From Far Forgotten

A/N: Thank you so much for your support! I couldn't have come this far if it weren't for all of you. This story's gone on a long, long time, but I really want to finish it, and I can only do so with all of your encouragement! We're nearing the finally: please keep reading and reviewing! -chuus- Love you all.

A/N2: Receiving all those reviews and author alerts, even months after posting the last chapter, really encouraged me to keep going. Special thanks to Tessa, my amazing beta-er. -chuus-

Chapter 9: Tezuka's Memories (The Beloved)

If his head would stop pounding, maybe he could focus on practice and find excuses to make those responsible for his raging migraine run laps.

Tezuka was having, as they say, a bad day. Or more accurately, several bad days. Lately, the team had grown sluggish, lethargic, and unruly. Several members continuously showed up late, or skipped practice altogether. They still followed his commands as he barked out fierce levels of punishments, but the moment his back was turned he'd hear whispers drifting around the courts. Despite the perfectly blue weather, a dark cloud seemed to hang over the regulars. Even Oishi, who was usually reliable, seemed depressed.

The bespectacled brunette could correct mistakes in tennis form, but he was clueless when it came to human emotions. Usually, some of the other regulars would bring light to practice, even on the foggiest of days. Kikumaru, with his annoying but admittedly cheerful banter, would clown around and bring out the ever effective cure of laughter. But the redhead had turned snappy, his usually bright face marred by a frown. He'd been... pouty, and he kept giving Tezuka what the girls would call dirty looks. As if Tezuka was to blame for whatever cold wind had taken over the tennis club. Oishi hadn't been helpful either, and the captain could almost swear his adjunct was avoiding him. Inui seemed to be obsessing over something lately, busily scribbling in his notebook every second he wasn't running laps, and he did something Tezuka had never seen in three years; he'd tear pages out and throw them away.

Kaido hadn't changed much, being as sullen as ever, which of course did nothing to help the overburdened captain. Momoshiro had tried, at first, to lighten the mood with some of his jokes, but Echizen had taken him aside and said a few words. Since then, the second year stayed quiet. And Kawamura seemed to fade into the background more than ever, showing up right on time and leaving promptly at the end of practice to help at his father's restaurant.

Worst off was Echizen. The freshman prodigy seemed bored and completely unmotivated, turning into the biggest sloth at practice. He kept falling asleep and coming in late, no matter how many laps Tezuka assigned him to run. His play had fallen to pieces, and though he still beat everyone he played, his lack of concentration was rapidly becoming a horrific regularity.

Today seemed to be the worst yet. As always, Tezuka showed up first in the locker room, but within five minutes Inui appeared besides him. The tall data collected looked frustrated again, and Tezuka's eye twitched as he noticed Inui intensely watching him. Of course, Inui had always watched him, but this was to new levels... the constant stares and scribbles were almost vicious.

The club members sauntered in at their usual pace but the rest of the regulars, Seigaku's supposed pride and joy, all showed up late. Only Takashi offered a word of apology, saying a shipment of fish had come in late. When Tezuka sent them off to run laps, Kikumaru almost snapped his refusal, but a touch on his shoulder from Oishi led the redhead to trudge after the others. Sighing, Tezuka noticed the acrobat skipped a few of his laps. He let it go.

As if by tacit agreement, no one said anything when Echizen showed up ten minutes before the end of practice. This time the freshman didn't bother to offer an excuse and ran laps on his own until the bell rung.

Tezuka never corrected anyone's form. It was all terrible to the point it couldn't be fixed.

Classes started with their usual drudgery. Lunch was a bother, so Tezuka quickly ate in the student council room before headed to the principle's office to discuss some paperwork from the last meeting. He was waiting outside the teacher's lounge, his face set in stone, when he felt it.

His eye twitched, but other than that, he showed no reaction as Inui's glass-sheathed eyes bored holes through his messy brown hair. Every motion, every twitch, every shift of his weight was being examined and recorded by the data obsessed rival. He couldn't even stand calmly in a hallway without being observed like a test specimen.

He hated this. He might have seemed indifferent on the outside, but he hated the excess of attention, hated his orders being ignored, hated not having the support of his teammates, who, though he would not admit it, he had come to consider as his friends.

