Disclaimer: I do not own PoT. I wish I did though :/
It was like a game of tag.
They were constantly rivaling each other on the courts, regardless of speed, stamina, or even who was more of a prodigy.
Fuji knew.
He was not the only tensai, no matter what other people said.
Tezuka was one too.
He saw it in the way the taller boy trained, his movements fluid and long as if he was swimming in water, and the look in his eyes one of intense concentration, sharpened by the rims of his glasses and the slightest glint of sweat down the sides of his cheek. He saw it in the way he managed the team, or even the way he managed his injury.
But the latter was his Achilles heel.
Tezuka was a prodigy, a bird who could have never flown to the skies.
He sends the final ball that burst through from the ball machine coursing back at deadly speed, and listens as the sound of its bouncing melt into the sunbaked ground.
Something cold presses into his cheek, and he looks past the sports drink to see Fuji's smiling face framed with his ever-so perfect light brown locks of hair that falls into his crescent eyes whenever he plays.
"Thank you, Fuji."
He takes the drink and downs half of it in one gulp before tightening the cap and setting it aside.
"Ne, Tezuka."
He glances to his side, where the first-year is looking at him with his eyes open, and he is momentarily blinded by his piercing blue gaze, which seems so out of balance compared to the rest of his angel-like façade.
"Play a match with me."
And after Tezuka Kunimitsu loses drastically to Fuji Syuusuke, he sees the tensai walking towards his kneeling figure with a look of barely concealed fury.
Sparks of pain blossom in his left shoulder as Fuji grasps it none-so gently, but he feels the grip slightly relax as he is lifted up to face the shorter boy.
There they are again.
Those cerulean blue eyes now penetrate into his soul, and he can feel Fuji's disbelief mirroring his own, as his gaze becomes more concentrated, more… frantic.
The next thing Tezuka knows is that his left cheek is on fire and Fuji is still glaring at him, but as he cradles his cheek in his hand, he can see the younger boy's anger begin to dissipate, leaving only sadness shimmering in his eyes.
"Tezuka… Catch up."
There is a slight break in his words, but as the tensai wordlessly gathers up his stuff and leaves the court, Tezuka understands his words.
Because they're in a game of tag, and he was It.
They've won the Nationals.
As his team burst into raucous cheering, Fuji manages to dodge past Kikumaru arbitrary somersaulting and backflips, Kawamura's racquet swings, and general chaos to their captain, who's standing in the courts ever so stoic, yet his furrowed eyebrows betray that something is amiss.
Fuji nears him, and taps his shoulder.
"Tezuka?"
He turns, and seeing that it is Fuji, his carefully constructed mask completely shatters right in front of his eyes, and he topples to his knees, clutching his left shoulder so fiercely his knuckles have gone white.
The raw vulnerability in his eyes sends Fuji into a slight shock, and it is half a second later that he manages to react.
"Mitsu?"
The nickname passes his lips before he knows it. He hasn't used it since their days in middle school.
What breaks Tezuka Kunimitsu into a million pieces is the long forgotten nickname, and as he lifts his eyes to meet Fuji's wide, blue ones, he seems to be transported back to their early days together, where tennis seemed like a mere pastime, and where it was their only sanctuary from everything else in the world.
"It… hurts…"
A tear, the first in many, many years, falls, and sinks into the ground.
And at that moment, Tezuka is trapped in his own game.
A year later.
The sliding doors open to reveal a tall boy with soft, brown hair curling around his sweet face that people often mistake for a much younger age. In his arm is a bouquet of tulips, and the scent of flowers fill the small room, chasing away the smell of disinfectant. He approaches the bed, where another boy lies, his face so serene, so calm in his slumber.
Fuji is careful not to disturb him as he sets the flowers down on a small table beside the bed, and pulls out a chair to sit.
He gazes wordlessly at the sleeping boy and feels tears begin to prick at his eyes. A clenched fist slowly falls onto the sheets as his gaze travels towards Tezuka's face. A soft, pained whisper leaves his lips.
"Ne Tezuka… You've been It for so long. Does this mean I win?"
And he feels his tears spill through like stars on the canvas of night and he weeps and weeps, his hand coming to cover the sobs leaking from his lips, his hunched shoulders shaking as he tries to quell his tears.
The bed shifts, and Fuji hears him say.
"Yes, Syuu-chan, you've won."
And Fuji cries even harder as only one arm comes around to close him in a warm embrace.
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