Your Smiling Face, a prince of tennis fanfic

Title: Your Smiling Face
Author: crissixx (Apple Bubblegum)

Genre: Angst
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: Don't own.

Don't think you're so invisible.

You're not the only one that can see others suffer. I have eyes too, and I can use them.

I saw you, smiling at everyone, being friendly, and so damn cheerful, and then you turn away where nobody can see you, and your whole facade drops. Where nobody can see you except me, that is.

But what the hell, you don't even know me. I'm just... a classmate, somebody you can come to when you've missed yesterday's History homework, or if you want to borrow 'Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso' because it's your latest conquest, or if you suddenly feel like listening to 'Vitali's Chaconne', and I'm the only one who can play the full song properly. It would be nice if you could actually acknowledge me, for once. But no, I'm invisible in your life. A mere speck of your imagination. You just smile at me warmly, like you're my best friend, but I know what you're really thinking. You're thinking, this girl can play the violin like an angel, but she's really annoying and she keeps trying to get to close to me, so I'll just smile like I mean it and get on with my stupid life until it ends. I'm almost psychic when it comes to you, I've studied you more than you'd ever know. You'd think that I was a stalker.

But I seriously can't believe you. I can't believe anything. I can't believe I still love you so much when I hate hate hate you so much, and I'm so sick and tired of your stupid, pretentious, pretty-boy smiling face, and I just want to make you look at the mirror, and see what you're pretending to be. Can't you see? You're living a life of lies, and you don't even seem to care.

I saw the razor blade, and I never knew you were that stupid. I stole it one day, I'll admit it. It's not as if you'll ever find out anymore anyway. But then, the next day, I noticed your scissors didn't cut as well as they usually did, and they looked slightly... stained. I was horrified.

Is it possible? Is it really possible to love someone so much, that you don't care whether they return your affections or not, you just want them to be safe, and happy? I didn't know what love was before. I'd had crushes on millions of boys before: the captain of the Seigaku tennis team, the guy with bleached white hair from Rokkaku, the guy with the red ribbon in his hair from St. Rudolph, the captain of the chess club, the guy who sits next to me in math, the guy with the same initials as me, countless guys. And then I met you. Did I have a crush on you? No, not really. I just wanted to know more about you, to be friends with you. Huh. Yeah right. I guess it all changed when you started paying more attention to me. I was enticed by you, I wanted more, I wanted us to be more than friends.

I started caring more about you, watching you more carefully. I was sure there was something hidden behind that smiling facade. I was certain that nobody could be that perfect, so perfect in every way. Cheerful, good-looking, smart, kind, athletic. I dropped it for a while. It was you after all, and you were absolutely, flawlessly perfect. Then I did the unthinkable. I followed you home one day. You were smiling, saying goodbye to your tennis friends. Then you walked off in the direction of your own home waving, and then, you revealed the real you.

I saw you. I saw your smile drop into a scowl. I saw you loosen your tie, letting it hang low. I saw you unbutton your shirt. I saw you mess up your hair. I saw you take something out of your bag. A box of cigarettes. You lit a cigarette, slouching against a wall. I saw you walk all the way to a club. It was one of the most infamous stripper clubs in Japan. I was mortified. I didn't follow you in. What would the point be anyway?

Then, the next day, you came to class, and headed directly for me. I was terrified. Then you smiled at me, and asked me if you could borrow my copy of Twilight, English version. I plastered a smile on my face to hide my previously fearful one and tried to slow my galloping heart, but to no avail. Stupid heart.

I felt like the book had saved me, in a way.

The last time I saw you was one week ago. I had followed you to the roof to get my copy of Twilight back. I wondered why you were going to the roof; didn't you have tennis practice? I opened the door slowly, peeking my head across the door. I remember my eyes opening wide with surprise as I saw you climbing up the fence. I remember myself screaming for you to stop it, you were being so stupid, and you weren't supposed to die so early! I remember bursting into hysterical tears. I remember you, standing on top of the fence, arms held out at the sides, jumping down, down, down to your own doom. And I remember the sickening splat as you landed, oh-so-ironically, on the tennis court.

I was choking on my own tears, still screaming at you to stop it, stop it, STOP BEING SO STUPID, even though you were already gone, long gone. I saw crowd of students and teachers watching me; watching the suicide scene; watching your body, in shock, horror. I saw your own doubles partner, down on the courts, yelling, crying, sinking down onto his knees on the green covering, covering his head with his hands. I saw the redhead, the captain, everyone, and I wondered, why?

Why would you do something so idiotic?

I'm standing here now, speaking to a bunch of people I don't know, just for you. Why? Why would I do something like that? The truth is, I love you. I've loved you since... well, I'm not going to say that I've loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you, because that's just too cliched, and it's not even the truth, but, I still love you. I know, I said before, that I hate you, but it's true because I love you, and I hate you, all at the same time; it's so confusing, and I just don't understand, I don't understand anything.

But I wanted to say, I'm sorry that you did what you did. I'm sorry you wasted your life away. I'm sorry you don't get a second chance. But most of all, I'm sorry that you had to hide your real person underneath a fake shell, because no matter what or who you really were, you still meant something to everyone. And, lastly, I just want to say: rest in peace.

Thus ends my testimonial to the deceased.

Anonymous Angst. If you can guess who I had in mind when I wrote this (and I'm pretty certain NOBODY will), you can request a fic from me!

Fanfiction screwed up my formatting.

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