Disclaimer:
Prince of Tennis (c) Konomi...and it's going to stay that way.
Notes:
Thanks so much for everyone's reviews. This chapter was surprisingly difficult for me, and I can safely so that I can't exactly say I'm that satisfied with it. But I hope everyone enjoys nonetheless. Again, lots of love to wingless crimson.
-Hanamuke-
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Shattered Silken Eyes
Chapter I
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I open my eyes. The bed sheets are silk—Italian silk, imported Italian silk from Venice. He never lets me forget. He never lets me forget the fact that bed sheets made out of Italian silk are a bitch to clean, either. At least, his maid always makes a big deal out of cleaning our sheets.
I am awake, but I can't find the energy to actually get up, so I lie there, toying with the satin knots of my robe idly. It's his way of telling he loves me, I guess, he buys me stuff, lots of stuff and spoils me rotten.
I feel bad that I'm not in love with Atobe Keigo.
But then he always tells me not to feel bad, he's not in love with me either. Though we do share a bed every night, and sometimes act like we love each other. But it fools everyone but ourselves, we know. And it's ridiculous, because we try so hard when we couldn't care less what other people think. It's us who can't forget.
I have not stopped loving Tezuka Kunimitsu. It's been almost seven years since he saw me off at the airport, and I haven't seen him since. I have been back to Japan, yes, but I always choose one of those absurd French holidays to hop back home, so that Tezuka would have school and I wouldn't have to see him. I try to make it a point to get around seeing everyone and tell them that under no circumstances are they to tell Tezuka that I'm back in Japan or that they have seen me.
Everyone thinks I'm mad at Tezuka for some reason. Some of the more daring ones always ask me if I hate him. No, I tell them, I don't hate him. But I…I always trail off and smile at them. And then they don't dare ask anymore. Though when they turn away from me to continue their own lives, I'm left to wonder if they ask because Tezuka hates me, it's a horrible thing to wonder.
I don't know who Atobe really loves, though I know he must love someone. I can see it. He goes around half of the time like a ghost, like me. Thinking about someone else when he kisses me and makes love to me, sometimes it bothers me, but most times I tell myself that I'm the same way.
We are one and the same; we're here in Paris, the romantic capital of the world, to try to hide from…whatever, whoever it is we're hiding from. Of course, Atobe will never admit that he is hiding, it is not 'Ore-sama's nature' to hide from anything. I have no qualms about admitting the fact that I'm hiding. I'm obvious enough as it is. The only thing left to do is for me to shout it from the rooftops.
I finally get up. A thin sliver of sunlight peeks through the curtains, but otherwise, the room is dark. I pull the robe closer to my body, and I leave the bed unmade. Atobe complains that I'm too neat, and he always pays the maid more than she is really worth because I don't give her enough to do.
Atobe is already sitting at the table, idly sipping at a cup of warm coffee and he smirks at me in greeting. "Bonjour, sleep well?"
"It was a little cold." I say, "But otherwise, I slept well. How about you? When did you get in last night, anyway?" I reach across the table for his coffee cup. The warm sweetness runs down my throat and I feel more awake.
"Eleven-thirty, give or take." He shrugs.
An interesting fact about Atobe Keigo. He is a closet workaholic. Though he does have a penchant for sleeping late. He makes up for it by going to bed and staying at the office late and coming home late. I set the cup down, "I can see circles under your eyes, Ore-sama."
Atobe glares at me, "I know."
"I worry about you." I counter quietly. Since I cannot worry about Tezuka, worrying about Atobe is the next best thing. "Don't snap at me, please."
He sighs, "You sound like a mother hen, Fuji. I'm fine."
"Sorry."
He gets up, and returns a moment later with my steaming cup of coffee, which he sets in front of me. I smile, and he bends down to kiss me, on both cheeks, and then on the mouth for a very long time. The thickness of espresso is stuck to the roof of my mouth, but it's all right. The bitter tang goes away after a while.
After pulling away, he looks me in the eye, "Forget about him yet?" It's a joke between us. I look away, down at Atobe's hands, which I'm holding. I lift them up and examine them. And then I kiss each of his fingers.
My answer never changes, though, "No."
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Usually, Atobe is off to work after that, and I'm left alone doing whatever I feel like doing. Photographers don't have a set schedule, though I do have to tutor a French student in Japanese over lunch. But today, he stays home, so we snuggle on the couch some.
"Will you tell me who it is?" I ask, toying with a ring on his pointer finger. It's either topaz or opal. Trust me to know the difference. It's a beautiful ring, though, for some reason, it doesn't really suit Atobe, and it's loose on his finger. I wonder why he allows himself to be imperfect. "I told you. It's fair."
