AN: Your reviews are so so lovely :') Thank you so much, they are very encouraging :) I'll try my best for you guys so I hope I don't disappoint. Do enjoy :)
III
Racket on the Wall
(Kunimitsu)
Tezuka usually did not have dreams.
Most of his nights were blank, black voids; dreamless, but restful sleeps. But whenever he did dream, it wasn't about the tennis kingdom (which he would rule if he did dream of it, but he didn't) with tennis racket trees yielding tennis ball fruits. Tezuka was logical in all things, even in dreams he couldn't really control.
Tezuka usually did not dream, but on times that he did, it was about tennis.
He could remember when he first dreamed about tennis, but it wasn't long after that when Tezuka taught himself to stop, because it didn't feel right that he was dreaming about it while Kunihiro was banging and moping and swearing off his racket the next door over.
His grandfather told him it was not his fault. His father told him it was not his fault. His mother told him it was not his fault.
It was the first time in his life that he didn't listen to his elders, because they were lying and Tezuka knew it.
It was his fault. And Kunihiro suffered for it. And Tezuka suffered because Kunihiro suffered, but that was all Tezuka could ever bring himself to feel.
And Tezuka suffered even more because that was all. He couldn't bring himself to do anything else.
Tezuka knew he deserved it.
But he couldn't do anything, and he still dreamed.
Sometimes, it was just him practicing against the wall, and he would be analyzing his moves and the flaws in them. When he awoke he would get on to practicing those flaws away, so that when he dreamed again, it was a different flaw and in the morning, a different practice regimen.
Sometimes it was Wimbledon, about him winning the Grand Slam, about him rising up the ranks until he was the world's number one player. When he awoke, he could hear the lingering traces of the cheers and he would have additional motivation to be better and train.
And then he met Fuji. Fuji and his silent, hidden talent. Fuji and the fierce sleeping lion hidden underneath the smiling mask and the lithe body. Fuji and the interrupted match they played against each other that day when they were first years.
His dreams started to be filled with Fuji. It was like the piece his dreams had always been missing, having a face, having Fuji's face watch him, sharp and calculating blue eyes looking at him, assessing him from across the net. They would play, and Fuji would push Tezuka to his limits and beyond and Tezuka would wake up with the thrill still tingling in his veins, exhilarated and invigorated in a way he had never been before.
And during the day, Tezuka would look at Fuji, hiding his strength like always, and wonder when it will ever happen in real life.
But then one day, tennis just fell away.
Tezuka could not remember when he first dreamed of Fuji, just Fuji; only that one day, it did happen, and that he didn't want to do anything to stop it.
It was unhealthy, it was all kinds of wrong, but Tezuka didn't want to it stop.
After all, he didn't often dream.
But when he did, he dreamt of Fuji.
The student council emergency turned out to not be an emergency at all and Tezuka felt himself working hard to smother down the overwhelming feeling of displeasure as he locked up the tennis club house for the day. All the players had left, the Regulars later than others, and Tezuka had wanted to talk to Fuji and apologize about his rather rude behaviour that morning.
He'd been wanting to do it all day, but Fuji seemed intent on acting as if Tezuka did not wish anymore to be acquainted with him.
Which wasn't quite true, but sometimes, Fuji had the tendency to believe in the worst things, and when his friend decided to believe in something, it was usually very hard to persuade him out of it.
Moreso if the one doing the persuading was Tezuka.
"Is this because he doesn't play tennis?" No, it had never been about tennis. It had started with tennis, yes, but over the years Kunihiro's hatred had grown to become far more than the sport he quit because he despised his own brother.
"Is this because he doesn't play tennis?" And the hope that he could see Fuji was trying to hide away from his voice killed him. It was a question hiding another question, and Tezuka knew that they both knew which one Fuji really wanted an answer to.
Tezuka also knew that they were both pretending that they didn't.
So Tezuka didn't answer, and Fuji did not ask again. And Fuji wouldn't ever ask again, unless Tezuka answered the question on his own accord, because Fuji was just difficult like that.
Tezuka swallowed back a sigh, making his way to the front gates. He had to calm down and snap himself out of this before he left Seigaku. He had responsibilities to take care of and he couldn't take care of them if he wasn't focused. He had to focus.
Focus.
...and then he heard his brother's laugh.
It had been long since he had last heard of it. Kunihiro had only returned yesterday, and the one conversation they had ended in a disaster, as usual. They'd been kids when Kunihiro last laughed and even though he did now, it would certainly not be at Tezuka.
