Hello! Here is another piece written for the 50 Scenes challenge on Live Journal. The prompt was "Writer's Choice," and I chose "Distance." This time its Mukahi and Oshitari. Yay~
This was a bit of an experiment in first/second perspective. I rarely ever write in first or second, but after gaining some inspiration from reading "Your Smiling Face" by Apple Bubblegum, I decided to try it. "You're Smiling Face" is a great read, especially if you're looking for something unpredictable and emotional.
Disclaimer: The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi, not me. I own…..um…..something? /fails
I hold this piece very close to my heart. Enjoy.
The closer we become, the further you move away, like a wave rippling against the shoreline, elusive yet beautiful.
Soon, all I can see are the differences; the differences in our ideals, the way we were raised, how we act. You are analytical and cool headed; I'm hot tempered and impulsive. You enjoy romance novels and movies about "pure love." I feel asleep in the last movie you took me too, and you complained. You are perfection with silky blue hair and sharp eyes, on a plain high above me that I'll never be able to reach.
From there, communication becomes difficult. How can I speak of my problems and flaws to one who is so much greater?
What hurts the most is that I can't help you after everything you've done for me. I can't give you the one thing you need most; more than just someone to confide in, but someone who is able to trust and confide in you. Though you are constantly surrounded by people, you keep most of them at a distance, letting only those you deem worthy into your inner circle. Your upbringing automatically alienates you from the other students. You said to me once that you wish there were more people like you. I thought, "It must be very lonely to live like that."
The guilt gets so bad that a dull ache forms in the pit of my stomach at the mere mention of your name, at the flash of blue hair I see move around the corner as you walk down the hall to your next class. I don't make any attempt to call out to your retreating back. I just can't face you. My words die in my chest before they ever get a chance to reach you.
I'm afraid. I'm afraid of hurting you, of breaking the fragile bond we have left. But most of all, I'm afraid that my weak, imperfect self will be rejected.
I'm a coward. I'm a coward and a liar, but you don't see that. You don't see that dirty side of me. I am relieved, yet sickened.
You begin to wonder why we're not talking or hanging out as much as before. Why I'm beginning to avoid you at tennis practices, and constantly missing your calls. Why we hardly ever see each other anymore, in or outside of school.
The day finally comes when we can no longer keep pretending that everything is normal. You confront me one grey spring afternoon under the huge sakura tree at the entrance of school, the soft pink petals marking the passage of time as it seems to have come to a complete stop.
I knew that this confrontation was unavoidable, that the act couldn't go on forever, but still the words I need to say won't come. I stutter, fidget in place, look anywhere but your resigned, tired dark eyes.
As I try desperately to explain myself, I prepare for the worse; a long shouting match, our friendship disintegrating into the awkward meeting from whence it came, the world coming to an end in the short amount of time it takes a sakura petal to fall to the ground. But all you do is hold a hand up to silence me and say quietly:
"That's enough, Gakuto. I understand now. This is the way we are, the way we have always been, and the way things will always be."
Even though I was the first person to realize it, you were the first one to speak those words, though it must have been the most painful thing for you to have to admit.
You turn away to hide your tear filled eyes. I shut mine tight, wishing more than anything that those words were a lie.
"I'll try harder," I reply, slowly opening my eyes, voice sounding small and unconvincing even to myself. "I'll make more time to see you."
You turn back to face me and smirk, but it's different than your traditional "I-know-something-you-don't-and-I'm-going-to-rub-it-in-your-face" smirk. This one is softer at the edges, sadder, and slightly bitter.
"It's not going to work." You say with a wry smile, your voice filled with resentment and exhaustion from days and days of trying so hard. "This is how you are, and I just have to accept that."
For a moment, just a moment, I wish I could bridge the distance.
We say a short goodbye after that, and go our separate ways home. As I navigate the familiar streets, I try to convince myself that things will change, that this can't be all to our relationship, that the distance can be overcome. But somewhere in my heart, I know that it is already too late for us.
As I look up into the grey afternoon sky, I want nothing more than things to go back to the way they were. We seemed perfect together, complimenting each other both on and off the courts. I could do my flashy acrobatics, and you would cover for me without doubt or hesitation. We were Hyotei's only true doubles pair. Laugher and conversation came freely and easily, and every day spent together seemed new and exciting.
As I pass the street courts near home where our fondest memories lie, a light rain begins to fall, tiny drops hitting the ground in a steady rhythm and forming dark puddles over the old court's green surface. The overcast sky and gentle rain mirror everything that is inside; the dull ache, the sense of loss, the nostalgia.
For a moment, I mourn. I mourn over the loss of innocence, the loss of those carefree days of middle school where walls built with the passage of time were non existent, and two friends saw the same dream.
I linger outside the tennis courts just a minute longer before continuing up the street and heading home.
If you've come this far, thanks for reading!! As always, feedback and constructive criticism is highly appreciated.