wip amnesty #2
Jul. 4th, 2019 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlishpopprince of tennis, tezuka/fuji, 2951 words. excerpts from an high school au, where fuji has run away leaving only a few clues behind. tezuka finds him. last edited august 2017.
Fuji is sitting on one of the benches at the train station with a clear view of the tracks. The line of his body is lithe and relaxed as he leans against the backrest, his legs crossed. A white t-shirt and an unbuttoned beige cardigan paired with light jeans; nondescript and simple but nonetheless stylish. It comes across as effortless, just like all other things about Fuji do. Tezuka knows it’s unfair to think, he knows how hard Fuji has had to work. Still, the feeling is there.
“You came,” says Fuji.
“Fuji,” says Tezuka. They aren’t speaking over each other, and if their greetings are unusual there is no one around to notice or care. Only a few others had gotten off on this stop and the train is rolling out from the station.
A smile is his only reply this time. Fuji stands up and starts to walk, taking a sharp turn to the right and past the building of the train station. Tezuka doesn’t need to think twice before following and catching up in one a few paces.
The pace Fuji sets is relaxed but not slow. It’s carefully construed, designed, and set up to be this way. It’s easy. Relaxing. Foolishly simple.
Tezuka does not mind this.
It is a relief to the homesickness he’s felt ever since he landed in Japan. Steadily going forward. He glances down
They make their way through the town
Tezuka wants nothing more than to ask where they’re going. The silence is not comfortable, but neither is it stifling. Fuji is amused by something, and that alone makes Tezuka keep his mouth closed. He could demand an answer, and Fuji would give him it. (Or an answer, at least.)
“It’s a hike,” Fuji says.
“You aren’t dressed for it.”
Fuji laughs. Delighted, childish. He looks unable to keep it in, almost surprised as peals of giggles leave him. Something in Tezuka’s chest clenches.
“No,” he agrees, “I’m not. Don’t worry, Tezuka.”
”I’ve longed for you since we met. One way or another.”
”Fuji,” Tezuka starts. He doesn’t know what to say. They had been children then. They were still children, despite what teenaged delusions and ideas of adulthood they might entertain from time to time. No matter how near adulthood they are, the cusp of it just within reach. The reality they’re living.
There’s not much exasperation in his voice, though, and Fuji tilts his head to the side. Just slightly. It looks like he’s about to ask a question but it is with utmost certainty in his voice that he says,
”I know that you’re the one for me. Your soul calls to mine like no one else’s.”
Fuji’s lashes are long. Dark, compared to his hair. Tezuka wonders how long it would take to count them all. To count them again to make sure he had it right.
”Most people grow out of their middle school crushes,” Tezuka says at last. Fuji laughs, delighted, and his smile is genuine. His face transforms in the most minuscule way — Tezuka is certain most wouldn’t even notice the shift. Years ago he learnt read Fuji Syuusuke. It’s comforting, in a sense, that this hasn’t changed.
(The world spins slowly, or not at all.)
”I think my soul has always missed yours. Before we met. After you left. It’s all the same, it all feels the same.”
Tezuka is at a loss for words. He does not want to simply repeat Fuji’s name again.
In a way, though, if he were to admit it to himself, he understands on the most base level what Fuji means. The words are prettier and much more fanciful than what he himself would use. However, the feeling that Fuji is putting words on is one Tezuka knows well. Something about Fuji — something about what he has with Fuji… it is both a sense of longing and a sense of completeness, all at once. Abstract and difficult to describe.
A shooting star twinkles. Bright, for a split-second, and then gone. It might as well never have existed at all.
”For once, I wanted to see what it was like to have you chase after me,” Fuji confesses.
He reaches up with deceptively steady hands; it’s only when he’s close enough to almost touch that Tezuka realises they aren't. The touch of his fingertips on Tezuka’s face, chin, lips, is cool. The tremble of Fuji’s fingers dragging lightly across the skin of Tezuka’s jawline.
I want to kiss you, Tezuka thinks.
”I want to kiss you,” Fuji says.
”I stopped being selfish— as selfish. Back then. It just seems that isn’t in my nature.” Fuji chuckles breathily. ”I’m greedy. I couldn’t stand by passively again.”
Tezuka doesn’t know how to phrase his question. It bothers him that the words are beyond his reach. The lack of control he feels is uncomfortable, and unusual.
