Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of its characters and will not be making any money from this.
A/N: It's been a while, I know, since I last wrote Tezuka/Fuji. This will be chaptered work, but it won't be updated as quickly as my other ones. I'll try aim for an update every one or two weeks, but know that my writing schedule will be dictated by school work. I've had this prologue written for some time now and wanted to write more of it before I posted, but I think posting it motivates me to write more more than anything else so here goes.
Note: Only the prologue is in First person. First person is Fuji. The rest will be in third person.
EDITED: 04/07/2013
PROLOGUE
I sit silently as I watch Tezuka pack. It was something I have long grown used to, not that that changed anything. I sometimes still wish he would make a little more time for me, but it seems that I am not very high on his list of priorities. I don't say anything, though, because I know he loves tennis, know he loves mountain climbing, know he needs that quiet peace after a particularly rowdy tournament. It was routine. It was Tezuka. But still, it would be nice to be invited along just once. It's not like that would stop me nor was it likely that Tezuka would object, and he hasn't, but I could tell from the way he acted that he didn't really want me there, didn't need me there. I don't attempt to go along anymore. It puts more strain on our already taut relationship than really help it.
Saa…
"I'm going," I hear Tezuka say from the front door, "Lock up when you leave."
"Hmm…perhaps I should go too," I say, more to myself than to him. He turns sharply to look at me, but I merely smile back. Fifteen years together as friends, five of which as lovers, and he has yet to discern my many smiles while I can tell every frown and grunt from the next.
Tezuka says nothing, but I can see that frown. He thinks I want to go with him. I don't move. And he leaves.
I don't wonder about whether he loves me or not. I know he does. He just has a few other things he cares for, too. But it would be nice, nonetheless, to feel it sometimes.
I turn and glance around his apartment. I've left a mess for him, my way of showing I care. He'll sigh when he opens that door and sees it. He'll call out to me. When he realizes I'm not in the apartment, he'll make a note to say something when we next meet. Glancing around, I decide maybe just once, just this once, I'll clean it. Just a bit.
.x.x.
He'll be gone for the weekend, I know, so I only have a day to put everything together. But there really isn't anything to put together, is there? I hold the frame with a picture I took some years back. A work I have decided not to publish because it did not feel right to. I leave it propped on the meticulously clean kitchen counter. It will be the first thing Tezuka sees when he walks in, as it should be.
My things are already packed. The cab is still waiting downstairs. I turn around. And close the door. I leave Tezuka's apartment for the last time, locking up the doors behind me. Taking the keys off the key ring, I slip it into his mailbox as I walk past. This will be the last time.
Will he understand? Will he look for me? I can't help but hope that he will; I can't help but think that he won't.
