The Cactus Continuum

Fic: How to Bring Tezuka to His Knees

2008-09-21T06:43:48Z

Title: How to Bring Tezuka to His Knees
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,294
Summary: Per the request for Fuji in a schoolgirl uniform trying to make Tezuka, who won’t admit his feelings or something like that, jealous (possessive!Tezuka if possible.)
Warnings: Crossdressing, m/m sexual activities, fluff.
Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from Prince of Tennis.
Author’s Notes: Set during their second year of college, so all characters are eighteen or older.

***

Fuji Syuusuke knows he is a very lucky young man. His family loves and supports him, his friends like and respect him (even if that respect is laced with a healthy dose of fear at times), and his boyfriend... well, Tezuka is everything he’s ever wanted, and more.

At least, behind closed doors. Closed, locked, double-bolted doors, with the windows shut and the curtains as well. When they are alone in their apartment, Tezuka is passionate, alive, all that intensity focused exclusively on Fuji.

He loves watching Tezuka watch him; every innocent comment seems to have hidden meaning, simple activities like washing dishes become strangely erotic. The tension builds - sometimes slowly over the course of an evening, sometimes taking only a few minutes - before Tezuka pins him down and fucks him senseless.

After that, Fuji loves it even more when Tezuka holds him, absent-mindedly running fingers through Fuji’s hair. Words aren’t spoken, no endearments are given: instead, those softer, lingering kisses followed by a more sensual exploration of each other’s bodies says volumes about their feelings.

That silent communication, that connection - comfortable, yet terribly exciting - has been there for years, since middle school and their drive to a national tennis title. Their bond has grown even stronger over the years, through high school and now into their second year of college. Fuji knows such a relationship is rare, and that he and Tezuka are very lucky to have one another.

But Fuji can’t help but wish that Tezuka could feel comfortable expressing that affection out in public. He doesn’t expect grand gestures from Tezuka, who has always carried himself in a serious and polite manner everywhere he goes. All Fuji wants is a smoldering look sent his way while they are out dining with friends, or a more-than accidental brush of fingers during walks in the park.

Fuji knows Tezuka is a private person. He doesn’t want to embarrass his boyfriend, or make him truly uncomfortable. Yet sometimes that darker, more aggressive part of his personality - the part that comes out when Yuuta is hurt, or a friend is in trouble - insists that it wouldn’t hurt to push the boundaries just a little. Normally Fuji’s common sense overrules those urges, and life goes on as usual.

But today, common sense has taken a vacation, and not just for Fuji. Today is Halloween, and tricks and treats are in store for all.

***

Fuji’s costume is not the most outrageous on campus, and it’s certainly not the most obscene. Tezuka doesn’t even recognize her - him - at first. In fact, he was about to severely scold Eiji Kikumaru for practically molesting the quiet young woman innocently sitting at a cafeteria table before his brain caught up with his eyes.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about the clothes - the tailored white blouse, the conservative blue skirt that fell below the knee, the small matching purse and practical, low-heeled pumps - and the two butterfly-shaped gold barrettes pinned in Fuji’s hair were simple and neat. All in all, the young lady Fuji appeared to be both modest and tasteful, and Tezuka did not just think that.

Fuji’s smile for his friends seems especially wicked, though Tezuka isn’t sure if the soft coral lipstick is to blame for that impression. Matching the outfit, Fuji’s makeup is just as simple: lipstick, a light dusting of powder and a hint of perfume.

Tezuka realized at age thirteen that he was attracted to men, and he really didn’t want to reassess that conclusion now. Then again, Fuji is the only women he wants, judging by the hard-on he’s currently trying very hard to ignore. Tezuka is convinced he is going to have a nervous breakdown.

All he can do is listen to their conversation, Eiji’s high-pitched complaints over his own lack of a costume and Fuji’s more low-key, amused comments in response. Tezuka doesn’t even notice when Oishi arrives, not until the young man holds his hand to Tezuka’s forehead and asks him if he has a fever. He doesn’t feel better when Fuji smiles sweetly, opens his purse, and offers him
some Midol.

It’s not long before other students join them - Inui dressed as Sherlock Holmes, Oshitari wearing a lab coat and holding a ridiculous stuffed bunny, Tachibana blessedly costume-free - and Tezuka calms down as they all enjoy a quick breakfast. He and Fuji don’t share any classes this day, so Tezuka will have all afternoon to recover from his shock.

A few minutes later Tezuka is not so sure about recovering, because when Tachibana rises from the table, chivalrously offering to carry Fuji’s books for ‘her,’ Fuji gracefully accepts.

***

Tezuka attends four classes today: Japanese Literature from the Nineteenth Century, Strength and Conditioning, Dietetics and Sports Psychology. He learns nothing.

***

Fuji attends four classes today: History of Photography, Digital Imaging, Philosophy and Modern Art. He learns at least two of his classmates consider crossdressing to be a turn on, Eiji will leave campus and return before this afternoon’s tennis practice with a costume of his own, much of modern art is absolute rubbish, and how easy it is to ruin a pair of sheer stockings.

***

Tezuka is looking forward to demolishing someone - anyone will do - on the tennis courts.

Formal rankings and training have not yet begun, so he and the other students work on their conditioning and have competitive, but friendly, matches. Their coach is a relaxed, rather eccentric man who today is dressed up as Obi-Wan Kenobi and using his racquet to engage in a light-saber battle with a similarly-dressed Sengoku Kiyosumi.

Tezuka tries to ignore them - hard to do when Sengoku shouts an excited ‘Lucky!’ with each successful blow - and continues with his stretching exercises. It is a good thing he is already on the ground when the other students arrive, because he would have fallen over from the shock.

He’s actually not surprised that Eiji arrives for tennis practice in a costume, after seeing his excitement over Fuji’s clothes this morning. Tezuka can appreciate the thought Eiji put into his outfit: the brightly-colored clown outfit doesn’t interfere with Eiji’s acrobatic skills, so he can still play tennis effectively. The makeup - complete with a bulbous red nose - is expertly applied.

Tezuka expects Oishi to be dressed properly this afternoon, and he isn’t disappointed. Inui is still wearing his detective outfit - though with the coat now removed - and appears to be on his third notebook of the day. Oshitari enters the courts without a costume - though he does remark rather loudly that he would be role-playing ‘emperor and concubine’ with Gakuto Mukahi later that evening, something Tezuka does not want to imagine - as does Tachibana.

It is the shorter figure that walks onto the court behind the former Fudoumine player that Tezuka is staring at. Tezuka had no doubt Fuji would have removed the woman’s clothing from this morning before taking to the courts. What he didn’t plan on, was Fuji showing up dressed all in white... in a ladies tennis outfit.

Laughing would be out of the question, but Tezuka thinks crying is a distinct possibility, unless he faints first.

***

By the end of tennis practice, Tezuka is a wreck. He’s accomplished nothing besides watching Fuji the entire two hours - he even sent an errant backhand to the next court during his match, nearly knocking Eiji’s clown wig off his head.

The tennis outfit Fuji is wearing is rather demure by modern-day standards: the tank top has a modest neckline that just falls beneath Fuji’s collarbone, and the flared skirt falls a good three inches above Fuji’s knees. Even as the wind swirls and Fuji uses one of his newest counters, the cotton material only lifts a few inches, revealing his well-toned upper thighs and nothing more. Tezuka is not disappointed, and only smacks the back of Oshitari’s head because the man’s appreciative wolf whistles are distracting the rest of the team.

When practice finishes, Fuji is the first person to leave the courts. More accurately, Fuji enters the clubhouse first because everyone else is following him. Tezuka wants to believe this is because they all practiced hard today, and not because they are all watching the gentle sway of Fuji’s pleated skirt. But as he catches Tachibana almost walk into a post on the way back, Tezuka knows better. He pushes past the others before they can enter the building after Fuji - if he steps on Tachibana’s foot on the way, it’s a complete accident - and slams the door shut behind him, turning the lock with unnecessary force.

