Fuji Syusuke sat on the white sheets of his bed. Sunbeams poured through the single window, illuminating his cacti collection sitting on the sill. Ivory-colored curtains hung neatly at the sides. The chocolate-haired man brushed layers of dust off the book lying before him. He had avoided it for a decade, sparing himself what stabs in the heart he could. Why he chose to pull it out from the bottom shelf, where it was sitting alone hiding in the corner that time, he never knew.
The cover of the thick blue volume showed a picture of two snowy doves soaring peacefully through the afternoon sky. Above the birds was a phrase in curvy text, "My Dearest Memories with You." Near the bottom of the photo album was "Tezuka Kunimitsu" written in Fuji's own delicate handwriting.
Stroking the sewed bindings, Fuji opened the book to the first page. It revealed a young boy with olive-colored hair and a surprised expression on his face. "Tezuka, Seishun Gakuen, First Year," it said underneath. The photo brought Fuji back to the day they first met. The 12-year-old him had snapped that picture before introducing himself.
The tensai had heard that there was a superb freshman in the tennis club and marched up to the courts with the intention of challenging him, quite unprepared for the cute boy who was that freshman. He had fumbled in his bag for his trusty camera, which he never parted with, called Tezuka's name, and snapped the photo. Needless to say, Tezuka was quite irritated.
He turned to the page of the second year at middle school. There was Tezuka again, this time standing with the captain. The vice-captain's brown eyes showed hidden pride as he stood with his arms crossed and a stern expression on his countenance.
Fuji turned to a random page. This one displayed Tezuka-buchou on his knees, clutching his left arm. (What made him take that picture?) Atobe's silhouette stood on the other side of the net. Oh, that photo brought back many painful memories. Near the end of the Kantou Tournament match, Fuji could see the buchou edging closer and closer to the cliff. The 14-year-old had flinched every time Tezuka returned a ball, expecting him to fall any moment. Then, he finally fell into the canyon beneath. Shock ran through the whole of Seigaku's tennis club, but for Fuji, it was the worst. The whole time, he had prayed, Tezuka, stop it. You're going to hurt yourself. Is this one match worth you whole life of tennis? Don't push yourself so hard! STOP!
And when the buchou had to leave for treatment, Fuji woefully took his place in Singles 1. This was a hard time to go through. The boy thoroughly missed Tezuka's gentle touch, his soft lips pressed against his own, and the side of him only known to Fuji. By that time, a secret (maybe) relationship had already been under way. "A blooming rose," was written under a photo of he and Tezuka sharing an umbrella on a stormy day, the soaked Fuji looking up astonished at the person who just put a cover over him. (He forgot who took that one)
And then the very last picture. Tezuka was in a flowing blue gown, holding a diploma and a graduation cap nestled atop his hair. The hair color had grown lighter, but the hair style never changed. In this, Tezuka's brown eyes gleamed with open pride, but his stern expression remained the same.
High school graduation had represented the second farewell.
"Are you really going to leave?" Fuji's musical voice had asked.
"Yes," Tezuka said simply, his voice deep and broad in contrast with Fuji's.
"Why?" Fuji inquired, cerulean eyes pleading the taller boy to remain. He took Tezuka's rough hands into his own soft ones and held them together.
One of Tezuka's hand slipped from Fuji's grasp and went to his face. The serious boy lost his poker face and slowly tucked a lock of auburn hair behind his boyfriend's ear. Both arms were then entangled around Fuji's slender body. "Don't worry. I'll come back," Tezuka whispered soothingly into the other's ear, blowing a bit of hair away, which then settled back.
And for the last time in ten years, Tezuka's lips pressed gently against Fuji's. Fuji held his boyfriend tightly and deepened the kiss he had started. They remained in that stance for a long while, prolonging their farewell. And then, Tezuka detached himself, looked into blue eyes for one last time, and gave a silent good-bye.
Underneath the photo was tucked eight letters written in Tezuka's firm hand. It told of his first college experiences in the United States, but that was it. There was no mention of the promise given the other day and no following letters after the eight. Still, Fuji held his hopes up and sent letter after letter, e-mail after e-mail, call after call, but they were not returned. He always got the voice message over the phone and Fuji started to wonder whether he had been forgotten or if he was just purposely avoiding him.
The former tennis tensai skimmed the English newspaper everyday since the letters stopped. He thought that maybe Tezuka had taken up tennis again and had no doubt that he would reach the top quickly. He registered for the papers to be delivered to him daily and paid heartily for them. He also checked the internet everyday, but no Tezuka Kunimitsu ever hit the headlines.
Since then, the rose had stopped blooming. Its petals started folding back into itself and in time, darkened. Then the petals started to wash away and wilted down to nothing more than a stem.
Fuji ran his fingers over the blue volume, then sighed and tossed it into the wastebasket. He laid on his stomach staring at the lighted window of memories. Indeed, that window held many fond times, no longer reachable. It was where the couple had confessed and experienced their first kiss. It was where they had often talked together and caressed each other. But it was also the location of their last kiss and where they had said good-bye. It was painful to see the window shining so happily.
He turned over on his neatly made bed. It was hard to think of his ex-boyfriend. He had no way of knowing how he was doing. He probably found another person to love, Fuji often thought and prodded himself to forget the past, so no one really does keep their promises. It was foolish to think that…
But he also wondered at the same time why he was acting so childish. He wasn't a boy anymore, not even a teenager. He was a full-grown man of 26. He was a successful scientist and a lot of women had their eyes on him. So why did he continue chasing after someone he couldn't have?
Startled from his thoughts by a loud sound, Fuji got up slowly and reluctantly made his way to the first floor of the empty house where he grew up (his siblings had long abandoned it). The doorbell rang several times more. The visitor seemed impatient.
"I'm coming!" Fuji groaned. He was so not in the mood to talk to anyone.
He begrudgingly turned the brass doorknob and swung the mahogany door open. Aqua eyes widened with shock as he registered the man before him. He shook his head violently to make sure he wasn't dreaming because standing in the doorway was the one he had just been thinking about.
The man's hair had grown a little longer and he sported a more welcoming look, but it was most definitely him. The touch was the same as he reached up to wipe a single tear off Fuji's face. Coffee-colored eyes looked into Fuji's bewildered ones. They were eyes that reflected many passing thoughts: desire, worry, apology, forgiveness, kindness, devotion, and lastly, understanding. Words were tossed away as a glance said more than speech could ever express. And Fuji understood, if vaguely, his reason for the long absence.
"I've come back," Tezuka Kunimitsu said in the same deep voice, "Syusuke."
"Kunimitsu…" Fuji blinked back tears and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, "what took you so long?"
I'm ignoring that episode where they talk about Fuji and Tezuka as first-years. This has no definite plot, but I felt like writing it anyway. Please review. x.x