Author's Note: I am so sorry everyone, I really and truly am. I regret to inform all of you that my health has been rapidly declining; I've been so ill these past few months it's been nearly impossible to write. But not a day has gone by when this story and all of you have not filled my head. I feel stronger now, and I sincerely hope all of you will continue to read and review. Thank you!

Chapter 13: Delphinium

I'll sing it one last time for you

Then we really have to go

You've been the only thing that's right

In all I've done…

He had no choice. He'd never had a choice. From the day he'd been born, it seemed, Tezuka had been given the title of hero.

It was a blessing. To be loved and respected so by all who he came in contact with. To be able to place his own feelings aside and be there for everyone. It was his destiny to play the hero, and it was an illustrious one at that. He was lucky, lucky beyond words to be everyone's hero.

The only problem with that, with the perfect destiny, was that there was no one left to save him.

No one left to hold him when he cried.

To whisper, "It's okay, you don't have to be strong. You don't have to pretend. It's your turn to be happy now."

And usually, it was okay like that. Usually he didn't need anyone. It had always been that way.

Until Ryoma.

From the moment the cocky first year had lifted those golden eyes to face him, it had all been different. A hook had been sunk into his heart.

And the only way to remove it was to cease to exist all together.

"Buchou…" the all too familiar voice penetrated his musings. But it was different than usual. It was hesitant.

It was then that Tezuka was reminded exactly where he was. Kawamura's sushi restaurant, in celebration of their victory at Nationals. The happiest night of their lives. So why was he standing alone on the sidewalk, leaning against a street lamp?

Tezuka turned slowly, taking painstaking care to plant a smile on his face.

"Ryoma? What are you doing out here? Why aren't you inside with the others?"

Ryoma frowned at the questions. His bright eyes were even brighter in the fading evening light. The 1st place gold medal hung around the youngest regular's neck was dull in comparison.

"Everyone missed you." Ryoma's nose furrowed a little, just the slightest wrinkle indicating his discontent. "I missed you."

Tezuka had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could respond.

Don't. Don't go down that road again. You had your chance and you lost it.

"I'm sorry," said Tezuka sincerely, and he truly was, but for different reasons. "I just needed a minute. It's all so much to take in."

Ryoma stepped forward to stand next to his captain, eyes not leaving Tezuka's face.

"Yes," agreed the freshman, "We finally did it. We won Nationals. Everything we've worked for came true. It's perfect, isn't it?" He finished with a slight hint of desperation in his tone, and Tezuka smiled a little.

"Yes, Ryoma. It's perfect."

"Why aren't you happy?" the young boy demanded suddenly, shocking Tezuka with the ferocity of his statement.

Tezuka blinked. "I…Ryoma, I am happy…"

"Don't lie to me!" the olive haired regular nearly shouted it, and Tezuka's mouth snapped shut. Those eyes were burning a hole through his façade, exposing all his half truths and lies.

"You always lie to me." Ryoma's voice lowered, sadness flickering across his perfect face. "You never tell me what you're thinking or how you feel."

A flash of anger rippled through Tezuka then, coupled with resentment. He struggled to retain the truth that would break the boy in front of him to pieces, just as he had been broken.

"Leave it, Ryoma. There isn't anything to tell."

The prodigy let out a low growl and grabbed Tezuka's wrists, stepping in front of him and staring him down. Determination was etched into every inch of his body.

"This is your dream," he pleaded, tightening his grip. "Tezuka, your dream! You should be happy! You…should be…" his voice broke then, and he bit his lip.

Tezuka shut his eyes against the tears that threatened to come. This blatant display of emotion showed just how deeply Ryoma still cared for him, and it was more than enough to weaken his resolve.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bring himself to tell the truth that would break Ryoma's heart.

No, Ryoma…you were my dream.

"I am happy, Ryoma." He said firmly, taking Ryoma's lightly muscled arms and pulling them close. Tezuka couldn't look at him. He angled his eyes upward ever so slightly, letting the light from the street light blind him.

Ryoma jutted out his lower lip in a pout, clearly not convinced.

