tezuka let his hand meet Fuji's and brush against it. It was such a small gesture, and they had been talking about inconsequential things at the time, that no-one would really have noticed it. And if they had, well people knock together all the time. It was enough for Fuji, who understood Tezuka well enough by now.
It was at St. Peter's Church, while Eiji was pointing out everything he noticed over Fuji's shoulder, that Fuji heard Tezuka speaking to Oishi behind them both.
"Indeed, I was blessed to come here." Tezuka said, and Fuji tried to believe in the feeling Tezuka put behind his words. "But nothing compares to standing on the court and playing."
The words were his rebuke, and Fuji could feel the hard eyes staring straight into his back. He felt almost satisfied, knowing Tezuka was not completely happy with his lot. And as though he had left it dangling in order to satisfy Fuji, Tezuka left it until the last possible moment the two of them had to speak together quietly, to continue.
"...But then, as you know, most things in life are both a blessing and a curse. Like you, Syuusuke."
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no subject
Tezuka confronts a man he wishes he could respect. In the same continuity as 017 (http://fsop.livejournal.com/5206.html?thread=16982#t16982).
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He is almost certain of when he figured it out; watching Echizen play a match, watching him turn into his father. That was definitely when Tezuka saw it. He couldn't help but have heard of Echizen Nanjiroh; if you were a lover of tennis, you had seen everyone worth seeing, and watched how they played. Ryoma had obviously never had any instructor but his father, and it didn't just show in his game style. It showed in his attitude.
Nanjiroh had retired suddenly, and it had become a mystery when nobody could figure out, or ferret out the answer why. Tezuka had figured it out; Nanijroh wanted to beat his son as much as Ryoma wanted to beat his father. But with one addition that made it just that little bit scary; Nanjiroh wanted Ryoma to beat him, too. The creation of a new generation in his family, quite possibly an accident, because what tennis player on top of his game would knowingly set out to bring a family into the middle of all that chaos? It had created a shining opportunity for Nanjiroh to improve upon himself through his son. If his natural talent had filtered through, all he would have to do was unlock it, a piece at a time.
And to do that, he had to remain thoroughly disinterested in his son.
Confronted with a man holding the same ambition in his head as Tezuka, it scared him. And Tezuka was so used to being the one to create a sense of fear, of respect and awe. He was calm, collected, he knew where he stood until Ryoma came along with his quirky father and threw off the balance. And now he was pushing Echizen to forget about his father, only to switch the ambition onto himself; he was becoming Echizen Nanjiroh, and it had to stop.
There was a part of them that did not correlate, and Tezuka would focus upon that. Nobody loved the game of tennis more than Tezuka; the thrill of a win, the satisfaction of a hunch proving true, it all seemed underhand compared to throwing yourself into the skill and the movements and becoming the game, win or lose. But when you loved something as thoroughly as that, you were very unlikely to lose. Tezuka refused to play just to beat people. You could do that in any sport, in many things on the face of the earth. He had chosen tennis, and it had chosen him, for much worthier reasons. They both were what they were, and it fitted. It angered him that there were people like that in his sport. Ryoma could be forgiven; he was still young and his father had been imprinting himself on his son's brain for a long time in order to have him fulfil masochistic ambitions, but Echizen Nanjiroh... There was no excuse.
Why have big dreams if ultimately they are unworthy of yourself and the life you live?
Tezuka was facing something that threatened two sides of his personality which begged to clash, and now would not. His self-discipline would be tested once again, and he resolved to rise above it stronger than before. One day he would become the best, purely to prove he had the biggest love for what he did, and nothing else. On the doorstep ofthe Echizen residence he waited, somehow knowing Ryoma's father would be the one to answer the door before he did. That was what fate was.
"What you are doing to your son is wrong." He said solemnly, and there the conversation began with a raised eyebrow from Nanjiroh.
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no subject
Fuji/Sanada, Fuji/Tezuka, Yukimura. Set at the Junior Selection Camp. Part One!
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It begins with a slip that is completely out of character for Sanada.
"Something about you reminds me of Seiichi," he says idly to Fuji when they sit down on the bench after practicing together.
"Seiichi?" Fuji asks. "Your captain, Yukimura; yes?"
Sanada does not answer, only scowls at the court in front of them as blackly as possible as if to berate himself or attempt to erase his previous words. Fuji says nothing further.
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"You could be a much better player than this." Sanada says matter-of-factly over Fuji's shoulder as he sit eating with the rest of Seigaku.
"That's not an uncommon opinion," Fuji says amiably. He takes another bite of his meal.
"Why do you have no motivation to try?"
"Excuse me," Momo begins before Fuji can make any kind of reply, "but we were all having a conversation here. And eating more importantly!"
"I apologize." Sanada batted back quickly, in a tone that was barely above polite. He walked away, and his words were quickly forgotten by nearly everyone.
-
"As you may have noticed from experience, official matches on the court don't tend to last very long," To his credit, Sanada did not even flinch at the sound of Fuji's confident voice weaving it's way through the darkness. He was sat on the bench beside the court, waiting. "I guess no-one has been able to challenge me enough." Fuji shrugged, sitting down and glancing at Sanada's tennis racket, which he spun on the ground slowly with one hand.
