Chains
DISCLAIMER: Nope. Not mine. Tezuka and Fuji belong to each other.
Author's Notes: Alright, here I come resurrecting from death; bringing forth a fic. This officially signals the start of me writing again. Please enjoy!
Thanks a lot to vierblith for always being at the tezufuji service and beta-ing this for me.
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It's probably good to have someone understand you, your pains, your actions and the reasons you do those acts. Perhaps. I smiled; it would be nice to have someone support you when you're on the verge of breaking down. Probably and perhaps - after all, I didn't know the feeling of having that someone.
My sister used to tell me that different things can chain a person, things that hold us back. To put it simply: our limits. The first are the laws of nature –although this is decided by the way you interpret those laws. Second is the flow of time. You could, after all, never change what had happened, what is happening and what will happen; everything is predestined by a higher power. Third, the existence known as your mind – there are limits to what we could think, absorb and learn. Our thoughts, dreams, even the way we feel are controlled by this chain. Fourth, the vessel known as your body –we, people are truly naïve. We, sometimes, are caught up in our own fantasies: thinking of what could we do, gain, and produce. No matter what new technology is laid before our very eyes, there are still restrictions to what we could accomplish. Lastly, the only chain that humans can control: words. Words are alive. You could never take back what you said, at any cost.
As any child would, I absorbed her words like a sponge. And so, unknowingly, I was living it out in my life.
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Unlike normal young people, I never dreamt of being the best. I never worried about the future or getting high grades. I was simply living for the sake of existing. My thoughts wandered aimlessly, without direction.
Most of the time, my only concern was whether or not something was boring or fun, amusing or depressing. I never gave effort into anything that I know would not bear any fruits. It was futile, I thought. Why waste effort if you knew the end result? Perhaps it was the way I was brought up. It's not like everything was given on a silver platter. Everything just came to me naturally.
So when I entered Seigaku, I put on my best smile and proceeded as I always did.
I signed up for the tennis club because someone managed to take my attention. God knows how hard it was to get my attention, much less keep it there.
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This someone, one way or another, managed to break slowly each and every chain that I believed in for so long.
I watched him each and every day. To most, he looked dull and boring –a silent, unrelenting creature whose life revolved around rules and laws. To me, he was the most interesting person I have ever met. There was something about him –a reserved, hidden feeling that escaped the attention of the majority. If I had even a little bit of audacity to think about it, I would probably have realized that this feeling of uncontrollable curiosity and awe was called fascination.
With my ceaseless curiosity taking over me, I asked him for a match. I was happy when he agreed, too happy that somehow, in hindsight, I was confused.
On the day of our match, I felt adrenaline rushing through my body like it never has before. For a very long time, I felt excitement.
When he came and played with me, he played like he never did before: flawed. As I watched him return another shot that no doubt had zero power, it hit me hard. I sensed a turning point in my, so far, uneventful life.
I watched him try to return another shot. We both knew that he couldn't. I couldn't take it anymore; the heaviness forming in my chest, the vivid, incomprehensible feelings that built up in me as he clutched his arm in sheer pain was unbearable.
At that time, I didn't know what I truly felt. I wasn't really angry. Upset, perhaps? But as I look back, I realized that I was disappointed.
Nothing much had really changed between the two of us since then. But, as I said, it marked a turning point in my existence.
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I was genuinely happy when my younger brother went to Seigaku. Apparently, he was not. There were too many gossips, rumors and whatnots that hurt my younger brother. I tried to make it up to him by being nice – ergo, less teasing. But, in the end, I couldn't find the right words to use to tell him clearly how I felt. If I did then, perhaps, he wouldn't have suffered so much.
I had expected that he would choose to leave me and Seigaku. Still, when it finally happened, the news was hard on me.
Yuuta was an extra important person in my life. To see him leave without looking back pained me. I didn't cry. I didn't know why but I didn't cry. Now, I know it's because I knew that he may have left at that time without a single backward glance but he never walked away from my life. He just needed to find the reason he was alive and prove that existence not to me, not to others but to himself. It was the need to step out of my shadow, but not out of my life.
But, still, the lump on my throat was formed and the throbbing in my chest had started. There was only one way to get rid of it and I firmly refused to cry.
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By chance, I was paired up with him for an assignment. We decided to go to my house to work on it.
We were silent as we worked. Like usual ever since Yuuta left, my mind was somewhere else. I accidentally incised my finger with the cutter. I stared at it, not really taking in the fact that it was bleeding too profusely for a normal cut.
"Fuji, you're bleeding." He said, stating the obvious.
"Ah." I affirmed but took no action to stop the blood. I thought that I deserved this. This measly little cut could not possibly compare to the pain Yuuta had undergone. In fact, I was only a little upset about Yuuta's departure. What troubled me more than anything was the fact that I was the reason he had to suffer.