”You don’t have to be selfless,” Tezuka tries. He has learnt that there was nothing wrong with taking what you wanted. Going after your dreams and desires.
”Finding a happy medium that still allows for my happiness is difficult.”
”The fire you sparked in me… it was a firework. It fizzled out. It could not continue.”
“This town is so small that the konbini that’s the nearest to the inn isn’t open twenty-four hours a day,” Fuji says, laughing lightly. Genuine amusement, a surprising fondness.
The way that he moves as graceful as always. Even just putting down a package of pork into the basket, and Fuji’s a sight to behold. Mesmerising. Tezuka can feel a little heat creep up his neck.
The inn isn’t an inn. It shouldn’t surprise Tezuka as much as it does when Fuji walks into a residential area, presses the code for the gate, and walks in like he belongs there.
“Mieko-chan, I’m home,” Fuji calls. Toeing off his shoes, he leans down to pet one of the cats that is stroking itself against his shins. Tezuka looks at the brave creature that is cautiously approaching him too.
An elderly lady, petite enough to make Fuji seem tall and broad shouldered, appears in the doorway to what can only be the kitchen.
「It was always me, watching your back. Always a step behind. Even when I stood by your side, your eyes were looking forward,」 Fuji whispered.
Fuji must know with certainty that he had always had Tezuka’s full attention in the court. Fuji must know that. Tezuka watched him. Maybe not as much as Fuji had watched him, but whenever he could allow himself to. What else had Fuji
Why he appeared mute in these dreams continue to baffle him. Tezuka knows that he is silent, waiting, but he doesn’t go out of his way not to speak.
Fuji hands Tezuka a bottle of sunscreen.
”I could use your help,” he says. Tezuka looks at the bottle in his hands. Looks up.
”Your back?”
”Wherever, really,” Fuji replies. ”I haven’t put any on yet.”
Tezuka wonders if this is a test. It feels as if it might be. Maybe it’s just the underlying tension. He nods. Fuji pulls off his shirt.
It flutters to the hardwood floor when he drops it, a pale pile that will surely crease.
He squeezes the bottle until he has a reasonably sized dollop of sunscreen in his hand and he moves to work it into Fuji’s back. It seems a relatively safe place to start. A trickle of it falls from his palm when he tilts his hand to touch the skin. He tries to not imagine the splatter of white that falls on the small of Fuji’s back as something else. None of it stains the dark fabric of the trousers though.
The motions he uses are strong and broad, Tezuka opting to get the process over with as quickly as he can. The expanse of Fuji’s back is narrow beneath his hands and the pale skin smooth; even so, there is still power in the muscles there. Tezuka allows himself a moment to let his fingertips trail over the knobs of Fuji’s spin. The wings of his shoulder blades.
Thinking that he’s done, Fuji turns around.
Tezuka squeezes out more of the sunscreen into his left hand, and grabs one of Fuji’s thin wrists with his right. Fuji’s eyes open, surprise clearly written all over his features until he schools his expression into something more commonly seen and cocks his head, asking an unspoken question.
The ball is in Tezuka’s court, but this is not tennis. He can not just shoot it back. It would be most careless.
Tezuka clears his throat. ”Come a tad closer.”
Fuji steps into the spread of Tezuka’s legs. With the same carefulness that Tezuka goes about most things in life, he reaches with sticky fingers to apply sunscreen to Fuji’s face. The planes of his cheeks, down the soft slope of his nose,
”You should use sunscreen,” Fuji says. ”Or you’ll get wrinkles.”
Fuji pokes a finger to Tezuka’s forehead.
Despite how inviting it looks, the sea is still much too cool to go for a swim. For anything more than to just dip your feet in to test the temperature.
Naturally, Fuji walks barefoot and with his jeans rolled up just at the shoreline, the waves lapping at his ankles. The white foam cover the protruding bone when a new wave rolls in, slightly higher than the ones before it. Fuji smiles. He must be cold, but since the rest of him is dry his lips are still a soft pink.
Tezuka holds Fuji’s shoes in his right hand, his left hand free and brushing against the back of Fuji’s every now and then as they walk down the beach. It would be so easy to reach out and take hold of that small hand.
He tangles his fingers with Fuji’s, the grip loose but unmistakable.