"You didn't need to tell me. Everyone knows." Atobe returns, looking faintly amused, "For someone like you, you were so obvious about it. Always staring at him like some lovesick schoolgirl."
Of course, it doesn't suit Atobe at all that I can't forget about Tezuka, but I don't let it bother me. "…I was not." I say, very much miffed. "Atobe, I think you're secretly in love with me."
"Yes, you are." His hands are absently exploring my body, and soon I find myself settled in his lap, as opposed to just sitting next to him and leaning my head on his shoulder. Atobe kisses me. "What if I am?" He says, trailing his thumb gently over my bottom lip.
I say, "I feel sorry for you." I play with the buttons on his shirt while he slides the robe from my shoulders. "And I feel very sorry for myself." I undo one button, and then another, and then another. Atobe's body is warm.
"Why feel sorry for yourself?" He asks, cocking a mildly curious eyebrow.
"If I were in love with you, I'd be happy instead of miserable. I wake up miserable every day next to you, because I wonder if Tezuka is waking up next to someone else." I say the truth, because Atobe doesn't mind.
"I'm offended." Atobe says, though I know he doesn't really mean it.
"I'm sorry." I say again. And I kiss him to show how sorry I am. After pulling away, I sneeze.
Atobe pulls me closer after that. He tilts my chin up so that he can lick my throat. It feels nice, but I can't help but wonder what Tezuka's tongue would feel like, lapping me up like I'm the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Atobe," I tangle my fingers up in his hair, gently though, because 'Ore-sama' is delicate and needs to be handled with care. "You're not really in love with me, are you?"
"No." He says, pausing to pick up my robe, which is lying on the ground, he drapes it casually over me again, and continues to kiss me. "I'm not in love with you. But I'm not going to tell you who it is. Now, be quiet, you talk too much."
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"Arigatou, Fuji-sensei." Charlotte Mercier looks me over as she gathers up her things. She's pretty, French, and blonde. I'm almost positive that she has a crush on me. "That's how you say it, right?"
Her supposed liking me does not stop me from hating her for butchering the Japanese language, her accent is atrocious, and getting more so with every lesson. But I try hard not to grudge her too much for it, I think I was the same too, learning French. I nod, "Something like that."
"Syusuke, am I improving at all?" Now that the session is over, she goes back to calling me Syusuke, with a noticeably French accent. "I mean, you have this really pinched look on your face like I'm not."
"I do?" I probably do, since I'm more transparent now than before, because now, I have almost nothing to hide. "Well, you're improving, Charlotte." If I can't keep all my emotions off my face, I can still lie.
She looks convinced, "Will you walk me home?" She asks me that sometimes, it's not a completely outrageous request because she lives only a block away from Café Madeleine and it's a short drive for me. I pause to decide if I am feeling charitable enough. In the end, I decide that I am, "All right."
She brightens and loops her arm through mine and we walk outside. It's a rather cold day, and cold prickles my skin. Charlotte takes this opportunity to walk closer. I don't stop her.
"So how are things with Atobe?" She starts, after a minute or two of silence. Apparently, it doesn't bother her that I have a supposed lover who is also male. Nothing seems to faze the French, one of the many things I admire about them. She calls him Atobe, I realize, because I have always called him Atobe. Never Keigo. I don't know why I'm thinking about this, right now.
"Well, things are good." I say, purposely vague.
"He must take very good care of you. You always have such nice clothes, Syusuke." Charlotte sounds envious. Her clothes aren't half bad, at least, from what I've seen. I wonder why clothes are such a big deal. But then again, I do not think like a girl.
"I…guess." I say, shrugging. I don't tell her that I have tried to kill Atobe everyday for maybe three months back in the days when Tezuka was in Germany. I don't think we have ever actually forgiven and forgotten, but we make do.
"You're lucky to have him." She sighs, leaning her head on my shoulder as we continue on. "Good men are so hard to find right now."
Good man. I almost laugh, I don't treasure the one that I have, the one I have, I might as well hate, and I treasure someone who I will never have. I'm spoiled, in more ways than one. Charlotte makes me feel miserable and selfish. I have to change the subject before I start to entertain thoughts of suicide.
"…Did something happen with Andre?" I say, looking over at her. Now it makes sense, Charlotte wants to walk home with me, because Andre left her. I have met Andre only once, and for the entire duration of our meeting, I keep wanting to punch him in the face. When I tell Charlotte as much, she wanted to punch me in the face.
"Yeah…" She says, hanging her head, "I should have listened to you. Maybe I should go to Japan one day, find a good person to take care of me like you and Atobe."