Yet here he was, laughing, laughing, standing by the front gates of Tezuka's school, holding a tennis bag emblazoned with the name of the club Tezuka belonged to.
A tennis bag, Tezuka realized, that belonged to Fuji.
And Fuji didn't seem to mind. In fact, Fuji looked miles away from being at all bothered. His stance was casual, and his smile was bemused and not quite fake because it looked all kinds of genuine.
Tezuka thought, they'd been kids when Fuji last smiled at him like that, and even though he did now, it was not at him.
Two smiles that he had missed, two smiles that he didn't know he missed, two smiles that weren't for him.
Not this time.
Kunihiro's eyes met his, and his brother's smile widened so much his eyes were crinkling. Kunihiro held his gaze for a few brief moments before he turned to Fuji once again, saying something, ruffling his hair, so familiar even though the both of them had only just met last night.
And somehow, from the way Kunihiro had looked at him, Tezuka knew the display was for him.
His eyes narrowed. And it narrowed even more when Fuji looked completely fine, happy even. Fuji was always smiling, always happy, but somehow, at that moment, Fuji wasn't the carefully crafted smiling mask. The joy was real, he was happy, he was smiling, he was joking around.
But not with Tezuka.
Perhaps, and Tezuka sincerely hoped not, the feeling that he was trying to kill and bury was jealousy.
Tezuka had never been jealous.
It was not a happy feeling.
And when Kunihiro bowed, steering Fuji away with a hand on his back, Tezuka snapped. He started walking towards the pair, his eyes becoming narrower and narrower, and he didn't know what Kunihiro was doing exactly, or why he was doing it; and maybe he was doing it to spite Tezuka just for kicks, but Tezuka would not let him play with anyone's feelings like that, brother or not.
Most especially if that person was Fuji.
Tezuka was fast, but Kunihiro was faster, and by the time Tezuka got to the gates, Kunihiro had already steered Fuji around the corner. He turned his head to give Tezuka a final smirk, looking quite happy and smug with himself before he, too, disappeared around the corner.
Tezuka found his legs following, and without him knowing, he was moving, about to turn that corner, too, when the sound of their laughter stopped him dead on his tracks, and brought back his sense of reason.
It wasn't his business.
Kunihiro was his brother, but he had made it abundantly clear to Tezuka that he didn't want them to cross paths anymore than they should, and Tezuka should just stay away.
Fuji was his team mate and his friend, but what he did outside the courts was his business, and he knew Fuji could very well take care of himself and didn't need Tezuka's coddling.
It wasn't his business.
But before Tezuka turned to the opposite direction, and headed towards his home, he paused once more to listen to the fading sound of their laughter. It was a beautiful mix; Kunihiro's was deep and gruff, Fuji's was light and airy. The sounds blended well together that for a moment, it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.
Tezuka knew he should be happy. His brother was forging a bond with his friend, and maybe Fuji would be good for Kunihiro and Kunihiro might be the Tezuka that he himself can never be to Fuji. And maybe one day, Fuji might even fix what little was left of his relationship with Kunihiro. He should be happy, as a dutiful and supportive friend and brother.
Tezuka turned around, his fists clenching until he felt his nails dug into the skin of his palm, and scowled.
Kunihiro wasn't at dinner. Their mother insisted they should not worry, because Kunihiro was a big boy, and he had lived by himself, independent of them for almost three years now. Besides, she had said that he called to inform her of his inability to make it to their dinner and to tell her where he was, and Tezuka had asked, but her eyes only sparkled and she gave him no answer.
Tezuka mulled over this as he played go with his grandfather, and mulled over it when he was finishing his homework. And he mulled over it even more when he made himself comfortable inside the room he hadn't entered ever since Kunihiro upped and left.
The racket was there. It had been a special shipment, custom-made and ordered for their birthday that year. Tezuka had remembered Kunihiro loving it, taking it everywhere with him and even cuddling with it in bed; Tezuka had barely looked at it. Now, it was Tezuka who took his racket everywhere, and Kunihiro who barely, if at all, touched it.
It was ironic and not, and if Tezuka had the right sense of humor, it might even be funny.
But Tezuka never had the right sense of humor.
He straightened up when he heard the ruckus downstairs, and the inevitable footsteps that were heading towards the room he was in.
Kunihiro entered, wearing a disarming smile that would seem silly on anyone else, and Tezuka knew if he tried that, it would look silly on him, too. Tezuka thought his brother might be smiling because of what Tezuka had seen a while ago, and he hated that smile just for that.