"Promise?" he queried bluntly, and Tezuka would have laughed, had he been so focused on not crying.

"I promise."

I'm sorry, Ryoma. This is how it has to be.

"When are you going to stop moping?" Fuji smiled politely, as if he were inquiring after the weather, rather than insulting his best friend.

Eiji rolled his eyes and motioned for the sadist to pass the ketchup. Fuji picked it up and dangled it, teasingly, in front of the acrobat's face.

"You didn't answer me."

Ryoma snorted. Eiji glanced at him curiously. The youngest regular hadn't said more than two words all afternoon. He obviously wasn't happy about being dragged out of bed at seven o' clock on a Sunday, forced to wear an outfit of Fuji's choosing, and paraded around town like a trophy wife.

Fuji's little excursions, if that's what they could be called, were random, far in between, and inconveniently unannounced.

Eiji just went along for the ride, because usually, the day ended with a free meal courtesy of the tensai. They were eating said free meal now, at one of the nicest burger joints in the city, and Eiji wasn't about to waste it.

He'd ordered the Deluxe- bacon, three kinds of cheese, pickles, onions, spicy mustard, hot peppers, and hollandaise sauce. Along with extra large fries and a Pepsi, it was the perfect gourmet experience. With one minor issue…Fuji refused to relinquish the ketchup.

"I'm not moping," quipped Eiji impatiently, "I would like to eat my fries before they get cold. Now give it, Fuji."

"You're moping," Fuji's smile didn't waver, "You've been moping since Friday. It's Oishi's new girlfriend isn't it?"

Eiji turned sheet white and immediately looked down, staring at his plate as if it contained the true meaning of life.

"No," he flat lined, pushing his straw with his pinkie finger. It whizzed around the side of the glass. "It doesn't."

He'd been purposely trying not to think about that. How Oishi had been cavorting about with some girl he'd met at book club for the past two weeks. She was nice enough…but she was dreadfully dull. Yumi Asahina: 5'6, 132 lbs, IQ 139, eyes brown, hair of the same color. So, in other words, just like everyone else. Nothing special, nothing worth fussing over. Nothing worth Oishi.

Eiji ignored it- the little prick he got in his stomach every time he saw them together. He'd promised Oishi the two would remain friends, and so they were. When Oishi canceled their weekly movie night to go to see an art show with Yumi, he'd agreed amicably.

"She's your girlfriend," he'd joked, getting his friend in a head lock and rubbing the top of his considerably higher head. "And if art will get you laid, I say have at it."

He had not said what he'd been thinking. He had not said, "You're gay and I know it, and you know it, so why are you wasting your time with this stupid girl?"

He had not asked, "Do you kiss her the way you kissed me? Has she touched you yet, has she made you say her name the way you never said mine?"

He did not do any of that. Because, he reasoned, he'd been the one to break things off. He had no right to second guess Oishi's happiness.

If he had made a mistake, it was too late to fix it now.

"Fuji," Ryoma snapped curtly, stabbing his untouched plate of food with his fork. It was a warning tone. Ryoma wasn't a fan of Fuji's games, having been a victim and now, a principal player in them.

"It's fine, Ochibi." Eiji forced himself to grin. "If you could just get your boy toy to pass the ketchup, I'll be alright."

"He isn't my-"protested Ryoma hotly, face flushing pink, but Fuji cut him off.

"Speaking of moping," he interjected, turning his close eyed smile to his boyfriend. "When did your cat die?"

"Shut up, Fuji." Ryoma narrowed his golden orbs. "Karupin isn't dead."

Eiji raised an eyebrow. Fuji must really be out to provoke a fight. During the relatively short time Eiji had known Ryoma, he'd figured out that the first year was usually rather receptive to humor, or at least indifferent to it.

But just like everything, there were rules attached. Ryoma had three taboos, and Karupin was the third among them. Eiji couldn't help but see how far Fuji would push it.

"Could've fooled me," drawled Fuji, but there was something different about this teasing. There was the tiniest hint of steel in his tone. "You haven't said a word to me since Friday."