”You saw things in me that no one else did.”
”You wanted things from me that no one else did.”
”Tezuka, you must know that you were, are, [wanted/desired] by others than me”
Tezuka knows Fuji must see the annoyance in his expression as clear as day. The tense line of his lips, the tightening of his jaw. It’s not too different from the expression his face favours naturally. Fuji… Fuji should be able to tell the difference.
”Wasn’t that the thing that ruined us, whatever we were?” Fuji continues. His voice is soft, but his eyes are sharp with their brightness and focus. ”At first, the new me excited you. You enjoyed seeing me be who you always knew I could be, as I enjoyed being that person. Then I think we both realised that it meant that I just wanted you like everyone else did.”
That wasn’t it at all, Tezuka thinks. He’s not sure how to convey this to Fuji.
It was true that Tezuka had been excited by the person Fuji became after he had left for Germany during the U-17 camp, after that unfinished game, but even with Fuji’s reasoning unknown to him he’s not sure how Fuji reached this conclusion.
The excitement was from Fuji finally answering to Tezuka seriously.
Rivalry wasn’t new to Tezuka — Sanada, Atobe, Echizen, — but Fuji was the rival he had chosen for himself, though their relationship had never been as simple as only being about that.
However, Tezuka chased after challenges, wins, and dreams with a seriousness and passion that few others had. He had the inner drive to go after what he wanted. He had wanted Fuji to be his rival, at that point. He had wanted to see the full potential the genius Fuji Syuusuke had. That was a challenge in itself. It was necessary though. Otherwise the result of the game, whether it be a win or a loss, would be worthless. None of his endeavours would have been worthwhile.
Tezuka with his too serious ways, Fuji never serious enough.
Fuji finally being serious
”I need you to know that I never faulted you for your decision— for any of your decisions. I’m just selfish.”
Fuji’s grip on his wrist is strong, tight. His blue eyes are painfully sincere. It makes Tezuka’s breath catch in his throat.
”Come visit me,” Tezuka says. His throat feels dry, itchy. Coarse like the sand beneath his hands. He closes his hand around a fistful, lifts his hand a little ways over the ground. ”Visit me in Germany for summer break.”
Fuji had been supposed to visit him after middle school graduation, but his father had fallen ill. (A heart attack, Tezuka thinks he heard something about.) It was just another of the promises and plans that had fallen through.
Sand trickles through Tezuka’s fingers.
”Ah. Sure.”
“Let me cook properly for you today,” Fuji says. “I’ve gotten pretty good.”
When Tezuka takes too long to answer, he adds, “It’s our last night here.”
It feels a lot like watching Fuji in his dreams. A vision of a future he might have. That they might have. Share.
His own quietness only adds to it. Fuji glances to him, and Tezuka nods. Doesn’t entirely trust his voice. Doesn’t trust it to not ruin the moment. Fuji smiles at him. It is softened by the afternoon light.
They are meant for bigger things, no small town like this enough to contain them. As much as Fuji looks like he fits in this place, he doesn’t belong. Not yet.
Or, perhaps Tezuka has misread him. Truthfully it wouldn’t be the first time. Perhaps a town like this is where Fuji should be, without too many people and things to place restrictions on him. A place where Fuji is free to roam and live in accordance to his own wishes for most part.
As it is now, Fuji has pulled his fringe back from his face and secured it in a small ponytail as he immerses himself into rinsing the vegetables. Most of his hair still hangs freely, just barely brushing his shoulders as he moves. Tezuka catches himself wondering if Fuji could pull it all into a ponytail and show off his slender neck.
“Thank you for the food,” Tezuka says and takes the first bite. Fuji bows his head, looks almost to be hiding a smile, before he reaches out to grab the chopsticks.
“I think I was looking to experience the thrill of the game, again,” Fuji admits.
“And have you?”
The ever present and enigmatic smile on his lips make another appearance. It is a perfect mask that makes Fuji appear untouchable.
“What would you have done if you didn't?”
“Who is to say I did?”
“You're being contrary.”
Fuji laughs and says, “Tezuka”, fingers brushing against the bare skin of Tezuka's wrist. “I would go through with my plans to disappear completely. If there's nothing to hold me back, why stay?”
