Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis. It's a shame. Blame my mother. If I did own Prince of Tennis, there would be a hell of a lot more Fuji x Ryoma time. But ah, well.

Author's Note: I'm sorry if the last chapter left a lot of confusion. I hope this one will clear it up. I blame the ideas running around in my head like little demons wielding tooth picks. (Japanese fairy tale reference. Maybe some of you know what I'm talking about) This is my first attempt at yaoi and my first Prince of Tennis story, and I really appreciate all the support. If there are errors, please forgive them- I've sprained my wrist and am typing with one hand. All of you silent subscribers! Review please! Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter Eight: Revelations

The first thing Ryoma realized when the sunlight hit his face was that this entire ordeal was very, very stupid. They were skipping school. All three of them were facing hours upon hours of detention. Tezuka would have their heads on a platter.

The second thing he realized was that Kikimaru wasn't carrying his bag. Most likely he'd left his books in his classroom. Ryoma himself hadn't been able to make it to class before Momo grabbed him and forced him up to the rooftop, so he still had his things, as did Fuji.

The third thing he realized was that Fuji was no longer holding his hand.

"….Fuji-senpai…"

The honey haired genius turned his head, question written on his face. They were standing only a few feet away from the regular's favorite burger joint. Though somehow, the idea of eating a dozen grease laden meat products at nine thirty a.m. proved to be less than appealing.

Ryoma swallowed the lump in his throat that spontaneously appeared every time Fuji looked at him and shot a very pointed glance at his wrist watch. Fuji followed his gaze and brief surprise played across his features, before his constant smile stretched into a grin.

"I don't see the problem, Ryoma."

The use of his first name finally registered and a tantalizing chill ran up Ryoma's spine. His golden eyes darted back and forth frantically and he bit his lip, unsure of how to react to the sudden familiarity. Not even Momoshiro called him Ryoma, and they'd been friends far longer then Ryoma had even noticed Fuji's existence.

Fuji must've read something in the silence, because his blue eyes suddenly fluttered open.

"Sorry, Echizen. That was overly familiar of me, wasn't it?"

A sharp pang besieged Ryoma's chest when he heard Fuji call him Echizen. Part of him relished it…part of him seized on to the normalcy of the thing- Fuji wasn't familiar with him. They didn't address each other by their first names, without honorifics. Because they were simply teammates. That's all they were.

But part of him…the part that no longer denied his love for Fuji, the part of him that sang with anticipation and joy every time they touched…that part couldn't stand to hear the familiarity being taken away. That was the part that yearned to be close to Fuji…as terrifying as it was, as starkly irrational and sick as it was, as wrong as it was…it still was.

No…it wasn't…I love it when you say my name…

But he couldn't say that. He couldn't say anything.

Fuji frowned slightly, but he didn't push for a response.

For the first time since they'd started this impromptu field trip, Kikimaru spoke up. His voice was slightly raspy, but he sounded cheerful enough. And Ryoma really didn't know him well enough to tell if he was faking.

"Fuji, as much as I love eating deep fried Western food, it is a little early. Besides, I don't even think they're open until lunch."

Fuji cocked his head to the side, as if considering for a moment, before clucking his tongue lightly.

"Saa…I suppose you're right after all, Echizen."

The sharp pang struck yet again and Ryoma couldn't help but wince.

Echizen…you have to remember…that's all you are to him…a teammate…you aren't "Ryoma" to him. You're just the boy behind the racket. That's all you are. That's all you should be.

But…I want him to call me Ryoma again…

Kikimaru began to squirm and bounce on his heels, a nervous habit that he seemed to have developed.

"Fuji…I'm not really hungry at all…I just…I just want to go home…" Eiji cast his dark eyes downward and his voice was weary. So he hadn't escaped from his fight with Oishi unscathed. Though he sounded perfectly fine he looked…shaken.

Ryoma still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that it had happened. Seeing Oishi cry…and hearing Eiji say those things…his stomach twisted, and Ryoma pressed a hand to his abdomen, hating this weakness that seized him randomly- and for something that really didn't have all that much to do with him in the first place.

Why? Why am I acting like this? This doesn't make any sense…it's none of my business.