"Not true," countered Ryoma, sipping his Ponta as if he didn't care either way. "I told you to get the hell away from me when you tried to grope me yesterday, and I told you I hated you this morning when you climbed through my window and dragged me out of bed."

Eiji blanched. He'd at least gotten a call. Granted, said call had been at four am- but still.

Fuji's crystalline blue eyes flickered open and he pinned his boyfriend with a hard stare.

"It's Tezuka." He said dryly, in a tone that left no room for questions. "You feel guilty about rejecting him."

Ryoma flinched visibly, and Eiji knew Fuji had struck a raw nerve. He could identify only too well. Sometimes the tensai, in his possessiveness, could be down right cruel.

"Shut up."

"It's true, isn't it? You feel bad because you hurt your role model's feelings-,"

"Shut up!" growled Ryoma, turning to face his sempai. "Yes, alright? Yes, I feel like absolute shit! And if you had a fucking soul, you would too!"

Eiji flinched. It wasn't like Ryoma to curse. At least not like that.

"Fuji," mumbled Eiji, trying desperately to salvage the fast deteriorating mood, "Stop it, already."

"Don't waste your breath, sempai." snarled Ryoma, golden eyes dark and clouded with anger. He stood up from his seat in one quick motion, pushing his plate towards Eiji. "He won't stop. He won't stop until he's ruined everything."

Fuji's lower lip quivered then, ever so slightly, and his eyes drifted shut before Eiji could make out what was in them.

"Ochibi…" Eiji began to stand, but Fuji shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The acrobat stopped in his tracks.

Ryoma nodded curtly at Eiji, did not so much as glance in his boyfriend's direction, and spun on his heels. Then he was gone, and the last Eiji saw of him was an olive toned head of hair melding into the chaos of the streets.

Eiji turned to Fuji, irritation prickling at his skin. "Great, Fuji. Just great. Drive him off, just like you drive everyone off who actually gives a damn about you."

Fuji did not respond immediately. His honey hair fell over his face, casting a dark shadow over his half open azure orbs.

His mouth was twisted into a small, bitter smile.

Eiji sighed. "Fuji…aren't you going to go after him?"

"No need." Fuji's smile faltered then and his face turned into hard, porcelain stone. "He's already gone."

Ryoma did not know where he was going. He had never been to this part of Tokyo before. He had simply taken the train as far as it would go, to the end of the line.

Not for any particular reason. He didn't have much of a reason for anything these days.

These past few weeks with Fuji had been almost serene. On the good days, when Fuji was the most beautiful thing in the world, when nothing was brighter than his honest to god smile, it felt as if the two of them were floating above it all.

On those days, Ryoma could forget the broken look in his captain's hazel eyes. He could ignore the slight droop of Momo's shoulders whenever Ryoma canceled on him to be with Fuji. He could look at Oishi and his new girlfriend and be totally unperturbed.

Because when one was wholly engrossed in Fuji Syusuke, it was very easy to forget.

Not so much on days like this. When Fuji was being bitter and vindictive, when his smile was faker than anything. No, on days like this, it was impossible to forget all who had paid the price for his happiness.

Logically, it wasn't his fault. That's what he told himself, what he had to tell himself, to help him sleep at night. He couldn't help that he loved Fuji more than Tezuka. He hadn't done anything wrong.

So why did he feel such a gut wrenching ache every time Tezuka looked at him with those bottomless almond colored eyes?

Something deep inside of him was screaming, screaming with guilt and anger at Fuji. After all, if Fuji was out of the picture, it was very likely that he and his captain would be together.

It all seemed so…perfect.

The two of them together.

But yet, the only one who made his heart beat like a drum and flutter like a bird was Fuji. And for some strange reason, Ryoma couldn't quite forgive himself for that.

Because if everyone else around him had to be sad, shouldn't he have to suffer too?

A tingle shot up Ryoma's leg and he didn't have to look to know that his cell phone was vibrating. He also didn't have to look to know who the caller was.

He dug into his pocket, knawing gently at his bottom lip. Surprisingly, the number that appeared on the screen wasn't Fuji's at all.