[then they fuck]
The wind rustles in the leaves of trees and brushes and it’s something close to a marvel that the night is quiet enough for them to hear it even from inside. Though with the large screen-doors are pushed open to the garden, it shouldn’t be as surprising as it somehow feels. Tezuka is almost certain that if he
“Tezuka, will you lay with me?” Fuji asks. He chuckles, apologises quickly enough to not let Tezuka even begin to form a reply, “Sorry, I phrased that poorly. Tezuka, will you—?”
The smile on his lips is soft but the sparkle in his eye mischievous, which is something Tezuka recognises all too well. He cuts in before Fuji may ruin this moment with crude words.
“I will.” Fuji’s eyes blink open in surprise, and he meets Tezuka’s deceitfully calm gaze.
Tezuka has done this before. Had sex. With a girl he dated for a while, with the boy he never dated but that helped him understand that it was alright to prefer the company of men. They weren’t Fuji, though. He doesn’t know it that a problem or a promise of what’s to come.
“It’s… only when you are near, that’s when I don’t feel hollow. When the longing is no more than a memory, pushed to the back of my mind,” Fuji whispers. Every words his pretty lips form makes them brush against Tezuka’s in something similar to, but not exactly, small kisses. A small proof of unspoken affection, secret, desire. The feeling that tugs at Tezuka’s heart screams at him to not pull back, but he needs to reach the bottle of lubrication that they managed to push onto the floor in their tussle. Fuji blinks, momentarily confused, and then his sharp eyes locks on Tezuka’s hand. On the lube, cold and glistening in the low light as Tezuka pours it onto his fingers.
Tezuka wishes desperately that he could voice his thoughts — Fuji used to be the person with whom he spoke most freely, but now his throat feels tight and he is almost breathless.
“It’s feels strange kissing you when you still wear your glasses,” Fuji mumbles in increments against Tezuka’s lips, their mouths still touching and moving against each other as he forms words, and small puff of laughter mixes their breaths.
“I want to,” Tezuka says, “I just want to see you.” He feels heat creep up his neck at his own words, too bold and uncharacteristic, and by the twinkling laughter it pulls from Fuji it seems he must agree.
“Just come closer,” Fuji says, mirth in his voice and his gaze less sharp even as he openly takes in Tezuka’s face. “Come as close as you need to be.”
Fuji is sitting on one of the benches at the train station with a clear view of the tracks. The line of his body is lithe and relaxed as he leans against the backrest, his legs crossed. A white t-shirt and an unbuttoned beige cardigan paired with light jeans; nondescript and simple but nonetheless stylish. It comes across as effortless, just like all other things about Fuji do. Tezuka knows it’s unfair to think, he knows how hard Fuji has had to work. Still, the feeling is there.
“You came,” says Fuji.
“Fuji,” says Tezuka. They aren’t speaking over each other, and if their greetings are unusual there is no one around to notice or care. Only a few others had gotten off on this stop and the train is rolling out from the station.
A smile is his only reply this time. Fuji stands up and starts to walk, taking a sharp turn to the right and past the building of the train station. Tezuka doesn’t need to think twice before following and catching up in one a few paces.
The pace Fuji sets is relaxed but not slow. It’s carefully construed, designed, and set up to be this way. It’s easy. Relaxing. Foolishly simple.
Tezuka does not mind this.
It is a relief to the homesickness he’s felt ever since he landed in Japan. Steadily going forward. He glances down
They make their way through the town
Tezuka wants nothing more than to ask where they’re going. The silence is not comfortable, but neither is it stifling. Fuji is amused by something, and that alone makes Tezuka keep his mouth closed. He could demand an answer, and Fuji would give him it. (Or an answer, at least.)
“It’s a hike,” Fuji says.
“You aren’t dressed for it.”
Fuji laughs. Delighted, childish. He looks unable to keep it in, almost surprised as peals of giggles leave him. Something in Tezuka’s chest clenches.
“No,” he agrees, “I’m not. Don’t worry, Tezuka.”
”I’ve longed for you since we met. One way or another.”
”Fuji,” Tezuka starts. He doesn’t know what to say. They had been children then. They were still children, despite what teenaged delusions and ideas of adulthood they might entertain from time to time. No matter how near adulthood they are, the cusp of it just within reach. The reality they’re living.