"Kirihara wasn't enough of a challenge for you?" Sanada seemed almost amused at the thought; for the first time Fuji saw something reminiscent of a smile on his lips.
"Considering the way you spoke to him after the match, I would say you know the answer to that one. Besides, he had made a mistake, acting the way he did."
"Fudomine's Tachibana..." Sanada said thoughtfully, "You care about him a lot."
"Not as much as he cares about me." Fuji replied.
"Than I should surely hate to see him playing a match against someone who had purposely injured you</>."
Fuji did not reply.
"I believe you came here for a reason?" It was phrased as a question but it was not a real one. Fuji stood, holding his tennis racket loosely by his side. He did not attempt to pretend over why he was there; Sanada appreciated that.
-
continued!
"You're a better player than me." Fuji said, his voice carrying over the net.
"I should hope so, at your current level." Sanada snorted in reply. "But if you were challenged beyond protecting those you love, would you be better than me then?"
"I could not tell you," Fuji said, his eyes catching sight of the ball Sanada had taken out of his pocket. He stepped out with one foot and lowered his body closer to the ground. "I am possibly the one least aware of what I could really do. I've never had any desire to discover it."
"Why is that?" Sanada almost shouted, serving the ball so quickly Fuji could not respond. It hit the fence and bounced back towards the court.
"I think people will notice us if you make this much noise the entire time we're out here."
"They won't." Sanada said firmly. "I come out here most evenings, nobody ever notices."
"Do you think about Yukimura?" Fuji asked, knowing his question was far too personal.
Sanada scowled.
"We're here to discuss you, not me." He replied as evenly as he could. "And definitely not Yukimura."
Fuji shrugged. "As you say," he said, picking up the tennis ball and returning it to Sanada so that he could serve again.
"Are you going to try this time?" Sanada asked.
"Do you want me to?"
-
"You're still not trying hard enough." Sanada said softly behind Fuji as they left the court.
Sanada had beaten him, and yet Fuji didn't seem to care.
"I'm sorry, it wasn't a conscious thing."
Sanada contemplates this response as they walk back to the dormitories. He steps out ahead to lead the way back to his own room, uncaring whether Fuji notices or whether he follows. He will soon see when he turns to close the door to his room behind him whether he still has company or not.
"Won't your careful planning to hide our meeting from everyone go to waste if we find your roommate in there?" Fuji asked just before Sanada reached the door, truly making him jump that time.
"Yanagi knows when to keep quiet." Sanada said firmly. "And when he is somewhere he should not be."
"Ah," Fuji replied, smiling. Sanada opened the door, pretending a confidence he did not feel inside. One glare might do it, but for a few brief moments he would have to suffer Yanagi taking in the situation with his own eyes and coming to his own conclusions. That perhaps might be worse than anything else Sanada could say to explain the situation to him.
The room was empty, as was the bathroom, they could tell from the distinct lack of sound or sense of life.
"I told you he knows when not to be somewhere." Sanada said, letting Fuji through the door and wishing he could lock it behind them.
-
last part! :)
It feels strange to Fuji, to be the one with his back against the mattress, to have someone straddling his waist and looking down on him. He is used to being the one to look down, but he reminds himself that he agreed to be challenged by Sanada, and that he cannot back out now because he is in a strange situation. To learn more about human nature he must be committed to any number of unexpected things.
Sanada takes his time; Fuji suspects it is less that he is taking everything in thoroughly, so much as it is finding himself in a room with someone he had been deluding himself was Yukimura Seiichi, and now when faced with reality, not knowing what to do with the cards he had dealt for himself.
He is highly tempted to take the situation into his own hands, as he is so used to doing, but Fuji does not know the dynamics between Sanada and his captain, whether it will be the right move, or whether it will snap the dream-thread entirely. Sanada had brought them this far himself, the decisions would have to be his. Fuji let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, and resolved to play however Sanada wanted.
-
Sanada's warm hands were silently praising a tiny waist Fuji had never given much thought or attention to when they were both broken of their shared reverie by the sound of the doorknob turning. Believing that the only person who would enter the room without knocking would be Renji, Sanada resolved not to hide or pretend that this was anything other than it was.
Which made it extremely awkard when the person at the door turned out to be...
"Tezuka?" Sanada's voice wasn't much higher than usual, but to himself he felt he sounded like a tiny squeaking mouse. Though he hadn't breached the subject with Fuji himself, it hadn't taken him much to work out thatthe two of them had a... history.
"Your roommate told me where I might find you, both of you." Tezuka said flatly. "You may wish to rethink the amount you confide in him."
"I told him nothing." Sanada insisted. Tezuka shrugged.
"Than you might want to attempt to be more cunning around him concerning your personal matters." Tezuka had held his eyes during the entire echange; it was unnerving that he could act like Fuji simply was not there, though it must have been setting a fire inside of him. And Fuji was not even worried; he had raised himself up onto his elbows a little and was following their exchange openly. He had a lot more faith in Tezuka than Sanada did at that moment.
"So," Tezuka said finally, his eyes switching to Fuji and changing in the depths. "Why are you here?"
