Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama is the property of Konomi Takeshi and its licensers.
Author's Notes: This is a gift fic for Laura, who requested that Fuji (and to some degree, Tezuka) be in it.
Seven Days After Today
By CalicoKitten
On the opposite side of the court, he scans his opponent with interest, eying the tennis racket the other grips in his right hand. Observing the boy closely, he shifts slightly to the right, feet scraping gently along the ground.
The other notices his movement.
It's really no surprise that he does.
Nevertheless, he disregards this, making no change to the toss or swing of his racket as he launches the ball over the net.
Predictably, it lands exactly at the corner of the service box, and he makes no attempt to hit it back, watching the ball as it leaves the connecting lines and jumps up, passing his prone form.
He clucks his tongue disapprovingly.
"Saa, Tezuka. Why don't you use another serve? I've already seen this one."
In response, Tezuka regards him from across the net, face unreadable behind the dangling locks of brown. He takes another ball out of his pocket, bouncing it to the ground and back, and he favors him with an unrecognizable gaze.
"Fuji. Shouldn't you be speaking for yourself?"
And it causes only the faintest stirring within Fuji, but before he can think of it, Tezuka serves again, and he recognizes it immediately.
He does not move when the ball spins on the ground longer than before, and it shoots up, heading towards his face at an unnatural angle and with high velocity.
He does not move when it harmlessly slides past him, just barely missing his face.
"Tezuka-kun, that wasn't very nice," he reprimands, voice playful but masked as well.
Tezuka simply looks at him, not responding, and he turns then, the left side of his figure facing Fuji.
"I'm sorry."
It is a genuine apology, but the taller boy does not face him, so it is lacking. Fuji dismisses it carefully and instead chooses to peer through the strings of his racket at the other in the distance.
"I didn't know you knew Echizen's Twist Serve."
It's a lie, of course, and Fuji knows it as Tezuka once again glances at him, face still stoic though Fuji can tell that his words bother him.
Not for the first time, he wonders how his captain became so impassive to most everything around him. He doesn't know all of the details, but from what Oishi says, it seems as if it began in Tezuka's freshman year.
He can see why, but it irritates him that he does not know, and Fuji realizes why.
Tezuka answers him then, plainly and without accusation, "Don't you?"
Fuji ignores the question, still smiling, and instead asks, "Saa, then why don't you use it?"
"Because I don't want to."
He remains quiet, idly playing with the strings on his racket as he looks through the crisscross of strings to Tezuka. Moving a white strand up and down, he sees that the racket has been negligently cared for.
The strings are loose, and it disturbs him.
He resents this feeling just a little.
It's because it's out of place.
"We have a week, Tezuka," he speaks up unexpectedly, and Seigaku's captain pierces him with his eyes.
Bringing down his racket, he meets it with one of his own. His eyes are open, and he can feel the sensation around him when a soft breeze flies by, stirring the green leaves dangling from the branches of aging trees and blowing wisps of a familiar scent through the air.
He likes the scent.
He's had to get used to it, but right now, he finds it refreshing.
Tezuka inclines his head for a second, still meeting Fuji's gaze with his own. When he moves again, his glasses catch a ray of light, and it reflects.
Fuji accepts the harsh light as it hits his eyes, refusing to flinch at the brief pain it causes to his retinas. He thinks, wryly, that he is blinded.
Tezuka speaks, his eyes hidden but his posture betraying everything.
"Aa."
It is only a week. It is only seven days, and it is only one hundred sixty-eight hours.
It is an ambiguous amount of time – either thought of as short or long.
But, standing upon the clay pavement of the courts blinded, he sees everything clearly.
"Fuji," Tezuka says, and the bright light suddenly disappears, and Fuji, only a bit amused, perceives his own irony of the epiphanies with it.
He knows it's strange, but he doesn't care.
"Play a game with me."
The tone, crisp and sharp, demands something more, and he's only slightly hesitant. He wonders, fleetingly, if Tezuka can reproduce his own unique tennis techniques, but he pushes it out of his head almost immediately.
It distracts him to think about it.
Instead, he replies, walking backwards to stand behind the baseline with his racket firmly in hand and his eyes open.
"Aa."
Tezuka glances at him momentarily, as if he wants to determine if Fuji really will play with him. Fuji waits patiently under his scrutiny, clutching the handle of his racket, and he notices the satisfied expression that Tezuka lets cross his face before returning it to its indifferent mask.
He glimpses himself in Tezuka when the chestnut-haired captain prepares to serve, and questions it briefly.
The ball flies altogether too fast to his end of the court, and he sets himself up to play it back while thinking that if time stops, he would have until forever to return the little yellow ball.
They would never have eternity, however, but Fuji supposes that eternity would be boring anyway.
In place of it, they have today, and they have seven days after today.