inspired while studying, of all things. =.= Actually, I was also reading through tiamatv's stories, and there was a story on a permanent Golden Pair breakup, and it just really affected me. So this was all written by hand in the library and during boring parts of lecture, and recently transcribed onto the computer. =.=;;
Title: Connection
Part: 1/2 (there will be a follow-up. It's not a chapter 1,2... more like a story and an epilogue)
Rating: PG
Pairing: TezuFuji, OishiEiji (mention in passing)
Word Count: 1651
Disclaimer: tenipuri not mine
-~-~-~-
Thinking back, Fuji could never remember exactly when they'd started being friends, nor exactly when they stopped. There never was a catalyst for either. Unlike the Golden Pair, neither one of them had wanted to beat the other so badly as to willingly play doubles just to learn the other's every move. Unlike Inui and Kaidoh, they did not train together daily or play doubles. And unlike Kawamura and the rest of the team, neither had quit tennis upon leaving middle school, and used that as an excuse for growing apart. No, they played together throughout high school, and on the same team, no less. All of them had, in fact. He was a third year again. It was just like back in junior high, when they were good friends, all of them.
Except college was oh so very different from junior high and nothing was the same.
He and Tezuka both attended Tokyo University. Their respective best friends, Kikumaru and Oishi, were together off in Kyoto University. He rarely communicated with Eiji anymore now, come to think of it. A phone call and a card on a birthday, maybe an email update on recent tournaments, and a visit or a dinner over the new Year holiday. It was natural, he supposed. People travel different paths and separate. The best of friends lose contact when interests change, locations grow distant, life passes. What's important are the memories, kept close in the heart, of times long past well spent. And that year, that team – it was a time well spent. He supposed he should be happy. Not many people have a national title joining them together forever. Even now, when Eiji came back to visit, their walk always invariably brought them to the Seigaku tennis courts, and they'd hear whispers around the courts of how they had been part of the team who led Seigaku to the national championship. Year after year, their identities were taught to the club's new members, who always looked at them with such awe and admiration.
If only they knew.
Oh, he knew the kids wanted to be like them. That invincible, talented team. The one that supported each other through everything, that didn't rely on any specific ace, but on all of their aces. But they didn't know what came with it. The best time of your life is not supposed to happen in the end of junior high and the beginning of high school. And if it does, it's not supposed to end, just like that, when you get to college. Because then you're always left with an empty feeling inside of you and your mind is filled with wishes of wanting to go back to that time and you're consumed by your emotions and your memories and your dusty volumes of photo albums of a time long past. And it doesn't ever go away, even when the people of that time are with you, because now you're awkward together and you don't know what to say or how to act or if you're breaking some unknown rule or worst of all, if you're just dreaming of a presence so familiar even dreams seems real, but anything will make them disappear just like a fragrant wisp of a dream into the cloudy reality of existence.
Yes, those years were the best he'd ever experience, and he knew it. Nothing could be better than when the love of your life, the soul that fits yours perfectly, supporting and leaning all at once, is next to you, and even though he doesn't show it, you know he's comforted by your presence as well. Never. Many would say he was foolish, that no fifteen-, sixteen-, or even seventeen-year-old could ever know a love so deep you were comforted by the love itself. Oh sure, it was always better when the other boy held him close and whispered "I love you, always, only" into your ear, but even when he was away, you knew the bond between you was unbreakable and you felt warm just basking in the feeling enveloping your heart and taking over you. Still, they had known that love. It wasn't even lust – the most they'd ever done was kiss. He hadn't ever seen the other naked, nor had the other him. It was enough. For a body is traitorous. A body changes and the idea of beauty changes. A body is controlled, is a puppet. But the soul is not fickle. And the soul never changes.
James Joyce once wrote about the government throwing a net over a newly born soul. That is impossible – souls cannot be contained and controlled and manipulated just like that. If only it were that easy… then maybe he wouldn't hurt so much.
They had both known it was wrong. Wrong for them, two of the same gender, to be together. But neither had minded. Not even Tezuka, the one who grew up in such a traditional household, trained to shun all such unconventionalities. Yet they both knew it would not, could not last. Tezuka had been promised before he was born, before he was conceived, before his father was conceived, even – that if the two families ever had children of opposite gender, they would marry and join the two families. The burden just happened to fall on his Tezuka's generation, on Tezuka Kunimitsu, who was not one to blame his grandfather for insisting on keeping such an old promise, nor was one to refuse any order of his grandfather's, out of respect for the old man. And so he had dutifully married that beautiful spring weekend between high school and college, the weekend they were supposed to spend together moving into a shared dorm room to begin a life together. Instead, they ended. Fuji had attended the wedding. The sakura blossoms falling around the couple had made others around him murmur about how beautiful the two children of the promised families looked together, the man-child so handsome and the petite girl fitting him so naturally, but Fuji didn't even see the sakura. His eyes had been narrowed in his habitual smile, even as he congratulated the two.