Tezuka ignores the sounds of hands pounding on the door and the angry shouts demanding entry to the room: his entire attention is on the young man standing before him. Fuji is staring at him, eyes wide open, his normally serene expression replaced by a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Tezuka, are you protecting my honor?” Fuji playfully asks, winking at his boyfriend. “I can always change at the ladies locker room, if that would make you feel better.”

Tezuka is quick to act: by the time Fuji finishes speaking, he has been forcefully pulled against Tezuka, then spun around so his back is pushed against the door. Tezuka kisses him, passionate and demanding, before moving lower to Fuji’s neck, biting and sucking at the sweat-slicked skin. Fuji holds on to him, one arm wrapped around Tezuka’s waist, the other resting on his shoulder, Fuji’s long, tapered fingers moving through his boyfriend’s damp, messy hair.

Tezuka shifts further down, his face level with Fuji’s chest. He mutters, “You have no honor, Fuji,” as his hands grasp the bottom of the tank top and lifts the shirt off Fuji’s body. Tezuka pauses, shocked once again by his lover’s audacity.

“A sports bra, Fuji?” Tezuka asks, his voice low and unsteady.

Fuji laughs, and playfully answers, “That’s nothing, wait until you see the rest.”

Tezuka doesn’t respond. Instead, he lowers his mouth to Fuji’s left nipple, tonguing the sensitive nub through the cotton material, then lavishing the same treatment to the other one. Neither man notices that their teammates have stopped yelling for admittance: the silence is only broken by Fuji’s breathless moans of pleasure as Tezuka continues to stroke and kiss every inch of exposed skin he reaches.

Tezuka kneels on the floor, both hands slowly sliding up and down Fuji’s legs, enjoying the feel of toned muscles and the sparse, soft brown hair on soft skin. “You didn’t shave,” Tezuka says, exhaling against one inner thigh. “I’m glad.”

Fuji looks down at Tezuka, usual smile in place, cheeks flushed from arousal. “Do you like the costumes? I think I’m rather pretty as a female.”

Tezuka smiles back, fingers slowly moving the skirt’s material higher up Fuji’s legs. “I like the outfits. At first I only saw what is different, and found the image exotic and exciting. But beneath the costumes is the same inventive, clever mind and desirable male body I fell in love with, and I like that even more, Syuusuke.”

Fuji stares at his boyfriend, a gentler, genuine smile appearing on his face. “Kunimitsu...”

Fuji stops speaking as Tezuka’s hand slips underneath the pleated skirt, gently rubbing at Fuji’s erection and the lacy undergarment he wore. After a few gentle strokes Fuji grabs Tezuka’s hands, and pulls him up to stand before him. Fuji leans forward, giving his lover a brief kiss, then backs away.

“Let’s go home, Kunimitsu,” Fuji says as he turns toward the door. “What I have in mind for us is going to take hours.”

Tezuka stops him before Fuji can open the lock. “You might want to put your shirt back on, Syuusuke. Your bra is showing.”

Fuji turns to stare incredulously at his lover. “I cannot believe you just said that, Tezuka.”

Tezuka tries to hide his embarrassment by removing his glasses and wiping the lenses with his shirt. “Neither can I, Fuji. It’s been quite a day.”

Fuji chuckles as he pulls the tank top over his head. “It’s going to be an even better night.”

Tezuka nods his agreement, and unlocks the door. Waiting for them are six teammates, and they proceed to shout non-stop at the duo:

“What were you doing in there?”

“Fuji, you’re supposed to tell your best friend when you are dating, nya!”

“Tezuka, you shouldn’t be so careless! We could all hear you!”

“Why did you stop? It was just getting interesting...”

“Lucky!”

“Wear a skirt the next time I play Tezuka: I’ll improve my chances of winning by thirty-nine percent. This data is priceless.”

Tezuka glares at them all. “The show is over, gentlemen. Hit the showers.”

Oshitari leers at Fuji. “Ladies first, my dear,” he says in a deep, seductive tone of voice. “I’d be happy to help you with your skirt. Zippers can be so... troublesome.”

Tezuka pins Oshitari with a look that could strip paint from a wall. “That will not be necessary. Fuji is wearing a pull-on skirt. There is no zipper.”

“And you know this how?” Tachibana asks, lips pressed tight in anger.

“I am intimately aquainted with the skirt my boyfriend is wearing,” Tezuka answers. “And I will be removing it tonight.”

Everyone is silent as Fuji moves to Tezuka’s side and the two depart, with Fuji giving one last twirl to his skirt on the way. It certainly has been a memorable day.

That night, behind an unlocked door, with the windows wide open and the curtains as well, Tezuka is passionate, alive, all that intensity focused exclusively on Fuji.

Fuji Syuusuke knows he is a very lucky young man.

cactuscontinuum @ 2008-09-07T14:39:00

2008-09-07T18:46:20Z

Pairing: TezuFuji (main), one-sided AtoFuji; other canon pairings
Prompter: decollement
Prompt: Tezuka/ Fuji (and the rest of Seigaku, I suppose. Bonus points if Hyotei is involved somewhere) in a Moulin Rouge AU.
Wordcount: ~ 6700
Genre: Drama, Romance
Summary: Finale. Tezuka gets dragged back to the Moulin Rouge for the premier and things play out from there
Warnings: Character death, long, possible ooc, scenes play out different than in the movie.
A/N: 5/5. Finally complete. ^_^

Moulin Rouge

Eiji could tell something was off when Tezuka didn’t appear to watch their rehearsals anymore, but instead there was Atobe and Atobe alone sitting in the front row with his eyes never leaving Fuji.

And while Atobe’s presence wasn’t as bad as expected – the man at times proved he possessed a dry, but quite charming sense of humour and more than an ounce of thoughtfulness, he wasn’t Tezuka. Because, no matter what Fuji claimed or how bright those smiles directed at Atobe were, Eiji knew that for some unfathomable reason, the writer alone had captured Fuji’s heart.

But Tezuka failed to show his face. Neither did Fuji leave for overnight stays at his place anymore. Oshitari, when asked for reasons, could only helplessly shrug his shoulders.

For the oddest reason even Atobe appeared somewhat concerned. The Duke had stopped demanding for Fuji to accompany him to fancy restaurants, but instead was completely content to exchange a few words after each rehearsal before leaving. What had not ebbed away were the presents and Eiji couldn’t help but suppress a sad smile at times.

“He’s quite thoughtful…” Oishi had once uttered, drawing curious glances. Atobe’s present, that night, had been a beautifully woven cashmere coat; soft and warm, just exactly the thing Fuji needed amid falling temperatures and rainy evenings.

It was Gakuto, however, who muttered the condemning words: “If he’d only fallen for Atobe…”

And even if Eiji was quick to protest and Gakuto agreed even faster, there was no way to wipe the frown away from Oishi’s face or chase the ideas from everyone’s mind. Not for them, no; even if a liaison between Atobe and Fuji might have mitigated relations immensely; but for a much more profound reason.

The one nobody dared to voice – Atobe had the capacity to command the resources necessary to save Fuji’s life.

Since however Fuji had lost his heart to Tezuka, the resulting choice had been harsh. Love or life – nobody, nobody among them would have ever blamed Fuji had he decided to elope with Tezuka. Or pick Atobe for the mere reason of easing his suffering if not curing that painful sickness.

Yet Fuji had chosen neither.

And it broke Eiji’s heart.

On stage, Fuji was a true sight to behold by now.

He’d lost a painful amount of weight, but there was so much impossible more elegance to every movement and his voice – he had an audience spell-bound within the first two lines of a song; could chase away any doubts and worries with a mere couple of notes.

Regardless of his own emotions, Fuji thought with a slight smile.

It made him happy to see everybody look at him with wide-open eyes, see incredulous smiles blossom on disbelieving faces, watch as admiration grew even on Atobe’s impassive face. Or those small, honest smiles after rehearsals – it made him all the sadder for being incapable of returning Atobe’s affections.

But he’d made his choice and even if his own heart was breaking, it had been the better decision to stop deceiving the Duke – no matter how much he missed Tezuka’s warmth at his side.