He answered it tentatively, afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Buchou?"

There was a soft clicking sound in the background and then Tezuka's slightly muffled voice came through.

"Ryoma? I'm glad I caught you. I need a favor."

Ryoma felt his heart skip a beat.

Ask me anything. Anything I can do to put a smile back on your face.

"Of course. What do you need?"

"Can you come over today? Around six, maybe?"

The train screeched to a halt and Ryoma was jolted forward, narrowly avoiding crashing into a pole.

"Um…yeah." He found himself whispering against his will and he forced himself to sound normal. "Sure. I can do that. Is everything okay?"

There was silence on the other line and Ryoma swallowed the air in his throat. "Tezuka?"

"Oh yeah," the captain's voice was dry as sandpaper. "Everything's fine. My parents are out of town though and I'm just in desperate need of some company. Maybe we could play a game of tennis?"

Ryoma nodded, before realizing that Tezuka couldn't see him. "Yeah…of course. That sounds great. So, it's…three thirty now, which gives me time to get back home. I'll be there."

There was a pause, as if the green haired boy was debating whether or not to say something.

"That sounds good. See you then."

The line clicked once and went dead. Ryoma pressed the cell phone against his chest, trying to still the suddenly frantic beat of his heart.

Didn't need to ask

I didn't know the reason

The world is spinning too fast

So I'll wait till it comes to me

"Fuji, just call him and apologize already. You've been staring at that phone for hours."

Eiji's voice came to him as if from far away, though in reality the acrobat was sitting right next to him.

The red head clucked his tongue and scooted closer to Fuji, closing the already minimal distance between them.

Almost without thinking, Fuji lifted his arm and without prompting his friend nestled his unkempt head against the prodigy's chest.

"Thank you for inviting me over, Eiji." He mumbled absently, turning to smile brilliantly at his best friend.

Eiji was undeterred. "Fuji," he pleaded dark eyes bright in his dimly lit bedroom, "Please call him. Ochibi loves you. This is so much more than a fling for him."

The tensai said nothing. Perhaps one of his greatest gifts was the wisdom, and sometimes the folly, to say absolutely nothing at all. So he did not say what was on his heart, what kept him up at all hours of the night.

He did not say, "I know he loves me, I know he does, and it frightens me."

He did not say, "But don't you understand it's so much more than that now? Don't you understand that I love him with everything I am?"

He did not say, "For the first time in my life I have no idea what to do. For the first time in my life I don't have a plan."

He did not say any of that.

He simply squeezed his cell phone until his knuckles turned white as the bone beneath and shook his head, forcing a smile to his lips.

"No, no." he said jovially, the stabbing pain inside of his chest intensified by every falsehood that passed his lips. "I'll leave him be."

Eiji pouted, like a child, clearly discontented by Fuji's response.

"Fuji," he groaned, "Why do you do this to him? To both of you? Why do you insist on playing these mind games? Why can't you just tell him you love him?"

Fuji shook his head, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not doing anything to him, Eiji. If he's unsure about his feeling for me it is hardly my fault."

And then he turned his head away, just for an instant, because there was one lie he could not tell.

He could not say, "I don't love him."

The words would tear his soul to pieces.

Eiji let out a ragged sigh. "You're an idiot sometimes, Fuji. If you keep this up, you're going to lose him."

Fuji said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He tightened his grip around Eiji's torso, planting a soft kiss on the taller boy's forehead.

He immediately softened. "Oh, Fuji." He mumbled softly, turning his face into the honey haired boy's chest. "I just want you to be happy."

"Have a care for yourself, love," Fuji whispered, affection warming his numb limbs. "Have a care for your own happiness. Have you tried talking to Oishi?"

The acrobat bristled immediately. "No," he spat, "I don't want to talk about him. Stop changing the subject."

Fuji barely managed to contain a knowing smile. "I'm sorry. I was simply curious as to what you were planning to do. Other than bury your head in the sand and lie to yourself."

There was a pause then and Fuji prepared himself to be smacked, or pushed away, or screamed at. But none of that happened. The pause stretched on and Eiji remained perfectly still. He didn't even seem to be breathing.

