Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Title: Bleach White
Author/Artist: MoonlitAffairs (Kyoka)
Theme(s): #18- Pity
Characters: Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke
Pairings: Light TezukaxFuji
Rating: G
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer/claimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to the manga-ka, Konomi Takeshi. All characters are otherwise disclaimed. This fiction is written for purely entertainment. It will not be used in any other way. Thank you, Konomi Takeshi!
Summary: Tezuka never thought that the antiseptic color white in hospitals would end up driving him crazy.
Word Count: 941
Bleach White
Tezuka didn't want that pitying glance, the one out of the corner of the nurses' eye, or the one the doctor gave him when he came in to check his medical chart. Tezuka never wanted the words of pity that his mom gave him; kind as they were, they only betrayed her deep sorrow, and then Tezuka himself felt upset by them. The pity wasn't anything else; there wasn't anything more or less to it.
His mother, preoccupied with worry, would frown and brush a hand lightly against his cheek, muttering things under her breath in soft, soothing Japanese, almost like a lullaby. She asked him a few times if it hurt, and Tezuka said no, he said that most of the painkillers he was given helped it.
Here, this was a complete lie.
In truth, he felt pain, almost to the point where it was unbearable. He was giving the choice of asking for more painkillers, but he didn't want it. It made him lethargic, and his fever-induced dreams were not of any comfort.
Tezuka could easily say that the thing he disliked the most was Fuji's pity. Well, it wasn't so much the pity as it was the strange emotion in Fuji's expression that he wasn't able to place. The thing was, Fuji knew that when he claimed he wasn't in pain, that he was lying. Tezuka was good at not showing signs of being in pain, but sharp, cerulean eyes seemed magically enabled to see beneath the surface. Fuji would look at him, shake his head gravely, but not say anything else.
This pity was not something he wanted.
After all, the accident may have left scars, but Tezuka didn't want to be a burden.
Being in a hospital for a day or two changed a person. Tezuka couldn't be sure of the time. He was weak, in pain, and somebody to drift in between the conscious and subconscious world. At those times when he was not fully aware, flames danced, laughing at him. Tezuka Kunimitsu tossed uneasily underneath the thin, starchy hospital sheets.
Everything here was white, perhaps the consideration of safety, of practicality. The sheets were white, the walls were white, and the doctors' coats were whit.
Everything… a manufactured and bleached white, starchy and fake… It was something that Tezuka couldn't really stand. Never had he thought that something so simple as a color would in the end drive him crazy.
Always when he woke up, Fuji was there, staring coolly at him. Whenever he woke it seemed to be just in time for Fuji to mask the strange, unrecognizable emotion. Tezuka still scorned him for his pity, but the boy sat firm. Didn't he have to go to school? Thinking about time gave him a constant headache and brought him to pull the pillow over his head. Tezuka didn't want to think about that. It hurt too much. When he asked him one day, Fuji's lips formed a frown.
"No, today is Sunday, Tezuka. Don't you remember? Yesterday was Saturday; you were walking home from school." Tezuka's lips formed a deeper frown, as if to challenge Fuji's. In return, the other leaned across the space to the hospital bed, fisting the sheets lightly and pulling them away from Tezuka.
"It seems like more than a day has passed," he commented coolly.
"Ah," was the only acknowledgment.
Tezuka's eyelashes fluttered, and he found Fuji sitting over him, staring. They were in close proximity, but Tezuka made no move to force him away. The world was a blend of colors around him, and he came to the dim awareness that Fuji's cheek was near his. His senses were heightened.
Fuji, though Tezuka had never realized it before, smelled faintly of the outside world, not of the antiseptic smell that he'd been faced with since he had been brought to the hospital in an ambulance.
He'd almost bled to death, then, and he remembered the look on Fuji's face as soon as the doctors let him near.
That pity…
Tezuka hated it, and that was saying something, since Tezuka didn't usually hate anything.
This wasn't pity, though, was it? Fuji's head was lying next to his, and Fuji's arm was stretched across the bed to hold his left hand. The swirl of colors around him grew thicker, making him dizzy. Fuji was asleep now, and Tezuka reminded himself to reprimand Fuji for not thinking of his own health more. If Fuji stayed here in worry of Tezuka and forgot to sleep, he would get sick.
Tezuka didn't want Fuji sick, especially considering that it would be his fault if he did.
Using a great amount of strength he managed to shift lightly in the bed, pulling the bleached white sheets to his ankles in the process. The hospital outfit he'd been clad in was similar to the sheets, though it was like a robe; it was bleached white, contrasting against skin and hair. Tezuka pulled his left arm out of Fuji's grip and readjusted so that it rested lightly on Fuji's cheek. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pulled his knees to his chest. Fuji and Tezuka's noses were barely touching, but Tezuka decided he like the feeling, especially the presence of Fuji's warm breath upon his lips.
Tezuka wasn't in pain anymore, he decided.
This time it really wasn't a lie.
He really wanted to sleep for a while, though, he thought to himself. He felt tired, and willingly allowed his eyes to close, and his body to fall limp.
He couldn't even hear the heart rate monitor, as it beeped in an alert, and then slowed to a thin, straight line.