Happiness
Part Three
"I don't need your sympathy."
Fuji jerks his arm away. Cold eyes partially hidden under long bangs turn to him, freezing him on the spot.
"Don't be so nice to me. I don't want from you something that you can't give."
It started with his mother's seemingly off-handed comment during breakfast one morning.
"Kunimitsu, you look happy lately." She said, smiling at her son, "You've been smiling a lot."
Tezuka knew that was a warning shot, so when his mother knocked on his door after he returned home from school that evening, he wasn't surprised.
"So who's making my son so happy?" She asked, smiling a smile that looked rather like Fuji's and pulling a chair for herself.
Tezuka did not look up from his desk. "I've got homework to do, mother."
"You've started to hide in your room to talk on your phone." His mother mused. "I remember when I fell in love for the first time, I was around your age. I didn't have the privilege of having my own phone line..."
Then Tezuka knew there was no avoiding the issue. He put his homework away, and turned his seat to face his mother. It was better to get it over and done with.
"It's not that big a deal, mother."
"I was worried about you, Kunimitsu. You take after your father so much... you push yourself so hard and never seem to relax for one moment. So I'm just really, really glad... you seem so much happier, so much more alive now." She chuckled. "You look a bit more like your age."
Tezuka frowned, just a little. "I don't feel I look any different."
"You can fool everyone else, but not your own mother." She laughed, keeping her voice low so that no one outside the room can hear her. "So, does she have a name, or will I need to refer to her as 'your secret girlfriend'?"
He had hoped that question wouldn't come.
"Fuji." Tezuka told her. He could never lie to his mother, but Fuji was just a surname, so she shouldn't suspect anything...
But her mother fell silent, and Tezuka knew he had underestimated her.
"Fuji as in... the one who was with you everyday during Seigaku Elementary, the one in your tennis club?"
Her son did not answer right away, but she could tell by the look on his face that she was right.
"Kunimitsu... have you thought about what you're doing?" She asked, her voice going even quieter, almost a whisper now. Suddenly she sighed, and smiled a little. "What a stupid question. You always know what you're doing."
Tezuka didn't say a word. He knew the consequences. Being expelled from Seigaku was the least that could happen. If his father or grandfather found out, they would probably get heart attacks. But he knew his mother wouldn't tell them, even if she didn't approve. She was going to solve this as something private between mother and son, like she always did.
They sat quietly, just looking at each other. Then Tezuka pulled off his glasses to wipe them with his shirt. He waited to see what his mother was going to say.
Then his mother smiled again. "I see." She said, standing up.
I see?
"Mother... is that all you have to say?"
"I'm sure you've thought about it carefully already." She said, walking to him. "I believe in karma. You and Fuji-kun had been like soulmates ever since you were little, so..." She bent down and kissed her son on the forehead. "If he is the one who can make you happy, then I'm sure this is right."
Tezuka flinched away from his mother, shocked by this unusual gesture. His family had always been so traditional even his parents didn't kiss in front of anyone and as far as Tezuka could remember, his mother never kissed him.
But that aside, his mother had given him the approval. She didn't say this was "all right", she went further and said this was "right".
At that time, Tezuka believed in her, believed in Fuji, believed in himself. He believed it was right.
Tezuka has started from the basics again. After spending weeks on trying different grips and working on his swings, this week his British coach is making him hit every ball coming to him with only his backhand. The end result was him almost tripping and falling flat on his face several times.
At the end of the session, the coach gave him a video tape and told him to watch it at home and study his own footwork. It turned out that Tezuka has played an entire session without knowing he was being filmed.
The video is bringing endless entertainment to Fuji, who is nice enough to share the snacks he bought with Tezuka whilst they watch it together, as if he is enjoying a film. Whereas Tezuka is more concerned with seeing why he tripped over reaching a particular ball, Fuji is more interested in when his friend is going to trip again.
Fuji doesn't say much as he laughs at his former captain's ungraceful falls on the video. Since leaving Tezuka's bed that day after he had the nightmare, his words are few and far between, saying only what he thinks is important. His silence is by choice rather than trauma. Tezuka respects Fuji's choice; he isn't much of a talkative person himself anyway.