"What are you doing here?" Kunihiro's smile had vanished the moment he saw Tezuka in his room, and now he was scowling, and rather darkly.
But what's new?
"Should I not be here?" Tezuka returned, calmly.
Kunihiro's scowl deepened, his look taking on absolute fury. "This is my room, bastard. I don't want you in it. You have no right to be here."
"If I remembered correctly, this is our house."
"So?" Kunihiro demanded. He was becoming more and more aggravated by the second, and it calmed that foreign feeling in Tezuka down, because seeing Kunihiro aggravated was better than seeing him smile like that after his time with Fuji. "You fucking moron, this is my private space. You have no business-"
"What was that?" Tezuka spoke over him, his voice louder, sharper and demanding. "By the front gates a while ago, what was that?"
At the question, Kunihiro cut off in his tirade, and stared at him for a long, long moment. And then, he lost his aggravated expression and gave Tezuka a smile. It was a terrible smile, and Tezuka knew it was one Kunihiro particularly liked to put on.
Especially if it was directed at Tezuka.
"So that's what this is," Kunihiro said slowly, sonding triumphant. "You're jealous."
"I'm not." But the reply was too quick, too sharp, and Tezuka didn't even have to hear himself to know he sounded several different kinds of defensive.
And the terrible smile grew. "Guess what, Kunimitsu?" Their eyes met. "Jealous or not, it's none of your business."
"You made it my business when you decided to flirt with my team mate," Tezuka spat the word flirt, partly so that Kunihiro got the message, but mostly because the word felt bitter in his tongue. But Kunihiro didn't need to know that.
"So?" Kunihiro said, again. Except this time, he wasn't aggravated, he was taunting and challenging and feeling completely superior, and Tezuka didn't like it. "What he does outside the courts is hardly your business."
Tezuka would have wanted to argue that, but it was the exact same thing he had thought just a few hours ago. He hated that Kunihiro said it, and he hated that he thought it.
Kunihiro was still smiling. Terribly. "Unless... Are you two dating?"
Tezuka refused to answer that stupid stupid question. And when the silence dragged on for more than a few minutes, Kunihiro laughed.
It, too, was terrible. "Then it's none of your business." Kunihiro scoffed, stalking towards the frame that held his old racket. "What makes you think you have any right, anyway? Because you knew him first?"
Tezuka raised his head, and met his brother's baleful gaze. He refused to flinch at the accusation on those eyes, and the voice in his head that had started chanting all over again.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
"Have you forgotten?" Kunihiro slammed his fist against the strings of his racket. It made for a horrible sound, and at the force his brother was going, it was impossible to not be painful. But Kunihiro didn't even miss a breath. "What happened with this, you bastard."
Tezuka hadn't forgotten. Neither of them had, because Kunihiro would never let them. How Kunihiro fell in love with tennis first, practiced hard, begged for the racket. How Tezuka, absorbed with go, did not even give tennis a second glance. How Tezuka was forced into tennis, even though he was merely dutifully going through the motions, like a supportive brother would.
How Kunihiro loved tennis, and how Tezuka... didn't.
Kunihiro didn't even have to say anything. Tezuka never forgot and he never will, because Tezuka was reminded of it everyday, when he knew that he was the one who still held a racket, while Kunihiro's had been reduced to a mere decoration on the wall.
"Even though I was first," Kunihiro's whisper was loud in the quiet room.
And then the smile came back on, terrible and smug. "Tell me, Kunimitsu. How does it feel?"
Tezuka didn't know what to make of the hours he spent staring at his ceiling and not sleeping, but by morning, he decided that no, he should not be likely to do that ever again because his head was pounding and he did not want to deal with the tennis club when his head was pounding. Not again.
Kunihiro didn't come down to breakfast, but it was nothing that was unlike the usual. Tezuka ate quietly, under the watchful, and frankly uncomfortable gaze of his mother. He stared at his food so he would not have to stare at her eyes. He knew she wanted to say something, and he waited patiently until she decided that it was the right time to talk to him.
Finally, she sighed. "Kunimitsu, is anything wrong?"
"No," the lie slipped easily from his mouth. It has always been the customary, automatic answer. Ever since whatever it was that happened between him and Kunihiro happened, they had mutually agreed to keep their parents out of it.
It was probably the only thing they still agreed about.
"I'm your mother, you know," she reminded him gently, and needlessly, because it wasn't as if Tezuka had forgotten; that was the exact reason why he lied to her in the first place. Her entire face was eager, as if she expected him to tell her everything any moment then, which he won't, just like how it went every single time she asked.