From that moment on, the smile never left his face and his piercing blue eyes were never seen again. Not even when he was alone. He didn't want to know what was under his own façade, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone else to know. No tennis match even changed his face, even if he were playing seriously, even if it were against Tezuka. He didn't know what would happen if he were ever alone with Tezuka again. Maybe the façade would fade, since secrets in the physical realm were wildly broadcasted in the metaphysical, where they communicated. But that would never happen again. Tezuka went to class, played tennis, and went home to his wife. It would never just be the two of them ever again.
Eiji and Oishi were the only ones to have known of their former relationship, the two couples having often covered for the other. Strangely enough, it had been Oishi who made sure the outwardly happy, inwardly dead tennis prodigy rested after the wedding, took care of himself still, not Eiji. Perhaps it was his motherly instincts, or perhaps because they two were the ones who knew Tezuka the best and mourned together on that happy sad day.
It was impossible to just be friends, not after what they'd gone through together, not after they knew what they were together. And Tezuka was most definitely not the type to be disloyal. Fuji wouldn't have Tezuka any other way. It was better for Tezuka to be the respectful, stoic, loyal husband to her than a dishonorable, disloyal boyfriend to him, because then he wouldn't be the Tezuka he knew. But at the same time, knowing that the other was spending time they used to share with someone else meant that he was no longer secure when the other was not around, that he needed to see the other everyday, if nothing else. And that was why neither of them ever considered transferring or quitting tennis. It just wasn't an option, and it was an unspoken promise that even if they weren't legally bound to spend the rest of their lives together, even if "they" weren't acknowledged, or even friends, they would still be together.
That was enough, wasn't it? It was more than he had ever hoped for before. He should be happy. He had Tezuka's love. Even if that woman had Tezuka's puppet body, he still had Tezuka. Oh no, he wasn't jealous of the wife, not in that way. He'd never want to trade situations with her.
No, the best part of your life should not happen when you're so young. Life… well, he couldn't complain that life wasn't fair. Life had given him tennis, had given him a true talent not many people had. Through that, life had given him Tezuka. He had been granted too much, and he had to suffer for it when life realized it and took back a gift.
And that was why he was sitting in his upperclassman, athletics scholarship and academic honor roll student's too-large, too-cold, too-lonely dorm room, glance alternating between two envelopes, one containing a profession tennis tournament entry form and the other a statement of intent to register for graduate school. He couldn't do both. Which would Tezuka choose, if given the choice? There should be no question about it. Tezuka's life was in tennis. He might not be a prodigy like Fuji, but he was born for tennis. He practiced until he didn't need genius to win.
He went downstairs and dropped an envelope in the mailbox.
Life gave him gave him two gifts and took one away. He didn't want one without the other. And he knew Tezuka felt the same.
-~-~-~-
comments, critiques, errors, etc. welcomed
Title: Connection
Part: 1/2 (there will be a follow-up. It's not a chapter 1,2... more like a story and an epilogue)
Rating: PG
Pairing: TezuFuji, OishiEiji (mention in passing)
Word Count: 1651
Disclaimer: tenipuri not mine
-~-~-~-
Thinking back, Fuji could never remember exactly when they'd started being friends, nor exactly when they stopped. There never was a catalyst for either. Unlike the Golden Pair, neither one of them had wanted to beat the other so badly as to willingly play doubles just to learn the other's every move. Unlike Inui and Kaidoh, they did not train together daily or play doubles. And unlike Kawamura and the rest of the team, neither had quit tennis upon leaving middle school, and used that as an excuse for growing apart. No, they played together throughout high school, and on the same team, no less. All of them had, in fact. He was a third year again. It was just like back in junior high, when they were good friends, all of them.
Except college was oh so very different from junior high and nothing was the same.
He and Tezuka both attended Tokyo University. Their respective best friends, Kikumaru and Oishi, were together off in Kyoto University. He rarely communicated with Eiji anymore now, come to think of it. A phone call and a card on a birthday, maybe an email update on recent tournaments, and a visit or a dinner over the new Year holiday. It was natural, he supposed. People travel different paths and separate. The best of friends lose contact when interests change, locations grow distant, life passes. What's important are the memories, kept close in the heart, of times long past well spent. And that year, that team – it was a time well spent. He supposed he should be happy. Not many people have a national title joining them together forever. Even now, when Eiji came back to visit, their walk always invariably brought them to the Seigaku tennis courts, and they'd hear whispers around the courts of how they had been part of the team who led Seigaku to the national championship. Year after year, their identities were taught to the club's new members, who always looked at them with such awe and admiration.
If only they knew.
Oh, he knew the kids wanted to be like them. That invincible, talented team. The one that supported each other through everything, that didn't rely on any specific ace, but on all of their aces. But they didn't know what came with it. The best time of your life is not supposed to happen in the end of junior high and the beginning of high school. And if it does, it's not supposed to end, just like that, when you get to college. Because then you're always left with an empty feeling inside of you and your mind is filled with wishes of wanting to go back to that time and you're consumed by your emotions and your memories and your dusty volumes of photo albums of a time long past. And it doesn't ever go away, even when the people of that time are with you, because now you're awkward together and you don't know what to say or how to act or if you're breaking some unknown rule or worst of all, if you're just dreaming of a presence so familiar even dreams seems real, but anything will make them disappear just like a fragrant wisp of a dream into the cloudy reality of existence.