Fuji pulled his legs up towards himself easily, finding that Sanada had subconsciously lifted much of his weight from Fuji. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose up off of it without eevn attempting to button up his shirt or rearrange his mussed hair. Tezuka watched him the entire time more and more intently the longer the silence reigned.
Fuji almost shrugged, but not quite. "He needed someone." He said, referencing Sanada but perhaps not daring to say his name. "I wanted to try something different." He lets a dark and ironic grin break out on his face. "His tennis is challenging."
Tezuka's expression did not change, but there was something akin to hurt in his voice when he spoke. "You can say some very cutting and poignant things with that smile on your face, Syuusuke."
Fuji lowers his voice to a murmur that can still be heard. "Let's not do this in front of him, Tezuka."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Tezuka replied, and nodded towards Sanada. "Goodnight, Genichirou."
Sanada looks at them both through half-closed eyes for a long minute. Eventually he nods his acknowledgment of Tezuka's words, and watches the pair leave. Just before the door closes behind them he sees Fuji's hand reach up to touch Tezuka's shoulder, and Seigaku's captain shudders, then seems to let something go and the tension in his shoulders eases.
-
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Fuji/Tezuka, Fuji/Yumiko
-
"The Magician," Yumiko says, running her fingertips with their lightly manicured nails across the image on the card. "His message is one of discipline and responsibility. You have the power within yourself to accomplish whatever you wish." Her voice always changes when she speaks of the tarot, as though tapping into a higher power and voicing its thoughts as nothing more than a vessel. "Focus your will and hone your skills. Be aware of control and manipulation. Power can blind you to what is appropriate." She brings herself back to reality and looks at Fuji intently as she speaks the last part. "Keep in mind the negative stereotype of the Magician as a charlatan or a swindler."
Fuji shrugs and stretches; they have been sitting on the floor together like this for a while now, but he is used to an intensive reading taking time. Yumiko is still studying him for a reaction.
"What do you want me to say?" Fuji asks.
"You must have an idea of who this might be." She says, tapping the picture deliberately slowly.
"I might." Fuji replies casually, breaking into a grin at the last possible second.
"You're not going to tell!" Yumiko exclaimed with realisation. Her eyes set themselves with determination. "I will weed it out of you."
"You have my permission to try." Fuji says, choosing his words carefully.
-
"Why don't you just try?" Tezuka asks Fuji once more. Though he tries to pretend he does not get fixated on things, he will not let this subject go. And Tezuka has yet to realise on he can bring out Fuji's true will to play properly.
Fuji can have this conversation on auto-pilot now; it is perhaps the only thing that can truly drive any kind of a wedge between the two them, no matter how temporarily. He tempts himself at night thinking that Tezuka could be the Magician, but during the day reminds himself Tezuka will never take action to make himself so.
A car pulls into the school gates and draws to a halt. It's an uncommon sound, and Fuji knows his sister is going to give him a ride home, and so it distracts him from his usual replies to Tezuka's repetitive barrage of questions.
"You sure do spend a lot of time with your sister," Tezuka says. In his usual tone, it is neither suspicious nor accusing; simply an observation.
"We live together, as it happens." Fuji replies. He is not ruffled in the least by Tezuka's words. Tezuka simply refuses to release enough daydream and imagination to ever even come close to working out the truth.
-
"You sure do waste a lot of time talking with someone who makes no real effort to even reply to you." Yumiko says idly. She is cooking dinner, but now that everything is in the pot and bubbling away, she has nothing left to do except supervise and play with her dangling earrings. Fuji watches intently as they shimmer against the light.
"You're more alike than you would believe." Fuji smirks, wondering if this is his sister expressing jealousy. She's not usually the jealous type, having far too much confidence in herself for anything or anyone to become a threat.
"Is that my warning?" His sister asks, an eyebrow raised. Now he knows she is jealous. Which means she believes there is something to be jealous about, which is fascinating. Fuji lets the silence hang in the air for a while, not struggling to find an answer or something to say, just wanting to absorb the situation, and let Yumiko think about what she had said. She serves up two plates of food and Fuji lets her place his in front of him, sit down and place her napkin in her lap daintily before he finally speaks.
"What do you know?"
"What do I suspect, do you mean?" Yumiko asks. "Or what have I read in the cards?"
"One tends to lead to the other," Fuji shrugs. "You get suspicious, you go and consult your cards. You consult the cards, it presents ideas vague enough to cause suspicion."
"You never let me get one up on you." Yumiko says with an ironic smile. "Never let anything slip."
"With someone like you around, dear sister," Fuji says airily, "I've become used to watching what I say, before I say it. So you have only yourself to blame."
-
Part Two of Two!
Fuji/Tezuka, Fuji/Yumiko
-
"Tezuka..." Fuji speaks quietly, not wanting to destroy the atmosphere before the match. Tezuka is alone in the locker room, intently staring at his racket. It's unusual for him to be in such deep thought.
"Mmm?" He asks absently. Fuji takes this as an invitation to sit down beside him.
"I want to ask you something."
"So ask." Tezuka says. "Make it quick; you should be warming up."
"I will do so," Fuji acknowledges, "after I've asked you this. It's just not an easy thing to say... Did you want this match between us for selfish reasons?"