There’s not much exasperation in his voice, though, and Fuji tilts his head to the side. Just slightly. It looks like he’s about to ask a question but it is with utmost certainty in his voice that he says,
”I know that you’re the one for me. Your soul calls to mine like no one else’s.”
Fuji’s lashes are long. Dark, compared to his hair. Tezuka wonders how long it would take to count them all. To count them again to make sure he had it right.
”Most people grow out of their middle school crushes,” Tezuka says at last. Fuji laughs, delighted, and his smile is genuine. His face transforms in the most minuscule way — Tezuka is certain most wouldn’t even notice the shift. Years ago he learnt read Fuji Syuusuke. It’s comforting, in a sense, that this hasn’t changed.
(The world spins slowly, or not at all.)
”I think my soul has always missed yours. Before we met. After you left. It’s all the same, it all feels the same.”
Tezuka is at a loss for words. He does not want to simply repeat Fuji’s name again.
In a way, though, if he were to admit it to himself, he understands on the most base level what Fuji means. The words are prettier and much more fanciful than what he himself would use. However, the feeling that Fuji is putting words on is one Tezuka knows well. Something about Fuji — something about what he has with Fuji… it is both a sense of longing and a sense of completeness, all at once. Abstract and difficult to describe.
A shooting star twinkles. Bright, for a split-second, and then gone. It might as well never have existed at all.
”For once, I wanted to see what it was like to have you chase after me,” Fuji confesses.
He reaches up with deceptively steady hands; it’s only when he’s close enough to almost touch that Tezuka realises they aren't. The touch of his fingertips on Tezuka’s face, chin, lips, is cool. The tremble of Fuji’s fingers dragging lightly across the skin of Tezuka’s jawline.
I want to kiss you, Tezuka thinks.
”I want to kiss you,” Fuji says.
”I stopped being selfish— as selfish. Back then. It just seems that isn’t in my nature.” Fuji chuckles breathily. ”I’m greedy. I couldn’t stand by passively again.”
Tezuka doesn’t know how to phrase his question. It bothers him that the words are beyond his reach. The lack of control he feels is uncomfortable, and unusual.
”You don’t have to be selfless,” Tezuka tries. He has learnt that there was nothing wrong with taking what you wanted. Going after your dreams and desires.
”Finding a happy medium that still allows for my happiness is difficult.”
”The fire you sparked in me… it was a firework. It fizzled out. It could not continue.”
“This town is so small that the konbini that’s the nearest to the inn isn’t open twenty-four hours a day,” Fuji says, laughing lightly. Genuine amusement, a surprising fondness.
The way that he moves as graceful as always. Even just putting down a package of pork into the basket, and Fuji’s a sight to behold. Mesmerising. Tezuka can feel a little heat creep up his neck.
The inn isn’t an inn. It shouldn’t surprise Tezuka as much as it does when Fuji walks into a residential area, presses the code for the gate, and walks in like he belongs there.
“Mieko-chan, I’m home,” Fuji calls. Toeing off his shoes, he leans down to pet one of the cats that is stroking itself against his shins. Tezuka looks at the brave creature that is cautiously approaching him too.
An elderly lady, petite enough to make Fuji seem tall and broad shouldered, appears in the doorway to what can only be the kitchen.
「It was always me, watching your back. Always a step behind. Even when I stood by your side, your eyes were looking forward,」 Fuji whispered.
Fuji must know with certainty that he had always had Tezuka’s full attention in the court. Fuji must know that. Tezuka watched him. Maybe not as much as Fuji had watched him, but whenever he could allow himself to. What else had Fuji
Why he appeared mute in these dreams continue to baffle him. Tezuka knows that he is silent, waiting, but he doesn’t go out of his way not to speak.
Fuji hands Tezuka a bottle of sunscreen.
”I could use your help,” he says. Tezuka looks at the bottle in his hands. Looks up.
”Your back?”
”Wherever, really,” Fuji replies. ”I haven’t put any on yet.”
Tezuka wonders if this is a test. It feels as if it might be. Maybe it’s just the underlying tension. He nods. Fuji pulls off his shirt.
It flutters to the hardwood floor when he drops it, a pale pile that will surely crease.