"Terrible." Fuji pauses the video and shakes his head.
Tezuka frowns. He knew that. Even he winced watching how he had performed himself, but apparently it was bad enough that Fuji has to laugh and actually speak up about it.
"He was directing the ball just to the left of your reach. You could've returned it easily with a forehand, but using backhand you have to step further to your left. The ball's too fast, it lands just as your foot does, so you had to hit it as it was rising, ending up tripping and giving him a chance ball. You were even missing the sweet spot because the ball's too close to your body and you don't have time to adjust."
Tezuka nods.
"And if you move backwards to avoid that," Fuji plays the video again, "You end up getting pushed to the baseline and you'll be stuck there."
Which is exactly what the video shows in the next moment.
Then Fuji stands up to show Tezuka what may work. A higher grip, split step, and hitting before his foot lands. Tezuka refuses to try it on the spot, in case he falls over in front of his friend and gives him something to laugh at for the next twenty years. There is a reason Fuji is called the tennis genius and Tezuka is not.
"It's not exactly acrobatics." Fuji tells him. "Like Inui always said, you aren't flexible enough. And you have to be faster."
Tezuka watches Fuji bouncing on his feet, swinging his arm wiith a remote control in his hand, and a thought comes to him: Fuji is itching to play tennis again.
"Is your leg okay now?"
Fuji gives Tezuka a closed-eyes smile and nods.
"I can ask my coach if you can come and play a bit, or at least if he knows if there are any public courts around."
"That..." Fuji stops moving around, fixing Tezuka's eyes with his own. He lets a moment of silence fall between them before continuing, "would be great, Tezuka."
The way Fuji says his name, like a gentle caress to his mind, makes Tezuka shiver. He looks away. "No problem."
The telephone rings at that moment. Tezuka reaches for it like a drowning man reaching for a float.
"Hello? Ah, Hinako. I'm okay, how about you? No I'm not busy..."
Fuji, after standing as if stunned for a moment, gives a smile that looks almost like a self-depreciating smirk to Tezuka, and disappears into the kitchen and starts to cook dinner, the first time since coming to London. Fuji cooks very well, having spent a lot of time cooking with his sister when he was younger and his parents had to work late. Tezuka remembers the occasional lunchboxes and post-practice sandwiches Fuji used to make for him in secret, and those were the best food Tezuka had ever tasted.
Of course every now and then there would be a sandwich or a dumpling filled with nothing but mustard and wasabi, but Fuji always had water ready to give to Tezuka after having had his share of fun.
And now, of all times, Fuji is cooking dinner for the two of them. If Tezuka has less emotional control, he might have returned Fuji's bitter smile.
When Tezuka puts the phone down ten minutes later, Fuji peers out of the kitchen, a ladle in hand. "Girlfriend?"
"Just a friend." Tezuka doesn't know why he is clarifying that point. What is he trying to do? "My mother's friend's daughter."
"Not a girlfriend, but still on a first-name basis?"
Tezuka finds no words to say. He should never even have hoped Fuji would miss these details. But he honestly doesn't know, so he shrugs.
"How can you not know?" Fuji chuckles, as if amused by his friend's ignorance. "Well, do you sleep with her?"
Reading the look on his friend's face, Fuji grins wide. "A girlfriend then. Ah, I'm so jealous." He says with an exaggerated voice. With that, he leaves the doorway to get back to his cooking. "Well, at least it's my cooking that you'll be eating for now."
Tezuka stares at the empty doorway. Fuji has said more words than he did in the last week combined, but he was no longer teasing him or making advances.
He is thickening the line Tezuka has already drawn between them, marking it over and over again so that it is absolutely clear.
A loud clatter brings Tezuka's attention back. Going to the kitchen to check, he finds that Fuji has just dropped the kettle and burnt himself. Fuji is standing still, staring at his own arm, part of it an angry red, dripping wet and steaming.
"No, no it's okay Yuuta, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. Don't cry. I'm okay." He whispers. "It's me, I was being careless. It's not your fault. Yuuta don't cry..."
