Fandom: Prince of Tennis/Tennis no Oujisama
Disclaimer: The usual…e.g., I don't own the copyright to any characters of this series—though this time I'm just borrowing my favorite without permission
Title: Grocery Shopping
Summary: Perhaps they make a "virtue of necessity," but the significance of a mundane task in their relationship is explained.
Yes, grocery shopping.
Life with him has held many simple pleasures, actually. Analyzing how the Great War marked the passing of an era over a dinner of curry rice. Working crossword puzzles together in bed, heedless of the cracker crumbs being dropped in the sheet folds. Sharing a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream while immersed in our own books—and exchanging an amused glance later over the inevitably melted leftovers. Dropping a kiss on the top of his head in thanks for a swig of beer that he offered, touched that he noticed that I passed by despite his attention to a televised match. Leaning against him during lazy afternoons of fishing, and sipping cooler-chilled tea to take the edge off the sun's heat. But grocery shopping tops that list.
It was one of the first matters we settled in the beginning. His habit had been to purchase fresh ingredients almost every day—well, that was understandable given the prevalence of fish in his diet. Previously, I had tended to go only when necessary or convenient. We compromised very easily, and gratifyingly, on shopping together once a week.
That very first trip to the grocery store brought home to me, in a way that nothing else had, just how much we were truly together. Decisions on what to buy now directly affected both of us: not only because we both would be consuming the products (literally, not just idiomatically), but also because we would be paying out of our recently-established joint account. Brand-new to the ideas evoked, we probably embarrassed ourselves that day with the numerous shared and avoided glances, depending on whether the type of item being placed in the cart was a food or hygienic product. I suppose it was then, too, that we started the tradition of staying near to one another while going through the aisles (methodically, of course)—out of a natural desire to prolong the "honeymoon" effect, and from the practicality of having the other immediately available for consultation.
I can recall precisely when we realized just how important grocery shopping had come to be in our lives. Rather, he did—I had been too busy every moment of that month away to do more than ache for him at night: beyond tired, yet unable to sleep without having him breathing beside me and without his subliminal scent permeating the bedding. On my way through the kitchen upon my return, I had subconsciously noted that quite a variety of takeout bags and leftover containers had accumulated; but I had been too intent on alleviating my desperate need to curl up in his arms to think about it.
Even though it was late enough that he should have been in bed already, I had tracked him down in the den, watching a tennis match with the volume low. "I'm home," I said, so as not to startle him, before placing a kiss in his hair from beside the recliner—oh, how I had even missed the inevitable tickle on my nose of straying wisps as I did so. He had turned abruptly and fastened his gaze on my face; the flashing light from the television in the lenses of his glasses had made his eyes difficult to read, but the lines in his face betrayed his own sleep deprivation. Then he wordlessly held out his arms, and I had collapsed into them gratefully.
The only sounds for a long while were the thwacking of a tennis ball, sporadically interrupted by commentary or applause, and the more consistent steadiness of his heartbeat. Having his warmth wrap around me like the most blissful blanket nearly soothed me to sleep then and there, despite my still-jangled nerves. But he eventually sighed with the contentment that I felt; I had huffed a laugh into his shirt, then freed my head enough to say, "Ditto."
"Difficult trip?" he asked sympathetically.
"No worse than your having to deal with those 150 essays, all typed in e-mail grammar and punctuation, I'm sure."
"Mmm. Bad, then."
"Well, of course. I was apart from you, for one…" I said, a bit self-conscious with the sentimentality, however sincere. His reply was made in silence.
After pulling away from the kiss to settle me more comfortably against him, he had stated in his typical brooking-no-argument tone, "The next time one of us is away for more than a week, we should try to buy enough groceries to last the duration."
"Hmm?" My earlier observation surfaced in my thoughts, and I asked with a bit of incredulity, "You mean you didn't go at all? You've been eating out this whole time?"
"No. That is, I did go, and I have not been eating out every night. However… I missed you most while shopping by myself."
His saying those few words touched me greatly; obviously, he would cope, but that he did not want to spoke volumes. Thus we did as he had requested from then on; I had cause to be glad of it when my turn to stay home came around. For as usual, he had been right—doing the grocery shopping alone was just as hard as sleeping alone had become, and the former could be mitigated to some extent.
Over the years, grocery shopping came to serve us in other ways, as well. He certainly valued being able to keep a set routine and to plan for the week ahead. I always benefited from the opportunity to introduce a little spontaneity during the shopping itself, with a suggestion for trying something new, here, or purchasing a bakery treat to share on the spot, there. In busier times, it might be the only occasion during the week we would have for touching-base with each other. Besides, shopping with him could never be boring: he always found ways to perform the little courtesies that said "I still love and appreciate you" louder than any overhead announcement, and I always made sure to return the sentiment by being unabashed in holding hands with him while navigating the cart along.
Trying to explain the phenomenon, I guess that adjusting to how we each dealt with the myriad details of grocery shopping, from menu decisions to aggravating cashiers, helped us mesh our individual lives as nothing else could. It also taught me that love is easier to nurture when fed by this kind of companionship, and easier to sustain when it is unhindered by hard feelings that have festered into grudges. To effect the latter, by unspoken mutual consent, any disagreements we may have had over the course of the week have always been settled prior to heading over to the store. Indeed, part of the glow of grocery shopping might occasionally be attributed to a very recent make-up.
Perhaps this all sounds more romanticized than … well, say an aria over driving to work. But I would not trade even a single memory of our performing the most pedestrian tasks of shopping—sifting through piles of produce for the correct ripeness (in my opinion) or convincing me that hideously ugly seafood is quite edible when prepared (in his)—for glamorous dinner dates on a daily basis.
So. This was probably too much information, but I wished to share it with you…the means that Tezuka Kunimitsu and I discovered for making a relationship last a lifetime: grocery shopping.
A/N: This is just a little tide-me-over (PWP) piece until I get somewhere with the "War & Peace" endeavor of an AU post-anime fanfic that I'm working on, which pairs Tezuka with an OC. In my mind, this drabble goes along with that work, but I've intentionally not identified the narrator of this one so that everyone is welcome to imagine him/her to be their favorite pair partner to Tezuka. Consider it my gift to any readers of this first posting.
Thanks go especially to Canarynoir for "forward momentum" in many ways, and to Umechan for inspiring the topic.