Chapter Thirteen
"Fuji. Lets go somewhere."
They were in the car, on the way home from the Fuji residence that they had left shortly after lunch upon Fuji's insistence. It was the first time Atobe had spoken directly to him that day and the former tennis prodigy looked up in surprise.
"I want to show you something."
Atobe elaborated shortly, as if sensing the question in his gaze.
Fuji remained silent, looking away from his companion's face, unable to continue looking at the painful determination in his eyes.
The silence continued for the rest of their ride.
Half an hour later, the car drew to a stop, in front of a cream-coloured building surrounded by a brick wall with strong metal gates. Beside the gates, the words Seishun Gakuen were printed clearly on the wall, it was a school.
Getting out of the car, they stood soundlessly at the gates for a moment, staring at the large words and at the building that lay within the compound.
"It's my junior high school."
Fuji broke the silence first, his controlled calm surprising even himself.
He had seen that name before, the name of the school. It was printed clearly on many of the trophies in his room and at the bottom of various photos displayed on his bedroom as well as on the graduation certificate on his wall.
Atobe nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking.
"Tezuka studied here too."
He spoke softly, carefully, as if afraid to say the name out loud, afraid to lose the little that he had left of Tezuka Kunimitsu.
Fuji looked down at the ground, unsure of how to reply.
"Lets go in."
Before he could react, Atobe had walked forward, moving through the open gates and into the school grounds. He did not stop once he had entered the school compound, but instead continued to move forward, making his way easily through the school, his manner certain, as Fuji trailed slowly behind.
Atobe only stopped when they had reached the tennis courts.
"You were in the school team."
He said suddenly.
"Was I any good?"
Fuji regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. It was meant as a light-hearted joke, but came out as a pathetic attempt to ease the tense atmosphere. It was hardly a valid question after all; they had both seen the number of trophies in his room.
"You were one of the best. "
Atobe appeared to not have sensed his discomfort.
"You were in the team together with Tezuka. He was a brilliant player, one of the best I've ever met."
A gentle smile crossed his lips, sad and tender.
"He loved the game more than anything else."
He sounded wistful.
"And you love him more than anything else."
Fuji added silently to himself. A blunt ache pushed at him as he saw the momentary smile on Atobe's face, the sudden gentleness in the dark eyes, the warmth that he knew will never be showered on him.
Turning away from Atobe, he walked forward slowly, stepping into the courts, surveying the empty green grounds that appeared foreign and empty. The only thing that he remembered, the only feature that stirred any recognition in him was the air, the unique scent of the humid afternoon, the scent of the sun bearing down on the tennis courts.
It was as if he had once been there before, taking in the same unique scent.
He walked slowly to one end of the tennis courts, towards a bright yellow ball that lay there, forgotten.
"Whoever left it there is going to be in trouble."
It crossed his mind before he could think further, coming to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Yet, he did not voice his thoughts out loud. Instead, he turned slowly towards Atobe.
"Let's have a game."
His voice was soft and thoughtful.
The other man started slightly, looking up in surprise for a moment.
"We need rackets."
"We can borrow them."
He pointed to the few old rackets that lay abandoned on a bench that sat against the nearby locker room. They were old but appeared usable.
"Lets play."
Picking up the ball from the ground and tossing a racket to Atobe, he moved towards one end of the court, holding a racket in his hand.
The hold came naturally to him, the handle of the racket fitted easily into his palm, as if it was always meant to be there. He bounced the ball with familiar ease, a sudden sense of déjà vu as he looked at Atobe across the net.
An unfamiliar emotion surged in him as he served the ball, watching its parabolic motion across the net. He watched as the other man hesitated for a moment before hitting back, a perfect swing directing the ball towards the ground. Without a second thought, he got into the best position to return the stroke straight away, the motions coming swiftly and thoughtlessly to him, as if his muscles had a mind of their own.
The dull rhythmic thuds of the tennis ball against their rackets and against the ground, the strangely familiar flow of adrenaline, the natural expectation of where the ball will next lend, it all came rushing into him, as if he had done this countless times before.
Vague memories of training in the same courts came to him, graphics and sounds without order or explanation, images of practising, training and cheering, they all came to him as he begun to sweat under the blistering afternoon heat.
The game ended in a draw. They stopped when each was too tired to move any longer, when they had ran out of moves to counter each other with, for the physical state of two men who had spend six years without practice was hardly able to reach the stamina of the youths they once were. Even though their skills and talent remained unchanged, their physical limits were very much lowered.
Lying tired on the courts in companionable silence, Fuji run through the countless images in his head once more, trying his best to sort them up, to organize them, to draw the links between them, while at the same time ignoring familiar sensation of slumping wearily against the courts that threatened to flood him with more scattered memories.
"Lets go."
Atobe finally stood up after a long while, moving forward and towards the gates without a backward glance, making his way towards the car.
Their ride home was once more in silence.