A sudden coughing fit took Fuji at surprise.

There was only a split second in which he couldn’t breathe; then the golden lights spun wildly and when he came to he was lying on a couch behind the stage.

“Fujiko…” Eiji trailed of, lingering worriedly in the background.

Fuji’s finger tightened around the bloody tissue. Momoshirou bit his lip, and Fuji could tell something was eating his friend and manager from the inside.

“I…” Momoshirou glanced away, into the direction of the stage where rehearsals were still taking place, “I don’t want to ask anything anymore of you, Fuji. You’ve already done more than enough. And now…”

He had to look away again, but Fuji hadn’t missed the tears welling up.

“I want to finish this play, Momoshirou.” Fuji said, softly but determined. “You know I’d always hoped for a chance to stand on stage and play a real role. And now, that this dream is within reach – don’t take away the only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do.”

“But the Duke…” Eiji muttered from the background, and Momoshirou only gestured at him to be silent.

“I know.” Fuji said with a soft smile, “The Duke holds the deeds. The Duke is paying for all of this – this is going nowhere without him.”

Momoshirou hung his head. “Yes. Maybe. But still, you shouldn’t … I mean, you don’t love him.”

“But he’s got the ticket to fulfil all our dreams.” Fuji replied, still gentle.

“What about Tezuka?” Eiji demanded, stepping forward, face scrunched up in concern.

Fuji directed the most heart-breakingly sweet smile at him Momoshirou had ever seen. “I love him. But you heard the doctor – I won’t live long. It wouldn’t be fair to him if I did anything. So I’ll do what I can to make everybody happy.”

“Oh Fujiko…” Eiji choked out, stumbling forward and gathering his smaller friend up in his arms. “Fujiko-chan.” He buried his head in the crook of Fuji’s neck, undoubtedly letting the tears fall that remained burning in the corners of Momoshirou’s eyes.

Fuji managed to stifle a cough and then brought one hand up to gently stroke Eiji’s vibrant red hair. “It’s okay, Eiji.” He whispered, slightly breathless and it tore painfully at Momoshirou’s heart to see how illness was weakening Fuji slowly but certainly.

“It’s okay.” Fuji repeated, but Eiji only clung to him like a drowning man would cling to a raft.

Because, really, Momoshirou thought, it wasn’t okay. Nothing was ever going to be okay again. Fuji was going to die and he planned on spending those last days playing a charade, rejecting perhaps the only person he’d ever truly loved.

“Fuji.” Momoshirou said after a while, slowly trying to find the right words to say, “Please don’t feel obliged. You don’t owe us a thing, so don’t …”

‘Don’t go and do something that stupid.’ Momoshirou wanted to say, but found himself unable to, faced with that gentle smile on Fuji’s pale, pale face.

“Fuji, this is … I don’t know, could be your last chance, so don’t go and make yourself unhappy.” He flashed a weak smile in Fuji’s direction, “The Duke might have us by the neck, but honestly – this isn’t your problem. And we’ll live somehow, anyways. We’ve managed without the Duke before, too.”

“Thank you, Momo.” Fuji replied, “Thank you.”

But Momoshirou could see that his words of encouragement hadn’t done a thing to change Fuji’s mind.

The following days passed in a blur of rehearsals, last minute adjustments and a general state of panic and elevation. Nerves were blank and more than once Eiji and Gakuto had to be physically restrained from attacking each other.

At those times Momoshirou felt incredibly grateful to Oshitari’s presence. The lead actor remained calm and collected and always managed to find the right words to distract Gakuto from whatever he was fighting with Eiji about.

Oshitari, too, kept a wakeful eye on Fuji’s steadily worsening condition, calling for breaks more often than usual and keeping water and tissues close by. It did little good, though – Oishi looked grimmer after each check-up and recently Fuji had taken to not relating the results anymore.

But even without the doctor’s diagnosis, Momoshirou could see that Fuji was running out of time. Their lead actor for the female part had lost an almost incredible amount of weight in a short time; and while he’d appeared small and fragile before, he’d been trained and fit. Now, however, barely an ounce of that strength remained and more than once Fuji had fainted during rehearsals.

Still, his voice on stage remained strong and enthralling. When he was up there and acting it was far too easy to belief everything was alright, and Fuji always looked truly happy after finishing a song or a scene, smiling brightly.

Oishi had prescribed rest, however. ‘He won’t live to see next month if he keeps going at this rate.’ The doctor once had confessed to Momoshirou, silently, behind the scenes, because he didn’t want Eiji to hear and worry and further.

Fuji, however, knew. But it seemed he had stopped caring – attending more rehearsals than he strictly needed, suddenly giving his everything in each and every song. And spell-binding every single person in the area.

Certainly, Fuji had been good before. But that was nothing compared to now. The vocals, the acting, the gestures – were executed with something far beyond Fuji’s usual unshakeable perfection.

And Tezuka, Tezuka who had always been a little sceptical about Fuji’s performance, always claiming there was something lacking, wasn’t even there to watch. Now, that the script had been finished, the writer had stopped appearing; and at times Momoshirou felt like running over and dragging the writer here by the scruff of his neck.

But sitting in the front row, watching rehearsals instead of Tezuka, was Atobe. Atobe Keigo, utterly captivated by Fuji’s performance, yet completely unaware of his sickness. Fuji had directly forbidden them to tell him – refusing to reveal anymore weaknesses to a man he so obviously didn’t love but still tried to make happy. Everybody was less than happy with the arrangement, most of them all probably Oishi.

There were medicaments out there, the doctor had once informed Momoshirou just after another practice break in order for Fuji rest had ended, they were expensive and couldn’t cure the sickness, no, but they could slow it down considerably.

“It’s only a question of weeks, now.” Oishi had added, “With those medicament it might be month, perhaps even one or two years.”

Later that night, Momoshirou had directly confronted Fuji. “… please, this is the least that man can do for you; it’s not as if that would be much money for him.”

Fuji however had remained firm. “And then, those two years I’ll gain – to spend them with Keigo? He isn’t a bad man, Momoshirou, but as you said, I don’t love him. And somehow I think we’ve been using him too much already.”

Another wonderfully warm smile. “So I’d rather have him believe this lie if it makes him happy. And I can keep doing what makes me happy this way, too.”

With a sigh Tezuka turned to the window. The sun had just appeared somewhere beyond the smog fogged horizon. One hour until the show at the Moulin Rouge started.

The invitation from Oshitari still rested on his desk even though he’d contemplated burning it more than once. So the Duke had won and Fuji wasn’t Tezuka’s – and why did he even care?

Hadn’t Fuji stated things clear enough? Calling everything between them a lie, a façade, an act. He was only a somewhat talented writer and they depended on his play – the moment it had been finished there was no need for any further contact.

He could be with Atobe as far as Tezuka cared. Those two were obviously made for each other – shallow as they were. He’d had enough of make-believe and people betraying their ideals for vulgar reasons. Tomorrow morning he’d take the first train back to the coast and if things worked out, he’d be in London two days from now.

There, he’d install himself as a lawyer, forget about Paris, the Moulin Rouge and Fuji, and then, someday, he’d marry a nice, decent woman and have some children with her. Believing in foolish ideals didn’t pay off – he’d teach them. They were nice to look at, impressive to speak of, but useless in everyday life.

Much calmer than before he turned away from the window, looking around in his room. Only one more night, than he’d be gone from this hole. The ceiling still hadn’t been repaired, but that would be the problem of the next tenant.

He was just about to return to folding his clothes, when a sharp, urgent knock at the door tore him from his contemplations. Wondering whether it might just be the landlord coming to collect the key a day early, Tezuka opened without inquiring first.

And met with Momoshirou’s flushed red face mere five centimetres away. Hot breath hit his face, Tezuka recoiled but Momoshirou advanced instantly.

“Tezuka.” The Moulin Rouge’s director bit out between gasps – had he run over? – “Come. The show will start soon.”

