Disclaimer: I don't own Tennis no Ohjisama.
Notes: Yeah…I guess it is kinda getting confusing, but I still can't believe this evolved out of something with no plot whatsoever, so hopefully this clears things up, at least a little bit, anyway
-x-
Tezuka went to bed early that night; politely declining Inui's invitation to a game of Mahjong. He wasn't good at games, outside of athletics; however, poker seemed to be the exception. Besides, he had something more important to do.
He walked to his room and shut the door, here, within the calming familiarity of his own room, Tezuka could think. Thinking was something he'd neglected to do, since his perfectly arranged façade started breaking, quite plainly, because he did not have enough time.
This was time enough. He stared blankly at the ceiling and listening to the dull tick of the clock. It was hot that night so all of his blankets were pushed to one side of the bed.
The first image that came to mind was Fuji. It was hazy, as if the face was materialized out of vapor, but it was as he remembered it. The eyes were blue; in them was a childlike innocence that would probably never fade. But there was a vague sadness in them too, a pain much too grievous to decipher in words. He did not try, because Tezuka had always understood Fuji, though the pain was something he'd never grasped wholly.
He loved the sound of Fuji's laughter, the way he moved, in fact, everything about Fuji Tezuka loved...once. The other knew that, they had never needed words.
He let the memory fade. Then a second reflection came. This time it was Kajimoto, unlike Fuji's misty features, his were clear, piercing. This was expected, Kajimoto was much easier to comprehend on a rational level, in any case.
With Fuji, the word rational had no meaning, nor the words schedule, or planning. Everything was done on impulse; in other words, Fuji did not stop to think about what kind of consequences his actions might conceive. The tensai simply trusted things to work out in their own time.
Tezuka was the exact opposite; he always wore a watch, and consulted a pocket calendar after every class. He planned everything carefully so that there were no unexpected complications to interrupt him. Once, after practice, someone had joked that Tezuka's life centered around the clock, like the old man of some novel they were reading for English class.
Tezuka didn't remember who it was that made the remark, but hopefully, that person got what he deserved. What's more, that description fitted Inui more so than him
Yet…even he couldn't control time, it was powerful, and not to be reckoned with. Time came with good things, and bad things.
Meeting Fuji Syusuke was a good thing, a very good thing. Having the accident was a bad thing, it all balanced out that way. It didn't seem fair.
These thoughts were suddenly tiring. Not only were his thoughts somehow tortured into long preambles, but also the topics of the thoughts were not reasonable and that made things worse.
Inui knocked twice and peeked in, "Are you asleep?"
It was pointless question, "I don't sleep sitting up."
"Aa, good, then you can answer the phone." His roommate shoved the telephone receiver into his hand. "It's him." Inui left.
Tezuka glared at the phone, as if it was at fault, he breathed deeply, then said, "Fuji, it's late."
"Saa," came Fuji's voice from the other end, "Is that how you treat an old friend, Kunimitsu? Not even a hello or anything?"
Only three people referred to Tezuka by his first name: his mother, father, and grandfather. So the name Kunimitsu had real no value to him. Although coming from Fuji's lips, the name was unexpectedly beautiful. "We aren't exactly friends."
"That's true." The other agreed serenely, "Then what are we, Kunimitsu, teammates? Lovers?"
The air was cold, Tezuka realized. He reached for a blanket, "Nothing. We were, that way, now, we aren't."
"Are you studying philosophy now, Kunimitsu?" there was a hint of amusement in Fuji's voice.
"That's not philosophy." Tezuka corrected, more than a bit irritated, "What do you want, Fuji? I'm going to sleep if there isn't anything else."
"Ne, so you are in bed." Fuji laughed lightly, like the melodic trickle of a fresh desert stream, "Can I join you?"
Tezuka was tempted to hang up the phone then, but he steeled himself and gritted out, "Stop playing around."
"…I'm not." The answer came with unanticipated seriousness. "Do you remember what you told me? When you were at the hospital?"
"That I never want to see you again?" Tezuka supplied, his temper floating just below the surface, barely controlled.
"Before that." The cold gravity in Fuji's tone was almost hypnotic, "You said that no one could ever see you suffer, and no one could ever understand what you were going through, except me. You also told me that you could see that I was suffering, and you could understand."
"You understand because you did. You did it." This conversation was no longer logical, in any way. They were talking about the past, a past both loved and hated. Tezuka felt exhausted. He sank down into the pillows.
"I need you. I need you so much, Kunimitsu, can't we just…start over again?" The reply held none of the flamboyant, yet tranquil self-assurance that Tezuka had known Fuji to have, the reply held only helplessness, "I'm sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am, I want…" there was a barely audible sniff. Fuji sounded like he was on the verge of tears, genuine tears.
Tezuka put the receiver down beside him. The soft sobs on the other end eventually diminished into ragged breathing. He said only, "Syusuke, it was precious." And hung up.
He brushed a hand lightly across his eyes while he rolled over to put the receiver on the bedside table. There were tears in them, although he bore too much dignity to let them fall.
-x-
A/N: Yes, I know it's a short chapter but I have writer's block and anything else I write here is really crappy.
