Tasting Purple
It requires no special palate to experience envy. Likewise, jealousy is a universal flavour.
Yuuta, a veritable connoisseur, hated its taste.
For far longer than he'd been aware, Syusuke had been better than him. Better at everything. First was no competition in the Fuji household, Syusuke had always held the title effortlessly, regardless of the nature of the challenge; first to be born, first to get an A, first to pick up a racket, first to win a tournament. Yuuta had become experienced in the art of jealousy, before he had even recited his first multiplication table, or seen his first tennis match. Before he knew what word could identify the emotion.
Although cultivated into second best, through the harsh teachings of experience, he had not gone quietly into his position. Tantrums came to set free the anger and, for a while, amid the almost relentless covetousness, there had been times of happiness. Sporadic, flung intermittently through his childhood, but very real and very reassuring.
Yuuta learnt to cherish the times with Syusuke, for often rage or talent would rise from its all-too-brief slumber and quickly ruin the moment. Slowly, as they grew older and it became less and less acceptable to throw a fit, to demand attention that had never been his. Times of joy and flashes of solidarity began to dwindle, lost between the distinctions of social niceties and displaced fury. The one-sided rift developed further.
In the beginning, for all his genius, Yuuta's big brother couldn't figure out what the problem was. And his attempts to help only made it worse. It began with the little things: seeking him out in the lunch room, walking him to class in the morning, explaining concepts he couldn't grasp in school. Yuuta would avoid him as much as possible; hiding in the restrooms during lunchtime, waking early to cycle into school on his own, begging his parents to put him in cram school despite the friends he would lose for appearing "nerdy". After his efforts failed, Syusuke stepped up the game. He'd threaten anyone who'd antagonize his baby brother, and punish anyone who sought to do better than him in tennis. Sometimes, when Yuuta would get a bad grade, the blue-eyed boy would even aspire to humble the teachers. More often than not, it worked.
Yumiko was the one to stop the behavior, just before their move to Tokyo. She'd sat down with them and talked. Yuuta had cried, upset despite himself. Saddened that his tensai of a brother had to be spoon-fed his feelings, and angry that a third party had seen the division he'd created through resentment. He'd been tempted to run from the meeting, until he'd seen his brother's face. Syusuke hadn't cried, he'd just gone quiet, shock written on his features, a perfect face tainted with the awfulness of self-loathing.
Even in anguish, Yuuta's jealousy had bled from him, curdling the experience of what had almost been a moment of shared camaraderie. Sleep had no business coming lightly that night.
Transferring midterm to Seigaku had been a godsend. At least half a year would be his to explore and enjoy the elementary school, without the shadow of his gifted brother lurking in hallways. And maybe, if he was lucky, the entry into middle school would be smooth, unencumbered by the weight of his brother's presence. Half a year shouldn't be enough to influence a student population, or to begin to create the reputation he'd acquired in Chiba. It shouldn't have been enough for the average freshman, but Yuuta was always for getting Syusuke's penchant for implausible.
Yuuta hated the feelings of inadequacy that came with being wrong.
From the very moment he walked through the gate of Seigaku, whispers collected around him; coiled in his presence, ready to spring in a moment of absence. There was no place to avoid the recognition. Female upperclassmen cajoled him in the hallways, always far too anxious to give their gifts and trinkets to Syusuke in person but Yuuta seemed an almost perfect delivery boy. Teachers would accost him in lessons, marveling at how different the two were, at the genius of Syusuke and his mundane little brother. Even the freshmen who'd shared his classes for half a year seemed to turn on him, especially those with an affection for tennis.
It was stifling.
Reality revolved around Syusuke, and the idiot didn't even realize it. Yuuta would be left, as always, to trail in his wake, choking on his own inadequacies. The lone tail of a meteor: All too aware of the gravity of the first and far too restricted to do anything about it. Nobody, no-one, would want to see a shadow behind perfection. And Yuuta hadn't let himself believe they could, until Mizuki found him at the Tennis courts.
He wasn't quite perfect, but that was okay, because Yuuta wasn't even close. And he cared a lot – too much – about winning, to the point where he could sacrifice his friend's –Yuuta's– health, but that was okay too, because it meant that the senior valued him enough to realize and utilize his potential in a sport that Yuuta wanted to get better in. And St. Rudolf was almost the family he'd never managed to envision for himself when he was surrounded with Syusuke, the kind of family where places were as interchangeable as grip on a racket, and where mistakes never held you down but strengthened a resolve to do better. To reach higher. To be as capable as you could, and be proud of it.
And Yuuta was proud.
Pride, in comparison to envy, was a far more delectable sin, and it longed to be revelled in. So he did. Days once filled with all-consuming resentment fled hand in hand with the anger that had tainted his life. Replaced with the bittersweet constant of determination. And when he practiced he flaunted his skills, taking no shame in his 'Lefty killer' title and subtly encouraging others to do the same. For once, it appeared that the spotlight shone in his direction, no longer would he be held immovable in the wake of his brother memory, for it was no longer the memory of a genius he was chasing, but the beginnings of an almost idyllic future.
Perfection, however, came at a price. On the day in spring, when Seigaku and St. Rudolf clashed, and Yuuta's new beginnings toppled into his past, perfection demanded payment. His titles were stripped, Mizuki was demoralized and St. Rudolf's best set plans were laid asunder.
And of course it was all Syusuke's fault.
But little could be done to save face, and all that was left was to pick up the pieces. Yuuta was all too good at that. Ideas of revenge, that he'd thought he'd lost bubbled to the surface in the aftermath of the battle, as he turned to the past to rebuild all his expectations once again. It took time but slowly the tennis team got back on its feet stronger than ever. And Yuuta was glad. For he had spent too long dwelling on ideas that shouldn't be pleasing, and were so subtly detrimental, that he wouldn't have noticed until it was far too late, and then even Mizuki would not be able to pull him from the remains of the collapse.
And he was glad, because he'd come to like the lavender scented endeavors of St. Rudolf. It would have been a shame to go back to tasting jealousy.