And Tezuka, I add, in the privacy of my own head. I open my mouth to tell her that she wouldn't last even an hour in Japan the way her accent is right now, but my phone buzzes, and I answer.
It's Atobe, his voice is strained, like nothing I've ever heard, "…Fuji, I think you need to come home."
"Why?"
"Just come home." And then, he hangs up.
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I stand in front of Atobe, ready to strangle him. He dangles a white envelope between his fingers and I just fume. "Don't call me like that, I thought someone died. Thanks to you, I almost got arrested on the way home." I am thinking of Yuuta, whose recklessness on the road is almost parallel to mine.
"For speeding?" He says knowingly with a smirk. But then, a few seconds, and he is sober again, "No one died, no. But this is just bad. Read," He thrust the envelope into my hands, "I'll let you snap at me later."
I sigh and look at the envelope. I recognize the address and I almost don't want to read it. I recognize the name and the handwriting too. Atobe stands watching me.
It's a wedding invitation.
You are cordially invited to attend
The Wedding Ceremony of
Tezuka Kunimitsu and Harada Misao
December 13, 2007
4:00 - 6:00
I don't read anymore. I can't read anymore. There isn't anything else to read except for the RSVP number at the lower right corner, which I don't recognize. There is a picture of the two of them too, they look so becoming. Tezuka in a white tuxedo and Misao in a white gown. They are holding each other. Misao is beaming in his arms and Tezuka manages somehow to look gentle.
I suddenly want to throw up. But somehow, I manage to place the invite back into the envelope, set it on Atobe's desk, before putting my arms around Atobe and crushing him.
He holds me too, but not nearly as tightly. I know my eyes are misting over. "Fuck." I say.
Atobe just rocks me like a child, I do not remember him ever being so gentle. "I'm sorry."
"I'm all right." I say, my voice is broken and brittle, and I'm not all right, it's worst lie I've ever told. "It's been seven years, I haven't seen him, I can forget about him. He probably hates me for avoiding him too. It's all right…I don't have to go…fuck."
He kisses me, a long, slow kiss, and after he pulls away, my breathing is back to normal. I burrow deeper in his arms and I wonder vaguely how Atobe is feeling. I wonder if I'm tearing him apart by holding him like this, blaming him that he is not Tezuka.
"Fuji, look at me."
I look, and he looks back at me. "You still love him." He says, using his fingers to hold my chin in place. It hurts, but I don't say anything. "You can lie to the world, Fuji Syusuke, but don't lie to yourself. You love Tezuka. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here with me now."
This piece of advice is coming from Atobe Keigo himself. I want to remind him that he's the one that's faking. He fakes so well, that even he himself is beginning to forget. Maybe the loose ring on his finger helps him remember. I glare at him, "I don't love him." I say, lying through my teeth.
"Liar." Atobe spits, and then he lets go of me.
I stare at him, so are you; I want to say, while trying to shake sense back into him. But I don't move. If I lie, then you lie, you're not in love with me, yet you call me your lover, and I don't correct you. That makes us one and the same.
I open my mouth, "Fuck me. Fuck me like you used to. Be as rough as you'd like, Ore-sama. Would I tell you to do that if I love him?" This is what insanity feels like. I'm almost sure of it.
Atobe nods, "Yes." Though he is already pulling me by the hips towards him and stripping off my clothes, not even bothering to kiss me. This is also proof, that he is not in love with me.
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Later.
I am sprawled out on the floor of Atobe's study, I'm not wearing any clothes, and Atobe is lying next to me. He has fucked me, and it's rougher than I remember. This proves that the beast inside him has not died, and he is not at all in love with me. But it also proves something I don't want proven.
I still love Tezuka.
Because even as I drink in Atobe's body and he consumes me whole, I think about Tezuka. Atobe has left marks all over my body and it hurts to move, but I think about Tezuka, and how unfaithful my body is to him. Every thought, even as I scream Atobe's name, is of Tezuka, and not once, do I think of Atobe.
"I love Tezuka." I say, wincing.
Atobe does not say anything. He is still breathing hard and sweat clings to his naked figure, his eyes are closed. I get up after a couple of tries. It hurts to walk, but I walk to the bathroom and return with towels. I clean up Atobe's body first, and then the mess on the floor. I realize that Atobe's body is perfect, and I hate it. I hate it. I think knows too, by the way I'm not exactly as gentle as I should be, that I hate his body.
I love Tezuka. I'm dying again. I take the towels that smell of Atobe and I go back to the bathroom. And then I take a shower, a long, cold shower, it's the least I can do, to keep the mind and body that loves Tezuka so much from smelling like Atobe.