He squeezes the bottle until he has a reasonably sized dollop of sunscreen in his hand and he moves to work it into Fuji’s back. It seems a relatively safe place to start. A trickle of it falls from his palm when he tilts his hand to touch the skin. He tries to not imagine the splatter of white that falls on the small of Fuji’s back as something else. None of it stains the dark fabric of the trousers though.
The motions he uses are strong and broad, Tezuka opting to get the process over with as quickly as he can. The expanse of Fuji’s back is narrow beneath his hands and the pale skin smooth; even so, there is still power in the muscles there. Tezuka allows himself a moment to let his fingertips trail over the knobs of Fuji’s spin. The wings of his shoulder blades.
Thinking that he’s done, Fuji turns around.
Tezuka squeezes out more of the sunscreen into his left hand, and grabs one of Fuji’s thin wrists with his right. Fuji’s eyes open, surprise clearly written all over his features until he schools his expression into something more commonly seen and cocks his head, asking an unspoken question.
The ball is in Tezuka’s court, but this is not tennis. He can not just shoot it back. It would be most careless.
Tezuka clears his throat. ”Come a tad closer.”
Fuji steps into the spread of Tezuka’s legs. With the same carefulness that Tezuka goes about most things in life, he reaches with sticky fingers to apply sunscreen to Fuji’s face. The planes of his cheeks, down the soft slope of his nose,
”You should use sunscreen,” Fuji says. ”Or you’ll get wrinkles.”
Fuji pokes a finger to Tezuka’s forehead.
Despite how inviting it looks, the sea is still much too cool to go for a swim. For anything more than to just dip your feet in to test the temperature.
Naturally, Fuji walks barefoot and with his jeans rolled up just at the shoreline, the waves lapping at his ankles. The white foam cover the protruding bone when a new wave rolls in, slightly higher than the ones before it. Fuji smiles. He must be cold, but since the rest of him is dry his lips are still a soft pink.
Tezuka holds Fuji’s shoes in his right hand, his left hand free and brushing against the back of Fuji’s every now and then as they walk down the beach. It would be so easy to reach out and take hold of that small hand.
He tangles his fingers with Fuji’s, the grip loose but unmistakable.
”You saw things in me that no one else did.”
”You wanted things from me that no one else did.”
”Tezuka, you must know that you were, are, [wanted/desired] by others than me”
Tezuka knows Fuji must see the annoyance in his expression as clear as day. The tense line of his lips, the tightening of his jaw. It’s not too different from the expression his face favours naturally. Fuji… Fuji should be able to tell the difference.
”Wasn’t that the thing that ruined us, whatever we were?” Fuji continues. His voice is soft, but his eyes are sharp with their brightness and focus. ”At first, the new me excited you. You enjoyed seeing me be who you always knew I could be, as I enjoyed being that person. Then I think we both realised that it meant that I just wanted you like everyone else did.”
That wasn’t it at all, Tezuka thinks. He’s not sure how to convey this to Fuji.
It was true that Tezuka had been excited by the person Fuji became after he had left for Germany during the U-17 camp, after that unfinished game, but even with Fuji’s reasoning unknown to him he’s not sure how Fuji reached this conclusion.
The excitement was from Fuji finally answering to Tezuka seriously.
Rivalry wasn’t new to Tezuka — Sanada, Atobe, Echizen, — but Fuji was the rival he had chosen for himself, though their relationship had never been as simple as only being about that.
However, Tezuka chased after challenges, wins, and dreams with a seriousness and passion that few others had. He had the inner drive to go after what he wanted. He had wanted Fuji to be his rival, at that point. He had wanted to see the full potential the genius Fuji Syuusuke had. That was a challenge in itself. It was necessary though. Otherwise the result of the game, whether it be a win or a loss, would be worthless. None of his endeavours would have been worthwhile.
Tezuka with his too serious ways, Fuji never serious enough.
Fuji finally being serious
”I need you to know that I never faulted you for your decision— for any of your decisions. I’m just selfish.”
Fuji’s grip on his wrist is strong, tight. His blue eyes are painfully sincere. It makes Tezuka’s breath catch in his throat.
”Come visit me,” Tezuka says. His throat feels dry, itchy. Coarse like the sand beneath his hands. He closes his hand around a fistful, lifts his hand a little ways over the ground. ”Visit me in Germany for summer break.”