The tensai's frown dissipated and he ran his hands through his hair, smile drifting back into place. If Ryoma had loathed that pathetic excuse for a smile then, he had no words for what he felt for it now. After seeing a genuine, breathtakingly beautiful smile grace Fuji's face…it was almost sinful to witness a fake one. His senpai turned to face him.

"If Echizen doesn't mind?"

Ryoma shook his head, ignoring the dull ache spreading through him.

Remember who you are.

*******************************************************************

Fuji did not consider himself to be a nice person. Despite what the outside world thought, he didn't do the things he did for others.

No, Fuji Syusuke was fundamentally selfish.

It just so happened that certain people benefited from that selfishness and certain people did not.

Eiji was, hands down, the lottery winner.

The red head sat on his couch, chewing on his lip and staring at a spot on the ceiling. He was sprawled out, arms and legs flung every which way.

That couch was Italian leather, and usually, Fuji would've decapitated any person stupid enough to disgrace it in such a way.

It wasn't that Fuji cared about the couch. Oh, heavens no. His parents, on the other hand, did care about the couch- superficial that they were, and Fuji had no desire to incur their wrath.

He wasn't afraid of them. He just preferred to fly under the radar- live as much life as he could while involving them as little as humanly possible. It was easier that way. Late night trysts to Eiji's house were much simpler when his parents naturally assumed he could do no wrong.

Eiji mumbled something incomprehensible and it was obvious that Seigaku's peppiest member was light years away.

Fuji smiled fondly, running a hand through his auburn locks. He really didn't know when it started. This unabashed, unconditional affection he felt for his classmate.

Their friendship, in the beginning, had been a matter of convenience. They had been in the same school, on the same team since elementary school and it was easier to make friends than enemies. Enemies complicated things and Fuji didn't make them unless it was absolutely necessary.

But somewhere along the line, Fuji found himself fascinated by Eiji. By his constant happiness, his ever present laughter, and his naïve wisdom. That genuine love for his fellow man was something Fuji had never been able to understand…Eiji, as simple as he was, was an enigma to him.

And somewhere farther along that line, Fuji found himself holding Eiji close when he knew he shouldn't, stealing kisses while the red head slept…all in secret, of course. Never in the public eye. As far as everyone else was concerned, it was Eiji who initiated the hugs, Eiji who was constantly jumping all over him and babbling incessantly.

And Fuji was fine with that. He didn't really want the outside coming in.

Eiji belonged to him. Plain and simple. It was selfish, yes. But then again, Fuji was a just a selfish guy.

It wasn't romantic, though he himself had wondered about that on a few occasions. He wasn't attracted to Eiji…not in that sense. He found him adorable. He found that pout precious and those big black eyes irresistible. He found that kissing Eiji filled him with warmth that he could never find elsewhere. The acrobat's company was irreplaceable and his reactions priceless. But it wasn't that kind of love.

Because for Fuji, it was never about the warmth or the cuddles or the secret smiles. That was friendship, brotherhood. That was the only thing he held sacred.

For Fuji, it was about the love of the game.

It was about chasing and being chased, wanting and receiving…and in the end, it was about winning. It was about capturing the object of his desire and marking it as his own. It was about obtaining something unattainable…because he was, after all, a prodigy. And Fuji Syusuke always got what he wanted.

Until Tezuka.

Fuji let his smile falter for a split second, before replacing it with a slightly smaller one. He cast half lidded eyes around the room, taking in everything at once.

The bed-headed Eiji seemed out of place in the designer-clad living room, but that wasn't nearly as disturbing as seeing Ryoma sitting there.

The problem with Ryoma…the problem with the olive haired boy sitting in the straight backed chair, hands folded in his lap, cap pulled down so that it was shadowing his face, was that he fit in entirely too well.

Something about him just seemed like it belonged here. Like it belonged with him.

And thoughts like that, Fuji knew, were incredibly dangerous for both of them.

Because when Fuji played, he played ruthlessly, without rules and without reservation. He played for keeps.

But this was different. Because in this instance, he wasn't supposed to want his prize.

In this one instance, the game was simply means to an end.

Or at least…that's how it started. That's how it was supposed to be.

But Ryoma had an advantage in this game…an advantage that he remained oblivious to.

