Flicker
"The desert skies
Cracks the spies;
Reminds me what I've never tried."
-Before I'm Dead, Kidney Thieves
1.
When Fuji Syuusuke had asked Tezuka to meet him that afternoon, he did not know what to expect. Rather, he did not feel (or at least think) that it was right to expect anything of Fuji. Though he could not help it, he had his reservations and prejudices concerning the tête-à-tête. It was inevitable and yet it was a mistake to have these foolish notions (guarded precautions, yes, but foolish just the same) concerning him, because this was Fuji, one of his very few friends (the only friends he may probably never forget and may most likely have for the rest of his life). He considered him as something akin to a brother, a confidante and somewhat a lover at the same time, but the lines were thinner and the bond was deeper than anything else he ever experienced.
He loved Fuji, yes, more than he could possibly admit. It scared him, this clandestine partiality, this surreptitious devotion, and made him recoil in fear, doubt, and other insurmountable emotions that one could feel in a lifetime. It bound and gagged him, asphyxiating him the same way Ryoma, the prodigy, captivated and enchanted the audience with his almost-but-not-quite cat-like eyes glinting in the spotlight, eternally secretive and gleaming with silent anticipation.
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2.
Fuji was strong and persuasive; he was gentle and saccharine when he felt it, and cruel and cunning when he wished. He was fragile and delicate but intense and powerful at the same time. He was so tempestuous like the wind that many did not quite know what to do in his presence. Would they bow down to him and be swayed like the falling leaves in autumn, or would they remain undaunted and indifferent like a boulder? He was not like Tezuka, with his precise and evaluated movements and actions. Fuji was not as cool and calculating as he (and would probably never be), but he made it seem like he was.. Fuji was not as dark and deep and enigmatic, but he evoked the same feelings he did.
Passion. Hope. Faith. Trust.
Anger. Envy. Greed. Pride.
Lust. Foreboding. Loss.
Loss.
It had always been those things.
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3.
Fuji looked up, briefly, and offered him a bright, languid smile. He would have done the same if he knew how without being embarrassed. His blue eyes remained fixed on him, even as Tezuka sat down and glanced at the menu offered to him. He ordered cursorily, just like he always did, opting for a cup of Earl Grey tea and a couple of tea sandwiches. There was silence- the uncomfortable, eerie silence that had always existed in Tezuka Kunimitsu's world ever since he had been subjected to the world's less pleasing side. The moment the waiter served his order and left, he sipped quietly into his tea and asked exasperatedly, "Alright, what's wrong?"
Fuji could feel the sides of his mouth curving upwards in a diverted smile. "Now, that's quite a loaded question."
Tezuka frowned and would have said something offensive, but instead his lips twisted into a thin, displeased and somewhat forced line. His sense of decency far overwhelmed his forcefulness, unlike Momoshiro with his brash behavior. He could never be that kind of guy. "I see."
They fell silent again. Tezuka waited for Fuji to say anything, to break the silence as he had always done, but not a sound came from the boy. He primly bit into a sandwich, eyeing the other with something parallel to mistrust, and counted under his breath the seconds that passed by.
Finally, Fuji spoke.
"I would like to ask a favor from you."
Setting his cup down, Tezuka closed his eyes and felt his mouth move on its own accord. "What is it?"
"Kiss me."
He acquiesced.
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4.
"Bring back the sun," Fuji whispered as he clutched onto him with the same amount of desperation a child who has lost his way had, "Bring it back and never let it go away."
Tezuka could feel his heart pounding against his chest wildly and he stood stark still. Objections, Refusals, Denials- words and words poured out of his mind so swiftly that he could not fully comprehend the fine line between sanity and the lack thereof. He was not used to this. He was not used to being confused and unsure of himself. He braced himself, as if he were certain that a hard blow would come in contact with his heart and mind, and tightened his grip on his skull, strands of sand and straw quiescently tangled against his slender fingers. His eyes shut themselves for a moment as he tried to muster enough courage to speak.
"I can't."
Fuji looked up at him, fear and spite brewing inside his stormy eyes in one havoc-promising battle of wiles, and asked with some anguish bordering on impudence, "why not? Why not?"
"You were the sun." He told her with some guilt and regret. "And Yuuta took that away. You have to ask this of him and not me."
A bitter laugh not so much honoring Tezuka exploded from him as he let him go in finality. "Not even you could help me then."
Tezuka was silent, but when it seemed that it was not helping the situation in any way, he spoke.
"No. I could not."
He thought to apologize to him, to take her back into his arms and make him stop this, but as he stared at Fuji, his body convulsing in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, he thought it best to walk away.
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5.
When Tezuka broke away from him and touched his lips to his eyes, he did not respond.
Fuji lowered his eyes, lashes resting on his half-closed eyelids, and a silence resumed once more. This time, Tezuka did not need to look into his eyes to know what he was thinking. He thought of it too.
Nothing would come of this.
"It's still the same," He said in a hushed tone, "After all this time, you'd think that everything would change. But it's still the same."
Tezuka smiled sparingly. "Yes. It still is."
He nodded. "It's still, and I am cold."
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6.
What electrifying heat did the novel writers talk of when they described a kiss? Where was the passion, the mind-numbing influence of ardor in a single act of connecting your lips to another's? Did it reside somewhere else, or was this simply not supposed to be?
Because right now Tezuka felt no warmth bubbling inside his stomach, no heady brew of lust filling his whole body and clogging his senses. Fuji felt like ice beneath him- skin on skin, loss to loss, lines to lines. Even his breath was freezing.
He pulled away, running his tongue on his parched lower lip, dry and tasting of blood and salt, and he watched him curl up in a fetal position and embrace himself.
"Make it stop." He cried, beating his chest with a clenched fist. "Make it stop."
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7.
"I don't want to talk anymore." Fuji announced wearily, not even trying to hide the acrimony in his voice.
"Alright then." He nodded, and decided later on that it was probably the best way to end the conversation without inflicting any violence. Sometimes it was wise not to bother.
They both stood up, paid for their unfinished tea, and Fuji let him kiss his hand without being embarrassed for the sake of being agreeable. Tezuka shoved his hands into his pockets unceremoniously and stared at him warily. "Goodbye, Fuji."
He allowed him one of his thin, sarcastic smiles, so like Atobe's but not quite, and nodded. "Goodbye."
Fuji left. He left too, sometime after that, and blew a kiss at his retreating form, as if this was the end of everything that had once been beautiful and had once felt like home.
But sometimes Tezuka couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had he not accepted the invitation.
And sometimes, he wondered whether he would have wished to never have seen him rather than to have mourned over someone who was no better than the lifeless buried under the earth.
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END
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Oh. Wow. That's done. Now the only thing I have to worry about is how the formatting appears. :P This was originally written for GSeed, but I was itching for a TezFuji fic. Too much drama? You can never have enough of that. . Review?