Title: Bombastic Love
Category: Tennis no Oujisama / TezuFuji
Disclaimer: I don't own POT, no matter how much I wish I did...
Genre: General/Romance/Humor/Slight Angst
Rating: T
Summary: Work is a lot harsher than it seemed, and love is ridiculous. They can't shake a certain feeling off, and Tezuka, the so-called practical one, decides to give a Christmas surprise that will pack a punch with chutzpah and good grief on the side. TezuFuji
A/N: Unlike most TezuFuji fics, the two do not realize they are in love in the beginning of the story—not yet, at least. This style of writing appealed to me over some time. Don't be too harsh if you hate the story! (cough)
Bombastic Love
December, 2006
The lights above his head flickered on and off, on and off. He let out an inaudible, exasperated sigh and looked up from his essay, resisting the urge to jump up and smash it. He was, after all, Kunimitsu Tezuka—Japan's most in-control and collected guy. Those damned lights, he thought bitterly, but did nothing about it and resumed his study. May he'll fix it later, just not when he was in the middle of studying for his college exams.
Why in this hell-driven world had he decided to go to law school? He could've decided to be a doctor and save tons of lives; an environmentalist, to save our Earth; he could've even gotten a trainer to become a model, which shouldn't be all that hard, considering his looks. Tezuka was adored and worshipped by women ("Tezuka-kun, you know I love you!") and men ("Just between us guys—how the hell do you get all the hot ones?"). It wasn't just his windswept, creamy hair or his broad, touchable shoulders and not even his slender, sexy legs that caught practically everyone in Tokyo University's attention. He was so focused and independent that he seemed nearly aloof, which drove women wild with longing. Sluts, nerds, professors—every variety of women was in love with him. In awe of his angelic figure, high grades, and killer athlete's skills that they would see during the rare moments when he sprinted around the school courtyard on early weekday mornings before the sunrise. They noted the fact that he could jog for hours without pumping a sweat, and most women would wake up during these precious, sunless hours hopefully to catch a glimpse of the god and his long legs dash past their dormitory windows.
He could've been anything he wanted to be. So how come he had decided to choose the dullest and most time-consuming job to be a lawyer? A lawyer didn't save tons of lives or saved the Earth or appeared in hip magazines; for as far as anyone in their right mind was concerned, all lawyers did was stay up all night to study a case for his client. And then what happens? Some crazed, serial killer gets freed from the slammer, all thanks to his trusty lawyer. But at the time, right after graduating from high school, none of the fields had sounded right for him.
One of the flickering light bulbs started to buzz very loudly, echoing and bouncing off the room's walls. The noise ringed in Tezuka's ears and his annoyed eyes darted at the papers laid in front of his desk. He had to concentrate if he wanted to finish the goddamn essay, both of them: the Japanese version and the English version.
Again, yes, that was another stupid mistake. Having the ability to read and understand English (he had a heavy Japanese accent and therefore couldn't properly speak English just yet) would come in handy for sure in the near future, but there really wasn't any need to hurriedly cram second language time into his already-busy schedule. He had chosen English classes without thinking about its advantages in the beginning of the semester. He was simply curious. Why had he been so eager to understand this language? Tezuka's eyes flickered.
Fuji Syuusuke.
"You should really read this, Tezuka," Fuji had said, holding up a book to show the cover to his friend.
Tezuka stared at it without altering his expression. The title was unreadable to his eyes.
"It's called The Little Prince. I've finished the Japanese translation, and this is the English copy," he said, smiling, flipping a page and skimming the contents without opening his eyes. This was a skill that no one besides Fuji himself knew how to do. "It's good."
The idea of understanding the language that Fuji had been so fond of loomed in Tezuka's thoughts ever since.
That bastard, he thought.
Suddenly, the doorbell to his apartment rang. He felt especially bothered when he glanced at the clock: ten-thirty P.M. What moron visited a lawyer-in-training before exam week at ten-thirty P.M.?
A girl stood outside his door, her round, amethyst eyes glittering with sheer adrenaline. As soon as Tezuka opened the door, she let herself in.
"Akane," Tezuka said. She giggled, stood up on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Please," she winked, shifting her weight to one hip. "Call me Akane-chan, at least. Or you can call me sweetie. Am I not your girlfriend?"
"Girlfriend" could be used to describe her, the girl Tezuka had been seeing during his free time for the past two months. She had been the only girl who didn't swoon at his presence and they were considered friends, besides the fact that she occasionally annoyed him with her childish demeanor and enthusiasm. But she was nice and not obsessed with the guy, which was something new that he had to consider. You could say that he was fond of her. But tonight, he was rather not in the mood.