"Selfish reasons?" Tezuka blinks, and looks up. "Like what?"
The fact that he really has no idea what Fuji might even mean makes him feel reassured already. Fuji doesn't believe Tezuka is that good of an actor.
"Perhaps, an ego boost." Fuji shrugs. "You're the top in our team, in our school. In most tournaments. It's agiven that you're probably going to win-"
"I don't feel that way at all, I hope you know." Tezuka says sternly. "If I thought this was going to be a clear-cut win, I would not have bothered."
Fuji nods. "That's what I hoped. I just wanted to make sure. After... Echizen..."
He can't complete his thought. While neither of them are jealous of Echizen's achievements; he is talented and getting what he deserves, they can't help but think wistfully of what they are missing out on. Whether for the glory or the thrill.
"I wasn't going to use you as an ego-booster." Tezuka repeats firmly.
"Well then, the opposite end of the scale... Are you going to use me simply to improve yourself?" Fuji asks. "If you believe I can do that."
Tezuka nods. "If that is a selfish reason, then I believe I must be." He stands up. "But I would like you to know, I hope to improve your game just as much as I hope you will improve mine. I like to think of it as something we can do for one another."
-
"I don't like him." Yumiko says, arms folded across her chest like a warning barrier. "He is unapproachable, aloof and overconfident."
"Everything you wish you could be sometimes?" Fuji asks teasingly. "Tezuka has every right to be confident; his skills are beyond compare."
"He compared you to himself, or so you put it to me."
"Ah well, things are changing." Fuji says by way of explanation.
"I know." Yumiko says as coherently as she can with her lips pressed together in a thin line. "I saw it coming. I see it all. I know he will take you away from me eventually."
"No-one will take me away from you, Yumi-chan."
"Not completely, just in certain ways." The set of her eyes makes it clear what it is she is referring to; that which can't be spoken in public, as they are. Fuji lowers his voice to quieter than normal when he replies.
"If we were meant to be together, we wouldn't have been born to the same blood."
Yumiko looks unconvinced, and tells him so pointedly.
"What is sharing blood if not the closest bond of all?"
-
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Fuji/Tezuka, set during their match (eps 174-176 of the anime). A moment, frozen in time.
-
It is a deciding time, and the world goes blank all around him. The wind stops blowing, the landscape fades away to white. He rocks on the balls of his heels, ready to make a move. there are no sights and no sounds apart from these; Tezuka, his racket, the ball, Fuji's own breathing. He watches everything so carefully that he can sense Tezuka's breathing pattern also, from the rise and fall of his chest. He cannot hear anything anymore but his own heartbeat racing.
The voices of spectators, so clueless and so unimportant, are all gone. As if they have faded away and diasappeared into another place. Else he and Tezuka have; a world without features or colours or noise, just the two of them, separate from everything but what matters to one another. This point, if Tezuka takes it, will change everything.
Fuji resolves himself to the thought; he cannot let this happen. He would rather play eternally and leave no winner rather than lose. But he would much rather lose, than win and find his victory completely hollow. He becomes hard as steel, light as air, and swifter than a thought, all in one moment. He attempts to block even Tezuka out of his mind and see only the ball, but it is not something he can achieve. Tennis is so much more than just where the ball is most likely headed.
He feels in himself what he knows he has let everyone around him see now, he feels it keenly. This thing inside of him that is talent personified. Someone that feels not entirely him, though it is all his doing. It just happens to be such a stranger, an unfamiliar prescence, but one he knows he will never be able to shake from now on. The ball he returns goes with a strength he did not know he had, sent back by an arm he did not see or feel move so quickly nor so strongly at the time.
It is a split-second before it happens, because his heightened senses pick it up before it can be realised, that Fuji knows the Zero-Shiki has come, right-handed and all, and that he is defeated. He still keeps running, knowing he can't possibly make it, he did not see it coming fast enough, and he knows his dedication will be the subject of much talk from now on. The thing is, they don't know anything. they will speak pityingly for the one who did not win, butthey will not know how close it was, tight score or no. They will not begin to understand the level he has been forced to open himself to until it is too late. Something he knows Tezuka has seen already, and is awaiting.
With the ball snuggled against the net where it has rolled happily, the world around him shatters, but Fuji smiles through it all. The only thing left unbroken, and stronger for it, is his heart.
-
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Tezuka/Fuji. Pleasure and pain. Binds.
-
There is an old soul lurking in Fuji Syuusuke's body, and he can feel all at once too old and jaded, as well as too young for knowledge such as he has now. He can act with a maturity beyond his years, and he can project it onto others until there is silence and no questions are asked, things are simply known.
With every stabbing sensation, he is binding Tezuka to himself. He has found a weakness that cannot be denied by any determination or discipline, and he is exploiting it. For his own ends? Only as much for himself as for Tezuka; there is pleasure in both the giving and receiving.
It begins with sharp, ragged fingernails that tear into skin messily and make ugly, painful marks.
With teeth that bite in only the most sensitive places, small teasing nips in no order of succession as to betray the final penetration that sometimes draws tiny semi-circles of blood. These avenues are quickly exhausted; there is only so much you can do with what God has given you.