A cold dread swept over Fuji in one quick rush and he pushed the younger boy away from him, holding him by the shoulders and turning to face him full on.

Eiji's face was downturned and his eyes had drifted half shut, almost as if he were praying.

Two tears trickled from his dark eyes.

Fuji blanched, horrified. "Eiji…I'm so sorry. I never meant…"

The red head silenced Fuji with a gentle shake of his head.

"No," he said calmly, voice flat. "Just leave, please."

Fuji sat rooted to the spot, pity overwhelming his rational senses. "Eiji, I am so sorry-,"

"I know you are," Eiji continued, in that same, dead voice of his. "You are always sorry, Fuji."

Fuji reached out a hand, desperate to take away the pain he seemed to cause so easily and so often.

Eiji moved away, towards the window. "No. Just go. Please."

Fuji stood at once, turning towards the door without another word. Eiji would stay angry with him for a day, two at most, and then he could apologize. This was a sequence the two of them had run more than once.

And so he left without protest, because it was his gift after all, to say nothing.

If you're not the one then why does my soul feel glad today?
If you're not the one then why does my hand fit yours this way?
If you are not mine then why does your heart return my call
If you are not mine would I have the strength to stand at all?

He'd had honest intentions. Really, he had. When he'd picked up the phone and invited Ryoma over it had been from a genuine desire to see the other boy.

What he hadn't planned was for the two of them to end up alone, under a pink sky, at a tennis court that was closed for maintenance. That had most definitely not been part of his plan.

Ryoma fidgeted next to him, clearly at a loss for what to say. Tezuka racked his brains for a plausible solution. He did not trust himself alone with Ryoma for very long, not when the fading sunlight illuminated his round, childlike face and sparked those golden eyes to a smolder.

Not when his loose tennis shirt and shorts revealed the slightness of his frame and the perfection of his gently tanned skin. Not when he'd pined after his young counterpart for so long only to be shot down by some twist of fate.

"Um…I'm sorry, Echizen." He managed to say, trying not to blush. "I promised you a game."

Ryoma shook his head, easy grin sliding onto his face. "It's okay. You're spared the humiliation of losing to me for yet another day, buchou."

Tezuka raised an eyebrow.

"You're still cocky as ever, I see."

The future captain shrugged his shoulders. "Well, if you can back it up."

Tezuka could barely stifle a laugh. It never failed to amaze him how easily Ryoma could shift the atmosphere from one mood to another with little more than a joke.

"Well…how about dinner, then?" Tezuka suggested, gaining more and more confidence in his ability to handle the situation.

The brilliant smile that lit up Ryoma's face was answer enough.

"Sure," he said enthusiastically, "You're paying, buchou."

This time, Tezuka could not contain his laugh. It came out like a snort. "That's a surprise. Where do you want to go?"

Ryoma shrugged. "I'm starving. Food is food to me." He shot Tezuka a mischievous little grin. "Or you could cook for me, buchou."

Tezuka said nothing, only waved his hand in dismissal of that absurd theory and began to walk towards the main street in his part of town. There were lots of restaurants and things to choose from and he would be spared the awkwardness of standing in one spot.

"I don't cook," he said after a moment. Ryoma had fallen into easy step beside him, racket tucked under his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets. Their elbows brushed occasionally as they walked. "Despite my many talents, I'm lucky if I can get water to boil."

Ryoma laughed at that, a free, boundless laugh that made it hard for Tezuka not to snatch him up and press that sweet mouth against his own.

"I'm surprised, buchou. I always assumed you'd be good at everything."

"Hardly."

Ryoma laughed again and Tezuka was very careful to keep his eyes pinned straight ahead.

"I can't cook either," he conceded sheepishly, as if this were supposed to be unexpected.

"Echizen, I doubt you can do much more than swing that racket around and look pretty."

Ryoma paused mid-stride and Tezuka looked at him, puzzled. There was a curious look on his face.

"You called me pretty." His tone was free of any inflection.

