Title: Unreachable; or, Beyond my reach
Section: Fanfiction (One-Shot)
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Angst
Pairing(s): ? x Fuji
Disclaimer: Tennis no Oujisama belongs to Konomi Takeshi-sensei.
Author's Notes: This is one of my favourites. I've kept the mysterious person under wraps pretty well, I guess. But in fact, I'm not exactly sure who that "?" is. It's up to the reader. Have fun guessing, though. I know, I know, the writing's pretty intense ... >.>
Loving him was hard.
He exuded pure sensuality, but it was normally not the kind that attracted the same sex. There was a sort of sensual intimacy when you stared at him as unobtrusively as possible. But when he looked at you – he would immediately assume the stance of a gentle, benign soul, ready to take you into his hands and lead you to salvation.
But I was drawn, inexplicably to his charisma, that brusque but rather subtle sensuality, like a moth is drawn to flame. That smile of his, those simple gestures, they all made sense when it was him doing it. His beautiful features rivaled that of a lovely woman's, but he was beyond the description of effeminate.
It was just that … he was beyond reach. My reach, at least.
I wonder what would it be like for him to smile at me sincerely. His soft eyes glancing into mine, his fingers reaching out to caress my skin. How I would like to reach out and touch him. But my unspeakable desires for him would remain just that. I wonder if it would scare him off. Would he open his eyes wide and stare at me with a gaze that pierced my soul, jagged cerulean glass stabbing at my poor heart, when I knew the only answer in his eyes were rejection? Would his eyes tell me that I had broken our friendship? Would he tell me no and said that he liked only women? Would he be careless and heartless enough to tell me that he couldn't accept?
No. He was careless, but never heartless. Not him.
Was I brave enough to face the hurt, the rejection that he would ultimately present to me should I have the stupidity to confess?
Sadly, the answer eludes me.
When was it first when I realized that I loved him? I'm not so sure myself.
Perhaps it was the time when his eyes flew open and the edges of his eyes crinkled into a smile, and my heart felt like it had burst open with a sort of uneasy knowledge that my affection for him was unnatural.
Or maybe it was the time when he looked at me, a single tear threatening to spill from his eye, and yet he was still smiling, and my first instinct had been to grab him tightly in my arms, and let my fingers rove up and down his back to comfort him?
How awkward he had been later, not used to being in a man's arms.
Or was it now, when I looked at his back, his slender figure that matched the rhythm of his running legs perfectly, across the court and back, racket in hand, effortlessly reaching for the balls that his opponent flung at him, and I could imagine how his body would move with the same rhythm under mine.
It is a bright day; the sun is shining upon our heads. I should not be here, thinking of my dark desires. A shiver dances delicately up my spine.
He is what I live for; yet 'we' cannot happen.
This is real life, as my sexuality is real, as real as a dull stone thudding through the depths of my psyche.
I know what I am; I know what he is not.
It suddenly feels so cold, and my stomach is knotting inside. Is this despair?
He turns, and a soft laugh reaches me. I tighten my grip on my racket.
Lust?
"Shall we have a game?" He asks me, brown hair fluttering in the wind.
I grip the racket again, get off my butt, and walk to him.
Love? I wonder.
"Let's have a good one, Fuji."