Ryoma was startlingly similar to the only person who had ever escaped Fuji…Tezuka. Those eyes burned with challenge, just like Fuji wanted. Just like he'd expected.

What he hadn't expected was to find himself dwelling on those little things…those things that were uniquely Ryoma's.

The defiant nuances that had earned him the nickname "cocky brat".

The bluntness that Fuji had never possessed…the ability to say one thing and mean it.

The strange arrogance…but that uncanny ability to defend the weak when they truly needed it.

Because the truth was…lately, Fuji hadn't been seeing Tezuka as much in those eyes. He'd been seeing someone else…someone who he'd never seen before.

Someone much more beautiful than Tezuka would ever be.

And that frightened Fuji. In his games, there were certainties that countered the risks. And the most important certainty was that in the end, Fuji would win.

Or else there was no point to the game.

But this…Fuji let his eyes drift open and the golden-eyed boy meet his gaze almost instantly. There it was. The burning.

It didn't matter what Fuji did. He could make the other boy sweat, stammer, and flush…but all of that was worthless.

Because in those eyes…there was something that Fuji could never posses. There was a part of Ryoma that would never belong to him.

And it was that part that Fuji wanted.

And so this game between them was destined to go on…on and on, on and on…until one or both of them was broken in two.

It was the forever game.

Fuji tore his eyes from Ryoma's, smile widening. So this was how it had to be. Granted, there was a part of him that did not want to do this. That did not want to hurt him. There was a part of him that was consciously trying to push Ryoma far, far away.

But that part was losing.

No, it wasn't fair to Ryoma. But hey…Fuji was just a selfish guy.

**************************************

Eiji had always loved Fuji's house. It was always immaculate, not a single chair a centimeter off from where it should be. The design was decidedly western, though there were a few rooms with a native theme.

It was always quiet at Fuji's house. That's probably what Eiji like about it the most. At his house it was never quiet- there was always someone yelling, someone arguing, someone blasting their music to loud. But here…this place was practically a library.

Maybe it was because Fuji's parents were straight laced conservatives, maybe it was because neither Fuji nor his sister were particularly loud people. But it never bothered Eiji, because the silence was oddly comforting.

But today, the quiet was suffocating.

Fuji was sitting in his father's armchair, legs crossed and wistful smile on his face.

Eiji knew that look. Fuji was thinking about something or another but Eiji knew better than to ask what.

Ryoma looked as if he were afraid to breath. He face was uncharacteristically pale and his hands were knotted in his lap. He was sitting straight up and every few moments, he would tug at his cap.

Eiji sighed wanly. He couldn't help but feel as if this were his fault. If it weren't for him, they'd all be sitting in class learning. Not sitting in Fuji's empty house waiting for punishment to fall on their heads. He grimaced.

Forget Tezuka. My mother's going to kill me when she gets my attendance record next month. Damn…this is all Oishi's fault. Why'd he have to bring it up? Why won't he just let me forget?

"Eiji, you're hungry, aren't you? You always get hungry around eleven."

It was Fuji who had spoken. He seemed to have resolved his thoughts.

The acrobat squirmed into a sitting position and offered up a toothy grin.

"Oh...Fujiko-chan, are you going to cook something?"

He sounded like a kid in a candy store and he knew it. But he couldn't help it. He loved food. And he especially loved Fuji's cooking.

True to form, the tensai was a master chef. There wasn't really anything the prodigy couldn't do.

Ryoma's eyebrows shot straight into his bangs and he gave a very un-Ryoma like squeak.

Eiji shot him a wide-eyed grin.

"Eh? That's right, ochibi! You don't know about Fuji's famous okonomiyaki!"

But Ryoma didn't seem to care about the food. His golden eyes were dilated and his mouth was hanging open.

"Did you…did you just call Fuji-senpai Fujiko-chan?" His tone was incredulous.

Fuji's resulting smirk was nothing short of pure evil.

"Um…yes?" offered Eiji, scrunching up his nose. "Why?"

Ryoma turned a brilliant shade of red and mumbled something incoherent, before yanking his cap down even further.

Fuji chuckled. "Saa…it looks like Echizen isn't used to hearing boys address each other in such a way."

Ryoma's skin was now the color of a glistening tomato.

Eiji clucked his tongue and pushed himself up on his hands, flipping over the back of the couch and coming to a standing position.

