A Gentlemen's Wager, Epilogue


A/N: As it so happens, this story has an epilogue. Are you curious about the epilogue?

(Ten points and a chocolate chip cookie to anyone who gets this reference). Anyway, I hope this ties up any loose ends people may have found in the previous chapter and gives my fellow TezFuji fangirls some much needed service. If it doesn't, umm... it's all Fuji's fault.

Fair warning: This bit contains a large dose of tooth-decaying sugar. I'm a fangirl. It's what I do.

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Most people believed Tezuka had traded his sense of humor at birth for superior tennis skills. Fuji knew this was untrue and had three separate occasions to prove the fact.

The first occurred their freshman year, not long after Fuji's transfer to Seigaku. Inui decided to offer Yamato-buchou the first sample of Inui Jiru, a concoction the color of a dark chocolate bar dropped in puddle of mud. As Yamato's sunglasses hit the tennis court, Tezuka's mouth turned upward just around the edges in what may have been a genuine smile.

The second happened later that same year when some third years from the basketball club thought it would be fun to pick on Taka-san. At least, they thought it was fun until Fuji nonchalantly handed his friend a tennis racquet. When Fuji turned away from the fleeing senpai and shouts of bad English, he swore he saw Tezuka smirk, even if only for a fraction of a second.

Fuji's final clue came in their second year, after the Golden Pair began dating but before they learned a modicum of discretion. Tezuka, Fuji, and Ryuzaki-sensei had been walking back towards the clubhouse to search for the missing clipboard with the ranking match outlines on it. Ryuzaki-sensei opened the door, turned pomegranate red, and proceeded to assign Oishi and Kikumaru both twenty laps to be run in opposite directions under supervision. The two sprinted off an equally crimson color, and Tezuka shook his head, his breathing hitching just slightly. Fuji never confirmed the instance, but it may have been a tightly controlled chuckle.

So Fuji knew Tezuka possessed sense of humor; it was just more elusive than most creatures of the Madagascar rainforest. Still, in all of the time Fuji had known Tezuka, he had never actually seen the buchou laugh ... until now.

"I really don't see what is so funny," Fuji said, arms crossed. The first moment they'd had alone since the plane had landed in Germany, and Tezuka was going to spend it laughing at him. Actually laughing, though trying so hard to control it that tears forced out behind his glasses.

"Yes, you do," Tezuka replied. He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes. Either that or he realized the effect a glasses-free Tezuka had on Fuji, though that trick was not going to work no matter how long they'd been apart. Besides, Fuji'd only managed to get one quick kiss before Tezuka demanded to know how the tensai had pulled off Seigaku's well-funded vacation and whether or not any laws had been broken. Fuji had every right to remain insulted.

"No, I don't. Inui wrecked a perfectly good plan." And Inui would pay for wrecking a perfectly good plan. Fuji hadn't figured out exactly how yet, but it was a big city. A lot of things could happen to a young, poor foreigner that Fuji couldn't possibly be held responsible for.

"You still made it here," Tezuka argued, resetting his glasses. Fuji refused to look disappointed.

"Yes, but I shouldn't have. Certainly not with the entire team to babysit. And Atobe probably thinks he's safe now."

"Atobe is safe," Tezuka stated, leaving no room for argument. "And probably in a great deal of trouble with his parents after they see the bill for this trip, so you should be satisfied."

Fuji shrugged. "I'm very tired of it anyway."

"That will do. And I don't mind the team being here. It's good to see them."

Fuji raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Perhaps I should go find them, then," he started to stand. "Eiji promised to keep everyone busy for a bit, but I can always ..."

"Syusuke."

Fuji froze before he'd completely risen from the bed. Clearly, he was hallucinating. Tezuka didn't just...

A hand circled Fuji's wrist, tugging him back onto the bed. Fuji realized he must look extremely startled to earn the satisfied expression on Tezuka's face. The buchou had been planning this. All that work, and Tezuka stole the upper hand as easily as that. "Syusuke, I really don't care how you got here or who came with you. You're here."

Tezuka pressed his lips against Fuji's, one hand still holding his arm, the other encircling his waist. For that moment, Fuji forgot about the team and the bet and even Tezuka's injury. The world blurred until it contained nothing tangible except that warmth and the taste that was always part jasmine tea and part something uniquely Tezuka.

Sometimes, Fuji wondered why he went to the lengths he did for someone as stubborn, competitive, unemotive, and generally difficult as Tezuka Kunimitsu.

And sometimes, he remembered.