It continues with fumbling for props in a teenager's bedroom; anything nearby, seemingly innocent that can be used to create pain. The needle kept for sewing up rips and tears in clothes is interesting for too short a time; too small, too easy to ignore. People are given injections all the time, and at most it feels like a sharp pinch. If he had wanted to pinch, he had fingers to do so.
Eventually things are brought up to the room in secret; a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer, one of many, won't be missed for a while. A cigarette lighter 'borrowed' from someone at school who lost so many they would not worry about yet another one gone missing. There is a particular spot on Tezuka's left hip, where the bone runs down, low enough to be hidden under his tennis shorts...
Fuji has never encouraged it, but never attempted to dispel it either, but he can tell sometimes Tezuka feels like a freak for behaving this way. And knowing he has someone to share it with now, he has no need to find anyone else. The further they go, the more they are bound together.
-
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Tezuka/Fuji. Too many people talk, and cannot see the mask within a mask.
-
The girls bother him, he admits it. He is calm, dignified, refined. A captain, a leader. He is supposed to be focused on the matches in front of him, engrossed in thought about style and form and technique. He will say the right things, give compliments where needed, point out things worth improving on. But the girls who stand and squeal and talk about his team and the players like they are pieces of meat, they bother him. To Tezuka, the team-members are not just gamepieces, though they know how much he wants to win, and to some extent he uses them for that. But he never asks anyone to do that which he would not do himself. He never asks more than he is prepared to give.
To Tezuka, each of the players is an individual, and all deserve a piece of his time. He cannot simply dish out the same advice to one after another and expect it to work. He must weigh up everything he has seen, and all that he knows of them, and find the right words. Talking with Inui, Ryuzaki-sensei, or Fuji often helps him to gather up the right things to say. They are all full of valuable input, and he knows he would be a little more lacking as a captain without them. That goes for the team too; you cannot be a captain if there is no-one to captain.
He never says anything to the girls; they cannot help it if they are at least honest over their feelings. Most of all it bothers him when they watch Fuji. It is not jealousy, but more that he cannot fathom how they can be so blinded by him, though it is his forte, so how can anyone be surprised? Until recently he was an enigma to Tezuka too, and perhaps that is why he still gets annoyed; he can remember how ignorant he used to be, and it shames him.
It is his soft voice (which changes and becomes like the edge of a steel blade in an instant), it is his feminine features (which seem as though purposely crafted to be an ironic statement about how Fuji is so utterly unfeminine in reality), it is in how approachable he is (until he sets his icy glare upon you), and it is those sparkling blue eyes, crystaline and yet deep like swimming in the sea. Tezuka hates most of all those moments where Fuji becomes shaken enough to open his eyes properly, and the girls all swoon.
They should open their own eyes, and stop being so blind. Fuji reveals nothing to anyone on an average day, doing usual things. And though he does it seldom, when he opens up those eyes, he is not allowing you a glimpse of anything real. They are but another shield against the world, another layer to hide behind. And people believe they are getting so much from Fuji Syuusuke, when he flashes those baby blues.
Tezuka knows it is far harder to worm your way in and find the real Fuji. It will never be so simple as looking into his eyes.
-
no subject
-
Another win, and Seigaku still were not used to it; the excitement was almost unbearable, and everyone insisted on the traditional winner's 'banquet' at Kawamura Sushi. The crowd was lead (sprinting and yelling back) by a very hungry Momo, and an always-ready-to-eat-or-celebrate Eiji.
"I need to retie my shoelace," Fuji said, looking down at his shoe and finding the source of the annoying flicking noise.
"We'll catch you up," Tezuka said to the others, unexpectedly. No-one acknowledged having heard him; they were too busy rushing off towards food. Fuji felt Tezuka's shadow over him as he sat down and fiddled with his lace.
"Is it me, or are they acting even more excited than usual?" Tezuka asked idly, watching the stampede distance themselves.
"Oishi told them about Hyakuren Jitoku no Kiwami." Fuji smiled. "I think they are excited to see a Tezuka beyond their wildest dreams. I did not want to say anything to them. Oishi's heart is in the right place, though."
"It always has been." Tezuka agreed.
"He is proud to call himself your friend, and so he feels he should share the esscence of who you are with them all. Even if it means explaining things that should perhaps not be revealed."
"I think by now, the whole team knows too much about one another." Tezuka said reluctantly. "Perhaps it makes us better together, to be so entwined."
"I'm sorry I couldn't be the one to unleash it." Fuji says, and this time his smile is hard to keep up. Until Tezuka reaches out and cups his hand around Fuji's cheek.
"You never would have." He says firmly. "Because of the nature of it's sealing. It took misconduct and mistreatment of tennis, unecessary cruelty, to seal it, and unleash it both. You are not capable of that, and I thank god for it."
Something in the air between them feels as though if it hadn't been such a public place, they might have shared a kiss. For the team to be aware of their closeness is one thing, for every team at the Nationals to hear about it from one chance observer, is another. Though their lips do not meet, they both come away from the haze smiling.
"I shall have to attain Muga no Kyouchi, now." Fuji smiles. "Or else I will never be able to keep up with you." He pauses, his eyes glancing in another direction. "Tezuka."