He felt like Inui was waiting for him to break and wanted to catch every possible glimpse through the cracks of a crumbling facade.

But there was simply no facade to crumble. Tezuka was the same as always. Aloof, unbreakable - a lone diamond in a sea of multi-colored stones - the hardest, strongest being, yet completely void of color... vacant of all superfluous emotion... empty... alone.

Evening practice was hard to get through. It followed the same pattern as the morning, but now Tezuka was tired and annoyed. He heard Kikumaru giggling with some of the second years, but when he turned to reprimand them, the redhead slashed him with another dirty look. This was all on purpose, Tezuka realized. The acrobat was trying to make him angry.

Before the twitch on his forehead grew into a popping vein, Oishi tapped his shoulder with an apologetic, guilty look.

"Sorry... about Eiji. Please just, let it go for today."

Tezuka nodded his consent but sighed internally. The few times Oishi had bothered to talk to him, he'd been given lengthy, dreary lectures on various problems the club had, or rival teams causing problems, or things that Tezuka had no a clue about. He was sure he hadn't done anything wrong, but he didn't want to hear another rant about how Eiji was only doing his best to cope with whatever problems the acrobatic redhead had. . . and Inui was watching him again.

Why were they all bothering him? He just wanted to be left alone. The thoughts were eating him again. . . the images, the epiphanies and rationalizations that came to him at home, when he lay awake during another sleepless night, the flurry of reasoning that led him to consider the darkest of things...

Why couldn't they just accept that life was null and get over it?

Sometimes he wasn't sure why he couldn't get over it. He stood silent, he stood still, he stood stoic, because there was no other way he felt propelled to be. Quite recently he'd begun to wonder why he even bothering standing at all. His life was already vapid, his body nugatory... why did he need to keep existing?

He pushed the thoughts away, his expression never changing. Since when had he begun to think like this? Forever? Just now? Time itself seemed meaningless...

Another dirty look from the redhead flashed his way, and this time, he wasn't going to put up with it. He assigned Kikumaru forty laps and to pick up all the balls in place of the freshman. He signed, ignoring Oishi's protests, and left to wash his face.

By the time he returned to the locker rooms, which was almost twenty minutes later, the rest of the team was gone. They had dismissed themselves early, most likely, once they guessed he wasn't coming back. Ryuuzaki-sensei was out again.

He settled on one of the benches, pulling out some paper work he had to go over for the student council. Even alone, he never let his guard down, not in such a semi-public place. He didn't want to go home yet.

"A-ano..."

Tezuka glanced up, annoyance fading as he recognized the timid voice of their gentle power player.

"Kawamura," he said in acknowledgement. This was his way of asking what the other was still doing here, though only his mother would have known of the unspoken words.

"Er...um, I was- was told to give this to you." The tall brunette shoved something into his hand, then quickly left.

Not that Tezuka would have said anything anyways.

In his palm was a tiny fold of paper, which at first he thought only a scrap, but upon inspection he saw it was origami. The tiny paper man, folded simply yet beautifully, was a reminder of the perfection that could be achieved in such a small way. His lips twitched slightly upwards but quickly faded back into a frown.

He went back to his paperwork after tucking it into his bag. He wasn't sure what the sushi chef to-be had wanted by handing him such a token, but he appreciated it. He had a feeling it was important.

No more than ten minutes passed when he heard the door swing open.

He glanced up to see the last person on earth he felt like dealing with right then. Standing with his hands on his hips, nose upturned as if he expected the very air to bow down to him, Atobe Keigo strolled towards him with all the imperial dignity of his finances.

Tezuka acknowledged the other with a tilt of his head, his face unchanging. At the moment, he was too tired to feel annoyed, or curious, or anything really. Setting aside his paperwork, he politely stood and asked his rival, "May I help you?"

"Actually," the diva smirked, "I came here just so you could help me."

"Excuse me?" His tone was flat as ever.

"Tezuka, it doesn't seem to surprise you that I'm here-"

Actually, it does, Tezuka thought, I'm just not showing it. Outwardly, he quirked an eyebrow.

"-So I'll be straight forward," the other continued with a wave of his hand, "as I'm sure we both prefer. I know you are already awed by my greatness-"

How is this straight forward? Tezuka thought.

