Chapter: 2/3
Genre: Angst
Beta: pinksnow1986
Pairing: It's actually rather complicated... Please read to find out
Disclaimers: PoT not mine. Still on my wish list...
Summary: Take a peek at a letter addressed to Tezuka; what would you learn about this prince of tennis?

Communication Ch.2: Tezuka's Letter

"I'm going on ahead," he told you in his solid, firm voice.

You looked up at him from the sheet of paper in your hand and you noted that despite the sureness in his voice, he had an eyebrow raised at you in question - as though asking you if you would prefer it that he did go on ahead or if you wanted him to wait for you. You only nodded once to indicate that he could take his leave.

He nodded right back, pulling that oh-so-familiar cap low over his face. "I'll see you at the practice courts, then." he said as he closed the door after him.

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For a few moments, you stood there staring at the closed door. In your mind's eye, you see him as you first saw him earlier this year: a head of untamed, dark locks - so black that it gleamed with a greenish tint under direct sunlight, gold-flecked hazel eyes mutedly glowing in repressed pleasure, and a lazy smile that was at once hauntingly familiar and strangely new to you.

Seeing him again after so long made you feel emotions that both warmed and chilled you.

You wondered back then what made him decide to take on the pro tennis circuit. But he never volunteered the information, and you never asked him. After the circus that was the first day of the Australian Open, he knocked on your hotel room door, carrying with him what appeared to be all the worldly possessions he'd brought with him, and entered your room as if he belonged there. And he stayed.

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Despite the fact that his participation in the tennis tournaments had disrupted your plans for two consecutive calendar year grand slams, there is no denying that you were grateful for his presence.

Off the courts, he was a wonderful companion: smart, opinionated, and he understood your need for silences. On the courts, he was perfection personified. You had never felt so vibrantly alive in the tennis courts until he stood opposite you on the other side of the net; there is the sheer thrill of playing the sport that you love so well that only he can elevate to something akin to a religious experience.

And you were looking forward to more of that. He may have taken the Australian and French Open from you, but you took Wimbledon from him. And you sure as heck were intent on winning the US Open.

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You gave a small smile as you remembered his smirk when he won his first championship against you in the Australian Open and apologized about taking away your second calendar year grand slam, not looking sorry at all. And then you remembered how that smirk quickly evaporated and was replaced by a slightly mystified look when you just smiled sweetly at him and said that it didn't matter because at any rate, you're written down in tennis history as the first Japanese to be the world's no.1.

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Yours was a strange relationship - specifically because you weren't exactly sure what kind of relationship you did share. Or perhaps, because of the complications that would surely ensue, you refused to acknowledge the kind of relationship that he wanted to pursue with you.

He certainly didn't leave any room for doubts about his feelings for you when he tackled you and almost drowned you in deep kisses when the two of you were back in the privacy of your hotel room right after he won his first championship.

You looked at the tangled sheets and the pillows cluttering the unmade bed you shared with him. Looking at it, anybody would be hard-pressed to believe that aside from heavy make-out sessions, nothing has happened between the two of you yet. He had begun to sense your hesitancy to commit to him, but he never said anything about it. Perhaps you should be thankful for that… but you only felt excruciating guilt gnawing at your insides.

You looked back at the letter you were still holding in your hand and you were perplexed. Suddenly, a sharp mental picture of deep green eyes came to your mind, but it was gone as quickly as it had come, not even giving you time to fully grasp the mental image.

With a heavy sigh, you turned towards the oak desk sitting in the corner of your room and tugged at one of its drawers. Carefully, you tucked in the letter into the bottom of the drawer, pushed it close, and turned towards your tennis bag.

It's about time you headed out to the tennis courts. Besides, you needed to think.

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Tezuka,

I do not claim to be one of those people who are truly blessed with the gift of words. I've had my share of tactless moments and times when I stumbled over my own thoughts. But for some reason, when it really mattered, I always seemed to know the right words to say. When things fell apart, I was the one people turned to for words of comfort. When ragged emotions were on the line, I always seemed to be able to say exactly what was needed to be heard.

That being the case, do you not think it is one of the greatest ironies that I now cannot find the proper ones to tell you exactly how I feel? How do I begin to tell you of the uncertainty that tears at my gut at the mere thought of you? Do you want to know of the tears I've shed over our last two phone conversations? Have you any idea how distant you sounded to me? How extremely unemotional your "I love you's" were, as if you were saying them from the habit that they've grown into rather than from any real feelings you used to have for me? Do you know that when you tried to reassure me that you will soon come home to me, you sounded like you were steeling yourself to fulfill an obligation you cannot now turn your back on?

But as much as it hurts, I know that I cannot ever blame you. Two years is a long time. It's enough time to get myself lost in the here and now. It's time enough for you to lose track of the person I've become. I say it's just the way these things work. I did tell you, didn't I? Before you left, I tried to warn you that after two years, it is possible that you would have changed enough to realize that you do not want someone such as I by your side.

Up until now, I can't rightly say what it was that made you choose not to believe my words. We've been best friends since we were 12 years old, for crying out loud! Didn't you think I knew you enough to predict how things would be between us? But I was stupid. I chose to be stupid. I chose to believe in you when you said that a trifling thing like a mere two years do not stand a chance against what we had. But it was a good fantasy. It gave me something to cling to these past 2 years whenever fate's screwed up sense of humor decided to make me the butt of her jokes.

Your last letter was less than promising. I've read and re-read it countless times and despite the reassurance tacked on at the end of it almost as an afterthought, I am not comforted. I do not want to be an obligation. Tezuka, you made many promises to me before you left, but I pray you know that I will never hold you to them if your heart is no longer truly mine. I love you. So much so that I would rather give you the chance to find that someone who will be everything to you. I rather hoped that I would be that someone. I wanted to be your everything just as you are mine.

… I am making a complete muck out of this. I am grasping for words that constantly elude me. So perhaps, this is enough for now. Though before I end, I just want to remind you that if your continued avowals of love are done out of some misguided desire to spare me pain, I hope you realize that it is infinitely kinder for you to let me know now that the magic we discovered after 6 years of plain friendship is gone. Let me shed my tears for them now. Let me mourn my loss. And then maybe, just maybe, I may yet be able to welcome my best friend home with a smile.

Shuuichiro

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TBC…

La Fuego 4/2007