Tezuka’s expression didn’t waver. “No.” he replied and turned away

“Oi, what the hell are you trying to pull?” Momoshirou asked behind him, “Running away? Coward’s way out?”

Tezuka restarted folding one of his dress shirts. The smell of one particularly fresh perfume still clung to it.

“Did Fuji hurt your feelings? And now you don’t have enough courage to even face him anymore? Oi, Tezuka, are you a man or a mouse?!”

Grinding his teeth Tezuka reminded himself not to react. He’d made up his mind. He wouldn’t go and watch even if he wrote the sketch himself. No more Fuji in his life. Never again.

“What about Fuji’s feelings? Did you ever stop to think about his side of the story? Do you know why he agreed to go out with Atobe? Did you ever stop to put two and two together? Or do you plan on wallowing in self-pity forever, clinging onto pathetic delusions when the truth is right in front of your eyes?”

A sweaty hand fell onto his shoulder and Tezuka even though Tezuka felt like shrugging it off, he remained motionless.

“Do you even have the slightest idea what Fuji is going through to make everyone happy? Your stupid self included?”

That hand was trembling. Whether with anger or with sorrow Tezuka couldn’t tell – only those emotions were threatening to tear open the gates in his heart he had so firmly closed. Already he could feel the turmoil underneath the frozen surface.

“We’re finished.” Tezuka stoically replied, refusing to budge from his place. Strong fingers clenched painfully on his shoulder as Momoshirou’s face darkened threateningly.

“The boy is an actor, Tezuka! An actor! Just how blind are you?!”

Tezuka had not dared to entertain the mere idea. Because, if that scene had been fake, if that had been a façade and he’d failed to see through it – he’d never quite forgive himself. Still, there were so many things to consider and last but not least, Atobe’s threat remained.

Unemotionally Tezuka said: “It if of no consequence.”

Perhaps it was more of an attempt to retain his own façade; to convince himself – but Momoshirou’s eyes lit up with an unholy fire.

“You…!”

All of a sudden, the hand wasn’t on Tezuka’s shoulder anymore, but clenched to fist that connected violently with Tezuka’s cheek. The writer’s head whipped around; stumbling backwards Tezuka grabbed hold of a table to keep himself from falling.

“You know, you don’t even deserve him!” Momoshirou yelled, “And if I didn’t know that tonight might probably be his …”

The director caught himself at the last possible minute and instead of completing his sentence fixed Tezuka with a dark glare. Reaching out he once again grabbed hold of Tezuka’s arm.

“Just come on and watch the show!”

Numbly he let himself be pulled out to the streets, only dimly aware of his smarting cheek and the cold air. Momoshirou was marching forward at a brisk pace, taking no note of anything around them, his face still flushed an angry red.

When the streets grew smaller, turned into small, dark alleyways between smoke-darkened houses he eventually recognized the way they were taking. And certainly, soon enough Momoshirou pushed his way through cardboard boxes and a maze of indescribable thing to violently push open one old, iron door.

“Come on!” he hissed when he felt Tezuka hesitating.

He could hear the music playing inside from here. Could already see the bright colours, golden lightening and the beautiful, laughing faces in there. The memories of warm smiles, the sensation of silk underneath his fingertips and skin on skin were far too present.

But Atobe…

“Come!” Momoshirou was beyond exasperated. He had to be on stage again in ten minutes himself, so he had little time to spare. Especially not for somebody like Tezuka.

With one forceful tug he dragged the writer inside, while Tezuka wondered if Cesar had felt the same when he’d crossed the Rubicon .

The lights were blindingly bright and within the darkness countless waiting eyes were fixed on the stage. Jewels glittered like little stars when diamond necklaces caught the light as their owners moved. Hushed voices exchanged whispered conversations, feathered fans waved gently as if to dispel the tense, expectant atmosphere.

“It’s completely sold out.” Eiji reported breathlessly. Oishi could easily see that his face was pale underneath the stage make-up. Nervousness had replaced playfulness for the moment – ten minutes until the show was due to start.

“Tonight will be amazing.” Oshitari said, silently stepping up behind them. His stage outfit was complete; a breath-taking arrangement of silk and cotton in colours brighter than the sun. The man appeared confident, a small smile on his lips as he reached out to pat Gakuto’s shoulder reassuringly.

The petit red head turned; his eyes wide and looking younger than he was underneath all the glitter. “There are so many people out there…”

“And we worked hard for that.” Inui smoothly interjected while passing by, an odd assortment of chemicals, light bulbs and unidentifiable paraphernalia clutched in his arms.

Choutarou flashed a shy smile into Shishido’s direction, as the dark haired boy hurried after Inui. “Yet it’s something completely different…”

“Yes.” Eiji Gakuto timidly agreed, “We’ve performed before, but you know… it wasn’t so much about the performance. But tonight it’s as if we were a real theatre…”

“Isn’t that what you always dreamed of?” Oshitari questioned, eyes gazing thoughtfully in the direction of still shut dark velvet curtains, “The one goal high above all the others; the one abstract dream that most of us had expected to remain just that for eternity – but alas, Fortuna’s fickleness has dealt us a surprising development.”

Those deep, dark, bewitching eyes refocused on his immediate surroundings. “So maybe we should stop questioning what patterns the ladies of the water are weaving, leave all snakes and eagles to those gentlemen in Vienna and instead of pondering what the future may or may not hold, we should just enjoy the moment.”

Drawing himself up to his full height, Oshitari spread out his hands. “How long have we been dreaming about this? How long – and now this moment has finally come. So instead of fretting – let us all do our very best.”

“Let us make this a night nobody will ever forget.”

All of a sudden the lights dimmed.

Eiji’s eyes flew open.

Silence fell – a moment of tension; skyrocketing expectations and butterflies spreading their wings, fluttering nervously in Eiji’s stomach. Oishi held his breath, strained his ears, listening to catch a sound, if any …

Gakuto bit his lip.

And then the lights came on again; the music started and already after the first three cords Oishi felt the hair on his arms standing up. The notes rang out, clear and loud, echoing wonderfully in the wide hall – but, blinking slowly, all eyes focused on the appearance in the centre of the stage.

Dressed in stunning, oscillating colours Fuji stood in the middle, a small, almost demure smile on rose-red lips. A diamond necklace glittered sparkled brightly in the limelight; honey hair appeared golden and Jirou let go of a breath he had been holding.

If anything, that expression in Fuji’s eyes …

Eiji’s hands trembled and at his side Oshitari could only nod in silence, as if confirming his own prediction.

The harmony changed, from F to D minor; Fuji cast his eyes down for half a second before raising his head again, flashing the most enthralling smile at the audience. One deep breath… And then that beautiful, clear voice rang out. Strong, rich, all-encompassing – captivating the entire audience within barely five notes.

Disbelief; white-faced admiration and pure, unaltered surprise on many faces; fans involuntarily stopping in mid-movement; men forgetting to breath – the Parisian society was successfully enchanted. And even Inui felt a fine tremor in his fingers – never before Fuji had sung the sharp notes that precise or clearly.

And the dominants, oh those dominant chords… Maybe he’d died and gone to heaven. No opera star of this century, not in any of the opera houses he’d visited within his life Atobe had ever heard a more beautiful voice. Hitting the right notes was one thing, he logically understood – but what Fuji was doing was beyond.

Far, far beyond anything he could logically comprehend.

Perfect, Tezuka thought in his hiding place behind the stage the very moment the first notes rang out, This is it. This is…

The quantum that had always been missing; the small edge that Tezuka had always felt lacking – no matter how beautiful Fuji’s voice, how seductive his smiles might have been prior to this; Tezuka had in some obscure, instinctive way known that hadn’t been the true extent of Fuji’s talent.

But tonight, tonight Fuji wasn’t holding back anything anymore. Tonight the small brunet was allowing an already completely enchanted audience to witness what he truly was capable of. Within the span of five minutes the universe had been inverted.