"Nya, Fuji. You shouldn't pick on ochibi. After all, it's our fault he's here in the first place. We're not exactly the best mentors."

Ryoma mumbled something softly, and Eiji could only assume it was an agreement.

"Hm….well, I suppose your right, Eiji. But I assumed that it wouldn't be a big deal for him, considering that he's gay."

…..What?

Time screeched to a stop.

Ryoma's face was pale as a sheet, and he was shaking visibly. His lips parted, but did not move. He seemed to have forgotten how to breath.

Eiji's dark eyes flittered to Fuji in desperation.

Fuji…what the hell are you doing?

The tensai was no longer smiling. His piercing, shrewd gaze was focused on the golden eyed, shivering boy across the room.

The azure orbs glinted.

"Aren't you, Echizen?"

Eiji's heart twisted painfully.

Fuji…stop it… why would you be so cruel? You already know he likes you…

Ryoma's cap was still shadowing his eyes, but Eiji could still feel the sheer terror radiating from his small form.

"No…I'm not…" his voice was weak, a frail, shallow excuse for his usual one.

Fuji cut him off mid-sentence with a wave of his hand.

"You don't have to lie, Echizen. It really couldn't be anymore obvious."

Eiji had never in his life been so appalled. He loved, adored, and would give his life for Fuji at the drop of a hat…but this. This was inexcusable.

"Fuji. That's enough. Stop it."

The tensai ignored him. "Ryoma…" his voice grew softer, but the amusement was still dancing in his eyes. "You don't have to hide from the two of us. Both of us already know."

Ryoma didn't respond.

"Fuji." Eiji's tone was adamant. Irritation and sympathy mingled within him to form a sickening brew. "Leave him alone. This isn't funny."

The third year raised a slender brow. "It isn't meant to be funny. All I want is his answer."

"He doesn't want to answer you! Leave him alone!" Eiji was borderline shouting. Did Fuji have any idea…any idea…what it felt like to be used? To be torn, heartstring from heartstring, in to tiny pieces?

Did Fuji have any idea what it felt like to be a victim of his own sick, twisted little game?

"Not until he tells me the truth." Fuji's eyes never left his victim.

"I told you to cut the shit, already!" Eiji's voice cracked, and his vocal cords thrummed in protest. He hadn't let himself feel this morning. He hadn't let himself care. He hadn't let himself cry- he had run on anger, because anger didn't hurt. Anger was the only thing that didn't hurt. But he'd be damned if he would watch anyone else be ripped apart.

"Ryoma…"

"Fuji!"

"Kikimaru-senpai…it's alright…"

Eiji stopped in his tracks, fists clenched, and heart thrumming.

For the first time, the freshman raised his head. His pupils were dilated and he stared, unblinkingly, unwaveringly back at his senpai.

"Don't." He whispered, lashes fluttering. "Don't ask questions when you already know the answer."

***************************************

Coherent thought, at this point, really wasn't an option. There was no shock. No disbelief. No indigence, no anger, no fear.

In fact…he felt strangely…light. Like none of this was really happening. Because Fuji asking him, very bluntly, if he were gay or not was not something that could actually take place in the real world.

Despite everything he'd seen, despite everything that had happened- this couldn't be. Not this.

His mouth moved of its own accord; his brain whirred frantically, desperately, searching for a way to rationalize- to make sense of this. When that failed, autopilot kicked in. Years and years of practiced apathy…of practiced everything…were the only things holding him together now.

Like glue binding together the fragments of broken glass.

"Ryoma." Fuji let the name hang in the air, cerulean eyes unreadable. His mouth was a flat line, and he no longer sounded amused. He sounded tired. "You do realize what you're saying, don't you? You're admitting to being gay- a queer, faggot, fairy, and whatever the hell else people may call it."

Ryoma was vaguely aware of his subconscious revolting in shock. Hearing those vulgar words come out of Fuji's mouth…it was incredibly unnerving.

"Just because people say it, it doesn't make it true, Fuji-senpai."

A deep, weary sadness overtook the tensai then, and a heartbreakingly tender smile flittered across his face. He turned his head to the side, honey brown hair spilling forward.