"Fuji, where's the band aid?" his voice shook me out of my reverie. I placed my finger on my mouth and sucked on it.
"It's all right, nothing serious." I replied. I heard him sigh before he stood up and went to the bathroom.
He returned with a band-aid after a few seconds. He reached for my finger and carefully wrapped it with the band-aid.
I wasn't a typical fan girl or boy for that matter so I didn't blush like a typical fan girl or boy would. Instead, I asked with a tinge of tease: "Why did you ask where it is if you already knew?"
He looked up at me and replied like he usually did: detached. "It's only appropriate."
"What do you deem as inappropriate then?" I asked after musing at his answer.
He gracefully raised an eyebrow before saying: "What I believe is false."
"That's just about the same thing." I looked at him, scrutinizing and considering his reply. To my dismay, he ignored me and went back to tending our project.
I sighed, a bit put off by his action. Seeing that he wouldn't reply again, I, too, tended to our work.
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After one and a half hours of grueling work, we finally finished the two-dimensional model of our own country with the outlines of each prefecture.
"I think we did pretty well, ne?" I remarked as I looked at the colorful mini-Japan.
"Ah, but I think it's too bright." He replied, eyebrows knitting slightly as he voiced out his observation.
"But we're supposed to differentiate each prefecture from another." I replied back, considering his view. "Besides," I continued mischievously, "you finally got the chance to put your hand in a brush and paint."
I saw the ghost of a smile tugging playfully at the edges of his beautifully-chiseled lips. "Perhaps," he murmured as a reply.
I smiled genuinely - the first time since Yuuta took his long, winding journey on finding his true self.
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"You really love Yuuta, don't you?" he asked at the clubhouse after practice when only the two of us were left. I found myself surprised at the sudden question, not to mention at the fact that I was usually the one who started our conversation.
"Ah, but love wouldn't be considered as love unless it is appreciated by the recipient, would it?" I replied, a bit poignant with memories and a bit confused at the unexpected topic of conversation.
I glanced at him, analyzing his face particularly his eyes.
"I think that Yuuta somehow understands you." He said, not looking at me.
"Why are we talking about this?" I asked, my tone going up a notch. I meant no offense, to be honest. But it hurt; the wound was just about to heal and, now, it was being reopened. I don't think I need to mention the fact that the one who's opening it was the one who healed it.
He looked at me, eye to eye, raw emotions to perplexed ones. His eyes emanated something that was always there yet hidden: concern.
"You need to," was the only reply he gave.
"How do you know?" I asked, half mocking, partly angry and partly baffled.
"It's not something that only a genius can see." He retorted, hazel eyes directed at my blue ones. I knew he was quite intent on doing this though I did not quite understand what "this" was.
"Why then?" I asked again, a flood of assorted emotions rushing through me, threatening to overpower my rational thinking.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, carefully thinking of the proper reply. "Because you've been holding it back for such a long time," he said.
I looked at him, questioningly, not the mocking type of inquiry. I knew then that my eyes probably showed how I felt, bare and exposed under his sharp gaze.
"Let it out, Fuji." He said in a gentle voice that no one could ever think he possessed. I held his gaze and found myself considering the command. But then, at that point, I realized that it wasn't a command. It was merely a suggestion and I was free to choose what I wanted.
My body started to shake and my eyes stung. I wouldn't. I refused to show any weakness in front of anybody. I looked at him. His watch was sharp but I could tell it wasn't judgmental. I quavered even more.
"You're trembling," he said, stating the obvious yet again. Before I knew it, strong, gentle arms were around me. They offered comfort I knew I wouldn't find elsewhere. "I'll hold you until you stop trembling." His arms tightened around me in a sort of possessive way. "If you don't want me to, I'll let go." He finished, in a tone that sounded a bit disheartened.
I thought that perhaps - just perhaps - I could show him and finally have someone understand me. I gave in and threw my arms around him as well.
"How could I ever resist this pair of arms?" I whispered against his ear. And I knew, without having to see, that he was smiling –and was smiling only for me.
Still, as I contentedly rested in his arms after a few hours of crying, I couldn't believe that he was here with me, comforting me in a way I never thought anyone would.
Especially since the said person was someone who could break my sister's so-called chains that have held me back for such a long time. But then, as he stroked my hair affectionately, I grew to understand that chains aren't only used for holding people back, they are also used to bind people together.
We never said the clichéd words "I love you" but, one way or another, we were connected. Maybe it was because words weren't essential. Perhaps, it was because words really were chains. And, in our case, they made a long and invisible, thin yet strong chain that silently bound and connected us to one another.
o.w.a.r.i.
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