Tezuka blushed hot, kicking himself for embarking on this ill fated enterprise just to indulge a sudden whim.

"Well…yes…"

Ryoma grinned up at him, sunlight streaming through his eyelashes. There was a pure, unabashed joy on his face that drove every coherent thought out of Tezuka's head.

"You know what, buchou? I think you're pretty too."

Tezuka didn't remember moving. Nor did he remember dropping his racket, but that too clattered to the sidewalk with a resounding clack in the silence.

What he did remember was the way Ryoma felt pressed against his chest. He remembered the way that his slim waist fit perfectly in Tezuka's hands. And he remembered how very sweet that mouth tasted against his own when the captain kissed him as if the world would end if he stopped.

Ryoma's golden eyes were wide and smoldering. The younger boy's hands flailed uselessly at his side and he let out a low, soft little moan.

After what felt like the shortest piece of forever, the kiss ended. Tezuka pulled back, face red and hot, glasses pushed askew.

Ryoma's small hands had curled themselves around his wrists and his little pink mouth had formed into a breathless "o."

"Buchou…" he breathed, wavering slightly on his feet. Tezuka pulled him closer, if that were possible.

"Ryoma," he gasped, beyond caring about the consequences of his actions. He was so god damned sick of playing the martyr; he was so god damned sick of watching the boy he desired with all his heart slip away from him without a word in protest. "Ryoma, I can't stand it anymore. Please, you have to understand. I love you, I've loved you from the moment I saw you."

Ryoma began to shake then, furiously, but said nothing. His wide eyes were staring without seeing at a spot past Tezuka's head.

Tezuka began to panic then. It was clear his words were getting no response. His heart began to thud so loudly it prevented him from thinking.

"Please, Ryoma…I…" he dropped his voice to a whisper. "I love you more than him."

Ryoma's eyes spun into focus, his forehead knitted into a puzzled frown. "Buchou…"

"How many times has he mocked you? Has he forgotten to call? How many times has he groped you shamelessly in public?" Tezuka fumed, pressing his waist against the younger boy's until their hips were practically ground together.

Ryoma shook his head, mouth wavering into a thin line. "No…" he hesitated, "He's not…it isn't…"

"Has he ever said told you he loved you?" whispered Tezuka, knowing full well that Fuji hadn't and would never.

Ryoma recoiled as if he'd been struck, his knees gave way and he sunk backward, Tezuka's arms the only thing supporting him.

"Stop it," he whimpered, bottom lip quivering. "You're wrong."

"I am not wrong!"

The shout echoed around the empty park, the leaves on the trees seemed so shake around them.

"Ryoma," pleaded Tezuka, struggling to contain his ardor, desperate to make Ryoma see. "Fuji is using you. Can't you see that?"

"You're lying," breathed Ryoma, shaking his head furiously. His golden eyes were torn. "Stop saying those things. Stop lying."

"He was in love with me, did he tell you that?" pressed Tezuka, shaking Ryoma like a rag doll. "He was in love with me for years but I saw him for what he was. I had eyes for you, only for you, and he tried to take you from for revenge."

Ryoma froze then, as if someone had encased him in ice. Not even his eyes moved.

Tezuka placed a finger under his chin and lifted it, forcing his teammate to look at him. "Ryoma." He whispered, voice cracking. He released Ryoma's waist and placed his palm against the youngest regular's cheek. "Don't you see? It's supposed to be like this. You are mine."

The captain leaned down so that his lips were just brushing Ryoma's.

"You are mine."

A warm wetness touched Tezuka's cheek. He pulled away, stunned into stillness.

There, before him under the setting sun, was Echizen Ryoma, tears trickling freely down his face with no move made to stop them.

Tezuka froze with horror, mouth gasping, desperately searching for words. Humiliation radiated from his toes to his cheeks and he reached out a shaking hand.

"Ryoma…I didn't mean…"

Ryoma stumbled backwards, barely managing to keep from falling. He held out his hands in front of him like a shield, shaking his head back and forth frantically.

The look in his eyes twisted Tezuka's insides into a grotesque knot.