"No…." he whispered dryly, rubbing his temples in slow circles. "But it doesn't change the fact that it's the way things are." He straightened, and he seemed eerily…haunted.

"Do you really wish that on yourself, Echizen? I know you…I know that you pride yourself on your nonchalance, on your cool composure, on your starkly stubborn, competitive nature. You pride yourself on your tennis. Above all else…you define yourself by the game you play. You must decide…if you want what you used to be- who you used to be. Or if you want this. Because the sad truth is…you may have to choose. You may never be able to have both."

Fuji's voice tapered out, and he heaved a deep sigh that should not belong to someone so young. His eyes drifted closed, and Ryoma was strangely…inexplicably seized with an overwhelming fondness for the boy in front of him.

And his world snapped back into focus. The autopilot switched off. And Ryoma was terrified. But….

"No."

Both Fuji and Eiji's eyes snapped up to meet him. His voice was blank, uncaring. Like it was before…before all of this started. But everything was different now.

"I'm not going to choose." His voice didn't waver, and he snatched his cap off, exposing his drawn face and bright eyes.

"There isn't any reason to. Tennis is tennis. It has nothing to do with whether I'm straight or not. I don't have to change. Whoever said that…whoever said that, Fuji-senpai, was an idiot."

Fuji's tired smile wavered slightly, but he did not appear to be moved.

Kikimaru gnawed his lip anxiously. "Ochibi… Fuji's making it sound a lot worse than it is. It's not like just because your gay, you can't play tennis anymore…you can still go pro, there isn't anything saying you can't. Both of us are, and we're the same as we've always been…"

"Really, Eiji?" Fuji's soft voice sent chills up Ryoma's spine. He had never seen Fuji like this. This quiet intensity was supposed to be a rare thing, reserved only for specified occasions. But…now it seemed as if it would last forever.

"The same as it's always been? What happened this morning…was that the same as it's always been? The way you were yesterday- exhausted, weeping ceaselessly- that's the same as you've always been?"

The acrobat's mouth hung open limply.

Fuji leaned forward, voice hard and soft all at once.

"Are you telling me, Eiji…that you didn't have to choose? Between holding on to the past, everything that you've ever known- and who you are, right now?"

The red head narrowed his eyes. "That has nothing to do with my sexual preference, Fuji. Stop trying to scare him. Even if Oishi was a girl, it doesn't change anything. I loved him. He used me. It's over. Life goes on. Loving and losing has nothing to do with being gay or straight."

Ryoma felt pinpricks slither up his skin, assaulting him again and again. The dark truth, inch by inch, was dawning on him.

Eiji had risked everything for love. And he'd lost it.

Fuji heaved another deep sigh, and he passed his hand over his face, shielding his eyes from view.

"Eiji. I want you to look at Ryoma…look at him, and tell him that Oishi didn't break your heart. Tell him that everything is okay. That I didn't find you broken on the bathroom floor. That everything will go back to normal. That you are the same person you were two months ago. Tell him that."

The spiky haired boy shut his eyes and sank into his seat. All the fire surrounding him had vanished into thin air. He spoke in a hard, flat voice.

"Don't listen to him. Fuji's way is to love a little. Always just enough, just enough to feel satisfied, but never enough to get hurt. I'm not going to tell you that I'm all right, because I'm not. What you saw…was unfortunate, and I'm sorry that you had to see it. But don't use that as an excuse to be afraid."

Ryoma sucked in a ragged breath. It stung the back of his throat.

"I…"

Both boys were looking at him. Tired black and unreadable blue.

"I'm not sure why both of you are making this so complicated. It isn't a choice. It isn't a matter of whether I wish this on myself or not."

The truth of his words crashed down in him, and his denial was swept away like ashes in the wind.

"In the end…what I want doesn't matter. The truth is that I don't want this. But…the truth is…"

His eyes locked with Fuji's and in that moment, everything that was unsaid became painfully clear. Without words, two messages passed between them like an electric current.

I'm trying to save you…

I'm not going to run.

"The truth is…this is how it has to be."

****************************************************************

Author's Note: This was incredibly difficult for me. That's the trouble with the enigmatic writing style I am so fond of…when it's time to clarify things, dear god; it can be such a bitch. But I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter will prove to be much more eventful and it will expand on quite a bit, including…ah, you will see.