.a.n.: Since I doubt my profile page is updated yet, here's the general gist: I'm back. -covers eyes- Before I start grovelling, I'd like to say that I've still been writing in my four-month-absence, though not much. Everything's on my LJ (homepage link), but what I've been doing most of in the past few months is reading a lot of other fics and doing experimentations with style, which means my style of writing has changed too.
But now, back to the grovelling. A second review from silverskyeangelsam got me off my butt and back to FFnet, from the LJ comms I've been frequenting a lot more often. -blush- However, in coming back, I had to face all the writing I did before LJ, which -cries- makes me wince. So all my chaptered fics (one-shots might be rewritten in time) have been taken off the account, and discontinued until further notice. However, since silverskye asked so nicely (and because I'm still interested in the fic), When the Wrong One Loves You Right is currently in the process of being rewritten. All 40-some pages of it. -guh-
Anyway, this is my peace offering for the time being, because everyone on FFnet has been so kind to me, reviews and other-wise. More information can be found on my profile page (whenever it's updated), and I'm sorry for being gone so long. Will try to get things updated and running a.s.a.p., so please take good care of me!
.e.x.t.r.a..n.o.t.e.: Ah. Yes. FFnet formatting. -cringe- Originally, this piece was widely spaced, with a short kind ofdouble lineas the horizontal breaks. However, since horizontal lines makes it look ugly and I can't use anything else to divide the sections, I'll be using (mizu) as my dividers. Sorry for the inconvinience...
.d.i.s.c.l.a.i.m.e.r.: Tenipuri isn't mine, though after canon!espisode!175, it might as well belong to the fangirls...
Water: surface tension
(mizu)
surface tension sur'fis ten'shen noun: a property in liquids in which the exposed surface tends to contract to the smallest possible area because of unequal molecular cohesive forces near the surface: measured by the force per unit of length
(mizu)
He is six when his father takes him on a trip to Sydney and they look at the harbor, flanked by business associates who exclaim at the beauty of the skyline. The sun is just setting on the bridge, illuminating figures who're taking their chances with the high winds, when his father makes a noise in the back of his throat – a grunt from any less distinguished man – and points to the bay. He looks down, and his brow furrows a bit. He's not young enough to ask his father why the crisp green and blue is interesting, but not old enough to analyze it himself. He answers with a similar grunt.His father raises an eyebrow, and holds up a small pebble. Moments later, there's a splash and some ripples where the pebble entered, and he stares for a while before silently admitting that he didn't understand the lesson at all. His father nods, and proceeds to lecture him on water's hydrogen bonds before time runs out, and they return to their hotel room.
(mizu)
The entity that is Fuji Syuusuke is currently showering, much to his chagrin. A short debate starts in his head, one side demanding he preserve his privacy at all costs and the other arguing that there's a sort of loud and subtle challenge to Fuji's motions. Because there is a shower at home that he can use, though his mother will have to turn on the hot water. Like the way he is showering right now, though he knows very well that Tezuka waits eleven minutes after the locker room is empty to wash away the day's sweat.
The other wins and he strips and walks into the shower, all unwelcome company aside, because he knows he has four minutes to shower, four more to dress, and then seven to catch the bus. But he also knows, because this is not the first time, that two minutes into his shower, Fuji will turn and smile at him unabashedly, then leave. And when he comes out, bare and vulnerable, the only indication that Fuji had been there will be the wet footsteps leading to his locker.
(mizu)
The next day, his father takes him to Cairns, where the associates immediately sign them up for a beach tour. Five hours later, he is sitting on an island, sunscreen applied and swim suit at the ready, but nerves not strong enough to walk into the salty sea. His father walks over, still neatly combed from his meeting in the hotel lounge, and sits on the towel that he immediately vacates. They look out at the sea, and his father continues to tell him about hydrogen bonds and water tension before a man comes to fetch him for another merger discussion. His father tells him to play in the water.
He's heard things about the ocean, so with just the slightest apprehension, he walks down the surf and inches his way into the salty water. Six inches down the water is just above his ankles, and it feels cool and refreshing. He thinks he likes the ocean – he might even take up swimming when he gets back. Twelve inches down it swirls around his knees, tugging at him gently, but soothingly nonetheless. He almost smiles – it's just like a puppy. Thirty inches down the ocean laughs mirthlessly and throws a wall of wave at him, knocking him down and filling his lungs will sea water before pushing him back to the six inch mark, wet and choking. He coughs, and knows the sea is powerful.
(mizu)
Fuji is showering again, singing a happy American song in a mild voice. He doesn't hesitate anymore, slipping out his clothes and nodding to the other boy on his way to the showerhead. The prodigy nods back and raises his voice, enunciating the words a bit more clearly for Tezuka's benefit. He (Tezuka) turns around and begins scrubbing at his arms, ignoring the lighthearted love ditty, but begins to wonder when three minutes later, Fuji is still going strong.
The same amount of time later, he's pulling on his socks while a happy prodigy hovers nearby, his singing reduced to humming. They leave the club room together and Fuji asks if Tezuka will walk him to the gate, because he wants to know how it feels. He gives the shorter boy a glance, but does as he asks and walks him to the gate, where Fuji turns and runs, then turns around ten meters later and waves like a schoolgirl.
(mizu)
He spends the rest of the afternoon staring a bit miserably at the ocean, the sun and thirty-eight degree weather urging him to get in, but his earlier experience warning him away. He's sure the ocean's laughing at him, innocent waves reaching for his toes while the memory of salt going up his nose makes him retch. And then, he understands.
