I've always wanted to write a story where Fuji and Ryoma hate each other. But this wasn't quite how I imagined it. What started off as a random rant about Fuji and perfection, turned into...well. I don't really know.
I felt disturbed while writing it. I can say that much.
Fuji Syusuke. It was a beautiful name, even Ryoma had to admit. And it suited Fuji perfectly. The very name seemed to convey the flawlessness, the grace, and everything that was Fuji. It brought to mind an everlasting smile, something bright and caring and so very perfect.
Fuji Syusuke.
Ryoma hated him.
Because when he thought about Fuji, he didn't think of a smile. He didn't think of gentleness. All that came to his mind was his smirk, his glinting eyes. Callous words. Words meant to hurt, to harm, to cut him into a million pieces and leave him bleeding on the ground.
But there was something about his senior that made him unable to hold his own against him. Something that made him want to cry and apologise for everything – even when it had been Fuji who hurt him, Fuji who destroyed everything, Fuji who left him shivering in the cold trying to hold back tears.
Because in the end, everything was Ryoma's fault. It was him who was never good enough – not Fuji. Fuji was perfect. He deserved everything and more. A lot more than Ryoma could give, which was why he had to break him apart every time. Break him apart, and be disappointed, because by then, even what Ryoma had was in pieces.
'Come now. Don't make me laugh.'
Twisted perfection. That was what Fuji was. Beautiful, flawless, and yet hiding something so ugly, so terrifying, so ridiculously insane. That was what he was. But no one would ever suspect it, because no one else ever saw him that way. He hid, he lied, he pretended.
To everyone except Ryoma.
Because to him, Ryoma was disposable. Breakable. He could take him apart as many times as he wanted, and watch him run and flee, hysterical and mad and on the verge of collapse. Then he'd leisurely stroll behind him, until Ryoma slowed down and let himself be caught, regretting having ever run away.
He had control. He had power. And he knew what to do with it.
'Oh, so I'm the one at fault now?'
Ryoma didn't know why he put up with it. It was twisted, cruel, scarring. It hurt. But in spite of everything, he still found himself following Fuji through the corridors. Watching him practice through the dorm window. Letting him walk with him around the school grounds.
'You're pathetic, you know that?'
It wasn't good for him. Fuji was destroying him, piece by piece, and soon he'd be too far gone to be put together again.
Yukimura found him in the library once, hiding between two shelves, trembling and burying his face in his arms. He'd held him then, and offered soothing words of comfort, insisting that he wasn't useless and wasn't pathetic – and that he was stronger than anyone he'd ever met. Ryoma wanted to believe him, he really did. But all he could remember was Fuji's twisted sneer, and his rembling increased as he tried harder to hold back his tears.
If he cried, he'd lose the only thing he had left. And he wasn't ready for that.
'Of course you were never better than Tezuka.'
He'd stopped playing tennis. He wasn't good enough anymore. The serves he hit no longer went over the net, and his feet couldn't reach shots fast enough to return them. It was pointless.
It made Yukimura angry sometimes. 'Why the hell do you still listen to him?' he would hiss, dragging him up close by his collar. 'He's the only one lying to you, the only one who wants to drive you mad, so you ignore us all and listen to him when he tells you you're not good enough?'
Ryoma would stay silent. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell him that they were the only two people who believed that Fuji was cruel. But all he could do was stare at him, wide eyed, until Yukimura let go of him and turned away, upset and disappointed.
He seemed to be making everyone disappointed lately. Yukimura, with his utter lack of logic. Tezuka, with his lack of tennis skills. And Fuji, because he just wasn't entertaining enough.
It took him two years – two, entire years – to finally begin to avoid Fuji. His senior didn't seem to mind too much. Occasionally, he frowned at him. Smirked at him. Smiled at him.
'I only hurt you because you were willing to be hurt.'
And Ryoma was fine with it. He still couldn't play tennis. He still had trouble believing people when they appreciated him. But he was getting better, that was for sure.
Eventually, whatever he and Fuji had had between them was forgotten. The older boy left him alone, and started treating him the way he used to when they were still in middle school. Like a teammate. A friend. A kind, caring senior.
Ryoma almost believed that that was who he really was. Almost.
He still had nightmares about him. His cold gaze, his twisted smirk. His laugh. He'd been young back then – easily influenced, and Fuji's words had scarred him for life. It would take him a long time to forget it all.
Yukimura helped him. He scared him sometimes, because he was so startlingly similar to Fuji, and he was afraid he'd end up just like his senior had. But Yukimura was different. He never hated Ryoma. His words never hurt.
He hoped that never changed.
Two years later, he met Fuji at a coffee shop.
"May I join you?" the older boy asked, smiling. Ryoma was too shocked to respond, so Fuji took a seat anyway.
Neither of them spoke for a long while. A waitress came by, and they placed their orders, then stared at each other in silence.
"You've grown, Echizen," Fuji said quietly.
"You haven't," Ryoma muttered at length. They both knew it wasn't true, and Fuji chuckled softly.
"As immature as ever, I see."
Ryoma didn't reply.
Fuji paused for a moment, staring out the window. "I never did apologize, you know," he said softly, still not looking at him.
Ryoma tensed, and Fuji turned towards him, frowning slightly. "I don't know why I did it. Any of it. I know I hurt you. I...I even ruined tennis for you." He gave Ryoma a searching look, a strange, raw honesty in his eyes. "If I could make it up to you somehow..."
It was there again. That unreasonable, aching feeling in his chest, that made him want to jump up and apologize, and tell Fuji that everything was fine, even though he had nothing to apologize for.
He clenched his fist, and unclenched it. Slowly. Again. And again. He inhaled deeply and willed himself to calm down. It had been two years – two years – since Fuji had left him alone. He'd recovered. He'd gotten his confidence back.
He wasn't going to lose it all again.
Fuji reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Echizen, I hope you understand that – "
"No!" Ryoma pushed away violently, surprising himself, Fuji, and everyone else in the room. "I'm not going to believe you again! I've had enough, okay? I can't put up with it anymore! Just...leave me alone!"
Fuji's expression hardened. He looked at Ryoma seriously for a moment, and then his face changed, twisting into the one he knew too well. The expression he had nightmares about everyday.
He turned and took off running, not stopping once, until he crashed head first into Yukimura, who was walking down the sidewalk.
"Echizen?" He started, slightly surprised. He took one look at Ryoma's face and his eyes widened. He pulled Ryoma closer to him and hugged him tightly, whispering soft words of comfort.
When Yukimura heard about his encounter with Fuji, he was oddly silent. It made Ryoma somewhat confused.
"You met Fuji today? Here?"
Ryoma nodded at him, and Yukimura's frown deepened further.
"Echizen," he started slowly, as if he wasn't sure of what he was saying himself. "Fuji is in London."
Ryoma frowned. "No. No way. He was here, senpai."
Yukimura shook his head. "It's impossible. He's been rooming with Genichirou, and he called me just an hour ago. Fuji is in London."
Panic started rising in his chest. That was impossible. He'd met Fuji here an hour ago. In Japan. He'd seen him. He'd touched him. Pushed him away. He had to have been there. He shook his head vigorously at Yukimura, who was eying him with a troubled expression on his face.
"He was here," he repeated weakly. Yukimura shook his head sadly, and the panic started rising further. "Are you saying I'm lying? You think I'm making this up?" His whole body was shaking now, and he felt a sudden urge to throw something, anything...
"Ryoma, please. I'm not saying that. It's just-"
"It's just what?" he shrieked. "You don't believe me! You're just like him. You're just like him!"
A flash of hurt passed over Yukimura's face, but it disappeared just as quickly. "You're...confused." He said at last, voice strained and controlled. "You're seeing things, Echizen. You...you need help."
Ryoma grabbed the object nearest to him, a glass vase, and flung it at Yukimura. The older boy dodged it, but barely, and he immediately stood up and wrestled Ryoma to the ground.
He fought back. He kicked him, screamed at him, bit him and struggled, but Yukimura's grip was strong. He held him firmly to the floor, face unreadable, as he watched Ryoma try to get away.
At last, Ryoma gave up. He stilled slowly, panting hard, and before he knew it, he was asleep.
They had a fight again the next day. Yukimura offered to take him to a psychologist, and Ryoma snapped, because he wasn't crazy. He'd seen Fuji, he'd been there, but Yukimura wouldn't believe him.
"Ryoma, I spoke to the waitress at the coffee shop. She says you were alone," he managed to say, his voice strained and pleading. "Please, just listen to me –"
"I hate you!" Ryoma had shrieked, kicking and screaming as he was held down again. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
Yukimura had smirked at him sadly, eyes dark and emotionless, but didn't say anything. He held him to the ground till he fell asleep again.
A week later, he crashed into Fuji Syusuke on the street.
"You were right," he said softly, trademark smile on his face. "I'm not sorry."
Anger – red, hot anger rushed through his veins, and he threw himself at the older boy, bringing him down to the ground. He punched him, kicked him, and Fuji fought back, eyes flaring, and then he was screaming and crying and ranting illogically, until Yukimura dragged him away and forcibly restrained him.
"He's right there, senpai, he's right there! I told you he was here! He's right there!"
A crowd had gathered around them now, and Yukimura was looking increasingly distressed by the second. He was muttering senselessly to himself as he tried to hold Ryoma, who was trying desperately to show him that Fuji was right there.