"-and therefore I have come with a proposal that I know will suite both of us."

He paused, but when he saw Tezuka wasn't going to say anything, he stepped forward, forcing the solemn youth back into the wall. Grimacing, Tezuka felt his chest sink as he realized this conversation would be long...

After properly removing his shoes and changing from his uniform, he collapsed onto his bed. Silence flooded the room and house, as empty and voiceless as he felt when surrounded by students at school. He felt much more comfortable here, surrounded by nothing but walls, no watching eyes or expectant faces pressing down on him.

His strength, his role as the pillar had always placed him at the center, the one to be relied on, the one who was dependable. He'd never minded this stance, that is, until a week or two ago. He'd woken up one morning and felt as if the foundation below him had vanished; and yet everyone still expected him, the heaviest column, to continue to stand.

He didn't know what caused it, or why it had happened, only that lately, he felt horribly sick inside. A black, heady sickness that boiled up from the depths of his subconscious, a cold empty loneliness that gripped him and drained away his life. At school he ignored it, remained stoic and solemn, but at home, he was too tired to fight it. Life felt so meaningless, so pointless. He felt like he was dying, like the whole world was decaying and he along with it. Sometimes he would just lie in his bed, covered with the feeling of tiny marbles running underneath his skin, weighing his limbs down so that he couldn't move, as if his every muscle had been frozen onto the mattress.

Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night surrounded by black light, a surreal darkness darker than a starless night. He'd imagine, in those helpless, lonely hours, blood pooling from his wrists, hands dipped in warm water, the relief when his mind finally shut down. He'd researched it on-line, different methods, techniques; he'd even walked around a convenience store and confirmed they had everything he would need.

Yet every morning he pulled himself up, made it to practice and to his meetings, attended classes and finished his homework. Perhaps he was too much of a coward to carry through. His parents, his friends, his reputation, everything would start flashing at him and he'd go back to being his usual, Spartan self, confidently carrying out his duties. At least no one expected him to talk.

He didn't know how long he lay there; maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours, his nerves tingled and he lost sense of time. He sat up and fingered his glasses, pausing for a moment to let the dizziness pass, then made his way to the desk. He took his notebook out of his tennis bag, but the flicker of escaping papers caught his eye.

Reaching for the papers, he saw that the little origami man Kawamura had given him had fallen out. He picked it up and some of the papers came with it. They were stuck together, so he carefully pealed them apart, thinking they were old homework. Instead he found two scraps of paper that looked like they had been one rectangular strip now torn into two. There were some scribbles on them, but nothing he could make out.

Looking closer, he noticed that the paper was the same thickness and texture as the paper man. He must have been bored for something like this to catch his attention. The paper doll he placed on the edge of his desk.

As if on cue, a draft picked the little man up and almost made it seem like it were standing. Amused, he watched the paper, waiting for it to fall. But it didn't. In fact, the wind made it look like it was walking, or waving, or maybe even hopping.

Were he not Tezuka Kunimitsu, the man with only one expression, his jaw would have dropped. For at that moment, he realized that his window was closed and there was no wind.

The paper was waving at him.

Standing at the peak of the mountain of which his target was named, the puppet master allowed the wind to whip his pure white garments harshly around him. The Heian era clothes fit perfectly with the natural landscape as if portraying a print from an ancient wood block painting. Pale green leaves danced in the air before him, playing out the scene from the drama below. Each represented one of his puppets.

The scarlet edged leaf from a massive old oak, a representation of the young heir he often serviced for profit, crinkled into a deathly yellow as it realized its detachment from the maternal branch. It drifted away from the others, then down the mountain side and out of sight. The remaining few leaves twirled and trembled, bound by his spell despite the natural wind that urged them on.

Now was the time of judgment.

L'alimentazione di un nome

"I've grown to need you, Syuusuke."

Un titre pour l'existance

"I've grown to want you."

Ein tiefer Anschluß trennten

"And now, my desire can no longer be denied."

By black and pure desires

Mizuki's voice echoed coldly in the dark, candle-lit room. The stale air crackled in silence, threateningly still, so that even breathing was painfully difficult. Fuji's skin tingled in the places he'd been touched, and the spots Mizuki's fingers rested on burned as if frozen.