He closed the door and ignored her question. "What are you doing here?"
"Come on, aren't you glad to see me?" she asked, obviously not aware that he was too serious for her sarcasm. "You should always be happy to see me!"
The words slightly and conceited blinked in his head a couple of times.
"Anyway," she went on, "get dressed into something nice!"
He stood where he was, one hand on the door. His quizzical and tired gaze didn't seem to faze her.
"I'm going to take you somewhere fun! You remember my friends, right?"
A sudden image of women wearing low-riding jeans exposing the tops of their thongs and men with college sweatshirts holding bottles of beer, their unshaven faces that looked as if they had been up to all-night studying, or, more likely, all-night partying flashed in Tezuka's memory. He nodded gravely.
"There's this club opening tonight?" she said, peeling her own coat off.
She threw her coat at Tezuka's chair, but he caught it midair. He handed it back to her while she stared at him, confused. The coat in his hand lingered in the air before Akane had a horrified realization followed by a gape that crawled across her face. "What? Don't tell me you're not coming!"
"I can't," he replied monotonously, pushing his sliding glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Exam week is coming up."
"You're kidding! Tell me you're kidding! We haven't gotten together to do anything fun for the past, like, three weeks, and on the one night that I'm finally free, you're not coming with me?!"
"I'm sorry."
"Well, then, are you going to be busy next week? Maybe we can go next week?"
For chrissake, that will never happen. He wore a wry look on his face. If this girl really knew him at all, he'd never go to some club opening with a bunch of her friends any day. Needless to say, at age 18, Tezuka was (and has always been) a practical kind of guy. "It depends."
"Make sure you come with me next Saturday, okay?" She added slowly, deliberately: "Okay?"
She gave him a kiss on the lips and grabbed her coat. She ruffled his hair playfully—he hated it when she did that, but he always took it like a man. "'Bye! Love you!" She dashed out, slamming the door after her.
Tezuka wafted back to his desk and seated himself. As soon as he saw the English scrawled on paper, he touched his lips where his girlfriend had kissed him.
Fuji Syuusuke. That bastard.
He went back to studying.
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"Fuji Syuusuke! What are you doing up so late?"
Fuji looked up from his camera. It was his co-worker, the editor-in-chief of Tokyo Bankakyou magazine. He smiled and nodded in her direction. "Ohayou, Minami-san."
The woman walked towards him, her pumps clacking and echoing off the marble floor. "What do you mean, ohayou?! It's two A.M.! Are you still photographing the bridge?"
You couldn't erase the smile off his face. He nodded. "Un."
She stood next to the boy, who was kneeling on one knee, holding the camera to his face patiently. She looked out the window to see what he thought was so interesting. The oriental bridge was out in the distance, standing still on the black water. "We're leaving this place and flying back to Tokyo in four hours. Just take a few shots and pack!" She squinted at the scenery, trying to make everything out in the dark. "What are you waiting for, anyway? Are you waiting for the clouds to clear out?"
"There's supposed to be a meteor shower around two to three A.M.," he explained. His finger was crouching next to the shutter button, ready to take snapshots. He imagined the sky and its reflections on the lake suddenly sparkling alive like a firework finale. "Saa...you'd never see that in Tokyo."
She sighed. "You're such a shutterbug. But I suppose that will be really beautiful" she admitted, glancing at her wristwatch. "I can't stay to watch it, though...I have to go back to the office for one more run. But since we never get to talk much in the daytime, I want to ask you something. You were a tennis prodigy, weren't you?"
"I was."
His grip loosened on the camera and his shoulders fell a little. His heart ached for just a moment—those memories flooded into his body like icy water. Jr. High, then high school with his Seigaku peers: Oishi, Eiji, Takashi, Inui, and Tezuka Buchou. Momoshiro, Kaidoh, and Echizen joined them later on. If only life could continue like that. Those images filled his head—of Momo and Echizen attacking burgers, Oishi scolding the team for leaving bento leftovers on the floor of the locker room, Eiji mischievously scrawling inside Inui's precious notebook with a statue-like Inui in the background, Taka swinging a racket and hitting Kaidoh with a tennis ball, and Tezuka staring at all the idiots fooling around while they cringed at his announcement of twenty more laps.
Tezuka. Why does that name stick up above all the rest? Maybe it was because of the fact that he was captain. Kunimitsu Tezuka, or Tezuka Buchou.
"Why did you decide to become a photographer for Tokyo Bankakyou?"