He understands his father's lectures: the balance between power and restraint. The tension that keeps the immense strength of water from flowing aimlessly, the smooth surface that controls the raging bull beneath. The force that pulls water into droplets, waves into curves, and boys into silence. The sort of control his growing tennis power will need.
(mizu)
It is two months before he admits to himself that the prodigy has as smooth if not smoother skin than any girl he's seen, and even if his alone time is violated for eight minutes daily, the free art show compensates entirely. He grunts and nods as he passes Fuji in the showers, a sign the prodigy must have take as acceptance, because a few seconds after he's started showering, the porcelain skin is being washed in the showerhead next to his.
He loses a bit of composure as the prodigy picks up his soap and scrubs until the porcelain stains red, but that's nothing compared to when Fuji loses his footing and slips on the tiles, bumping into his hip and knocking them both to the ground. For a split second, he's staring a white neck marred by a single bite of red, and instead of embarrassment or jealousy, he feels an urge to add one of his own. But the muscle shifts and Fuji gets up, smiling at him before quickly exiting, leaving him drowning in two showers of droplets held together only by tension.
(mizu)
He explains his discovery to his father when they're eating dinner that night, taking care not to interrupt any important associate talks. His father nods absently, then calls for a glass of water before turning back to him, validating his observations but not the praise he was secretly hoping for.
When the glass of water, no ice, arrives, his father returns attention to him and hands him the water, telling him to observe it. There is a component that has been missed, were the older man's words, and if you look hard enough, you'll find it. So he spends the rest of the night staring at the glass of water, wondering what it would say if it could talk.
(mizu)
Fuji showers next to him for the next month, through stressful ranking matches and growth-stunting competitions. Occasionally, their arms brush, but he finds that the prodigy's composure is perfect, and the only blush is the one on his face. He turns away each time, knowing an attraction based on physical qualities is neither proper nor lasting at his age, though had it been anyone but Fuji, he might've known more than physical.
There's a pause as he turns off the shower, because Fuji asks him a question and is standing under the misty water, waiting patiently for his answer. He freezes and answers with a curt no, more than ready to leave until Fuji stops him with a quick touch and a murmur of we'll make it your first then? before kissing him.
(mizu)
The dinner runs well past ten, doubling as a sort of social event for the wealthy and traveling of Japan. His father walks him around introduces him to various other children who are just as polite and distant, and he bows back before returning his gaze to the cup, slightly frustrated by its contents. He worries his bottom lip before tugging on his father's sleeve, because he can eat some harsh words if he will gain knowledge in return. What he doesn't expect is the small smile he gets for his description of the water: clear, stationary, harmless.
That's just what it is, isn't it, his father asks him, harmless? Tension that holds it together, makes it smooth and flawless, and thus, harmless? And that night, when he is back at the beach, he looks out at the ocean and laughs. The gentle lapping of waves at twelve, the angry pushes of water at thirty, because the waves are only the surface of the water, and the surface protects the rest of the water from the world, the rest of the world from the water.
(mizu)
Fuji steals one more kiss before he puts an end to it, pinning the prodigy against the wall and taking what was taken from him. When he is finished, he is red and sweating, shower wasted and bus long-missed. He will have to make an excuse tonight, but at this moment, when Fuji looks so white and calm six inches away, he can't resist leaning down again. But Fuji responds, first with his tongue, then with his arms, and soon, he has flown to Heaven and dropped back on Earth, with nothing but wet footsteps to prove a deity had been there.
He remembers what Fuji looks like before and after, and what he looks like in-between. He knows that Fuji's porcelain skin never flushes, except when the prodigy thinks Tezuka's eyes are closed, and that he, Tezuka, comes out with a blood-filled face and mussed hair. And as he takes another shower to wash the new sweat off his body, he thinks that Fuji is kind of like water, with a tension that hides and a tension protects, but most of all, a tension that controls.
(mizu)
On the last day in Cairns, it rains. He sits under a large umbrella on the half-dry sand, watching the droplets break the water tension, one by one. And he wonders if he'll ever be like that, be able to take hits without fully breaking.
Water awes and angers him now, because it flows and it lies, but at the same time, it captivates and shines. He stares for hours, until his father calls him in for lunch and tells him they'll be leaving soon, so he should put away his books. It takes him twenty minutes to eat and pack, and he's back on the beach, watching the rain fall slowly and the waves break at his feet.
(mizu)
He knows that he is a reticent personality, but he also knows that he is honest. He knows he can't stand more shower sessions, can't keep control around the prodigy, can't hold the tension he spends so much time developing. And yet, this doesn't bother him, because he knows that the problem lies not in his tension, but someone else's.
Because to him the definition of Fuji is tension, an iron control that hides potential and strength, but most of all, a control that doesn't break doesn't let up doesn't open to express the passion below. And when he asks Fuji to date him, he tells Fuji this, tells Fuji his goal is to break him, he who is the iron control Tezuka lacks, because Tezuka is nothing if not passionate. Fuji, in all his surface tension, just smiles and laughs, agreeing to a date on Friday amiably, then wanders off to take his shower.
.a.n.: No, it's not the end. -hehe- The ending was too sucky for that. Water: surface tension the first part of the will-be 5-part Elements I arc. The second part I'll probably end up writing a little later today, Wood: parasite. The elements follow the Chinese, as opposed to the Western, order, that is, water, wood, fire, earth, gold. Uhm, otherwise, this was one of my present-tense experiments, as well as a try at a metaphor. -blush- Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for putting up with my long long long hiatus. -bow- Thank you