Tezuka always felt bad when he lied to his mother, but what was he supposed to tell her?
Yes, there were many, many things wrong between him and his brother, but none of it could be fixed by his mother, whose family vision is a universe away from how it actually was.
"And you're a wonderful one." It wasn't a lie. Tezuka just wished he didn't have to say it to cover up the truth.
Despite herself, Tezuka Ayana had to bow down her head and blush. Tezuka knew he hardly ever offered anything in conversation, and he gave out compliments even less, so when he did, the people who received them always turned out like this.
His mother offered him a bright, brilliant smile. "If you say so, then," she told him, flitting back into the kitchen to prepare Grandfather's meal.
Tezuka liked it when his mother smiled. She had dimples and she looked years and years younger than when her brows were scrunched together in worry. Tezuka stared down at his food again, and tried his best to not feel any guiltier than he already was.
A long time ago, his grandfather had told him that real men did not tell lies. He had not explained why, or how, but not-quite-ten-year-old Tezuka had wondered then just how many men in the planet other than his grandfather were real men. Because at not-quite-ten, Tezuka had known that everyone was a liar. They might not be telling big lies, or bad lies, but however you look at it, lies were lies.
...And Tezuka had lied often enough, the most prominent of those being, "Nothing is wrong, Mother."
And his mother, heaven bless her, believed him every single time. Tezuka should feel accomplished.
He didn't, and by the time he was walking to school, he was weighed down not only by the awful, pounding headache, but also the guilt. And before he knew it, he was about to turn the corner to the place where he and Fuji usually always met.
Tezuka paused in the middle of the road, and started wondering whether or not Fuji would still be there. Perhaps yesterday, Tezuka had ruined whatever something he had had with Fuji. Fuji had been distant enough, and because Fuji was never vocal about these things, much like Tezuka himself, perhaps Tezuka should take the hint and not expect any more of Fuji's friendship.
Surreptitiously, and frankly very stupidly, Tezuka craned his head to the side and tried to listen for the distinct sound of Fuji's footsteps. When there were none, Tezuka resisted the urge to sigh. It was a good thing he resisted, because if he did sigh, he wouldn't know whether it would be for relief or disappointment.
And Tezuka didn't like it when he didn't know things, most especially things he should know himself.
He straightened his back and only managed a few steps turning the corner before he bumped into the very person he had been listening around for.
"Tezuka!" Fuji's face was flushed, and he jumped away quickly, but not before Tezuka registered their very brief body contact.
Fuji's skin, it turned out, was quite warm.
Tezuka mentally shook his head, trying to dislodge that very useless, very unnecessary piece of information. "You were waiting." For me.
"Yes... I..." Fuji blinked, and Tezuka picked up the fleeting flashes of his blue eyes. "Don't we always walk to school together?"
They did, so Tezuka didn't answer, just turned in the direction of the school and started walking. He could feel Fuji's eyes on his back, but Tezuka didn't miss a step, and continued walking. Fuji would follow in his own pace, and Tezuka didn't expect to know what the little genius was thinking about this time.
Tezuka knew Fuji, but he didn't know Fuji enough to know what he thinks of half the time. Unless Fuji opened his eyes, because his friend had the most expressive eyes Tezuka had ever seen. That is, if you knew where to look.
And Tezuka had been looking all the time.
Fuji ran up to him, barely, if at all, out of breath. "Tezuka, is something wrong?"
It was this morning with his mother all over again. "No."
A pause, and then his friend's eyes were glued to him once again. "You're lying," Fuji declared, voice hard. "Tezuka, you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't something big." And then, in a much softer, much gentler voice, Fuji added, "I'm your friend," almost as a pleading afterthought.
Tezuka knew that. Tezuka wished that was all Fuji was.
...Tezuka wished many things. Many of them don't ever really come true.
"I know," he replied, just as softly.
But he said nothing else and the rest of the walk to school was spent in silence. It wasn't comfortable and it wasn't awkward, it was just silent because Tezuka refused to talk and Fuji was stubborn enough to do the same unless Tezuka stopped refusing.
It never really worked, but they both did it anyway.
They were in the clubroom the next time Fuji addressed him again. They were the first two in, they were always the first two in, and the silent tension was a stifling atmosphere in the small room, where they were separated by walls from the rest of the world.
"Here," Fuji said, thrusting the paperbag he had been holding to Tezuka's hand. Tezuka peeked at the contents and saw that it was a black leather jacket.