"Photography has always been a hobby of mine, aside from tennis."
"Do you still play tennis?"
"Sometimes I still do." That was the truth; his tennis life isn't completely over. But although no one has left Tokyo, the Seishun Tennis Club didn't run into each other. They still keep in touch and are very close as before, but they've just been too busy. Maybe one day they'd get together and have a match again. It's only been three months...how far apart could they have grown, really? Fuji started to pinpoint days to which he would be free, and maybe they could have a match, and then head off to Taka's sushi bar for lunch. Possibly street tennis could be fun. The other schools might be there too.
"I've read about your captain... Tanaka, I think?"
Fuji stifled a laugh. "It's Tezuka, Kyoko-san."
"Oohhh. Right. Sorry." She smacked her forehead.
He said in a genuine tone, "It's alright."
The editor-in-chief blushed. She was five years older than him and didn't like younger men, but Fuji was still Fuji. She coughed and excused herself, leaving Fuji to his peaceful hotel lobby. Fuji stared at the retreating figure in wonder of why she had to leave so suddenly; she was the businesslike type of woman, not like the screeching attention whores who dreamed of Fuji while they watched him during his morning practices. But all women still have hormones, and this tensai was no exception.
Ah, where did he leave off? Oh, yes. The other schools might be there, too, and things could be like before for a weekend or so. Surely there was time when everyone could be free. He'd see everyone again...
...Including Tezuka...
A flash of vivacity from the corner of his eye caught his attention. The black lake and black sky that had looked indifferent now shined as if a thousand curious eyes fell down from the Milky Way, casting flashing shadows of the crimson bridge in every direction. It was breathtaking, and he wasted no time in capturing the moment. Savoring memories like this one—a boy dreaming of what it was like before, witnessing a shower of stars in a cold, lonely hotel—Fuji loved the thought of that. He shook his head, turned off his camera. He sat down and watched. As the last stars fell, glittered, and disappeared, he made a wish.
He dreamed for a few minutes, stood up, and made his way back to his room for a few hours' sleep before the trip back to Tokyo. Definitely, he will start planning the reunion once he got back.
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One week later
Everyone sat in silence; it was not like middle school where all the students sat crowded in a bus, talking about the latest gossip. It was a car filled with strangers after one goal—to escape for two weeks of winter vacation. Tezuka entered the train station with the scents of the holidays around him: hot chocolate, hot breaths visible in the chilly air, kissing and hugging, SALE signs and Christmas lights on the windows of souvenir and bakery shops. He slipped his hands inside his coat pockets. He enjoyed the silence of the train and stood in the back of the aisle, seeing as all the seats were taken. A forty-something guy sat beside him, holding a newspaper in his gloved hands. Tezuka eyed the headlines. Exam week had passed, thank god, and he would go visit his family for the next nine days.
There was a woman sitting to the left of him, reading a magazine. He looked past her and stared out the window while the car lurched forward. Snow and trees whizzed past him as he thought of the last time he had seen his family. He had only called them twice during the time he was in that lone apartment complex.
Murmuring, girlish voices snapped his attention. Without looking away, he knew that there were two girls sitting somewhere in the front row of the seats who had just caught sight of him. He heard faint giggling. Not again... The last thing he needed was a pack of girls to bombard him and ask him for his phone number, which had happened too many times. He had politely yet firmly pretended not to hear or see them. Now, he looked past the magazine woman's shoulder and stared at a photo in one of the pages. He quirked a slender eyebrow.
The description on top of the magnificent, star-showered picture read:
Shoujouhi Kyouryou,YamanashikenFuji had always spoken of going to Yamanashiken, a town on the outskirts of Japan. Shoujouhi Kyouryou, or Scarlet Bridge, had been one of his favorite sites to visit. They had been walking home from school when he announced this.
"You can't see the stars in the city because of the lights," he explained. "We can go together one summer," he suggested, smiling, the sun in his face.
Tezuka said nothing in reply and walked in silence. Why had Fuji suggested that they walk home together? He'd usually like it if at least three people walked together, so they could talk to each other and he wouldn't have to say anything.
Suddenly, Fuji whirled around to face him.
"Ne, Tezuka?"
Tezuka looked up. Fuji's strangely foreign blue eyes were penetrating. "What?"
"Are you lonely?"
The car came to a stop, and Tezuka moved aside to let a few people pass. The driver announced the next station. The silence that used to be peaceful felt lethal now. The memories were painful and slowly killed him like a drug. The air felt thin. He needed to get out of there.