Fuji had been supposed to visit him after middle school graduation, but his father had fallen ill. (A heart attack, Tezuka thinks he heard something about.) It was just another of the promises and plans that had fallen through.
Sand trickles through Tezuka’s fingers.
”Ah. Sure.”
“Let me cook properly for you today,” Fuji says. “I’ve gotten pretty good.”
When Tezuka takes too long to answer, he adds, “It’s our last night here.”
It feels a lot like watching Fuji in his dreams. A vision of a future he might have. That they might have. Share.
His own quietness only adds to it. Fuji glances to him, and Tezuka nods. Doesn’t entirely trust his voice. Doesn’t trust it to not ruin the moment. Fuji smiles at him. It is softened by the afternoon light.
They are meant for bigger things, no small town like this enough to contain them. As much as Fuji looks like he fits in this place, he doesn’t belong. Not yet.
Or, perhaps Tezuka has misread him. Truthfully it wouldn’t be the first time. Perhaps a town like this is where Fuji should be, without too many people and things to place restrictions on him. A place where Fuji is free to roam and live in accordance to his own wishes for most part.
As it is now, Fuji has pulled his fringe back from his face and secured it in a small ponytail as he immerses himself into rinsing the vegetables. Most of his hair still hangs freely, just barely brushing his shoulders as he moves. Tezuka catches himself wondering if Fuji could pull it all into a ponytail and show off his slender neck.
“Thank you for the food,” Tezuka says and takes the first bite. Fuji bows his head, looks almost to be hiding a smile, before he reaches out to grab the chopsticks.
“I think I was looking to experience the thrill of the game, again,” Fuji admits.
“And have you?”
The ever present and enigmatic smile on his lips make another appearance. It is a perfect mask that makes Fuji appear untouchable.
“What would you have done if you didn't?”
“Who is to say I did?”
“You're being contrary.”
Fuji laughs and says, “Tezuka”, fingers brushing against the bare skin of Tezuka's wrist. “I would go through with my plans to disappear completely. If there's nothing to hold me back, why stay?”
[then they fuck]
The wind rustles in the leaves of trees and brushes and it’s something close to a marvel that the night is quiet enough for them to hear it even from inside. Though with the large screen-doors are pushed open to the garden, it shouldn’t be as surprising as it somehow feels. Tezuka is almost certain that if he
“Tezuka, will you lay with me?” Fuji asks. He chuckles, apologises quickly enough to not let Tezuka even begin to form a reply, “Sorry, I phrased that poorly. Tezuka, will you—?”
The smile on his lips is soft but the sparkle in his eye mischievous, which is something Tezuka recognises all too well. He cuts in before Fuji may ruin this moment with crude words.
“I will.” Fuji’s eyes blink open in surprise, and he meets Tezuka’s deceitfully calm gaze.
Tezuka has done this before. Had sex. With a girl he dated for a while, with the boy he never dated but that helped him understand that it was alright to prefer the company of men. They weren’t Fuji, though. He doesn’t know it that a problem or a promise of what’s to come.
“It’s… only when you are near, that’s when I don’t feel hollow. When the longing is no more than a memory, pushed to the back of my mind,” Fuji whispers. Every words his pretty lips form makes them brush against Tezuka’s in something similar to, but not exactly, small kisses. A small proof of unspoken affection, secret, desire. The feeling that tugs at Tezuka’s heart screams at him to not pull back, but he needs to reach the bottle of lubrication that they managed to push onto the floor in their tussle. Fuji blinks, momentarily confused, and then his sharp eyes locks on Tezuka’s hand. On the lube, cold and glistening in the low light as Tezuka pours it onto his fingers.
Tezuka wishes desperately that he could voice his thoughts — Fuji used to be the person with whom he spoke most freely, but now his throat feels tight and he is almost breathless.
“It’s feels strange kissing you when you still wear your glasses,” Fuji mumbles in increments against Tezuka’s lips, their mouths still touching and moving against each other as he forms words, and small puff of laughter mixes their breaths.
“I want to,” Tezuka says, “I just want to see you.” He feels heat creep up his neck at his own words, too bold and uncharacteristic, and by the twinkling laughter it pulls from Fuji it seems he must agree.
“Just come closer,” Fuji says, mirth in his voice and his gaze less sharp even as he openly takes in Tezuka’s face. “Come as close as you need to be.”