Tezuka turns, and Echizen is there. They had both assumed everyone else in the team had gone ahead of them.
"What is it, Echizen?" Tezuka asks.
"You told me before..." He begins slowly, "to become Seigaku's pillar of support."
"What about it?"
"I'll take it." Ryoma says with a little grin. "I'll take the pillar of Seigaku from you."
Fuji makes an amused but approving sound, which Tezuka can't help but echo, however quietly. The captain turns away, and Ryoma is still looking out on the courts when Fuji gently reminds him it's time to go.
"It looks like you have inadventently created another barrier for Echizen to break." Fuji murmurs to Tezuka over sushi, and under the rest of the voices cheering.
"For some, it is no longer about the winning," Tezuka agrees, "or, more accurately, beating another."
"And for some," Fuji says thoughtfully, "it will always be about that, and everything else will be drawn in along for the ride naturally. It is the power of the Tezuka Zone."
-
So I'm totally commenting and I shouldn't be commenting here but oh well ;)
It took misconduct and mistreatment of tennis, unecessary cruelty, to seal it, and unleash it both. You are not capable of that, and I thank god for it."
That's just beautiful. :x It says so much about Fuji and Tezuka! Because even if Fuji can be cruel, he's not... intentionally and unnecessarily cruel. And that Tezuka recognizies it. It's amazing.
I don't mind at all! I love comments :D
I love Oishi! It made me notice a difference between he and Fuji in how they relate to Tezuka; I didn't buy that Fuji wouldn't have known what was happening, considering that in first year he knew Tezuka was left-handed before anyone else, and knows his game so well, so therefore it left the option hat he just didn't want to blab it all to the rest of the team. Where Oishi is his friend, and proud of it and willing to talk about how wonderful Tezuka is till the cows come home, Fuji thinks a little deeper and reminds himself of what Tezuka might want heard about himself first, because the emotions between them, and that they put out to everyone else, are important.
Ahem. I could ramble stuff like this all day. I have a big Tezuka/Fuji essay in my head waiting to come out that begins like this:
The Things Fuji loves best:
1. Tezuka
(Yeah, that's it).
The Things Tezuka loves best:
1. Tennis
2. Fuji
And the cruelty thing; I know a lot of people in the fandom are obsessed with the idea of Fuji as a masochist, but it's in entirely the wrong way. Because I see Tezuka on the other side, and the s&m as a partnership involves a lot of love and trust. It's never sadism as cruelty, always for pleasure. And if Fuji ever were to be cruel (perhaps Tezuka & Atobe's match as an example?) it ALWAYS has a reason. So yeah :)
YOU ALREADY KNEW MOST OF THAT COUGH.
ARGH TYPO
But I am messing up the things for the prompt table but oh well :D
You should write this essay! ;) I'd read it.
You tlaking about the S&M stuff there makes me think about the episode of House with the dominatrix and stuff. It's about love and trust and being open, and pleasure, not cruelty. Which a lot of people get confused, and think it's about cruelty. You have really made me like that aspect of their relationship, a lot. :D
no you're not; everything's linked happily in the table!
Muhahaha one day it will come out because I love to think about Fuji & Tezuka; they are so layered for ones so young (but not really ;) ).
Hehe I love that aspect of their relationship, but I'm too intimidated to try and write about it in more detail! I don't really have experience in it to back me up after all ;)
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-
Though he knows the tears are good, it's more than Tezuka can take, enough for him to ignore the surrounding spectators and press a soft kiss to Fuji's lips uncharacteristically.
"Will we ever play another match?" Fuji asks quietly, and it's all Tezuka hears, amongst clapping and cheering, as though the rest of the world is outside their bubble. And has been for the entire match. He knows Fuji's imagination, he suspects Syuusuke may be thinking about high school, and whether they will be together, or apart. What that means for them playing matches.
"We're never going to stop, now." Tezuka replies firmly. He has not waited so long for this only to throw it away. Fuji will forever be his stepping stone to the next level, they will climb side by side up the rungs of the ladder until they reach the top.
-
Fuji is another person now, in the way he focuses when he trains. Outside of tennis, he has not changed, but he holds a seriousness inside now that cannot be ignored. Tezuka takes him to practice against the ball machines at his own request, and watches in awe as the sweat runs in rivers down Fuji's skin.
"You can't go up against three machines at once." Tezuka says, his voice betraying a slight amount of worry.
"It is not impossible; they train this way at Rikkai. Inui has mentioned it."
"I just don't think it's a good idea to-"
"Tezuka," Fuji says, in a tone that makes Tezuka's words die in his throat, "let me try this."
He was always unreasonable in his mischief, and insane when he had forgotten to finish a school project, why now should this be any different? Tezuka swallows his protests and reminds himself it was he who chose to unleash this being on everyone. He cannot take it back now, and when it comes down to it, he does not want to.
"When it comes down to it," Fuji says, echoing Tezuka's own words to himself, "the Triple Counters were not enough to beat you. They will not be enough to win at the Nationals, either. I am going to improve."
The way he says it sends a chill racing down Tezuka's spine. It's really something he has unlocked inside Syuusuke. Really something, and only time will tell.