Ten minutes into Fuji’s solo and Eiji had entirely forgetting about his nervousness, while Oishi surreptitiously wiped at his burning eyes. The world outside; all traces of the rainy autumn night had disappeared from perception. Audience and actors were lost in small, exclusive world full of wonderful music and fantastic sceneries – reality, with all its short comings was left outside.

“No, Oshitari, I…”

Tezuka still had no idea how Oshitari had managed to find him where he was hidden behind stage – maybe Momoshirou had told him. But in the break between the first and the second act the lead actor had stormed upstairs and pulled Tezuka from his corner.

The writer had more than once tried to convince Oshitari to stop what he was doing, but the blue-haired man wasn’t listening to any of Tezuka’s protests. With quick and precise movements he stripped his turban, shirt and jacket and proceeded to dress Tezuka with them.

“You love him, don’t you, Tezuka?” Oshitari asked and yanked the turban on rougher than necessary. When the writer remained silent, he continued. “And you know that he’s sick and in love with you, too? Then why don’t you go out there?”

“But he…”

“Damn it Tezuka!” Oshitari was practically yelling, “That boy is an actor and a whore! And you know that! So swallow your stupid pride for once and all and get your ass out there and tell him what you feel!”

Tezuka remained unmoving, even as Oshitari’s gestures grew considerably more violent.

“Tezuka! Fuji is about to die! Do you really want him to die believing you hate him? … because if that’s what you want… then I’ve never met a more pitiful excuse for a human being.”

“… what?”

Oshitari sharply glanced up. Tezuka, white-faced, stared back at him; confusion mixed with dark foreboding reflecting in hazel eyes. And the lead actor couldn’t help sighing, trying to calm his own raging temper.

Nobody had told Tezuka the whole truth, it seemed.

“Fuji is…?” Tezuka repeated in disbelief; even if his racing mind managed to fit the pieces together to a dreadful picture. All the coughing … Momoshirou, Oishi and all the others … those worried expressions.

And even their very last night together …? Was all this because of …?

“Yes.” Oshitari replied bitingly, “He’ll die. And because he didn’t want an oaf like you mourning him, he broke up with you.”

Tezuka’s heart shuddered to a stop. His mind whirling from the implications – he needed to, oh, he needed to - Yet his mouth protested automatically. “But the Duke…”

“This isn’t about the Duke!” Oshitari yelled.

“But he’s got his man set on me! He’s going to kill me!” Even as he uttered the words, Tezuka suddenly felt very, very pathetic. What kind of a man was he, to pick cowardice over his heart? What…

“Even that man – cold-blooded as he may be – won’t shoot you in front of a full audience. The Duke has more brains than that.” Oshitari pressed his lips, grabbed Tezuka by the lapels and pulled him closer.

“For God’s sake, just go out there. I’d long since have rooted for the Duke, but Fujiko-chan never stopped loving you. So please… if only for tonight. Everybody here wants nothing more than to see him happy…”

There were tears in the corners of Oshitari’s eyes, Tezuka realized. And icy spread through his veins, as the horrible revelation settled in. Even though he’d known of Fuji’s illness, known that he was running out of time – he thought his condition was that sever.

Than again, he hadn’t seen Fuji in almost half a month – but still… for a sickness to advance that rapidly…

“Now, GO!”

Oshitari violently shoved him forward, voice half-choked with unshed tears and Tezuka stumbled into motion. Almost on autopilot his feet carried him toward the stage, the music and the lights.

He could hear Fuji’s voice, strong and passionate, better than ever before; Choutarou working magic on the instruments and Inui bewitching the audience with smoke and lights. The tap-tap of high-heeled shoes hitting the wood betrayed the dancers; the ‘owws’ and ‘awws’ coming from the audience clearly indicated solo parts by either Kikumaru or Gakuto.

Clearly, tonight everybody was giving his very, very best.

And he’d intended to stay back. Pack his suitcase and return. So, drawing a very deep breath he steeled his nerves for the riskiest endeavour he’d ever undertaken in his entire life.

Then he stepped out into the limelight.

Fuji’s eyes flew open – for a split second, far to short to be picked up by an outsider – everybody on stage froze in surprise. Torn between happiness and anger Eiji only glanced at Tezuka before recalling his part, just as Gakuto did.

Blue eyes lingered maybe a second longer and Tezuka already felt his knees weaken, but then a small, private smile blossomed on Fuji’s lips. He hadn’t expected to see Tezuka ever again, thus having him here, tonight meant more than all the jewellery and fame in the world.

Having Tezuka by his side one more – one very last time – even if only in a play was the most he could hope for. Was more than he’d dared to wish for. And whatever turn of fate had brought the handsome writer here tonight, he’d be eternally grateful.

“How do you like the play so far?” Momoshirou asked, eyeing the Duke nervously. There was no way in all seven circles of hell that the man had missed Tezuka’s appearance on stage. And even if, for some reason, Momoshirou didn’t really care for the Duke’s opinion – their musical was a success, even before the last curtain had fallen – he couldn’t help but dimly worry about the future.

The Moulin Rouge was completely dependant on Atobe Keigo.

Those cool grey eyes glittered with a strange light; one that Momoshirou had never seen before. Atobe tugged a little at his impeccable suit – a shining icon of expensive tailoring even among the sea of wealthy gentlemen populating the audience.

“It is quite fetching.” Atobe smoothly replied and Momoshirou found it hard to read his face. “I’d very much like to congratulate Fuji.”

Pale lips quirked up in a small smile. “He looks rather pale as of late. Maybe he should rest for a while after the performance has been done.”

Atobe almost flinched at the cold glance Momoshirou rewarded his statement with. On the inside however, the corners of his lips drooped – his suspicions were confirmed; especially when Momoshirou heaved a deep sigh.

Halting in a shadowed corner out of the path of the extremely busy stage hands Momoshirou took one good, long look at the Duke; ignoring the dictations of social standing completely. The man, for all his ruthlessness, was most certainly no idiot. And he’d proven – more than once - that he cared neither for fashionable naïve idealism or stiff, unyielding social boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe, Atobe Keigo wasn’t so very different from them.

Just another human being; just another player in this game, even if he’d grown up with the literal silver spoon in his mouth. But observing him watch Fuji; seeing all those small affectionate gestures – he certainly was trying.

Those feelings weren’t affected. There was nothing to be gained for Atobe from an alliance with Fuji. Nothing material, and especially no social status.

“Let me be honest.” Momoshirou said, slowly; still wondering if he was making the right decision. But once more, he unconsciously recalled Oishi’s harsh prediction, Fuji’s carefree smile and the disconcerting sensation of responsibility – of being able to change this.

If a few, well-meant words could prolong Fuji’s life, then he would speak them. And even if it meant that Fuji was going to hate him for eternity – if the boy’s personal dream could come true, then he’d bear it.

Sober brown eyes met grey.

“Fuji is sick. Very sick. Has been for a long time.”

Atobe’s expression changed imperceptibly. A shadow seemed to sink over his eyes, but within the twilight Momoshirou couldn’t tell. For a moment the busy noises of changing backgrounds was the only sound filling the air.

Then Atobe nodded slowly. “It’s tuberculosis, isn’t it?”

Momoshirou blinked in surprise – but then he recalled that Atobe was as educated as world-wise; so the Duke might have guessed Fuji’s sickness long before he’d even started suspecting.

“He didn’t want to let anybody know.” Momoshirou added, looking away, “Fuji really wanted to …”

“He isn’t being treated now, right?” Atobe sharply interrupted, “We’ll make arrangements as soon as tonight’s show is finished. We’ll …”

“Director!” a sudden voice cut into their conversation and Momoshirou turned to fix the approaching stage hand with a deep frown. “Director, we have a problem! Please come along!”

Swallowing, Momoshirou nodded into Atobe’s direction. “I apologize. But you should find Fuji in the small room on the left just when you go off stage.”

“Tezuka… I…” Fuji gasped with tears glittering in his eyes. “No. You can’t …”

He started coughing then, small, wet coughs that he tried to stifle with a plain white cloth – that already bore more red stains then Tezuka felt comfortable seeing. Biting his lip the writer reached out a hand – why, oh why had he only realized so late? Why had he been so blind? – to touch Fuji’s shoulder.