He wondered how he could still feel, at this point. It felt like forever since this had started, since he had last been in Tezuka's room... Tezuka... he thought of his cool eyed boyfriend, the only one he was close to who had not noticed he was gone. No, even before the curse, Tezuka had been cold...

Looking back, Fuji wondered how much of their relationship had been one-sided. Fuji had been the one to confess, no longer able to contain the searing infatuation that had grown from a subtle crush his freshman year. He had been the one to initiate the relationship, the one to pull Tezuka out after practice on what was more or less their first date. He had been the one to step up on tiptoe, pressing his lips to the brunette's, who'd grown rapidly taller than him during the summer.

It took him months to convince the stoic captain to go further, and he had practically given himself to Tezuka on their first night. Both were inexperienced and fumbling, and Fuji kept hidden the pain he felt during the initial penetration. But after that they'd grown used to it, and then addicted to it. Sex was frequent and often the only part of their relationship that seemed stable. Tezuka was always busy with his duties as captain and student body president, and they hardly talked or went on dates. But Fuji loved the other so much, so deeply, it didn't matter... the tensai was determined to stay by Tezuka's side, as long as he was allowed.

These small tokens of proximity Tezuka had permitted, but had there been anything more? Fuji couldn't remember. He could still hear the echo of Tezuka's cold reply to Inui in the locker room, when asked if the bespectacled brunette had noticed the strange feeling of displacement caused by the curse... No. No questioning. No hesitation. Total assurance. Nothing could rock the Spartan's world, not even the sudden lack of existence of the one he'd been doing for the past year and a half.

Fuji had been forgotten, and even the lack of memory had not been mourned.

Tendril-like fingers carved up along his sides, drawing him from his depressing rumination back to his woeful plight. Mizuki's excitement rolled off his tongue, sending a pang of irritation to his captive. Of all people to out-do him, for it to be this jester... Fuji felt a spark of anger, his tongue lashing in response.

"By doing this, do you really think you can-"

"I have you," Mizuki cut him off. He rattling the chains for emphasis, a victorious smirk twisting his cheeks and lips. Finally, the data-reliant manager would be released from the endless dreams, the passionate desire to grasp this now literally ethereal being before him. His journey of obsession was almost at its end, if he could only break away that last edge of defiance.

"I knew Atobe would destroy his connection sooner or later," he prattled, eager to rub salt into the gash left from Atobe's deception. "I would have preferred sooner, but he's not exactly someone I could order around, you know? And he was the one doing me the favor, so I played things his way for awhile."

The candlelight reflected in his blackening irises, making them glow in the surreal darkness. "Let me remind you again, Fuji Syuusuke," he whispered, wrapping his arms around the tensai's bare shoulders and hugging his captive possessively. His hot breath tickled into the brunette's ear, his lips close enough to bite it. "You're mine."

Fuji's body trembled violently, hopelessness tingling beneath his skin and spreading along his veins. Lukewarm moisture gathered along his lower lashes, revealing his inner frailty, the vulnerability he always hid behind a smiling mask. "If you love me," he choked, his voice cracked and desperate, "then let me go."

". . . Love?" The arms around him loosened and pulled away, and for the smallest second, Fuji thought maybe Mizuki had listened to him. But after a few surprised blinks, the black haired manager burst out laughing. His nails dug into the tensai's shoulder as he could barely contain himself. "I didn't say anything about love."

...Oh...

The last fragment of hope fell to the ground, the sound of it shattering drowned out by Mizuki's incessant chortles. Its remnant shards cut into the tensai's mind and heart, driving away any last remarks, any last trace of resistance. The void of Pandora's box filled him with desolation as the nearest candle melted down to its holder, dying along with his will. The talisman with his name, the last proof of his existence, lay with his captor. He was no more than a slip of paper.

And yet, Mizuki didn't notice his victory. He continued ranting, waving his hands for emphasis, eyes shining brighter than the remaining candles. "What's so great about love, anyways? Tezuka loves you, yet he forgot about you along with everyone else. Love is a useless, pathetic thing. Forget about it, here and now, you are mine..."

...Forget...

Yes... forget. Fuji wanted to forget. He wanted to forget he'd been forgotten. He wanted to forget so much...