-
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Eventually this will be heavily edited or re-written. Serves me right for dreaming up the dialogue while in bed on the edge of sleep, and not writing any of it down before morning.
-
Finally, everyone was gone from his sight. The doctor, the nurses, Ryuzaki-sensei and her worrying. Thank goodness his parents were out of town; both working, and had been unable to return to hover around him and say useless things in an attempt to be comforting. Tezuka's window was still uncovered, and the dark of the evening slipped in and went straight to his mind.
He heard the door open, though it was so slight it was obviously intended to go unnoticed. When he glanced over, he saw Fuji stood in front of the closed door, still in his club uniform after all these hours gone by, his head dipped low. Tezuka did not speak.
"I'm sorry." Fuji said, and he never whispered in a choked voice like that. Tezuka took a brief moment to wonder if he had released some tears since they'd last seen one another, and then waved it away to a hardness in his voice.
"You were the only one who knew I suspected anything about my shoulder." He said slowly and firmly.
"I told Atobe Keigo." Fuji agreed, still refusing to look up properly. "Nearly two and a half years is long enough to wait, Tezuka. Think about it."
He did think about it, as Fuji crossed the room past his bed, dropping his kit bag on the floor before he took up by the window and stood glancing out at the stars, a hand lightly brushing the ledge. He thought about two and a half years ago, when they had met, and he hadn't paid much attention, while Fuji had seen something wonderful. He thought of a month or so after that, when they had attempted to play a match. He thought of the next two years, of how his arm always seemed to hold him back, and how nobody even noticed, except for Fuji. The aches and pains, the tiny slips of hand off by mere inches that still made things turn out differently to how he wanted.
"I can still hear your scream." Fuji says, and his attempt at a small laugh comes out desperately strangled. "In my head, in time with my breathing, my heartbeat. With every step I walk. I hear it all the time." He turns from the night sky to look at Tezuka. "It shames me to tell you part of me finds enjoyment in it." He takes a few steps towards Tezuka's bed, and spreads his fingers across a supported shoulder. "Just as it shames you that a part of you enjoys feeling this."
Tezuka squeezes his eyes shut and says nothing. If he pretends the words were not said, Fuji will also, and they can think past it. Just because they both know both these things are true, it does not mean they have to be spoken aloud.
"Tezuka," Fuji begins again as though he hadn't spoken, sitting on the side of the bed and taking Tezuka's hands up in his, "I am sorrier than words can express."
"I know." Tezuka nodded and frowned, his face warping in confusion. "That's why it's hard to be mad at you."
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"I'm sorry... But I'm not asking you for your forgiveness. Not yet." He replied. "I feel so much guilt, and yet a part of me wants to shout at you so badly." The corners of his mouth try to curl up at that admission. "If only you had put your carefulness at the top of your list. But you do not. For all the caution you raise your team up under, you do not practice it enough yourself."
"Sometimes winning means taking risks." Tezuka says, and somehow he feels he is apologising for his actions by offering some kind of explanation. Fuji does things like this to him, unintentionally.
"Not at the risk of yourself!" Fuji says harshly. "We had this discussion once before. And still you did not learn the lesson. Why do you think so little of yourself that you can so carelessly discard an entire limb?"
Tezuka cannot reply; he has never seen it as such. But never before has a match been such a risk to his arm. How would you know what you would do until the moment comes?
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"I really didn't think, until the last possible moment, that you would really let yourself be hurt so badly." Fuji admits. "As if that is an excuse... But I thought you had realised. I thought you had learnt from last time. Obviously my point was not made clearly enough. Tennis is more important, winning is more important. And pain is more memorable, and more compelling."
"Compelling?"
"Isn't that the one last thing that was keeping you going?" Fuji asks almost innocently. "We all knew there was a low chance you would win. We all knew there was a substitute who could recover the score for us. If you really wanted Echizen to step up, you would have let him. But the pain made your goals and your sense disappear, no?"
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"How is it you could know what the doctors did not?"
"Because I know you, and they don't." Fuji says simply. "They look at a chart, they see that your elbow is troubling you. They x-ray the elbow. You, too proud and stubborn to mention a niggling pain in your shoulder because it seems insignificant, say nothing more. They do not x-ray the shoulder, they do not probe further, ask questions, do tests." Fuji stops. "I watch you, I listen. I've become adept at hearing everything you do not say."
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From the first moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And I knew I could win you with tennis. Only when I asked you for a match did I realise a part of you might feel the same way; you said you wanted it too. I had never said to you that I wanted it, Tezuka. Only that it was something we should do. I never admitted I longed for a match, that I looked forward to it like nothing else.
But then... Your insistence on keeping your promise to me, on trying to find out who I really was, it made my plan backfire. Your arm failed you, and caused you nothing but trouble from that point on. So I resolved to keep whatever it was I had in me buried deep down inside, because if I tried to draw you out with tennis again, if I lured you through a match and captured your imagination, I might only cause you more hurt that could not be undone or forgiven. I knew you were wondering where the fire had gone, why I had extinguished it so suddenly without giving you even a chance to discover my real power, but I let you believe I was scared to go against you.
