002. Everything you ever wished for. Tezuka/Fuji, set in hospital directly after Tezuka & Atobe's match.
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.
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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."
no subject
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.
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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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