Notes
+ This was
originally posted on Livejournal with pictures of the butterflies
referenced in the fic; if you're interested in checking them out,
please visit my LJ (the link is in my profile).
+ Tennis
no Oujisama and all places and characters named within are
property of Shueisha, Inc., TV Tokyo, VIZ Communications, Bandai,
Konami, and Konomi Takeshi, as well as everyone else who has any sort
of vague legal ownership over the series that I've forgotten, which
is probably a lot of people.
+ Contains references to the Fuji-Ryoma match and Genius 218. Manga continuity, with anime coloring.
satyridae
fuji chases butterflies.
syuusuke gets butterflies in his stomach like everyone else.
sometimes he wants to catch them and pin them into rows of sterile, stationary glass, and point to them and say look, i've conquered my butterflies - where are yours? like the prideful child he is.
but he reaches out to snatch them and they're never where he expects them to be, until syuusuke stops hoping to capture them and instead searches in trembling curiosity for someone who's conquered his own.
--
he thinks it may be an obsession after a while; childhood preoccupation with fragile, ornate insects in his gut spiraling into a predilection as he ages.
--
yuuta has five fingers on each hand, and he drums them impatiently on the tub water's clear surface. aniki, he says, what are you staring at?, adorably petulant even as a child.
syuusuke looks up from where he is studying the ripples, and smiles widely.
he wonders if there are butterflies with wings like the fading circles crashing against his shoulders.
--
yumiko takes them to look for butterflies one day, and syuusuke twirls and twirls in the center of the square, clutching yuuta's hand and joyfully reaching out to grasp at the fluttering black wings.
--
saeki prefers beetles. they're rounder, he says stubbornly, and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. and nee-san's scared of them. wanna see?
syuusuke giggles, presses a finger to his lips. shh, yuuta might wake up if she screams.
--
tennis is something new and exciting, limitless like wing patterns; the first time syuusuke trips and lands on his rear and half-tears, half-chuckles the pain away, he looks up in the sky and sees a plain dark butterfly: kotsubame, says yumiko, and dabs his knee with antiseptic.
--
eiji doesn't talk about butterflies, but about strawberries. i think my brothers are eating my toothpaste, he confides, because they don't want to buy their own. it isn't fair! fuji, i think they're sneaking in whenever you come over and i'm not guarding the bathroom! make them stop.
syuusuke only laughs, pats eiji's back, and tells him to hurry and copy his notes before the teacher comes in.
he doesn't tell him the toothpaste is light pink like the undersides of yumiko's favorite butterflies - torafu shijimi, she once said - but he's only ever taken it once.
--
lepidoptera, his biology teacher explains, and syuusuke hates her for making his butterflies into slaves of science, of measurements and sterility and long, cold rows of glittering black pins and the silence of a million dead animals.
--
syuusuke shows kawamura a picture he once took of a small, electric blue butterfly. here, taka-san, he says. he waits for a response - kawamura screws up his face and regards the photograph with shy seriousness.
then he scratches the back of his head, and smiles, awkward and unassuming. aaah... i think they're very pretty.
--
syuusuke likes spicy things because they are different, and he doesn't forgive the burst of laughter when he chokes on his wasabi: momo doesn't know it, but syuusuke now has a picture of him sleeping, wide-mouthed and snoring, loud as the dots splattered on the tsumaguro hyomon's wings.
--
ryoma rages through seigaku and tears the team foundations to shreds while syuusuke watches, curious and amused.
he almost thinks the pieces are falling into place, knocked back and forth between undying strength and confidence sparkling in ryoma's eyes and the rain dripping off the white, white brim of his cap.
--
it's a bit like the rhumisu shijimi, fleeting, sparkling, with all the electric jubilance of a bright star, and syuusuke muses aloud while water pounds down around him and tezuka blinks at him through rain-spotted glasses.
--
tezuka doesn't back down from anything, syuusuke realizes, even if all the odds are against him, and this perhaps is more a definition of what it means to best flutters and floundering than rash conquering and never-ending battles with blazing eyes that don't know the meaning of patience.
he fiddles with his racket and calls yuuta: do you have time for a quick game?
yuuta makes excuses but gives in, and on the court syuusuke remembers water ripples and circles splashed on brittle grey wings.
--
teenage years, and syuusuke's butterflies still dance and frolic - they embark on a particularly lively dance when he reaches into his cubbyhole for his jacket, turns slightly to the left, and is greeted by a light whiff of tezuka's favorite spray and the straight, studious line of tezuka's spine.
--
he gives up the quest that day, and jogs slowly back onto the court, light sweat smoothing across his forehead from running laps - fuji, eiji whines, you should've told me tezuka was right behind us!.
syuusuke invariably smiles and looks at his captain, framed and glowing in the sparse light of sundown, and doesn't think about butterflies.
--
fin.