Title: The way it will be
Rating: G
Word count: 614
Pairing: Tezuka x Fuji
Warning: angst?
Summary: Fuji thinks back on his failing relationship
Disclaimer: I am a poor Canadian, I couldn't own it if I tried.
A/N: this is . . . . I really don't know. I just kinda felt like writing (but couldn't write the tentacle) so this came from no where. Reviews will be loved and cherished forever.

He didn't understand how emotions could change as fast as they did for him. Or perhaps that wasn't right, perhaps they changed far too slowly compared to what they should. It should have taken him mere weeks to see what was happening between the two of them, not the many years that it had. They were totally unsuited for each other, the more they loved the other the more it destroyed them.

How that had come to pass; he didn't quite know either, but it had. And now he was here, the love that had once filled him was slowly turning into hate; loathing. He couldn't stay in the others presence for more then a couple of minutes at the most, their conversations had become forced and strained. And for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.

But perhaps it was the very things that made them who they were that eventually had become the final nail in the proverbial coffin of their relationship. Where the other was jealous and liked to keep things that were his to himself, he was social and loved to intermingle with others. But he would do anything to stay with him.

So he didn't go out as much at first, he would stay at home. Eventually he quit his job, he was told that the other would take care of him and that it wasn't needed, so he did what he was told. And somewhere along the line it had turned into this. Never leaving the house anymore, he sometimes wondered if his single pair of shoes even fit him anymore since it had been so long since he had warn them. He would cook what ever the other bought and clean all day and when there was nothing left to clean he would sit and wait for the other to arrive. Almost like a captive in his own home.

But it hadn't always been like this.

No, he remembered what it was like before, when there was emotion between them. A time in which he could proudly state that he was indeed in love with the other. There used to be so much passion, so much heat; he would sit on the soft leather sofa and reminisce all day. So long in fact that by the time the other was due home he could believe that nothing had changed and that's how it would always be.

Then his little fantasy would come crashing down around him with a single look and an inquiry about what was for dinner.

Though he knew the other never saw the hurt in his eyes every time it happened. Because he never really opened his eyes anymore and besides the other never even tried to look into them anymore. Everyday, slowly but surely, he would break a little more but his perfect, beautiful mask stayed in place. His smile never faltered, because if it did, then that would be showing that their relationship had failed. Neither of them liked to fail.

So it continued and he thought to himself, that it always would. For one reason alone; he did still love him, he loved him more then life itself. So it was ok that he was unhappy, that he was broken, that he didn't seem real anymore. He would continue to smile and be the perfect wife, until he was told he wasn't wanted anymore. It was ok because he was still there for him, and if he wanted him to stay in that house, then he swore he would never leave, ever. Even if it meant the death of him, which he knew it would be, all too soon.