And in a way, I was. Scared of the hurt you had suffered, scared that one of us would unarguably be the better, scared that when we played you would see everything I felt for you shining out through my eyes. You would change me, you would make me serious, make me real. I was scared to show you that, in case you scorned it after going to all that trouble. I was never really sure of how you felt, because tennis always came first with you. It still does. But I had wanted to use that as my opening, to maybe worm my way, and overtake it. Tennis was just a thing after all, while somewhere deep down, I am someone of substance.
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You should write first person more often. Because wow.
I really love this.
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Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?
- The Hand That Feeds, Nine Inch Nails
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There are perfectly logical explanations, and Tezuka can list them all. They did not play a match immediately after they met, because Tezuka did not realise Fuji Syuusuke was a person of any real character or talent. Then came the incident, so that when the match came to pass, he was unable to play, and forced himself anyway. After that came the long, long months of slow recovery, during which Fuji began to blossom, ever so slightly, as though making up for Tezuka's backtracking.
When they slipped into second year, Fuji Yuuta appeared. His joining the tennis team seemed to overlap with Tezuka's full recovery, so that at the very moment he might have proposed the long-awaited rematch, Fuji was smiling down on his younger brother and trying to persuade him into a match in front of everyone else.
And then Yuuta got to see how much his brother had been holding back against him, in order to let him improve on his own, and the whisperings of 'tensai' and 'Fuji Syuusuke's younger brother' became too much. And Tezuka saw the promise of a match crumble as surely as Fuji Syuusuke's drive to win, small as it was already. Only Yuuta had fueled that fire.
Yuuta left midway through second year, but Tezuka could see that it was no time to ask for a rematch. It would take more time than they really had for Fuji to recover from a blow so sharply dealt, all because of something over which he had no control; other people's opinion of him.
Then, perhaps stranger than everything else so far combined, the dating began. In secret at first, and not exactly conventional, but it helped Tezuka understand Fuji's motives better. And Echizen Ryoma came onto the scene son after they started their third year, and the last road-block to a deciding match between Tezuka Kunimitsu and Fuji Syuusuke.
He even pitted them against one another; the prodigy and the freshman extrordinare, and still Fuji would not give anything away. Tezuka could have cursed the skies for the rain that fell, interrupting the match and cutting it off completely.
"I know you played Echizen." Fuji says, but not in those words at all, and Tezuka knows he would not have won this round.
"Even now Fuji, you'd still bite the hand that feeds?" Tezuka asks in a voice he's not sure is entirely his own. He can be sarcastic, sharp, give orders; he's never been so cutting.
It is the first time he sees Fuji's eyes open wonderfully wide in complete and utter shock. He is the only one, the only one on the entire team not to take from the coaching and Tezuka's talent and feel the pull of improvement.
'I'm sick of your fear,' he says with his hand gripping Fuji's arm tightly. He can't pull away; physically Tezuka is slightly stronger. 'Are you so happy to play at the lowest of your abilities forever?' he asks with his lips pressed hard against Fuji's. It is the first time he understands why one might want to be in control in the bedroom, but he uses it to send his silent messages. 'Are you using Echizen this year as your excuse? I haven't forgotten about you; Echizen will be left behind at the end of this year, but you'll still be alongside me, I'll make sure of it.'
Fuji drowns beneath him, clutching in a way he never has before, letting himself be told what to do and when to do it. Tezuka is still reeling from the feel of the power with his pants unzipped and Fuji on his knees in front of him, a hand tangled in Fuji's hair as he uses newly discovered tricks to make Tezuka's own knees almost buckle beneath him.
"You don't just bite..." Tezuka murmurs absently, tongue loosened by orgasm, and Fuji looking up curiously as he sinks onto a bench before his knees give out completely. "More like you keep gnawing until you rip off the hand completely."
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"I'll be in my best condition," he says, light conversation that betrays nothing, "able to play against whomever."
A gunshot; a bullet, right to the gut, that's how it feels. I have to physically keep myself from doubling over, a monumentous flinch is all I give away. All.
"With whomever?" I wait; daring him to discard the words, wanting to pluck them out of the air as they unravel and discard them myself. He does not.
But that is Tezuka; his pride prevents him from changing his mind once he has made a decision, even if later he discerns it is the wrong one. He always has to have something to believe in.
"I see." I say, to fill the silence. I say the only thing I can, pulling my own trigger this time. "I'm looking forward to it."
"I'm going to play Echizen before I leave." Tezuka says, after what feels like a silence of forever. I understand his reasoning; Echizen improves out of frustration after all. For Tezuka to leave him with a loss hanging over his head, one he cannot claim back for months... It will drive him.
"He's impatient." I reply simply. I can wait, I have to wait; Tezuka will give me nothing less than the best. It's comforting to know. It's also amusing to think that Tezuka gives Echizen little pieces, but never the whole. And people wonder why I don't feel threatened by Tezuka's obsession with him. He's preparing Echizen to support the team after we're gone. He's cultivating while he has the chance, and then he's going to walk away and let Echizen blossom. Maybe only real gardeners would understand it. We will continue on together, always, I like to hope. I guess we'll have to wait and see now.
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