A/N: This was an interesting sort of concept for a themed challenge I ended up dropping, but I thought the idea was interesting, so I'll keep working at it. There are five parts left to write, and hopefully, I won't let this die.
For 24 hour themes, 2AM Ridding partnerships or relationships of negativity.
Pairing: Tezuka x Fuji
Warnings: yaoi, angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Tennis no Oujisama, Tezuka Kunimitsu, or Fuji Syuusuke. No copyright infringement intended.
Five Ways Tezuka Didn't Lose Fuji Syuusuke
one.
The note was lying innocently on the table when he got home. He did not notice it at first, scuffling around the kitchen as he put away their newly-purchased groceries, his footsteps filling the echoing silence of the apartment.
Tezuka was setting a bag of coffee on the table when he caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. He frowned slightly as he picked it up, the note slightly wrinkled from being crushed and tossed about by the groceries. He glanced at it and paused, the silence of the apartment ringing loudly in his ears. Tezuka's eyes widened as its message hit him.
"It's over."
He stared at the note, Fuji's elegant handwriting playing out words so bold and direct in a manner nothing like the evasive subtlety of its writer. Fuji's other notes were always elusive, taunting him with a meaning that he never could quite grasp until Fuji enlightened him. This time was different. Fuji was serious. It was done.
Tezuka scowled to himself. He didn't want it to be over, not when he still had the image of Fuji smiling softly at him over breakfast fresh in his mind. Not when they had so many years together and so many more in front of them.
There hadn't been anything wrong when he left this morning. They hadn't had a fight in months. If Fuji had any thoughts of breaking up in the last few weeks, it certainly hadn't been showing in their sex life. He stared at the note again. It offered no remedy to Fuji's reasoning.
Tezuka frowned to himself as he carried the note to their bedroom. He slowly opened the door, appraising the scene before him. It was meticulously clean, though horribly devoid of any sign that Fuji ever lived in there as well.
Tezuka opened their closet. Empty of Fuji's clothes. If Fuji had been packing, he was sure he would've noticed. None of his jackets were disarranged in a manner of someone trying to hurry and grab everything they could. It simply seemed as if Fuji had never existed at all.
He looked down at the note in his hand, silently glaring. He didn't want to lose Fuji. He never lost at anything, not when it was truly important. But Fuji was his own person and there was no way Tezuka could force him into anything he didn't want. He wasn't sure he could win against Fuji.
Tezuka angrily stalked out of the room, crumpling the note in his hand. He headed back to the kitchen, ready to throw it away and make dinner, clear his mind, move away from the mess. He held the note over the trash can and paused, staring at it. He couldn't do it. He couldnt throw it away.
Sighing, he uncrumpled the note gingerly and set it back on the table so delicately as if it would break if he did not treat it with such care. There was a moment of silence.
Tezuka calmly walked back to their - his - bedroom and crawled under the covers. He was tired. He didn't want to think about it. He hoped it was a bad dream and when he woke up in the morning Fuji would just be there and this mess a bloody nightmare that he would never return to.
He fell into an uneasy slumber.
When Tezuka awoke again, the grandfather clock in the living room struck two. He laid in the darkness, staring at the other side of the bed. It was still empty. Quietly, he trudged into the kitchen and proceeded to make two cups of coffee. He drank his own as he set the other one down on the kitchen table.
The note was still there.
to follow.
Next up: Tezuka was never good at asking for what he wanted, even when it was right in front of him.