The actor raised his head, blue eyes met brown. “You shouldn’t love me. Not after everything I said to you … not since…”

“I don’t care.” Tezuka replied, a gentle, sad smile playing on his lips. “I love you, no matter what.”

Outside thunderous claps echoed. The last act was about to begin.

Fuji’s red lips trembled in the twilight. “I’m sick. Tezuka, I’ll only bring you sadness. I’ll … I’m going to die soon.”

His heart was breaking, yet Tezuka couldn’t help but smile reassuringly. Every gesture, no matter how small, merely served to tell him just how much Fuji had cared all along. How all had been set up for his sake alone, how all this had been endured until now … And how painfully blind he’d been.

“I know.” He whispered huskily, “And I don’t care.”

Those blue eyes widened; their sparkled brighter and more beautiful than the diamonds around Fuji’s small neck.

“I wish I could change fate. I wish I could – but then I can’t even change my own words back then.” Tezuka stated. “All I can do is apologize.”

“Don’t.” Fuji ordered breathily, stepping closer to Tezuka, “Don’t start apologizing. Because there are so many things I’ve done I should apologize for – to you, to Atobe, to everybody. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to apologize.”

A bright, dazzling smile blossomed on the small, white face. “Not when there is something else I would much rather say.”

And with that Fuji closed the last of the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around Tezuka’s shoulders and – still reeling from those heart-breaking, sweet words – Tezuka returned the gesture.

“I love you, Tezuka.” Fuji said, “I shouldn’t, I know, much less even tell you so. I’ll die soon and there’s Atobe who’s done so much for me … But I guess in the end the heart doesn’t yield to any imperatives, social or rational . So, for what it still is worth, I love you Tezuka, I really do.”

Up on the balustrade Atobe sighed deeply.

Just for those few moments that his face was hidden completely by the darkness and with nobody there to watch him, his expression fell. A ghost of something usually unseen and never openly displayed crossed the young Duke’s face.

“So this is how the story ends.” He whispered, mostly to himself and downstairs Fuji and Tezuka embraced, lost in their own universe.

Tearing his eyes away Atobe bit his lip to suppress the unfamiliar pain welling up in his chest.

“Kabaji.”

“Us.”

“Let us act for a bit.”

The curtain rose for the final act and Fuji felt dizzy with all the lights directed at him. This sea of glittering eyes, sparkling jewels and most of all, this exhilarating atmosphere were leaving him breathless. Never before standing on stage had been so thrilling, never before he’d felt quite like this.

There was Eiji, already exuberantly happy with their success, Momoshirou’s wide, completely content smile, those thumbs-up Inui had flashed at him in passing, Oshitari’s amused smirk – and most of all Tezuka at his side.

Tezuka’s hand holding onto his, firmly, unwaveringly, even if the rest of the world was spinning. Lines passed without him even realizing it, and Fuji sang better than ever before, even if he could feel his strength draining.

Settling back down onto the cushions he took a deep breath – the last solo had taken far more out of him than expected. He had to blink twice to focus his vision again and there was nothing he could do about the pain in his lungs.

Only pray he wouldn’t start coughing before the performance was complete.

Then the Maharajah stepped in front of him, just as the script dictated. Fuji raised his eyes – and met cool grey instead of Momoshirou’s brown ones. At the very last moment he stifled a surprised gasp, though Tezuka couldn’t stop himself from shuddering.

Hidden underneath the Maharajah’s colourful costume was none other than Atobe Keigo. What was he …?

And then the Duke opened his mouth.

And sang.

The very lines the Maharajah ought to sing; delivering them with perfect timing and not one wrong note. Eiji’s eyes widened and even Momoshirou, on his new place in the front row, couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.

Standing up there on stage Atobe Keigo didn’t even look the slightest bit out of place. Rather, he appeared completely at home in the limelight; every step oozing confidence - as if he’d practicing the part all his life.

It was wonderful, Tezuka had to admit. Atobe Keigo’s singing voice left nothing to be desired, and when Fuji joined him in the final duet, the world stopped moving for a moment. The gooseflesh on Inui’s arms was not caused by autumn temperatures or even anything physical.

But then came the end Momoshirou had dreaded all along. The sitar player was to be executed and on a wave from the Maharajah one of the guards stepped forward. Oishi’s head snapped up, and Momoshirou, too, recognized Kabaji.

Wide-eyed Tezuka stared into the barrel of a gun. The audience – still believing all was part of the play – waited with baited breath, while Fuji’s struggled to remain conscious. Tezuka’s arms were warm and the darkness tempting, but he knew...

With each shuddering breath he drew, he could feel his strength ebbing away and already even the bright stage lights were fading from his vision.

Cold black eyes looked down at Tezuka from underneath a guard’s costume. A click, those thick, dark fingers moved and Tezuka desperately clung onto his composure.

“That’s it.” Was all he thought, before a sudden, decisive movement caught his eye.

The evil Maharajah, just about to oversee the execution of his greatest enemy; Atobe Keigo himself descended from his throne. Exchanging dubious glances, Eiji and Gakuto hesitantly stepped aside, allowing Atobe to advance.

Kabaji turned his head to wait for orders. Tezuka held his breath and behind the stage Oishi and Oshitari were praying for the best.

A shadow fell across Tezuka’s face.

In shock he opened his eyes and witnessed the most breath-taking event he’d seen since encountering Fuji. Atobe Keigo stepped in between him and the gun – without any pompous gestures. Only one decisive step and then he stopped.

Didn’t even turn to look at Tezuka and Fuji. Instead, he fixed his eyes at Kabaji before turning to the audience.

“And in the end, I finally understand.” He proclaimed, acting absolutely true to his part – far better than Tezuka would ever have expected him to, “Love is a child of Liberty and won’t be forced – not by money nor by reason.”

Breathless, Momoshirou clung to a support beam backstage. Oishi’s eyes widened and Oshitari paled, but smirked. Tezuka however, felt all blood leaving his head and his grip on the shuddering figure in his arms tightened.

Those were his words. Those words that had been so dear to Tezuka, but had been taken out of the play.

“So if you truly love someone.” Atobe closed. “Set them free.”

Without knowing anymore why there were tears slipping down his face, Tezuka leaned forward, heart trembling the moment he found Fuji’s beautiful blue eyes meeting his. The actor practically flew in Tezuka’s arms – too dizzy to walk straight or even hold himself upright anymore.

Fuji’s face was horridly pale, even if the glow of the stage lights painted his cheeks a beautiful shade of gold. Tightening his arms around the smaller boy Tezuka let him slowly slide to the ground.

The smile on Fuji’s face was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his entire life. And even if he could feel each laboured, shuddering breath the actor took, he couldn’t help but smile.

Those blue orbs were clouded, but still sparkling.

With all the tenderness he possessed, he leaned forward and kissed him. Fuji’s lips were everything he’d ever dream of, he knew at that moment. Soft and warm and he could taste sweetness underneath the metallic tang of blood.

A weak hand reached out, tangling in his hair even if it trembled from the effort.

If only this moment could last forever.

If only time could stop.

Atobe turned, blinking away the tears burning in his own voice. His heart ached, but this, he understood, had been the right decision. Regardless of what people would say – having seen the smile on Fuji’s face was justification enough.

Looking out proudly over the see of enchanted faces, he forced himself to smile and complete the play with a deep bow.

Slowly, almost hesitantly the audience started clapping. Eiji and Gakuto exchanged a glance, before bowing, too and the other actors followed.

Tears glittered in the dim lightening, as the clapping rose to a thunderstorm. Chairs were shoved backwards, as the first persons stood up – and faced with the standing ovation Momoshirou wiped at his eyes.

This was everything they’d ever dreamed of.

Everything they’d worked so hard for.

But Fuji, wrapped securely in Tezuka’s arms, wasn’t moving. A beautiful smile still lingered on blood-red lips, even if his chest had stopped rising and falling. The small white hand that had formerly been buried in Tezuka’s hair lied motionlessly on the cold floor.