Yes, those years were the best he'd ever experience, and he knew it. Nothing could be better than when the love of your life, the soul that fits yours perfectly, supporting and leaning all at once, is next to you, and even though he doesn't show it, you know he's comforted by your presence as well. Never. Many would say he was foolish, that no fifteen-, sixteen-, or even seventeen-year-old could ever know a love so deep you were comforted by the love itself. Oh sure, it was always better when the other boy held him close and whispered "I love you, always, only" into your ear, but even when he was away, you knew the bond between you was unbreakable and you felt warm just basking in the feeling enveloping your heart and taking over you. Still, they had known that love. It wasn't even lust – the most they'd ever done was kiss. He hadn't ever seen the other naked, nor had the other him. It was enough. For a body is traitorous. A body changes and the idea of beauty changes. A body is controlled, is a puppet. But the soul is not fickle. And the soul never changes.
James Joyce once wrote about the government throwing a net over a newly born soul. That is impossible – souls cannot be contained and controlled and manipulated just like that. If only it were that easy… then maybe he wouldn't hurt so much.
They had both known it was wrong. Wrong for them, two of the same gender, to be together. But neither had minded. Not even Tezuka, the one who grew up in such a traditional household, trained to shun all such unconventionalities. Yet they both knew it would not, could not last. Tezuka had been promised before he was born, before he was conceived, before his father was conceived, even – that if the two families ever had children of opposite gender, they would marry and join the two families. The burden just happened to fall on his Tezuka's generation, on Tezuka Kunimitsu, who was not one to blame his grandfather for insisting on keeping such an old promise, nor was one to refuse any order of his grandfather's, out of respect for the old man. And so he had dutifully married that beautiful spring weekend between high school and college, the weekend they were supposed to spend together moving into a shared dorm room to begin a life together. Instead, they ended. Fuji had attended the wedding. The sakura blossoms falling around the couple had made others around him murmur about how beautiful the two children of the promised families looked together, the man-child so handsome and the petite girl fitting him so naturally, but Fuji didn't even see the sakura. His eyes had been narrowed in his habitual smile, even as he congratulated the two.
From that moment on, the smile never left his face and his piercing blue eyes were never seen again. Not even when he was alone. He didn't want to know what was under his own façade, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone else to know. No tennis match even changed his face, even if he were playing seriously, even if it were against Tezuka. He didn't know what would happen if he were ever alone with Tezuka again. Maybe the façade would fade, since secrets in the physical realm were wildly broadcasted in the metaphysical, where they communicated. But that would never happen again. Tezuka went to class, played tennis, and went home to his wife. It would never just be the two of them ever again.
Eiji and Oishi were the only ones to have known of their former relationship, the two couples having often covered for the other. Strangely enough, it had been Oishi who made sure the outwardly happy, inwardly dead tennis prodigy rested after the wedding, took care of himself still, not Eiji. Perhaps it was his motherly instincts, or perhaps because they two were the ones who knew Tezuka the best and mourned together on that happy sad day.
It was impossible to just be friends, not after what they'd gone through together, not after they knew what they were together. And Tezuka was most definitely not the type to be disloyal. Fuji wouldn't have Tezuka any other way. It was better for Tezuka to be the respectful, stoic, loyal husband to her than a dishonorable, disloyal boyfriend to him, because then he wouldn't be the Tezuka he knew. But at the same time, knowing that the other was spending time they used to share with someone else meant that he was no longer secure when the other was not around, that he needed to see the other everyday, if nothing else. And that was why neither of them ever considered transferring or quitting tennis. It just wasn't an option, and it was an unspoken promise that even if they weren't legally bound to spend the rest of their lives together, even if "they" weren't acknowledged, or even friends, they would still be together.
That was enough, wasn't it? It was more than he had ever hoped for before. He should be happy. He had Tezuka's love. Even if that woman had Tezuka's puppet body, he still had Tezuka. Oh no, he wasn't jealous of the wife, not in that way. He'd never want to trade situations with her.
No, the best part of your life should not happen when you're so young. Life… well, he couldn't complain that life wasn't fair. Life had given him tennis, had given him a true talent not many people had. Through that, life had given him Tezuka. He had been granted too much, and he had to suffer for it when life realized it and took back a gift.
And that was why he was sitting in his upperclassman, athletics scholarship and academic honor roll student's too-large, too-cold, too-lonely dorm room, glance alternating between two envelopes, one containing a profession tennis tournament entry form and the other a statement of intent to register for graduate school. He couldn't do both. Which would Tezuka choose, if given the choice? There should be no question about it. Tezuka's life was in tennis. He might not be a prodigy like Fuji, but he was born for tennis. He practiced until he didn't need genius to win.
He went downstairs and dropped an envelope in the mailbox.
Life gave him gave him two gifts and took one away. He didn't want one without the other. And he knew Tezuka felt the same.
-~-~-~-
comments, critiques, errors, etc. welcomed