The first year turned on his heel and took off at a dead sprint, signature red tennis racket left forgotten on the pavement.

Tezuka watched him go, unable to do anything but hold back his own tears. The retreating figure of his love grew fainter and fainter until it disappeared completely.

And Tezuka was alone.

Well, you've done it, Tezuka. Congratulations.

You've actually broken his heart.

How do I not love you?

What do I tell my heart?

How do I not miss you?

When you are gone?

He ran until he could run no more, he ran until it felt as if his lungs would burst inside his chest. He was not thinking where to go, his feet, every fiber in his being already knew where he needed to be.

By the time he reached Fuji's neighborhood he'd stopped crying. He banged on the door for what seemed like hours, pounding his knuckles until they were raw.

"Fuji!" he screamed, beyond caring who heard or saw him. "Fuji! Open the door! Open the door Fuji!"

The door opened, just a crack at first, and one clear azure eye stared Ryoma dead in the face. Fuji stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door behind him

He took in Ryoma's appearance with an impassive face and he seemed unmoved by his boyfriend's screams.

"Ryoma," he said, polite concern lacing his voice. "Why-,"

"Shut up!" screamed Ryoma, flinging himself against Fuji, beating his chest like a five year old. "Shut up, shut up! You lied to me! You've always lied to me!"

To his absolute horror, the tears from earlier returned full force, soaking his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

Fuji's eyes flickered open fully and he made no move to resist his assault.

"Ryoma…"

"No!" Ryoma cried, fisting his hands in Fuji's shirt. "Don't deny it! You used me! You never loved me!"

Fuji did not ask what Ryoma was talking about. Instead, he looked away, eyes downcast, face a mask of nothing.

Ryoma sucked in a ragged breath that burned his throat and he doubled over, sobbing helplessly, using Fuji's shirt to hold himself upright.

"You…never…loved…me…" he gasped, forcing himself to look directly into Fuji's bottomless blue eyes.

The tensai said nothing. The silence said all that needed to be said.

Ryoma raised his hands to Fuji's face, catching hold of that honey hued shade of hair. "I don't care," he gasped, and Fuji's eyes filled with something he couldn't read. "I don't care that you don't love me yet. I forgive you for lying to me, I don't care about that. We can…we can still…"

"No, Ryoma," whispered Fuji gently, disentangling himself from the dark haired boy. "It's about time both of us face the truth."

Ryoma had to fight back a massive sob that threatened to tear through him. "I am facing it. I can't…I can't live without you. And I know you…I know you care for me…you can't tell me you don't…"

Fuji shook his head, pressing his impossibly soft lips against Ryoma's damp cheek, so that it was right next to the freshman's ear.

"Shhh," he cooed softly, as if he were singing a lullaby and not delivering a death blow. "It's time to let this go, now Ryoma. Please don't cry. Please…don't cry for me."

With a sudden burst of force, the tensai pushed Ryoma backwards and retreated back into the house, shutting the door with resolute finality behind him.

Ryoma collapsed against the stoop, sinking to his knees. The harsh scrap of concrete drew blood but he barely notice.

"Fuji," he groaned, pressing his wet face against the door. "Please…I don't want…I don't want to…"

He was blabbering now; he didn't even know what he was pleading for. He didn't even know what he wanted but for all of this to stop. He just wanted it to not be happening; he just wanted Fuji to smile at him. He just wanted the agony to stop.

He just wanted Fuji.

He didn't know how long he sat there, crying like a child, begging in a fading whisper. What he did know is that when he finally left Fuji's doorstep the light was gone and only darkness remained.

If Ryoma had been able to see through the door, he would've seen a figure slumped against it, honey brown hair overshadowing a porcelain face.

He would've seen that the figure had not moved from that spot and did not move even after Ryoma had gone.

He would've seen the person mouth three words.

And then he would've seen the silent tears that trickled down the pale face, like rain on the side of the moon.

Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed that. I am sorry if it was not up to your expectations. Just two more chapters! I beg all of you to keep reading and reviewing, it means so much to me, and I promise I will try and update soon. Thank you all.