Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.
A/N: You know you love a pairing too much when you yourself write a dramatic story on them... Oh yeah, this was inspired by "Cocktail" by Hysteric Blue.
NOTES: A lot of people were confused on the point of view in each section. So, I've decided to repost this, adding the subject of the POV before each section. Hopefully, it will help you understand who one of the "he"s is in each section.
Warning: Not your typical TezuOishi fic with the happy ending.
Cocktail
Pok!
The fluorescent green ball sailed through the air in a high arch, then drifted downward, impacting the metal fence before bouncing off to hit the ground.
" One step too early."
Pok!
Thud!
" One step too late."
It followed a vertical string of fiber down the net, landing neatly onto the surface of the moss-colored ground.
Time was a busy river, never peaceful, never resting, as it rushed to dispose all of its contents into the vast ocean.
In reality, it was abundant to impatient souls who await the last grain of sand from the top to drop to the bottom of an hourglass. Yet, to many others, Time was simply unreachable, unobtainable, and thus, the quantity of Time in their hands is always not enough.
" If you waited just another month…"
" I would, if I could…but I hadn't even another day…"The two sat down on opposite sides of the table, facing each other. He examined him, scrutinizing with careful inspection from his hazel depths.
He did not look at him. Instead, the pair of emeralds focused their attention upon the rosy liquid behind the clear glass, dancing to the rhythm of the other's hand movement.
It reminded him greatly of a river he once ran by when he was little, its currents pushing past rocks and rushing through sand to match him in a furious competition.
But whenever he stopped, suddenly, abruptly, it would halt too, as if nothing had ever disturbed its docility.
Not even the slightest ripple cracked its glassy surface.
-Oishi-
Time was a potent force that draws and pulls the strings of right and wrong.
It could not be neglected.
Affection, he realized a long time ago.
He was too young then, still ignorant.
They were both too young, he might scare him away with a spontaneous confession, he thought.
And so, he shunned it away, keeping it locked in the deepest, darkest part of him, where conscience with arms outstretched, could not reach it with a fingertip.
Yet, one thing he failed to comprehend. As his figure heightened and his voice deepened, as he tucked away his disheveled raven locks with a pinch of gel here and there, that affection took root and sprouted, slowly climbing the stairs leading to the top of the abyss.
Love, they called a plant of Affection fully matured.
Love, he said, as it rolled off his tongue.
He was not there to catch it falling.
Now Tezuka was back, he could not speak of it anymore.
A seed of affection sprouting, growing into the Love plant that only bore one fruit.
The fruit fell already, and he had not even a taste.
So neither says a thing, until the day he packed away a velvet box containing a diamond ring.
" Who is it for?" His companion questioned, eyeing the object with uneasiness.
For a woman, for a lady, for a person I know not, only her name rings aloud.
" For my fiancée. Are you going to attend, Tezuka?"
He nodded indifferently, but did not utter another word.
It was a sick obsession of his, standing side by side with tennis.
While he drowned himself in the flow of play at day, the dry and mild, sweet taste took him in at night, distracting him, hypnotizing him in its waves of scarlet.
He was no alcoholic. Simply, he sought for something with a contradicting taste, and cocktail was there to quench his thirst with its scent of bitter sweet.
" Do you like cocktail, Tezuka?" He remembered him asking once when he came to visit him, fresh from his two months of marriage.
" Hn." Not a "yes", not a "no", he replied.
It must have led the other straight to the opened palms of curiosity, since the other stood from his seat at the dining room table to fetch a matching glass from the cabinet and poured himself a glass from the bottle as well.
Amber gaze speculated from across the table, hiding half his face behind the goblet as if to mask his aroused interest.
Carefully, the man took a sip, barely brushing his lips against the liquid body. Then he took another, this time advancing further than before by taking a mouthful gulp.
Dark brows furrowed, mossy eyes narrowed, and his façade was twisted into one of pure concentration while his taste buds worked to find its flavor.
And he watched, amused by what seemed like a live, on-stage performance composed of actors without pretense. He was amongst the best, Tezuka confirmed.
The clock ticked Time away up against the wall.
Eleven 'o clock; fifteen minutes since he first drained a portion of the glass, ten minutes since he finished it as a whole, and nine minutes since the man's head tipped and fell against the table's wooden surface.
And he sat, figure totally relaxed, drinking a third serving of cocktail and drinking in the sight of his companion, whose face threatened to spill blood.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Quietly rising, pushing the chair away with the back of his knees, he approached the other with cat-like steps echoing the sound of silence. Placing a hand on his back, his other hand went under his knees as both worked to lift him up carefully from his seat.
They disappeared into the darkness of the single bedroom in the apartment.
Ding.
The clock stroke midnight.
" Maybe you should settle down, Tezuka."
"…"
" …Find someone to take care of you… After all, neither of us are young anymore."
-Tezuka-
Marriage was a game adults played, each with a different reason.
Just like tennis.
Some played for obligation, some played for their dreams, and others played just for fun.
He could not recall the exact date the object had caught his attention. A band of pure silver smaller than the size of his ring finger, but larger than a woman's actual size. He had meant to present it to him a few days after his arrival, after he was ready.
A game of marriage, he wanted to play, with a reason of his own.
" Love," he said for the first time, unfamiliarity coating his voice, mocking his embarrassment.
He twirled the box in his hand, eyes closing and opening to refocus.
" Love," he pronounced a second time, his tone finally mature and self-assured.
It traveled across the walls of solitude, finally bouncing off and landing on the floor with a cling of emptiness.
Author's Crap:
(Cough) I guess this explains why Tezuka sings so many ballads. LOL. Adult romance is so attractive, just like dark chocolate. No one immature would understand the bitterness that comes from something sweet.
So, did you understand it better?
Thanks for reading!