Title: Forgetting
Rating:
G
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Summary: Separation was inevitable, and so was forgetting.

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All the memories I have are beautiful in my mind,
But they don't feed the hunger deep inside my soul.
And tonight I thought I'd be just sitting in my sorrow,
And now I must wonder why
'What did it really mean to you?'

-Sobakasu, English translation

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Forgetting

You have him trapped in a room, and you wonder why it fails to amuse you, when you used to take a sadistic interest in causing him discomfort before. Then again, you've never been separated for ten years without any contact whatsoever, and this is a toned-down version of you, the gentler one, the one Yuuta seems to like more, so it's understandable to feel that way.

You don't want to feel like this. You want to feel more enthusiastic, more passionate, and you consider slamming him against the wall and smiling beatifically at him to coax some kind of extreme reaction from him (fear or a 'what the hell' look, as long as it isn't the same old expressionless face. Come to think of it, out of everything else, that hasn't changed at all) and from you (blood humming, lips curling, heart beating faster and faster until you just want to carve it out to make it stop).

It's not healthy.

It's a good thing you still play tennis.

"It's me, buchou," you say it with a smile on your face, because he's always seen you smiling before, hasn't he? "Fuji Syuusuke."

You watch the way his eyes narrow just a little, the way his lips form a thin line, the same way he used to whenever he encountered a particularly difficult math problem, or a small crisis that involved you in any way (indirectly or directly, it didn't matter. You still made things difficult for him, didn't you?).

"Fuji. Fuji. Fuji Syuusuke," Tezuka says, enunciating each syllable, holding his breath in the spaces between the words both spoken and unspoken (Hello, I missed you, why didn't you tell me you were coming?), and he touches his forehead with his fingers, as if he is recalling something important that he never should have forgotten, but the moment is gone, and he spares you a sincerely apologetic (dare you say regretful) look, one that you have seen before, when he decided to give up tennis in high school.

"I'm sorry," you hear him say, and it nearly breaks your heart to know that Tezuka has always been impersonal, even if he knows almost everything about you, "I can't seem to remember ever knowing a Fuji Syuusuke."

You ought to feel angry, or hurt, or indignant, because you've been teammates for how many damn years, and you've made promises to each other and spent probably more time with each other than with anyone else, but, strangely, you don't feel anything like that.

Tired, that's what you are.

Because with him, you're not sure if you've ever had anything out of the ordinary, and this is where you realize that whatever you've worked for in the past has been, ultimately, futile.

You don't blame him. That's just how it's supposed to be.

Even you will forget him, someday.

(You wonder why someday hasn't come sooner, if it could only spare you from this moment.)

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END