Tezuka silently hid his face away, drawing the still body closer to him. Fuji’s skin was still warm and soft and somehow he didn’t want to believe that here, among golden spotlights and roaring applause, everything had come to an end.

And then, the curtain fell.

The End.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Crossing the Rubicon – back when Cesar wasn’t yet supreme ruler, he crossed a river named Rubicon with his army and the act started a war which resulted in him becoming the big boss
Ladies of the water – the Norns (Skuld, Urd and Verdandi) that weave the threads of Fate
snakes and eagles – references to Nietzsche; animals heralding – broadly spoken – a change of the world
Gentlemen in Vienna – means Sigmund Freud and contemporaries referring to Kant’s categorical imperative

round 1 - final deadline announcement

2008-09-04T03:30:17Z

Hello, ladies! I hope you all had an excellent summer.

I'm here to announce the final, final deadline for this fest. We've been letting extensions slide all August because I've been without intent (hell) and kishmet has been on a British holiday (heaven). However, with christmas_cacti signups opening, it's time to wrap this sucker up.

We'll be posting the masterlist on September 21st. If you post your fic before then, you will be on the list. If you finish afterwards, you can still post it to the community, but you won't be on the list.

I know a lot of people are back to school, but try to pull a couple of hours together to finish off that perfect fic for a fellow fan. ^^ the Beta Resource post is still open for anyone who needs it.

Good luck and happy ficcing~!

Fic for paranoid_fridge

2008-08-28T18:26:17Z

Title: As the world Turns
Pairing: TezukaxFuji
Author: enasniyllagel
Prompter: paranoid_fridge
Prompt: Earthquake and how they deal [survive]
Word count: 3602
Genre: Angst-y
Rating: PG
Summary: Same as prompt

The room was saturated with laughter. It seeped through the walls to the outside and echoed heavily within the room. Yet none of the occupants seemed to care, not even the serious young captain. It had been awhile since all nine boys had been together. With their celebration for winning the Kanto tournament cut short because of a rouge captain and the commencement of a stricter training regime for nationals, now was good a time as any for celebration.

Tezuka listened intently to the gesticulating Eiji as he retold of their journey. The trip sounded like one that only his team could encounter. From the lost baggage, an old quarrelling couple jealous of youthful jubilance to a creepy stalker who fell in love with Fuji and asked for ‘her’ hand in marriage. Eiji updated their captain with a passionate monologue only sparing an occasional glare for anyone who interrupted or accused him of embellishing details.

As the hours dwindled by, the stories being shared slowed, as most tales were told and exhaustion set in. The regulars were shooed to their rooms which the hospital was graceful to offer. Doubled up in a total of four rooms the regulars drifted asleep.

----0—0----0—0----

The singing birds and rising sun greeted different scenes in certain rooms of the German hospital. The room closest to the cafeteria revealed two young men still asleep, one whose mouth hung open and arms flung widely apart snored hard enough to bring down straw houses. The other was more graceful in sleep, a hat; an essential part of daylight existence was perched on the night stand. The second room depicted little variation. One boy still slept, arms wrapped tight around a large brown bear. The other bed was empty though neatly made. On the ground with his back against the bed sat a boy, magazines of various German tourist attractions scattered around him a camera in his lap as he changed batteries and loaded film. The third room was empty, both beds neatly made showing no evidence of being slept in. Its’ occupants were outside, one running around the compound of the hospital while the other recorded data with precision.

The occupants of the other room worked in peaceful solitude. A schedule of events and visits of tourist attractions were drafted in vigilance since the creator wanted everyone to enjoy the trip. The other indebted to his father for approving the trip diligently perused various German delicacies planning to take back a new recipe for his father. The person in charge of this circus otherwise known as a teenage boy’s tennis team sat in the office of Tezuka’s personal trainer. In front of her a computer engaging in the task of emailing the parents of all the boys she brought on the trip reassuring them of their children’s safety and current status. In the last room hosting foreign guests, the original resident of the institute sat by the window, a steady gaze directed outside, sipping on his favourite tea.

----0—0----0—0----

All good things eventually come to an end.

The calm was replaced by calamity. The floor swayed from side to side, as the walls rattled and shook the sound of glass breaking, objects falling and concrete crumbling to pieces permeated the air. A great grumbling echoed in the distance as the earth trembled. Screams and enquiring shouts battled for dominance with the screeching of twisting steel and falling concrete. Frightened unwilling participants of the terrible natural disaster dove for cover under beds, tables and sturdy doorways. Those outside stared danger in the face as slabs of concrete toppled from the roof crashing down with unnerving speed pulled by the force of gravity. No safe haven glimmered for them; the only option that supported survival was attempting to run. A mad dash into open space to save a life.

What seemed like days or hours ended in mere minutes. The shaking eased and an ominous silence filled the air. Probably, in less time, the announcement traversed the earth and nine terrified parents questioned the safety of their children who were staying in the epicentre of an 8.3 earthquake.

Somewhere between sleeping and scrambling off the bed Eiji wondered how he got under the bed. He was unaware of Fuji’s frantic attempts of heaving his heavier frame into safety. He remembers meeting the Chocolates and spending a day with them which in retrospect was most likely a dream. His tired body and preoccupied conscience was unaware of the quivering earth and the room which crumbled around him. Fuji was up onto his feet in milliseconds after the first shake. Experiencing an earthquake was nothing new since Japan was a country which had several minor quakes. His training and survival instincts reacted almost automatically and his brain reminded him in mid dive under the bed about the snoozing Eiji. His halt was immediate, spinning on his heels he ran to where Eiji was still sleeping shouting at him on the way as an attempt to rouse him. He narrowly missed being struck on the head by a collapsing wall. His struggle with the bulkier Eiji persisted until pure adrenaline flooded his system giving him to the strength to drag Eiji off and under the bed.

Inui and Kaidoh had faced death in the eye. As the shaking began Inui had been able to average an approximate magnitude from the progressive strength and the rocking buildings around him. He had placed its intensity somewhere between a 6 or 7.5 on the Richter scale. A quick glance at his surroundings revealed the poor shelter possibilities, with a quick calculation in his head he decided to attempt running to the open field 200 feet away from where he stood. The statistics he discovered was against his and Kaidoh’s survival but yet he decided to abandon his data. He could do it, they would do it despite data that suggested otherwise. The mind debate lasted for a few seconds before he shouted at the stupefied Kaidoh who stood rooted in the same spot to run. A falling concrete pillar that would fall on top of Kaidoh pushed Inui to increase his speed. Forcing his mind to stop calculating the chance that he would make it in time he lunged forward, his entire weight collided against Kaidoh toppling him to the ground, a move that forced all air out of his lungs. A deep blush spread across Kaidoh’s cheeks as he realised the intimate position of Inui’s body flushed against him. Inui the more clear headed of the two remembered their situation climbed to his feet dragging Kaidoh up as well again broke into a run tugging the younger boy behind him.

Tezuka was quick in huddling inside the doorframe. He had made five strides from across the room before reaching his destination. Oishi and Kawamura simultaneously sought refuge under the desk Oishi had been working on. They had huddled together under the narrow space until the earth stopped moving. Being who they were, their immediate concern had been the rest of the team. A supportive glance to one another encouraged them to leave safety. Upon opening the door, their mouths hung ajar at the massive scene of destruction. The building was a complete mess, broken walls and fallen ceiling partitions made up the debris that blocked the way.

Echizen awoke with a start before blearily seeking out the culprit that woke him. He turned to stare at Momo who was still sound asleep, mouth open arms flung askew. The rattling picture of the ocean that hung on the wall and the falling bottles and figurines on the desks and side table slowly clued Echizen into what was happening around him. He fumbled across to Momo and started to shake him awake. The peach head only grumbled awake when the earthquake ended and savagely attacked Echizen for waking him. Lucky for them that their room was near the cafeteria the only part of the building that sustained the least amount of damaged. The same fate was not handed to an aged lady whose whereabouts was now unknown to her charges. Three fingers were barely visible underneath the rubble of a broken desk from a fallen ceiling fan.

