Can't tell you the pairing, otherwise it would spoil the entire drabble. Character death, and slight angst? Inspired by 'Lovely Bones' and ZaKai's FMA ficlet, so credit goes where it's due.
Written for the forum's drabble challenge.
He was so young. They whispered. So much potential wasted.
Such a pity.
Such a tragedy.
Tezuka stood in the middle of the graveyard, watching all the black-robed mourners file past him, murmuring soft words of sympathy or a prayer for the young man who had died. Some of them dropped pretty flowers on or around the gravestone, littering the ground with a variety of roses, chrysanthemums, or lilies. They were all pretty flowers; all dashed with colour and life, although Tezuka knew that those same vivid colours would fade within days.
"He was too young to die." Fuji murmured from behind Tezuka, and he turned. The honey-brown haired young man looked sad – his gaze was fixed on the gravestone and the name engraved on it. "We still had so much to do."
Tezuka had no reply for him.
"Life is so unfair." Fuji whispered then, tears clouding his lovely aquamarine eyes.
Tezuka saw former members of the Seigaku tennis team file past, each of them as stricken as Fuji in their own way. They had lost one of their most important friends, and each of them had lost that tiny part of themselves. Tezuka tried to find some comforting words for them within himself, but he couldn't say anything.
Little by little, the mourners left, and now only the loyal Seigaku members remained, each of them standing silently in the fading sun, paying their last respects.
"We'd better go." Oishi said finally, laying a hand on Fuji's shoulder.
"I'll stay for a bit longer." Fuji said quietly. Tezuka decided to stay with Fuji. He wanted to spend some more time with the one person he had truly cherished, even if the silence that enveloped them was stifling.
Oishi exchanged worried looks with Eiji, and that look was not lost on Fuji.
"Take care, then." He said finally.
In the end, even the Seigaku regulars drifted away.
Was this all it came down to, Tezuka wondered. When one lives, one is remembered and loved.
When one dies…
He gave Fuji another glance.
He reclined in the comfortable seat of the airplane, safely strapped in and fully anticipating the plane's touch-down at the airport. He had missed Japan's hot, humid weather – life overseas in a foreign country had been cold and frigid, although the opportunities presented to him were almost limitless. He was an excellent tennis player – a prodigy, many of the Westerners had called him, and making a living by playing tennis hadn't been as hard as anticipated.
But despite all the comforts and money he had, he still missed his home country and more importantly, his former high school tennis team.
He had only kept in touch with one of them, and that was Fuji Syusuke.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will be reaching Narita Airport in thirty minutes. Please fasten your seat belts and do not…"
His delicate fingers tapped the arm rest of his seat lightly. He looked forward to going home.
There was a sudden jolt and a bump, and static filled the speaker of the plane. Murmurs of apprehension rippled among the passengers.
"Attention. The plane has hit a mild turbulence and will attempt to divert from its original course. Please remain calm and seated."
That day, the news broadcasted about a tragedy of a plane crash with very few lucky survivors.
He wasn't one of them.
Fuji reached out and touched the surface of the gravestone, his fingers pale and trembling.
"We were perfect together." He whispered. "I only loved you."
Tezuka hesitated. He reached down, brushing non-existent lips against Fuji's cold ones.
"I love you too."
He was gone.
Tezuka Kunimitsu
1985-2007
Owari
I made up the dates, obviously, tweaking it to make Tezuka 22 years old.
If you haven't noticed, it's Perfect Pair.