More than that, it was Kunihiro's black leather jacket. The exact same jacket his brother had worn yesterday, and came home without, only then, Tezuka had been too distracted to notice.
"Thank your brother again for me."
Tezuka looked up from the jacket so he could see Fuji's smiling mask. "You were with him yesterday."
"Yes." Fuji looked positively serene, completely unperturbed at admitting to Tezuka that he and Tezuka's brother might have gone on what could be considered a date last night. A what-could-be-a-date that somehow ended up with Fuji wearing his brother's jacket home, and Kunihiro wearing a genuinely happy smile that he hadn't ever worn properly for the longest time now.
Fuji tilted his head to the side inquiringly at Tezuka's silence. "Should I not make friends with your brother, Tezuka?" he asked, and Tezuka, try as he might, couldn't exactly recognize his tone. "Do you mind it very much?"
"No," Tezuka answered firmly. "As long as it doesn't affect your tennis, I don't care what you do." But that was a lie, because Tezuka did care. He cared too much.
He was such a liar.
Fuji opened his eyes, and watched him, almost curiously. Tezuka did not flinch and returned his gaze, once again caught up by the almost-not-there silver threads against the beautiful blue of Fuji's eyes.
Fuji smiled. "I'm not evil, you know," he said assuringly. "So you can stop looking at me like I'm the bad influence who is going to lead your brother down the path of darkness." The tone wasn't even his usual teasing hum, the one that usually told people that even if he was denying one thing, he was severely contemplating it, so they should beware, either way.
Tezuka didn't know whether or not he should be thankful for that.
Thus saying, his friend turned back to his locker, and started to change. "I look after my friends."
It wasn't Fuji that Tezuka was worried about, because it wasn't Fuji's intentions that were murky. No matter how sadistic Fuji claimed he was, he loved his friends and he loved his family; he would never even think of doing anything that would deliberately hurt them. Tezuka didn't think that Fuji even knew that sometimes, people did tend to want to hurt people close to them, when they were pushed into that breaking point. Fuji wouldn't even consider it, would much rather get hurt himself than see his loved ones hurt.
It was just the way Fuji was.
Kunihiro, on the other hand...
Well, Kunihiro wasn't Fuji.
"Just... be careful," Tezuka said, before he could stop himself.
Fuji whirled around, his shirt half unbuttoned, his eyebrows half-raised, and his face a mix between half-bemused and half-confused.
"Tezuka," he uttered wonderingly. "Are you seriously warning me against your brother?"
He looked almost chastising, but he also looked like he wanted very badly to laugh. Tezuka thought only Fuji could pull off a look like that without looking very stupid.
Tezuka sought out Fuji's blue, silver-tendriled eyes, and held his friend's gaze. "Yes," he said, turning away to face his locker once again.
He knew Fuji was confused, Tezuka didn't even quite understand it himself. A long time ago, Tezuka would have gone to hell and back to restore his relationship with his brother, but somewhere along the way, Tezuka really didn't know when, his priorities had shifted, and Kunihiro might as well have been a stranger.
It wasn't as if Tezuka didn't want to fix their damaged relationship, he did. It was that over the years, Tezuka had realized that it wouldn't ever be fixed, so long as tennis existed in either of their lives. Tennis dominated Tezuka's life completely, and even though Kunihiro pretended he didn't care about it any longer, it consisted of a great part of his life, too.
Why else did he still keep his racket?
Besides, Tezuka was about seventy percent sure that whatever it was Kunihiro was doing, he was doing it to mess with Tezuka, and it was working, too, quite well, in fact, whatever it was Kunihiro thought he was doing was messing up more than half of Tezuka's carefully-built life.
Over the years, Kunihiro had done many things that Tezuka allowed, if only because he was still living on the hope that they could be brothers again someday. Their constant battles had had many casualties now, their mother's feelings at Kunihiro's leaving being one of them.
This time, though, Tezuka would not let anything go wrong. It was a tall order, because people will get hurt, things just naturally proceeded like that.
But he woud be damned before he'd let one of those casualties be Fuji.
Fair warning for you guys, though, I'm stuck back to Parasitology and Histology and MicroBio and more med stuff now that break's over... Don't get me wrong, I love medicine, but THERE. IS. JUST. SO. MUCH. STUFF. I feel as if I want to shoot things. Like, go kill yourselves, med books :P But don't worry, I'll write whenever I can find time to breathe :) More stuff will happen, I promise you ;)
So, I know what it feels like to be busy, but if you guys have the time, do drop by and leave a review :) Your critiques and thoughts mean so so much to me :)
/silverglitters
