If Prince of Tennis were mine, hardwood floors would die.
THE MOURNING CLOAK BUTTERFLY
x.lithiumx.lithiumx.lithium;
Fuji, Tezuka knows, only shows the gentler, quieter, and more real side of himself when he is alone with Tezuka. On the court and amidst their friends, Fuji's presence is harsher and more demanding than what it really is. Sometimes, Tezuka wonders why.
But in the quiet afternoons they spend together, Tezuka watches Fuji peel back the layers of his defense and cannot decide whether it is terribly beautiful or beautifully terrible that Fuji is willing to let his guard down for only him. On most days he thinks it is more or less the same thing.
Like he always does, Fuji crawls on his hands and knees to where Tezuka sits exactly eleven minutes before Yumiko re-enters the house. Tezuka listens to Fuji tell him I love you, and like always, Tezuka does not have an answer for him. He leans down to kiss Fuji and from the look in the prodigy's eyes, he thinks that he might just be doing the equivalent of shoving Fuji's head underwater and holding it there until neither of them can breathe.
When God created the Mourning Cloak Butterfly, he gave him pale white wings.
Their highschool graduation draws steadily closer and Tezuka listens to Fuji tell him that it feels like being on the track of an oncoming train or like falling until he breaks. Tezuka knows why the tensai is breaking, but does nothing to reassure Fuji because how can he provide consolation when he himself cannot be consoled?
Fuji tucks his head into the hollow of Tezuka's neck and he breathes in Fuji's distinct mix of apple-tennis-warmth scent. The prodigy holds his hand and Tezuka does not hold back, but he does not let go, either. That night they lie together in Fuji's bed and Tezuka wonders if he stayed there and held Fuji until all of forever ends, would he be able to stand it?
Somewhere in between late night and early morning, Fuji turns, still awake, to Tezuka and kisses his cheek. Fuji says that it is okay if Tezuka leaves him for tennis. He watches Fuji's drowning eyes and knows that it is anything but okay.
He also knows that Fuji would destroy every little piece of himself if that was what it took for Tezuka to be happy, and the thought provides him no comfort. Very briefly, Tezuka thinks that Fuji's courage is incredible.
As the butterfly woke, God flew back up to the heavens, leaving behind his creation.
The inevitable comes in the form of an acceptance letter to a University specializing in tennis far from anywhere Fuji might be.
That day, Fuji does not tell him that he loves him. Fuji also does not cry or beg or plead with him, and for this, Tezuka is thankful. Tezuka tells Fuji that he does not know if he loves him, and that he has not chosen yet. His equal, for Tezuka sees Fuji as one, smiles at him and he thinks that this is more heartbreaking than if Fuji's face had crumpled and subsided to tears.
Fuji gently rests his head on Tezuka's shoulder, and tells him that while Tezuka does not know whether he loves Fuji, both of them know that Tezuka loves tennis.
Tezuka feels Fuji squeeze his elbow as he is led towards the door. During the lonely walk home, Tezuka listens to the rain and is reminded of a time when he was not defined by decisions and defeated eyes and tennis. For a moment, he is storybooks and fairytales and jumping in puddles until he fell to the floor in giggles and his mother's gentle touch. Then the sky rearranges itself to the colour of Fuji's eyes and the magic fades away.
That night, Tezuka cries and cannot remember how or when or why, why, why.
But the butterfly loved God, and flew towards the heavens.
That summer is spent between Kikumaru, Atobe, and Yukimura, because most of everyone else has left with family on vacation and Tezuka has come to realize how much of his time Fuji used to occupy, and can no longer stand to be alone for hours at a time.
Sometimes Fuji calls him or he calls Fuji and they set up a time and place for a meeting. Always before the alotted date, either he or Fuji or occasionally both of them call to lie to the other that they cannot make it. Tezuka wonders why they even bother setting up these meetings that will never happen, and he briefly entertains the idea that it is because he simply likes hearing the other's voice.
God knew that the butterfly should not enter heaven, so he slit the butterfly's wings.
The day he runs into Fuji at the cafe, the blue-eyed boy smiles up at him and Tezuka smiles back.
They talk about things he cannot remember and Fuji shares with him a chocolate confectionary that leaves his tongue tingling because the taste of Fuji still lingers on the part that Fuji bit off. Before they part ways, Fuji looks at him and Tezuka almost thinks that the other is going to say something, but Fuji closes his mouth and pushes his palm against the glass door of the cafe
When Tezuka leaves, he presses his palm against the exact spot on the door which Fuji touched, and can still feel the warmth of Fuji's hand in the glass.
But the butterfly never stopped flying, and flew and flew and flew until his beautiful pale white wings were soaked in his russet coloured blood. The butterfly reached God's side the moment he died, and God decided to let all butterflies of his kind to keep their russet coloured wings, as a reminder of the Morning Cloak Butterfly's determination.
Tezuka is pleasantly surprised to find that Fuji is the only one home when he barges in unexpectedly.
Fuji is seated on the couch looking for all the world like he had been expecting him, but Tezuka knows he didn't because Fuji's eyes are puffy red. When he strides over to him, he does not quite know what to say, but Fuji waits patiently while Tezuka stands, watches Fuji, and contemplates his deciding sentence. It feels like he is dragging his whole body against a sharp and rocky ledge, but Fuji's blue eyes keep him pulling.
"I know that I love you," Tezuka starts, albeit a bit uncertainly. Fuji wrings his hands together, and Tezuka thinks that Fuji's body might be mirroring the clenching of his own heart, "...when you told me to choose tennis..." Tezuka struggles to find the words, and thinks that this is odd because he always gets top grades in Japanese. "...I felt disappointed. So I know."
Fuji sighs, and Tezuka watches all the layers of Fuji's lies fall off effortlessly in one small breath. He hugs Fuji as he lets go of a breath he had not known he'd been holding. Fuji shudders and he runs a hand up and down the smaller man's back.
Tezuka thinks that if he stayed here and drowned in Fuji for all of infinity, he might not mind it all that much after all.
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Gah. Google a Mourning Cloak Butterfly and you can look at its wings. It's not exaaactly the colour of blood, but let's imagine.
Lithium;