Tezuka pushes him towards the sink and forces the arm under the tap. He knows Yuuta had once poured hot oil onto his brother, and Fuji had been hospitalised, needing skin craft for the injury. But that doesn't mean he could just stare at his arm and doing nothing about it.
The moment ice-cold water touches him, Fuji jerks his arm away from Tezuka as if waking from a trance. Cold eyes partially hidden under long bangs turn to him, freezing Tezuka on the spot.
"I don't need your sympathy."
As if plunged into something even colder than the ice-cold winter water coming out of the tap, Tezuka doesn't move.
Sympathy?
Sympathy. Is that it, all these weeks Fuji thinks he is just pitying him? Fuji can't mean what he has just said. He has to know how important he is to him, that he is doing all this because he cares. It's not charity. Tezuka wouldn't do all this just for charity.
Fuji's eyes soften. He turns away, putting his arm under the running water again.
"I'm sorry." He says quietly, "Dinner will be ready soon. Could you lay out the table?"
Slowly Tezuka takes a step back, then he turns, taking bowls and chopsticks from the cupboard to lay them out on the small table in the kitchen. At the sink, Fuji stays still.
"I'm just afraid... despite all the laps you made me run back in school, all the shouting, sometimes the silences, the cold looks... despite everything, you're still the gentlest person I've ever known. You'd do anything to help a friend, at your own cost." He closes his eyes. "Don't be so nice to me. I don't want you to do that for me. I don't want from you something that you can't give."
Chopsticks slip from Tezuka's suddenly slacked fingers, landing on the tilted floor. He picks them up to rinse them.
"Fuji, how much longer until dinner?"
"... Around fifteen minutes."
"I... I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back by then."
Fuji looks to Tezuka. "You're angry with me."
"No," Tezuka doesn't meet Fuji's eyes. "Just going to buy some drinks. You want anything?"
Fuji gives Tezuka a look that says he doesn't believe him, but he also gives the offer a little thought. "Beer."
"Beer?"
"Or anything alcoholic. Makes me sleep better."
Tezuka nods. He makes his way out the kitchen.
"Tezuka."
He pauses at the door.
"I said it because I'm scared of what you might do, and what I might do... you're too gentle for your own good. Please don't be mad at me."
"... There's no reason to. I just want to take a walk."
Tezuka leaves the flat. He leans heavily against the front door, and closes his eyes.
The decision had already been made long ago. But who said time could heal all wounds?
Three years.
How much longer can he do this?
It was towards the end of his first year in high school when Tezuka caught a virus and fell ill with a fever. He stayed in bed and missed a week of school.
Fuji visited everyday, bringing notes from school and staying longer than he should, teaching Tezuka what he had missed. Or at least that was what he told Tezuka's mother, who knew better. Tezuka never brought it up with Fuji that his mother knew about them, nor did he ever see the need to.
Once, bringing tea to the room, his mother smiled graciously at Fuji. "You've very kind to my son. Thank you."
"He's been my most important friend ever since I was little, Tezuka-san." Fuji returned the smile. "I just hope I don't give you too much trouble, coming everyday."
"Not at all. In fact, thank you for doing all this for him." She bowed at Fuji, who bowed back deeper, and left the teenagers alone.
Later, she complimented Fuji in front of her son. She understood since the beginning his son was serious about the relationship - anything he involved himself in was serious. And now she understood as well Fuji was just as committed, otherwise such a relationship, strained as it was because of the need of secrecy, could not have lasted for over two years. This was no ordinary teenage dating. She said, more to herself than to Tezuka, that this really was karma. Some things were just meant to be.
"Mother... why are you saying all this?" Tezuka asked, watching her pick up empty tea cups.
His mother shrugged a little. "To encourage you, I guess. It's something to be treasured."
The same evening, during dinner, his father casually asked his son if he was seeing anybody. It was about time to get a girlfriend, he said, his son should pay attention to things outside of tennis as well.
Tezuka was stunned to speechlessness. His mother would be the one to talk about softer things, things like relationships and love. His father never cared or talked about these things before.
That night, standing outside his parents' bedroom, he overheard what he shouldn't hear, and he understood the reason for his parent's strangeness.
"I can't believe you said that to Kunimitsu." His mother's voice was exasperated.