But something Mizuki said sparked something inside of him. Something in those words, something greater than forgetting, something he could barely believe but rang inside his ears. Something important, something he had forgotten...

It was as if Mizuki had pushed the vacuous box before his face, gloating and grinning, not realizing that the smallest sliver of crystal still clung to the bottom...the glint of it caught in withered cerulean orbs. Even as the manager continued his rant, Fuji could hear were the words echoing again and again in his head... 'Tezuka loves you.'...

No...he doesn't! Fuji cried in his mind, even as his outer expression grew numb. He pushed away the proffered hope, not wanting to feel it shatter one more time around his fading heart. But how... how could this man who'd been observing him, them for so long, possibly be mistaken? But no, no... it was Fuji who really knew Tezuka, who'd tried to melt the millennium cold icecap that no one ever could... ... If Tezuka ...cared... then... there would have been some sort of sign...

"I'll take the look in Tezuka's eyes that was pointed at you."

Hadn't Atobe said that? Fuji hadn't understood, at the time, what the diva had meant... What look was he...

Two years they'd been lovers. From the beginning, Fuji felt the coldness of those hazel orbs, the lonely struggle to bring warmth to their relationship, though it often felt more like sex than making love. But surely...

What look? When had Tezuka ever really looked at him? There must have been a time...

Lids sliding over dim blue orbs, Fuji saw an image of the stoic captain grow in his mind, not of the stern, heartless leader, but the one who spoke gently to him in private. The faintest smile etched at the corner of his mouth, unnoticeable to anyone who didn't truly know him, which was almost everyone. Fuji remembered... vaguely, and then more clearly, the touch of those chapped, gentle lips, as if they were on him now... the feel of his captain's body, the sighs he made, long and content instead of crisp and exasperated, the almost invisible blush on his cheeks, the small, significant twinkle in his eyes... the look... that look... filled with affection.

"Oh...He..." He didn't notice he spoke out loud. Mizuki stopped in the middle of his speech, twirling his finger in his hair as he observed the tensai like a test specimen, speculations forming in his data-run brain.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me your weaknesses if I asked." The manager seemed content to continue on with his lecture, as if feeding off the sound of his own voice. "Though in your current state, you don't have much in terms of strength, nfu. Maybe I was wrong about you? But I'm never wrong."

It no longer mattered what Mizuki said. The words were no more than harmless vibrations. In Fuji's mind, he was redrawing Tezuka's eyes. Affection, want, caring, desire, lust... past the expressionless visage, all the emotions that swirled inside those deep brown orbs... the ones that only he could read... within them, there was...

"God ... oh god," he gasped, as realization dawned on him. A kaleidoscope of images swirled around him, his first night with Tezuka, when the stoic brunette had leaned down and kissed him, as if finally returning his kiss in the locker room... those handsome, glass-rimmed eyes filled with passion, even despite the stiff, grimacing lips. Eyes that exposed his feelings...so filled with...

Mizuki furiously jerked at the chains, completely perturbed as he realized he was being ignored. But his actions were as rain is to the ocean. Fuji felt nothing, heard nothing, but the hum of his own memories.

He had forgotten. The narrow, gentle gaze... filled with love.

He had forgotten Tezuka loved him.

"It's my fault," he whispered. Mizuki glared at him incredulously, but Fuji took no notice.

"I forgot. I forgot he loved me... and so that love ceased to exist."

The curse. The curse had fed off his doubt.

"I forgot Tezuka's love."

And now it was too late.

A/N: Omg, I can't believe I finished it. This is really thanks to the ones who pushed an encouraged me to work on it, especially Tessa, bjonk, and animestar. Thank you! I hope this makes you happy. :D

Why are climaxes so hard to write? I wasn't sure if I could pull it off, but I had to. I was so unhappy with it, I kept re-writing it, for like... months... which is why it took so long, sorry! -sweatdrop- Originally I was supposed to go further with the plot, but Tezuka just went on and on (he was really depressed, and you know how depressed people blog rant forever and a day). Anyways, I hope you guys aren't disappointed! This is a four year project after all! One more chapter to go, plus an epilogue. Every time I get a review, I focus on writing, therefore, review kudasai!