"He's smirking at me, he's laughing, he finds the whole thing funny and you're pretending you can't even see him!"
The crowd around them was getting restless now, and everyone was muttering worriedly.
"What is he talking about?"
"What is he seeing?"
"Should we call an ambulance?"
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold back tears of desperation, and to block out the sound of Fuji's laughter.
Ryoma watched Yukimura from across the room, frowning to himself. The older boy had been on the phone for the past fifteen minutes, talking about him, and it was getting on his nerves.
"Yes, yes. Tomorrow would be fine. I'll bring him over. Thank you for your time, Oshitari-kun." He hung up and placed his phone on the side table, before turning to face Ryoma.
"You think I'm crazy." It wasn't a question.
Yukimura sighed warily. "No, I don't think that. I think that you have problems that you haven't quite dealt with yet." He ruffled Ryoma's hair, staring off into the distance. "I shouldn't have ever let him talk to you."
"It wasn't your fault." And really, it wasn't. In the end, everything had been Ryoma's fault.
Yukimura sighed and shook his head. "I know. But I still feel responsible."
He had been right – Yukimura wasn't anything like Fuji. Yukimura was everything Fuji pretended to be, and so much more. He wondered what he'd done to deserve him.
And he wondered what Yukimura had done to deserve someone as messed up as himself.
Yukimura settled down on the sofa next to him, and they both stared straight ahead. "Do you remember Oshitari Yuushi from Hyoutei?" the older boy asked at last. "He's a psychiatrist now. I've arranged for you to meet him tomorrow." He glanced at Ryoma sideways, trying to see if he'd explode again. But Ryoma was strangely resigned.
"Alright."
Yukimura smiled. "Good."
He met Oshitari the next day. He met him everyday for a month. And then a year. But he didn't get better.
It wasn't only Fuji he saw now. He saw his brother, Tezuka, Atobe, Sanada, his parents, Momoshiro...even Yukimura. He almost never left his room anymore. As long as he was inside, he was safe. He'd be alright. He could point at the people standing around him, laughing, and say You are not real, and believe it.
It was once he left his room that things got out of control. Because outside, he couldn't tell the difference between real-Yukimura and fake-Yukimura. Fuji and not-Fuji. His cat and and a handful of air.
Outside, things became dangerous. And every day, Yukimura seemed more worn out, and Fuji's laughter grew steadily louder.
"We can't help him," a voice said from above him. He was lying on the ground, or what he thought was the ground, with his eyes firmly shut. He didn't need to open them to recognise the voice as Oshitari's.
"There has to be something we can do!" Yukimura hissed desperately. "We can't just leave him like this – I, I...he..." he paused, breathing hard. "I can't bear to see him like this anymore! It's...I just..."
"I know." Oshitari said shortly. "But it's been years, Yukimura. I can't help him if he doesn't want to be helped."
"But he wants to get better!"
"But he doesn't want help. There's a difference."
Of course he didn't want help. Oshitari was probably a figment of his imagination, anyway. Why would he trust him?
He came out of his room one day, and found Fuji and Yukimura sitting in the dining room. When they noticed him, their eyes widened, and Yukimura stood up quickly.
"Ryoma," he started cautiously. "This is...actually Fuji. The real one. He's come back to Japan."
Ryoma shook his head. Liar, liar, liar. Why would he be back? Why would he be here?
Fuji stood up slowly, his face unreadable. "Echizen. It's good to see you."
He's not real he's not real he's not real.
He took a few steps backward, pointing at Fuji with a trembling finger. "You're not real," he whispered hoarsely.
Fuji took a small step towards him, his expression wary and pleading. Ryoma stumbled backwards towards the stairs, the panic in his chest threatening to explode.
"Echizen, I'm sorry for...everything. Please, I just want you to understand that."
He tripped on the bottom stair and landed hard on his back. Fuji made to help him, but he scrambled away quickly.
"Don't you dare come near me. You are not real."
Fuji started to apologize again, but Ryoma let out a strangled scream and pounced on him, tackling him to the ground. Yukimura was instantly at his side, pulling them apart, and shouting at Fuji to leave the room quickly.
If Yukimura could touch him, was Fuji real? Or was Yukimura fake? Was everything around him an illusion?
Had Fuji ever existed? Or had he just been a part of his delusions?
Something was fake. Something was real. He didn't know if he even cared anymore.
He banged his head against the wall, hoping to knock himself out. Sure enough, everything dimmed, and then all went black.
That's it.
This wasn't how this was supposed to turn out. But, well. This story was slightly inspired by a person I know, who everyone thinks is very nice and sweet, but most definitely isn't. That made me think about two faced people, which made me think about Fuji and hurtful words and what not, and tada. I wrote this. Messed it up, but still.
It was disturbing.