"Why're you in such a hurry?" one of the girls flirtatiously asked him, blocking his way to the exit.
He politely but firmly walked passed her, but as fate would have it, it was too late—the doors closed on him, and the train started to move again. He'd have to wait for the next stop.
He avoided the girls' makeup-clad faces and sat in one of the empty seats. The girls didn't get the message and crowded around him, trying to start a casual conversation.
"So, where're you going for the holidays? To your girlfriend's place?"
Okay, it was hardly small talk, and the question was a rhetorical and joking one, but he endured it. He nodded, and the girls' faces wore shocked expressions as a long silence followed. No guy has ever admitted that one before. As soon as the doors opened again, he excused himself and left.
A memory of a smiling Akane popped into his head as he remembered when she first called him her boyfriend. She had used the word "love" so casually.
Akane. He likes Akane. Remember that.
The magazine woman also got off, and she disposed the magazine into a nearby garbage bag. The world easts up too much of the environment nowadays, he thought, and walked past her. Just then, his phone rang, and he let it drop into voicemail. (He usually did this, for an anonymous caller with a sexy voice would ask to speak with him.) Or, sometimes, it would be Akane, her brunette hair bristling as she would squeal, "Tezu-kun, where are you? Call me back!" He wondered why she called him so often. Why call every week to bother him? Besides being childish and slightly conceited, she was high-maintenance.
Women... no. Love at this point seemed ridiculous.
The cool rush of the busied air with a hint of city smoke filled his lungs as he emerged from the underground train station. The bright-gray December sky made him squint a little; he eyed the speeding cars and managed to stop a taxi. He got in, and oh, look; surprise, surprise, the taxi driver is an attractive 20-year-old female. Shit.
She smiled at him, her lips glimmering with numerous servings of glossy lip gloss. He told her the address, then flipped on his phone, trying to avoid conversation.
Oh, look, a voicemail from Fuji. Tezuka flipped the phone off. Another idiot caller.
Wait a minute.
Tezuka flipped the phone on back on.
There was a voicemail from...
"Fuji?"
Fuji's honeyed voice cackled over the receiver. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Tezuka?"
Why are you calling? Tezuka mouthed into the phone. The woman stared at him strangely from the mirror.
Fuji's chuckles sent an excited shiver up his spine. He missed those chuckles. "I just came back from a business trip and I haven't called you lately...just wondering what you've been up to. Call me when you get this message. My new cell phone number is-" Click.
The phone dropped from his hands and fell on the floor of the cab as the cab took a sudden turn. The tires squealed, making a cringing noise against the burning cement. Then all movements stopped, and all of a sudden, there was nothing but the hum of the engine. He reached over to retrieve the phone, hastily pushing it back to his ear.
"Oh. Gomen!" the driver apologized, looking back at Tezuka. "That insane guy on the other lane swerved just in time for me to take a turn. Are you all right?"
But Tezuka wasn't listening. He was listening to the automatic, robotic message of his mobile phone:
Your message has been deleted.
He lost himself in another silent reverie.
"What are you talking about?" Tezuka had countered Fuji's weird question on that afternoon when they walked home together.
"You're never lonely at all?"
Fuji smiled a warm yet sadistic smile.
"No."
Fuji chuckled at this. They resumed walking. But Tezuka was a lonely guy, whether he chooses to pay attention to that fact or not.
Tezuka made his way back to reality and said in a firm voice, "Turn back."
"Sir?"
"Turn back to the station—I forgot something."
Fuji might think that Tezuka didn't call back because he didn't want to. He knew Fuji all too well—Fuji won't call back again, and he'd be hurt, but he wouldn't show it. Impossible as it seemed, Tezuka made a decision.
The tables have turned. Fuji was going to get a big, big surprise this Christmas.
He smiled—a small lifting of the corners of his mouth. Strength and excitement that he hadn't felt in a long time since his tennis days swelled over him, radiating energy through his body like sunshine, like a hot cup of coffee during a winter night. He had a fleeting feeling in his heart that the holidays could be fun this year.
The car slowly came to a stop, and he hastily got out. The woman opened her mouth in protest, but he slammed the door on her face absentmindedly. Fuji worked for a magazine, didn't he? A travel magazine, he knew vaguely; Fuji worked for a travel magazine, didn't he?
The rounded a corner, carrying a bag slung over one sharp shoulder.
What was it, Tokyo: the Travel Magazine? Travel Tokyo?
