Author's Notes: This was inspired by the recent AniPuri episodes, 174-176. The moment I saw the screen caps, I knew I had to write something about them. I just fell in love with them all over again. It was a simple tribute, this fic, and I hope you like it.
Disclaimers: Everything belongs to the wonderful Konomi-sensei. The plot, however, is mine.
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The Law of Parsimony
Fuji Syusuke. Tezuka Kunimitsu.
The mention of their names made people gush, smile knowingly, look at them in awe and admiration. There was no room for the possibility that they would ever walk around town – play tennis – and go unnoticed.
Yet, of all the words used to describe them – and their presence – only one word remained in both their minds.
Why?
Everything about them, in their opinion, was surrounded by and founded on that question. It was as if there was nothing certain, nothing concrete.
Why do you always play as if you don't care? Why do you smile even when you and I know that you're hurt, especially with what Yuuta is doing to you? Why do you hide your eyes? Why do you hide behind Kikumaru's cheerful presence, hoping everyone would be too busy to notice you? Why do you not play with me seriously, Fuji?
Why do you keep your distance when you want to embrace the company your with? Why do you keep that impassive mask, albeit knowing the feelings you want to express? Why do you let me stand beside you even when I most probably annoy you? Why do you want me to play with you seriously when you know that I only play within my opponents' potential and that I don't care whether I lose once I see it, Tezuka?
There were so many questions unanswered between them. Each knew there were answers to their questions. Yet these were answers that would lead to another question, proving that humans were indeed insatiable. And proving that they were humans despite of their talents and capabilities.
It was like a game show – a jeopardy quiz that they were never able to solve no matter how they tried.
Yet with every bounce of the ball, with every score called… they knew that the inevitable was happening. One of them was going to – needed to – lose. It was something they could not escape from, something they had to face now before they play in the nationals.
And with the loss of one, the game would be paused and perhaps…
… answers would alight.
But, then what? What would happen? More questions? It was the most likely answer since that was what experience had taught them. Pilling on each other without end, trying to cover up the one question they never found an answer to and a question to interrogate that answer.
Why do I ask you these?
Which will lead to another inescapable question: Who are you to me?
They knew that of all the questions, these were the easiest to answer. Most of the time, Tezuka thought, they were denying something that existed – something he didn't understand or didn't want to understand. And on the other hand, Fuji wondered if they were simply afraid of what the answers would bring.
The game was deadlocked. No one would admit defeat. For the first time in his life, Fuji knew that this was a game he could not lose. It surprised him actually, the way he thought about the game. And it made him think, was he really that afraid to face what he didn't know?
It was his goal – ever since he first saw him play – to make Fuji serious in playing against him; to make him reveal his true abilities and, along with it, his true self. Yet now that he was playing against the tensai the way he had always wanted to before, he wanted to step away. Why, he asked himself. Was he denying something again? Something that surpassed logic and disregarded it?
Questions yet again and so uniquely theirs. And answers pilled up as usual.
It was a never-ending rally.
Yet their rally – the one in the tennis game – had come to an end. The balls' sound had faded, rubber shoes no longer screeching. The score had been announced.
Tezuka had won.
Fuji did not know why – the real reason – he was crying. He wasn't a sour loser, he didn't care about losing that much. Yet tears had suddenly escaped from his eyes and he could not control the surge of emotions. What these emotions were, he couldn't exactly understand.
He did not know what to do – what with his 'indifference' with emotional matters. Yet as he was faced with a crying Fuji, he wanted to do something albeit knowing he knew nothing about these kinds of things.
He held out his hand, in a way that was originally meant as a shake yet was poised as if he intended to raise the tensai's hand later on, the way Atobe had done to him before. It was, for him, a sign of reverence.
Through those slits, cerulean eyes stared at Tezuka's hand. Should he hold it? Should he raise it up as well? What did Tezuka mean by doing so?
Questions… again.
Something was urging him to disregard the questions, to ignore them. Telling him to stop asking, stop looking for answers that had so many meanings.
And for the first time in his entire life, he obeyed that 'something'.
Fuji reached out and held Tezuka's outstretched hand. To hell with the questions, he thought, expecting an overload the moment they touched.
Yet, it didn't happen.
The moment their hands touched, there were no questions. There was a clear path, one that answered all their questions. It was queer, they both thought. It wasn't supposed to be like that.
Then it dawned.
The Law of Parsimony. When multiple explanations exist, the simplest is usually correct.
They put an arm around each other, eyes maintaining contact. There were smiles on their faces – not the casual and usually half-meant from Fuji; or the small, game-satisfied one from Tezuka. It was a sincere one – a real one. One they now understood.
Why?
Because. Just because.
Even that vague answer was enough. For both of them, it was. No further explanations were needed to be voiced out or written. They understood.
They understood.
.o.w.a.r.i.
:20Mar05:11:14p:1000 words: