author's notes: so, don't tell me Fuji's acting OC.. this oneshot is supposed to take place in my vision of the future, so who knows what Fuji will act like, especially considering he's been away from Japan all through his high school years. This one-shot has some slightly mature themes, so be on the look-out. It's such a long one shot too.. Oh well!

title: home
word count: 4,100
summary: Native tongues lose themselves after four years away from home. Fuji returns to Japan after graduating from high school only to find that there are some things time cannot change last of the companion fics to "clear the path" and "a thousand points of light"

home

Back home, he never watched anime, content on teasing his brother for obsessively following a series, his brother's nose stuck in the thick spine of a manga. But since there was more rain here, he suddenly had more time then he ever had. Since he was slowly losing grips on his native language, he watched anime without any subtitles, trying to remember when everyone around him was speaking the same tongue, where he didn't have to pause and translate English into words he knew.

Home was a place he thought about almost as obsessively as he ran, through the grey and the rain of London, challenging his legs to pump harder and faster, his sneakers slapping against the concrete, his body an arrow as he jumped over guardrails and blockades. After circling the west side of London twice, he would appear in front of his apartment complex, drops of sweat merging with the rainfall, his breaths squeezed from his heaving lungs to explode into tiny clouds of white mist from the open part of his lips.

Leaning one hand against the top of the gate, he looked up the sky and thought of his brother. Lately, he had trouble sleeping, going from class, to tennis training, to work without bothering to sit down for food. He ate everything on the go, slept whenever he could and thought of his brother.

And of course, when he thought of his brother, he almost always automatically thought about Eiji. There was one difference though, between the two.

As he leaned against the gate, trying to catch his breath, he tried to remember the last time he heard from Eiji, and when it hurt too much to think about it, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

She answered on the first ring, as if she knew he was going to call. As if she knew he would need her and waited for his voice, slightly peppered with a Japanese accent, overly polite when he spoke English, a language as far away from his native tongue as possible.
--

When he smoked, he sent the fume of dirt grey smoke out of one corner of his mouth. The smoke will curl around his head like the overexposure of his thoughts and then drift out the open window. He loved to sit there, with just his pants on, his shirt lying in a crumpled ball by his bare feet.

She wrapped the blanket tightly over her body to warn of the cold. Even in early May, the rain was cold and bitter, striking against windows only to remain frozen like tears across the pane. She watched him, amazed at his beauty, his blue eyes staring forever out the window, never bothering to turn to look at her, even as the bed creaked with her shifting weight.

Sitting on her heels, she brushed back her fire-red hair with one hand and smiled, mentally reciting his name in her mind once before saying it out loud,

"Syusuke?"

He turned to her then, the lit cigarette resting lightly between his raised fingers. "Yes?"

She blushed then, remembering the first time they met, how her books slipped from her hands and fell, with just one single echo, to the library floor. He came from behind the circulation desk, one hand waving away her protests and knelt to pick up her books, the bundle of her student's works. And the first thing he said to her was that a friend of his back home was going to be a teacher too.

They ate dinner together that night, and the next night, and the next one after that, though he could only stay for only a few minutes at a time. And when he left, her breath was trying to catch up with her beating heart, her chest heaving as she watched him walk away.

They became lovers a week later and she tried to forget everything, the little details, that tore into her; his age, how he never seemed to want to go home, but existed in the realm of Harrow, the library and the bar he worked in, how when his phone rang, sometimes his face grew so angry that she feared talking to him after the call ended.

They became lovers on his 16th birthday (which was in reality, he laughingly said with a hand running through her hair, his 4th since it was fell on every leap year), holding each other even as the rain fell and fell from the sky, covering their secret affair.

She was twenty-two.

Two years later and still, she believed she didn't know a thing about him.

"Excited to go back to Japan?"

Syusuke paused, taking another drag on his cigarette before getting up from his perch near the window. His bare feet were slender, long, just like the rest of him and made no sound as he stood by the foot of the bed. Smoke blew gently over her upturned face before he lowered the lit cigarette to her, his smile already brightening up the bare room.

"No. I'm just going home, aren't I?"

They shared a cigarette, her shoulder laid gently on his crossed legs, his hand stroking and pulling apart her red curls. And softly she said, "When you get back, are you sure you want to-?"

He nodded and lifted his eyes from her face, choosing to stare at the shadows gathered near the door, the window looking like old friends. "I do."

"- This can't go on, Amber. Not like this."

And she held onto to him then, pulling him into her, her lips pressing against the folds of his eyelids, the corners of his ears, the space between his mouth and chin. "You're not coming back, are you, Syusuke?"

He said nothing then, just crossed his hands lightly over her head, accepting her kisses, her slipped tears, the weight of her love for him.

He said nothing.
--

Four years of training with a very specialized coach gave him more then just speed, agility and sportsmanship. His eyes were sharper, senses heightened and his smile more broad. He was the first to see his brother walking through the tunnel that connected the airplane to the airport and pulled eagerly at his mother's kimono-clad elbow.

"There! There! You see, Oka-san?"

And when his mother clapped her hands and replied that she couldn't see anything, he let go of his hold on her and sailed over the cluster of plastic benches, straight for the airport gate and through the throngs of departing people.

"ANIKI!" He grabbed a hold of his brother's wrist first and then pulled him into a hug.

"Yuuta." Fuji's grip on his single piece of luggage slipped, falling to land against his feet as he returned his brother's hug, his hands clutching at Yuuta's shoulders. "Yuuta." His name in Fuji's mouth sounded like a prayer and a blessing both, breaking a curse, a weight Fuji didn't realize he was carrying.

And then, as if realizing where he was and what he was doing, Yuuta let Fuji go, pushing his older brother roughly by the shoulder. "Oi, what are you doin', cryin' for?"

Fuji shook his head, laughing, "Crying, eh? Yuuta, you look magnificent."

Yuuta blushed, trying to adjust the cap he wore on his head in embarrassment. Nothing's really changed about Yuuta since Fuji last saw him, two summers ago. His hair was the same, his eyes still shimmering and flaring with every word he spoke, but his smile was so warm, enveloping Fuji in its happiness until the grim and the grey of London disappeared.

"Now, that's what I like to see. Brothers getting along."

Yuuta turned to him then, his face flushed as he hurried to bow deeply before his father. Fuji, on the other hand, sank gracefully to the floor, picking up his luggage with one strong hand. And when he looked up, he saw his mother standing by the tunnel's end, her tears slipping, one by one, like rain against the plastic and chrome of the airport.

"It's my Syusuke."
"Oka-san!"

He ran to her, hugging her with both of his arms, gathering her small, frail body into the grips of his strong arms. She laid her head against her son's shoulder, taking in the scent of him, the whole of him.

"Syusuke – have you been smoking?"
"Oka-san."

He kissed her lightly against the cheek and hugged her again, remembering how often he cried into his pillow, thinking of her and of Yuuta and of Yumiko. The kimono felt like silk, though he knew she was wearing her everyday cotton one, embroidered with fireflies. The kimono felt like home against his long hands.

Yuuta returned his father's handshake, trying to smile through his tears and hold back the swell and lump of his thoart. "Otou-san."

"Yuu-kun, it's been so long. Look at how you've grown.. you're even bigger then Syu-kun."

And Yuuta tried to ignore how painfully his father uttered his brother's name, the reality of everything seeping through, breaking through the lines of his brother's daily emails, the weekly phone calls, the repeated sentiment that yes, yes, his brother was not only getting along with their father, but starting to make amends.

It was the way his brother refused to stand near their father, the way his hands clung to either their mother's shoulder or Yuuta's own. He glanced up at Fuji then, wondering how much he's changed, and if they could bridge the gap between that change and this present moment.

"What's up, Yuuta?"
"Ne, Syusuke, wanna get something to eat?"

They were leaning against each other on the ride back home, their father chatting intimately with their mother in the front seat. Syusuke closed his eyes, leaning against Yuuta's shoulders. "Maybe, after I get some sleep."

"Jet lagged?"
"You bet."

And after Yuuta said softly, his eyes peering out the window as Tokyo slid by, "I missed you more than you know, Aniki." He was silent after that, and his brother slept, for the first time in a while, peacefully, no dreams, no regrets, nothing to disturb his closed eyes, his steady, slowed breath.

Yuuta caught their father's eye through the rearview mirror and exchanged a small, but brilliant, smile. Yuuta crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his head against his brother's own and closed his eyes too. The filtered neon light of Tokyo's street signs danced joyously over their sleeping figures.
--

What was comical was the fact that Ryoma and Momoshiro were already passed out in the foyer, Karupin slumbering on Ryoma's chest, empty food cartons scattered over their sleeping figures.

Fuji was feeling slightly annoyed, as he always was when he had to wake up from too brief a nap. His father laughed heartedly as Yuuta blushed and hurried to wake both Ryoma and Momoshiro while repeating in the loudest yell he could muster this late at night, "ANIKI'S HERE! ANIKI'S HERE!"

There was the usual stomp of feet, Karupin purring and rubbing his head lightly against Fuji's legs and Momoshiro letting out a whoop of joy.

"FUJi-SENPAI! FUJI-SENPAI!!"

The first to grab onto his hand was Takashi as Oishi grabbed onto his luggage, mentioning for Fuji to hurry into the living room while at the same time, chastening Ryoma for eating half of the food. There was a crash as Inui and Tezuka appeared at the top of the stairs, an uncharacteristic smile lightly dancing on his face.

Five, six voices began speaking at once as his mother and father returned Tezuka's polite greetings, Oishi bowing and apologizing for the mess and Yuuta screaming for Saeki to get out of the shower and greet Fuji already.

He was starting to get a headache from lack of food and sleep both as Takashi pounded on his shoulder, asking what it felt to be Japan's only representative for Wimbledon, how to felt to be chosen to play in such a prestigious tournament. And before Fuji could answer, a dripping Saeki, with his jeans on backwards and shirt inside out, slid down the banister and grabbed for Fuji, pulling him into a hug.

"Oi, Fuji! It's Fuji, Fuji!"

Fuji could only smile as Ryoma began to threaten him about the possibility that they might face each other in the US Open ("If you make it that far, Fuji-senpai."), Oishi promising to get everyone fed and out of the house by 4 AM, ("No, no Oishi-kun, it's already 2 AM. Just stay over, okay?" "Thank you so much, Fuji-san.") and Inui badgering him about his bad habits ("Do I smell cigarette smoke on your shirt, Fuji? How will you ever be able to play in Wimbledon if –") Yuuta's arm around his shoulder, Saeki's hand on his wrist were the only two things that kept Fuji from reeling in bewilderment at the onslaught of voices and happy faces, half concealed tears and tight hugs.

And he said softly, whispering to Yuuta, "Where is he?"

Yuuta gestured to the screen-in back porch, smiling. "Go on, see him. We'll get everything ready."

"Yeah, yeah!" Saeki smiled at Fuji, pushing lightly against the small of Fuji's back, "Go get Kikumaru for dinner."

Fuji returned the smile as his friends, his teammates parted to let him pass. When he was near Kaidoh, a tug at his wrist stopped Fuji in mid-step.

"You know, smoking really is bad for you."
"I'm aware of that, Kaidoh."
--

He sat where the shadows gathered, swinging long legs over the arm of a wooden chair, feet thumping lightly against the floor. His smile was wide, spreading the warmth of the kitchen Fuji just stepped out of.

"Ne, ne, Fuji, they're a wild bunch, nya?"

His words, the way his hands clawed at the air sent Fuji back to the old days, that last golden afternoon in middle school where everything was happier, simpler. Fuji could barely contain himself as Eiji jumped out of the chair he was lodging in, pulling out his earphones and stood. His figure cut a more defined shadow, his wrists were bandaged and his knuckles were scrapped and bleeding (all evidence of Eiji's continued dedication to tennis), but his eyes, his hair, his smile was the same.

"Sit down, nya."

But Fuji couldn't, not yet. He kept his hands behind his back, leaning slightly against the doorframe of the porch as Eiji hopped impatiently from foot to foot.

"Last time Yuuta emailed me, he said you got accepted to Tokyo Gakugei. Going from Kaisei Academy to Gakudai. Your family must be very proud."

Eiji blushed, placing hand on the back of his head. "Ne, ne, it's nothing. Oishi's and Yuuta's in Kaisei too, and I'm just goin' to Gakudai so I can be a teacher, nya."

"You'll be a good one." There was a light wind blowing from one of the propped-open windows and from the kitchen, they could hear Saeki's screams, the apologetic voice of Oishi and the smell of a burning something.

"A good teacher, I mean." Fuji's smile was peppered with sincerity, making Eiji blush all the more as he hurried to sit back in the chair he just left, twirling his headphones around and around his mp3 player.

"That's what my Oka-san said too."

They were silent until Fuji let out a breath, his hair shifting slightly with his sigh. "Last time I heard from you, it was all about Oishi and his wrist. Is it true then?"

"Yep. He can't play tennis anymore."

Eiji still wouldn't meet Fuji's eyes until Fuji spoke again, "You know, I don't mind that you and Yuuta became doubles partners." No, that was a lie. Fuji tried to rephrase his words, "Yuuta's been telling me playing with you was like training with a coach." Still there was some unsaid tension in the words he could not say. "He told me he's stronger than ever as a singles player from two years of playing doubles. Strange, he wrote, how things happen."

"Strange, isn't it?" Fuji pulled out a cigarette, reaching behind his back to close the door firmly. He strolled to the one window that was open and pulled out his lighter. With a click, the flame sparkled in the darkness, giving Fuji's face an unearthly glow before a hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling the lighter away from the edge of the cigarette.

He looked up as Eiji glanced at him, a smile still on his lips. "Why you smoke those anyway? Ya can't play good tennis with bad lungs, nya."

"Have you ever tried one?"

And when Eiji shook his head, Fuji laughed, turning so he could lean his elbows against the window's frame. "I smoke because everyone in London does. It made me feel less like a stranger."

Eiji's hand slipped lightly from Fuji's wrist and he too turned so he could press his back against the wall of the porch, crossing his legs before him. "You always wrote to me, saying you like it there. Did you?"

"Why did you stop writing to me, Eiji?"
"I asked you first, nya!"

Fuji tried to remember what it felt like to be able to talk this freely, his native tongue spreading from somewhere deeper than his memory of home, Japanese flowing from his lips easier, more melodic than his overly polite English ever was. "London was different. Harrow was too. I didn't have a home there, even in my Otou-san's flat. He was always gone on business, or flying to visit Oka-san. It was hard."

Eiji's arm around his shoulder felt safe, the deep void in which Fuji could hurl his secrets, his anger, his pain. They sat, legs curled to their chest, a cigarette passing between their bowed heads (thought, after the second drag, Eiji refused to put any more of that crap in his body).

"-And then there was this woman, a teacher at Harrow, Eiji and I –"

They were so deep in conversation that they didn't notice Tezuka standing by the door, arms crossed, watching them, Yuuta's knowing smile as he gestured for Tezuka to leave them be.

"-So I played a lot of tennis and because I never lost a match, I guess Wimbledon wanted me as their wild card so I decided to come visit before the tournament started."

Fuji crushed the still burning cigarette butt against the ground near his heel. In the silence that followed his words, Eiji latched onto every hidden syllable of sadness, loneliness and despair that Fuji refused to give form to, choosing to relate his story in a monotone, almost emotionless tone.

He didn't ever recall Fuji being this open, but this distant, all at once. It was a paradox Eiji didn't want to wrap his mind around.

Taking a deep breath, Eiji turned to Fuji, his eyes staring for the first time that night into Fuji's own, his face losing its humorous light.

"I didn't write to you because I had no right."

Eiji let go of Fuji's shoulder, choosing to wrap his arms around his knees instead, laying his cheek lightly against his forearm. "There I was, seeing your brother everyday, training, playing, fighting with him. I ate at your house, I even slept over sometimes."

Fuji watched as Eiji's eyes watered, remembering how easily Eiji cried, how emotional he was, even at 18, a graduate of one of Tokyo's most prestigious high schools, captain of one of Japan's most influential tennis teams. It was this emotional rawness that would capture the heart of every one of Eiji's future students, just on the merit that it captured Fuji's own, years and years ago when he found Eiji crying about a toy his brother broke, refusing to move until Fuji promised to buy him an ice-cream cone.

"I wasn't replacing you, Fuji. Yuuta just needed someone –"

And Fuji stood, brushing the dirt off his pants, straightening the collar of his shirt. "Let's go get some food, Eiji."

"Wait – what?" Eiji blinked, causing one of his tears to slip down his face, landing with the full force of a puddle on the floor by his feet.

Fuji turned to him, offering a hand. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Aren't you mad?"

He shook his head, a smile breaking across his face like the sun after a particularly bad bout of rain. "No."

"I'm jealous, of course." Eiji titled his head at Fuji's words, how they did not match up to the brazen joy in Fuji's face. "It'll take a while for my jealousy to die down."

"But you're smiling."

He nodded. "You always knew how to help others in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine." And when Eiji took Fuji's hand, grasping his long fingers, Fuji pulled him off his feet, clamping another hand on Eiji's left shoulder.

"He hugged me today, Eiji. It feels like –" Fuji could hear Yuuta calling his name, in-between warning Momoshiro and Ryoma to back off from the food and cursing Saeki and Kaidoh for kicking the oven's door in during an argument. His brother's voice floated towards him to wrap in all the warmth Fuji had, only years ago, imagined. "Like he's ready to just let me be his brother. Nothing else."

"I was worried really, if things were hard on me in London, what about Yuuta?"

"He was worried about you too, you know that right?"

And Fuji didn't reply, only pulling his friend into a hug. Eiji smiled lightly, hugging Fuji back tightly, even tighter then Fuji's arms across his shoulders. And softly, Eiji said, "I could never replace you."

Eiji really was a baby, unable to deal with change. Fuji saw through his happy smile, his built-up tears the worth of two years, wondering if friendships change, if by being Yuuta's tennis partner, and ultimately, Yuuta's best friend something would be different between Fuji and himself. Fuji saw, behind Eiji's flashy grin and tight embrace, the worth of two years spent wondering and worrying and deciding that silence was the best way to deal with it.

He patted Eiji lightly on the head, a gesture he saw all of Eiji's brothers do to console him, and spoke again, "I know."
--

Some things change over four years. Like Momoshiro's cheeks blushing as Ryoma asked how Ann was doing, Oishi's eager descriptions of Kyoto University and his ultimate dream of being a doctor and Yuuta's refusal to let Mizuki eat the last of the tempura, saving the last bit for himself. They joked about how the Fujis and Kikumarus would become the ultimate yazuka family once Yumiko was married to the eldest Kikumaru, Togashi, and how long it'll take for Ryoma to marry anyone ("How about Sakuno, huh?" "Stupid Momo-senpai!")

And some things didn't change. Tezuka still refused to smile even when Takashi grabbed a hold of an empty bottle and sang in slurred English an old Bon Jovi song, Inui was forever writing things down, this time through a palm pilot instead of a notebook and Kaidoh was content on fighting with not just Momoshiro but Saeki as well (which was rather odd, considering Kaidoh and Saeki not only want to the same high school, Azabu, but were partners on Azabu's tennis team). Yuuta refused to answer to Yuu-chan, though Eiji and at times, even Fuji, called him that, breaking each of Fuji's cigarettes with a vicious snap of his wrist. Both Yuuta's and Eiji's eyes flashed when Fuji mentioned offhandedly that he was watching anime, ("What are you watching, nya?" "Hunter x Hunter." "Oh man, Aniki! Kurapica's the best!"), causing him to laugh and laugh at the glimmer in both their eyes, their wide grins.

Even in four years time, the sushi from Kawamura Sushi, now a three-level restaurant, was still the best he ever ate, Karupin still the fluffiest, most loving animal he ever met and Eiji knew him so well, that some sentences Eiji finished for him.

"So where's the -?"
"Wasabi's near your elbow, nya."

And, towards dawn, everyone drifted off to sleep, curled in piles in the living room or crashing on the floor of Yuuta's or Fuji's bedroom. Yuuta hugged his brother once more before going to bed, leaving Eiji and Fuji to clean, on their insistence of course, the piles of dishes, clear the mess that was once the kitchen table and pack away the leftovers, though there wasn't much.

They watched the sunrise over Mt. Fuji from the roof of the house, Eiji warning Fuji to be careful as they scampered to all sit in a row, swinging their legs over the edge to lightly strike against the wall. And when Fuji reached into his pocket for a cigarette, Eiji threw a piece of candy his way. The metallic wrapper seemed to sparkle, catching the rays of sun.

In his mouth, the candy tasted sweeter than he thought possible, holding the promise of days, just like this, stretching forever in the glare of light and sun. The candy was sweet, sweeter, sweetest as Fuji sat, jeans pushed up to his calves, his bare feet barely making a sound as Eiji let out one joyous call after the other, greeting the sun.

To his ears, Eiji's voice sounded like a trumpet, announcing to the world that finally, Fuji was home.
--

author's notes: So inside joke - Hunter x Hunter has the voice actors of Fuji and Eiji in there, playing two of the most badass characters in that anime, Kurapica and Hisoka. I just think it'll be funny to have Yuuta as a fan of Kurapica, whose voiced by Fuji's seiyuu, Yuki Kaida. I have a weird sense of humor. As for this one shot, I'm surprised by how much I like it. My two best friends are overseas for this spring semester and I'm barely functioning without them around. I can relate to how Fuji/Yuuta/Eiji must be dealing with Fuji in London. Thanks so much for the support!!!