Tezuka stopped in front of a glorious garbage can. Trash had never seemed so beautiful. The throng of people hustled like traffic in front of him, and he stood next to the garbage for a while. The wall was cold and hard against his back as he leaned on it. He peeked inside without moving his body, but only his eyes, and observed the contents. His heart stopped—it was there. He let one arm slip inside the tin container and retrieved it.
Tokyo Bankakyo.
Photo: Shoujouhi Kyouryou,Yamanashiken.
Photographer: Syuusuke Fuji.
"You returned from a business trip, eh?" he mused, remembering the voice message. Lucky, lucky bastard.
The put it inside his jacket, then turned around to unexpectedly face a toddler. Spit splurged in bubbles around his pacifier. He pointed a rude bean-waxed finger at Tezuka and gurgled something that sounded like it contained the surprising words "mommy" and "look" and "hobo." His mom didn't seem to notice, and the baby continued to gurgle.
Tezuka gave the child a 10-dollar bill to play with, and the baby finally shut up, squealing in glee and grabbing the money out of his hands. The buchou slipped away into the crowd, escaping.
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Kikumaru Eiji had never stopped using the word "nya," even though he was a full-grown, supposedly mature nineteen-year-old. He didn't lose that tint of boyish look to him either, and he lifted his hand to push a red curl from his temple.
"NY-A-A-AH!!" he screamed into the phone, clutching it for dear life. "A REUNION! OF COURSE I'LL BE THERE!!"
Fuji hung up, laughing to himself. Eiji hadn't changed. OF COURSE HE HASN'T CHANGED!! That was amusing.
He took a pen and scratched out the name Eiji, which stood below the other scratched-out names on the list: Oishi, Momoshiro, Kaidoh, Inui, Takashi. Ryoma. Even Ryoma had agreed to come. Fuji felt another pang. Tezuka's name isn't scratched out yet, beaming boldly on the sticky note, different from the rest of the names. It'd be a disappointment if the leader himself weren't present there.
Maybe he didn't get the message yet. It's been a full day, and he still hasn't called back. Who knows, maybe Tezuka stopped checking his messages. Fuji had to call back again. But he stopped himself and hung up on the fourth digit.
Tezuka Buchou. Buchou, as in a captain. Tezuka, as in a friend. Tezuka Buchou: a friend and a captain. Nothing more, nothing less.
Fuji quickly scribbled Buchou next to Kunimitsu Tezuka. He felt better, if only for a moment.
He sat down on his bed, staring at the photo of everyone he took on their sunrise outing during the Seigaku days. He was a smiling, humorous kind of guy on the outside, but he was calculative on the inside. Restless, yet calm, he stood up from the bed and cracked open a window. It was a cloudy night, with not a single star in sight. An omen. He remembered the wish he made and had that taste in his mouth. A bird cried in the distance, the sound as metallic as a cell phone ring. Where are you, Tezuka? Are you in a nice, cozy home, watching a Casablanca-ish movie while curled up next to a hot fire right this moment?
--
The relentless city rain continued to pour down as a car whizzed by, spewing muddy water at Tezuka's ankles. The driver slowed down and yelled some unoriginal "fuck you"s at Tezuka for being too close to the road, then drove away. Tezuka's head bumped against the side of the booth upon entering it. His slippery fingers worked around the greasy-feeling pay phone...curse his cell for running out of batteries! He dialed Fuji's work number that was on one of the pages of the magazine.
"For the ninth time, Kunimitsu-san, Fuji-san is on vacation," the receptionist growled, voice quivering as she tried to hold back her anger. She had been patient with him nine phone calls ago, but now she was getting irritated. "Va-ca-tiohn," she pronounced slowly, as if she was talking to a four-year-old.
"Arigatou. Sorry for disrupting," Tezuka apologized, but she had already hung up. He listened to the dial tone and the rain drumming against the roof of the phone booth. Damn it... he had hoped it'd be a nicer lady this time. The smiling image of Fuji and their high school days shone in his mind. It was probably midnight by now. Laughter distracted him as he saw the lights that were coming from a motel nearby. More hooting drunk men? He twitched--this would have to do; there was nowhere else he could go for the night. Prepare yourself for the sour breaths of drunk thirty-year-old losers! the motel seemed to shout. He placed the phone back and made his way across the street, his once-white, now-brown ankle socks squeaking and sloshing with water as he walked, all the while cursing Syuusuke Fuji.
And that was all the time he had for today.
A/N: (Claps and cheers wildly with fanfare in background) I'm done with the first chapter! After much revising, I'm quite happy with it (grins). Comments? Reviews? Constructive criticism is always welcome!