Title: Discovery
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Pairings: Tezuka/Fuji
Warnings: ficlet, romance
**********
It was still cool out, the first touches of Spring descending upon them. Tezuka found that his thick coat was still a necessity, but Fuji was content to wear only a long-sleeved shirt. His thin frame looked as if it should have been cold without any padding, but he uttered no complaints, so Tezuka let him be.
He seriously couldn't imagine Fuji complaining, anyway.
Tezuka observed Fuji and Fuji observed his surroundings; he seemed fascinated by the frost brushed along the very tips of the grass, as if it had been hand painted. He failed to be allured by the common occurrence, but Fuji was interested enough for the both of them. His lips were curved in approval, different from the smile that normally inhabited his lips.
Fuji quietly commented that he should have brought his camera, and Tezuka realized that he was only carrying a racket in his hand. Tezuka always brought the balls; it wasn't necessary for Fuji to bring his own bag. But Fuji usually did, anyways.
Their hands touched sometimes as they walked, making up for the silence between them with their skin. Words weren't always necessary. Tezuka never wore gloves when he went out with Fuji.
The indoor courts were a good distance away, but they both preferred walking to public transportation, usually so Fuji could take all the photographs his heart desired. He would take pictures of Tezuka sometimes when he least expected it, and Tezuka didn't mind substituting as his model. It didn't take much to please Fuji; he preferred his subjects to appear natural. He was an expert at finding just the right light and focus, quickly, in any situation.
Tezuka shouldn't have been surprised, on his first visit to Fuji's bedroom, to find dozens of photographs, some in neat piles and others in frames around the room. When he returned from Germany, he found that the wall by Fuji's bed was lined with a new collection of photographs in sleek, black, frames, the pictures he had taken of the team the day they had watched the sunrise together, just before he left the country. A large, oak frame on the perpendicular wall contained a photograph of professional quality, obviously taken during Tezuka's match with Atobe Keigo.
Fuji's collection of Tezuka pictures was always expanding.
The indoor courts were vacant, as always. During the colder seasons, tennis was ignored for snowball fights and sledding and hot cocoa. But for them, tennis was something deeper than a hobby. Tennis was just something they had to do. They couldn't have discovered their love for each other without first discovering their love of tennis.
***
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Pairings: Tezuka/Fuji
Warnings: ficlet, romance
**********
It was still cool out, the first touches of Spring descending upon them. Tezuka found that his thick coat was still a necessity, but Fuji was content to wear only a long-sleeved shirt. His thin frame looked as if it should have been cold without any padding, but he uttered no complaints, so Tezuka let him be.
He seriously couldn't imagine Fuji complaining, anyway.
Tezuka observed Fuji and Fuji observed his surroundings; he seemed fascinated by the frost brushed along the very tips of the grass, as if it had been hand painted. He failed to be allured by the common occurrence, but Fuji was interested enough for the both of them. His lips were curved in approval, different from the smile that normally inhabited his lips.
Fuji quietly commented that he should have brought his camera, and Tezuka realized that he was only carrying a racket in his hand. Tezuka always brought the balls; it wasn't necessary for Fuji to bring his own bag. But Fuji usually did, anyways.
Their hands touched sometimes as they walked, making up for the silence between them with their skin. Words weren't always necessary. Tezuka never wore gloves when he went out with Fuji.
The indoor courts were a good distance away, but they both preferred walking to public transportation, usually so Fuji could take all the photographs his heart desired. He would take pictures of Tezuka sometimes when he least expected it, and Tezuka didn't mind substituting as his model. It didn't take much to please Fuji; he preferred his subjects to appear natural. He was an expert at finding just the right light and focus, quickly, in any situation.
Tezuka shouldn't have been surprised, on his first visit to Fuji's bedroom, to find dozens of photographs, some in neat piles and others in frames around the room. When he returned from Germany, he found that the wall by Fuji's bed was lined with a new collection of photographs in sleek, black, frames, the pictures he had taken of the team the day they had watched the sunrise together, just before he left the country. A large, oak frame on the perpendicular wall contained a photograph of professional quality, obviously taken during Tezuka's match with Atobe Keigo.
Fuji's collection of Tezuka pictures was always expanding.
The indoor courts were vacant, as always. During the colder seasons, tennis was ignored for snowball fights and sledding and hot cocoa. But for them, tennis was something deeper than a hobby. Tennis was just something they had to do. They couldn't have discovered their love for each other without first discovering their love of tennis.
***