Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and associated characters belong to Konomi Takeshi, as original creator. He just happens to make a fun sandbox to play in.
Summary: Echizen has never texted or called Tezuka before. Tezuka probably should have been more wary when his name popped up on his phone's screen. Devious!Fuji and Crack!Pillar Pair
A/N: It amazes me how some fandoms have this tendency to draw you back in even after years of being without. I can't even say when the last time I've written a fanfic is - well, technically I could if I felt like comparing the dates between my different sites - and yet, here I am with a crackfic. My very first crackfic, too. Well, we'll see how long this stint lasts. It's a fun break from my usual writing. I do hope all of you enjoy!
Meme
Tezuka turned the page in his practice book and put pen to paper as he continued his studies. While a bit early, his parents had agreed that, with the time he had in rehabilitation giving him a break from his duties as club captain and student council president, now would be a good chance for him to try for level 3 on the Kanken. If he passed it in Junior High, he'd have more time in high school to focus on making it to level 2, or even pre-level 1 before graduating. It would look good on his records for high school entry, as well. If he did not pass it, he would still have next year to take it, which was when most of his classmates would normally be attempting. Pass or fail, it would be good study and practice for his upcoming entrance exams - not to mention give a drive to his own self-study he had been assigned for his rehabilitation in Kyushu - too, so there would be no harm and no foul, especially since his grades had so far precluded his need of attending cram school. Given the chance to direct his own studies, Tezuka even found himself ahead of his current classmates.
The third year's brow furrowed and his pen paused as he came across a kanji he could not remember the on reading for before setting his practice book aside and picking up his dictionary and a spare piece of paper. He'd write the question and answer out ten times and then come back to confirm he remembered it after finishing the rest of today's study, along with any other incorrect or unknown answers.
It was in his third repetition of copying question and answer that his phone buzzed and Tezuka finished the last few strokes of the question before turning to look at the red blinking button in the corner telling him he had a text.
It was from Echizen, or so the screen said when he flipped it open. Unlike Inui or Fuji, Echizen's texts and calls were few and far between, the first year choosing to use such forms of communication only when it couldn't wait for the next time they met face to face, or so Tezuka had heard from the rest of his regulars as Echizen had never sent him a text before. For that reason, instead of closing his phone and saving the text for later - as Tezuka certainly would do, and had done, for both texts and calls from Inui and Fuji - he pressed read.
Tezuka really wished he had not pressed read.
The picture was certainly of Echizen, and, at first, the senior could not figure out why Echizen had sent it. It looked more of a candid than anything planned, of the boy looking at the phone with a question in his eyes, he's shoulders not quite forward, as if he'd turned around when someone had called his name. At first, Tezuka wondered if the background had something to do with it, as Echizen was known for his poor explanations and excuses both, but Tezuka could clearly see the school building above the first year's head and, as his studying eyes moved down the screen, found nothing else of note in the background until he reached the very bottom.
Immediately, Tezuka flipped his phone shut.
Tezuka stared in consternation at the time flashing on the screen on the front of his phone. He did not need to look at the image again, as he could easily picture it in his mind's eye, but he almost wished he would. That he could open the message once again to see a standard message or a normal picture. A picture where Echizen was not holding a pregnancy test.
Or, to be honest, a composite photo with a pair of cartoon hands made to look like his own, one holding a positive pregnancy test, the other pointing at it. The confused look on Echizen's face only added to the image, making it look like the boy was lost about what to do now. Tezuka sighed and was about to contact Echizen - to ask why the younger player had sent such a ridiculous image - when his phone buzzed again. This time the buzzing did not stop and, when Tezuka looked down at the phone's front screen his consternation only grew as Echizen's name and a house emoji scrolled across it.
"Echizen?" he immediately questioned as he flipped the phone open, hoping for an explanation.
"Buchou, can you give me Fuji-senpai's number?"
"Fuji?" That was, admittedly, not what Tezuka was expecting. For one, all of the regulars had each other's numbers just in case - it was why Echizen's home and cell numbers were saved into his mobile despite having never sent or received a call or text to or from the boy - for another, he'd been hoping for an explanation about the picture. Maybe he was spending more time around Fuji? They had been infrequently eyeing each other across the court ever since their duel in the rain got cut short, though Tezuka had been certain that Echizen hung out more with Momoshiro and, sometimes, Kikumaru.
"He borrowed my phone before practice because his battery died," the first year explained in his usual lackadaisical manner, though Tezuka did not miss the note of annoyance tugging at his words, "I told him to just toss it back in my bag when he was done with it, but I can't find it." The cell phone had been a new responsibility for the boy, too, when his club practices and outings with Momoshiro had sometimes had him skipping dinner at home. The last thing Ryoma would want to admit that he'd misplaced it. Besides, all the pictures his mother sent of Karupin whenever he was away were stored on there.
Tezuka sighed in both relief and exhaustion at the explanation. So Fuji was currently in possession of the first year's phone It all made far more sense now. As ridiculous a text as it was, the third year could almost forgive the third year for it. It wouldn't be the worst thing Fuji had sent his way. After all, Fuji's appreciation for the unusual was well known in the tennis club - almost as well as his penchant for teasing others.
Tezuka gave Echizen Fuji's home and cell numbers, seeing no point in bringing up Fuji's prank with someone who had played no knowing part in it. It was only when he hung up that Tezuka realized Echizen could have called Momoshiro or Oishi. It was only after he realized that that Tezuka remembered Echizen could have called his own phone without needing Fuji's number.
Sending a glance at the phone now sitting innocently on his desk, Tezuka picked the phone up once more, opened the absolutely ridiculous text and tapped in a quick reply.
Delete this conversation NOW, Fuji. And give Echizen his phone back by tomorrow's morning practice at the latest.
Tezuka decided to keep record of the conversation until he confirmed Fuji had done just that, so the picture remained hidden away on his phone for the time being as Tezuka turned back to his studies.
The following afternoon, as he was getting back to his room from therapy, Tezuka's phone buzzed again, declaring the text that had just been sent. The name on the screen read Echizen and, assuming the first year wanted to inform him he'd finally gotten his phone back, Tezuka flipped the cover open and pressed read.
Tezuka really wished he had not pressed read.
So, buchou...are you going to take responsibility?
A/N: Well, thank you very much for reading this far. Hopefully you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. Admittedly, I know this meme is a bit older, but, well, once the plot bunny grabbed me, I couldn't help but follow through. If you enjoyed the story, please leave a review (Anonymous reviews should be enabled). If you did not, please feel free to also leave a review. As a writer, I appreciate concrit as a way to help me improve.