"It's only a suggestion." His father replied, sounding somewhat strained.
"We've talked about this over and over again, Kuniharu. You can't just... he's too young, and you need to let things come naturally."
"That's why I only suggested. I'm not forcing him to do anything!"
"But I know you will!" His mother raised her voice without knowing, "You've said it before... but you can't just make him marry someone and have children to satisfy you! It's my fault I can't give you more children, you can't force it on our son!"
There were times Tezuka wondered why he didn't have any brothers or sisters, although he never asked. It seemed too sensitive a subject. But now he knew it was not his parents didn't want more children, it was that they couldn't. As he listened, he realised both of them had been desperate for more children ever since he was born. They wanted a big family, and his grandfather wanted that too, for themselves and for Tezuka. Maybe if he had a younger brother or sister to care for, to play with, he would be happier. He wouldn't always be pushing himself so hard just to make them proud. He would have the innocence of a youngster that he seemed to lack.
"Ayana, he's our only son. One day he has to get married and carry on our bloodline. I just want him to do it sooner. What's the problem with marriage at 18 or 20? He's a very grown up kid anyway, and Dad would be really happy to have a great-grandson."
Tezuka bit his lip, staying silent outside the door. He was the only son. It had been an issue that had loomed over him for the last two years, but he never thought it was so pressing. Getting married in two to three years? Starting his own family?
"Kuniharu, he won't be happy."
His father said he wanted this for his son's good too. Tezuka would be happy. He could see his son as a loving father, someone devoted to his wife and children. Perhaps that was what was lacking in Tezuka's life, something his parents couldn't give him. This was what was missing whenever they looked at their son and see nothing but hollow determination in his eyes.
"I'm not forcing him to marry just anyone. He will find a wife he loves and he will marry her. What's wrong with this? Why won't he be happy?"
His mother didn't reply. She couldn't say.
Fuji's smiling face flashed across Tezuka's mind.
"It's not his responsibility... I'm sorry we can't have more children..."
Tezuka quietly made his way back to his room just as his grandfather went to his parents' room to tell them to be quiet, that his grandson was sick, needing rest, and didn't need to hear any of that.
Over the next few days, he listened to the same conversation being repeated again and again. It was a discussion that would never have a solution.
A week later, he broke up with Fuji.
Sometimes Tezuka wonders why he does this. Why he thinks about some things, knowing there is no solution, knowing thinking about it brings nothing but pain. Choices have been made and he won't go back.
He can't make his father understand what makes him truly happy, but he can at least do what makes his father happy and what he thinks is good for him.
His mother doesn't believe him when he tells her he is happy. But at least he is doing the right thing, seeing the right people. Tezuka is almost twenty-one. He doesn't want his mother to still feel guilty and regretful about her infertility twenty-one years after her first and only child was born.
She once asked why her son is no longer smiling, why he has let go of something that is right for him.
He wanted to say him and Fuji broke up after an argument, but he couldn't lie to his mother. He never could. So he told her it wasn't "right", and her face suddenly looked tormented then, tears welling up in her eyes. She asked him what he had heard, and he told her that wasn't it, that there are things he must do as the son of the family, that's all.
Standing taller than his mother, Tezuka had bent down and kissed her forehead then, telling her what he did was his own choice, out of his own free will, and she didn't need to worry about anything.
Tezuka understands sometimes sacrifices need to be made.
"Is it okay if I drink it in the bed?"
Tezuka looks up from the book he hasn't really been reading, and sees Fuji holding cans of beer in his hands. He nods.
"You don't need to ask me. Don't worry about small things like that."
The phone rings. Tezuka answers the call.
"Tezuka! Having fun in London?"
"Hi, Saeki."
"Cold as usual... is Fuji here? Can you pass him the phone?"
Tezuka does as he was asked. Fuji takes it into the room to talk.
Quiet, muffled words filter through the walls. Tezuka cannot tell what the conversation is about, but a few minutes later, he can clearly hear Fuji sobbing as he speaks. Fuji is much better than he was when he first came, but he is still emotional and unstable, particularly at night.
At least he has someone to talk to, even if he can't talk to Tezuka.
Tezuka can't talk to anyone.
[to part four]
