Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.
Happy birthday to Tezuka-Buchou!
A/N: This is a two part drabble. ENJOY!
Myth X Magic
Myth
He sighed soft satisfaction from his lips while his fingers found the edge of the hard cover. Lifted, its corners drew an invisible arc in the air before it fell on top of the stack of pages, sealing away its content.
" Oishi."
Removing his focus upon the large golden letters imprinted upon the painted surface, it trailed forward, across the polished table top, to the edge and glided upwards until he readjusted it when the other's face came into view.
Almost by instinct, a smile stretched his lips.
" Aa, Tezuka."
" A literary report?" the other gestured with an immediate downcast of hazel orbs. Then they were fixed upon his forest depths again.
" No, I'm babysitting tomorrow." He explained. " I picked out a book to read to her that she might find interesting."
" Aa." The Little Mermaid, a fairy tale, he concluded after a glance at the title, a tragic one, nevertheless.
He did not find interest in impossible miracles even at a young age.
And now, the fact remained true.
The burning sphere spread its flames across the thick mass of white clouds that devoured it.
They, walking closely, side-by-side on the same narrow path leading to their individual sanctuaries, did not seem to be distracted by the glorious ceremony in the heavens.
Serenity, enough, was able to reassure a pleasant atmosphere between them.
" Have you ever heard of the story, Tezuka?" He catches opportunity when he sees it to initiate a conversation between them.
" No." He was unashamed.
" Even given the chance to become human, the mermaid princess never gained enough courage to tell the prince of her feelings for him. In the end, he fell for another and wed, while she cast herself into the sea and became merely the foam washing in its waves." He knows his companion could care less, yet he still conducts a succinct summary out of his own stubbornness.
" …"
Sighing, he added a few mutters.
" If only she'd tell him…"
" Then, blame the man for his lack of awareness."
His companion listened. The reply, though indifferent, gave enough proof to provoke fulfillment within him, rushing through his veins at the rhythm of his heart.
" But, Tezuka-" A structure gripping at his free hand halted the complaint arising from his tongue.
A hand.
Tezuka's hand.
Fingers wove into the spaces dividing his own. And warmth was exchanged at the surfaces---palm to palm---pressed together.
The heat made its first appearance, instantaneously, pushing at the skin of his cheeks, threatening outburst.
It seemed like a fairy tale, a miracle that he found a best friend within the youth beside him; but he knew it was no fairy tale.
They sensed what each other wanted.
They understood what each other needed.
They knew how to achieve their needs without the help of fairies.
Tezuka did not believe in fairy tales.
Maybe from now on, he won't, either.