From 200 feet away, Inui and Kaidoh stared at the partially destroyed building. The front portion had crumbled to the ground. The floor and supporting beams were visible even from that distance. Sparks were ignited periodically and water dripped from broken pipes. They could do nothing here. It was impossible to once again enter the building.

“Come Kaidoh, we need to find help for the others.” Inui pulled the boy forward to begin walking. They were walking away, walking away alive and hale from a scene that screamed death. They could only hope and pray that the rest of their teammates, their friends were alive. Though, a nagging little voice that loved data told Inui that their chances were bleak.

Oishi and Taka-san cautiously crept around the fallen wires that sparked every so often. They were trying to make their way to the room of their nearest teammate which happened to be Tezuka. A cold draft swept through their bodies causing them to look up at the gaping fissures in the ceiling. The creak of broken wood and the scraping of iron against concrete close to Tezuka’s room increased their speed. They reached in time to witness the door slowly inching forward and a Tezuka squeezing through the small opening he managed to create. Except for the thin trails of blood oozing down his arm he seemed to be whole and uninjured.

“Thank goodness Tezuka, you’re okay.” Oishi breathlessly whispered.

“Hn, Are you two okay?” A quick nod was his answer. “Let’s find the others.” The stern voice commanded as he began to cautiously step away heading in the direction of Fuji and Eiji’s room.

Echizen wanted to smack the silly buffoon in front of him. He had been able to pry the strangling fingers off his neck long enough to inform him of the earthquake. The results had been a collapsed jaw and wide unbelieving eyes. A hard “placks” sounded after five minutes and the ridiculous expression reverted to normal.

Momoshiro was shock, baffled, bedazzled and a whole lot of other synonyms could be used to describe his current state. He had slept through an earthquake. If he was to believe what Echizen said something that he usually did then that made it more unbelievable. At first Momo had been disappointed at being place in this room which was an incredible distance from the rest of the team and next to the coach of all persons. He had cheered up a bit when their guide had announced that the room was only three rooms away from the cafeteria. That meant he could stuff his face without Eiji or the others cramping his style, the only competition he had was Echizen who was a little below par with him on eating competitions. The L-shape of the building made it possible for the occupants of this particular window to see the rooms of the rest of the team. The night before, he had annoyed Kaidoh by making obscene gestures through the open window. As he pulled open the now close window his face again return to a gobsmack expression. The other side of the building was a mess, some rooms were now wall-less and others had been completely crushed in. A tear rolled down his eyes when he realised that the same window which last night had contained the furious face of his rival was now under rubble. There was no way Kaidoh could have survived that. Or Inui, his mind interjected as Echizen stood next to him.

“Sempai lets go to Ryuzaki-sensei.” The sound voiced from big cat-like eyes pleaded.

A respectable knock was given at the door of their coach’s room. They stood idle for awhile before opening the door. The room was still intact as expected but there was no sensei present.

This was not a movie but it was certainly playing out like one Fuji mused as he held onto a babbling Eiji. They were now stuck in between the bed and the wall. When a portion of the ceiling broke off it fell to the edge of the bed pushing it up to lean against the wall behind them only giving them a lean-way type of protection. The top of the bed was against the wall and the bottom gave way to a small hole. An opening only Fuji could barely squeezed through. He had made the mistake of telling Eiji that he would crawl through to find help since both of them together were unable to push the bed away. Eiji held him in a bear hug that stifled the air out of his body at a faster rate than all of his other hugs and pleaded with him not to leave him alone. He acquiesced since he had no other choice if he wanted to breathe and plus he could not find it in has heart to leave a teary frightened Eiji behind. He engulfed Eiji in his own hug, one least likely to end your life, promising he would stay with him.

Taka-san, Oishi and Tezuka stood outside the room in which Inui and Kadioh was housed. They had pushed, shoved and slammed into the door yet the door did not give. Their calls of their names yielded no reply. And since this terrifying event began, the three teenage boys were starting to feel alarmed.

“Eiji, be quiet. I hear something.” Eiji’s prattling stopped and the vague sound was a little clearer, what it was saying was distorted but the voice was recognizable anywhere. Tezuka! Fuji could only smile as Eiji started screaming out Oishi’s name, the movie played on, the hero’s were rescuing the damsels in distress so maybe just maybe this story would have a happy ending. A little grimace tried its best to show on Fuji face as he realised that he just called himself a damsel, in distress.

Oishi was the first one to step towards the next room, he placed his ear against the door frame and listened. Eiji. He called out to his doubles partner and waited for the muffled reply which came immediately after. Tezuka and Taka-san was soon standing next to him as he tried the door. Nothing. Same as before the door did not move, they were only reassured by the incessant prattling of Eiji. Tezuka’s reassurance however was little improved. Yes he could hear Eiji but the voice he wanted to hear was silent. His stomach twisted a bit at the image which his mind produced.

Tezuka was a cautious person by nature. He would never jump into a situation he could not control or start something he was unsure about. These two characteristic limitations were what held him back from confessing his love to Fuji. He could not control Fuji, no one could, that was given and that was the reason he had fell for him in the first place. He had never met a person as spontaneous and carefree as Fuji was before. He was particularly unsure to the question of Fuji liking him back. He had used the close proximity that Fuji stood next to him and the sweet smiles that masked emotions directed at him to speculate that Fuji liked him too. But, Tezuka Kunimitsu and speculation were two inverse words. Tezuka acted on certainty. This iron-hand that held his desires broke during the earthquake, it took all his will-power to remain under the doorframe and not run to Fuji as the world rattled and shook around him.

“Fuji?” He questioned at the closed door and his heart wobbled at the silence.

“I’m okay Tezuka.” Those three words spoken in a voice, only Fuji could possess compelled Tezuka’s heart to accelerate in its beating. Fuji was fine, and if they ever got out of this situation alive he would know the love that Tezuka held for him.

As all three boys used their full weight against the door it creaked like a century old wooden house before slowly moving back. Moving the heavy fallen concrete that held the bed in its upright position looked near impossible. Fuji told them about the opening to the side, so the three rescuers tried to see if they could make the hole wider. Fuji crawled through before promising Eiji that he would be right behind him. The three of them could not hold the opening long enough for both boys to come through so it was better that they only tried for one, Fuji explained to his best friend before he squeezed through the crack. With Fuji helping, they pushed against the bed making it big enough for Eiji to pass through.

Eiji and Oishi hugged each other as soon as he was freed from his prison. The three other boys watched on in joy. Fuji smiled at Tezuka when he noticed the intense stare he was receiving from the other boy. The unexpected hug initiated by Tezuka surprised him but he settled into it sighing in relief. The two pairs of boys continued hugging each other until a red-faced Taka cleared his throat and shyly stuttered about finding the rest of their teammates.

Echizen and Momo looked in the cafeteria for their coach but it was vacant. They had encountered some staff and two patients who were evacuating the building through an escape hatch to the side of the building. They looked at the direction the staff pointed to wistfully before looking at the corridor that would take them to their team. Even as one of the staff mentioned that the area was impassable, they ignored the warning and turned away from the path that would lead them to safety. They were already in the building and would not leave without their friends.

The group of five vigilantly trekked away from the devastated site. Fuji and Eiji had inquired about their neighbours receiving the shocking truth. They would have to leave their rescue to professionals; there was nothing that they could do. Now, they would try to find the three other missing persons of their group before leaving the building. Ten minutes of dodging still falling debris and manoeuvring around live electrical wires and fallen concrete blocks and posts they were reunited with Momoshiro and Echizen as they turned a corner. Eiji became an anaconda around Echizen’s neck bubbling over with glee. Momo scanned the group for his rival but found no bandana wearing scowling snake. Tezuka had been the one to explain the situation and Momo realising the truth he had seen staring out his window turned away and began walking. They still had to find their coach.

The group of seven had grown bigger. Along the way they checked the rooms they were passing for anyone trapped or too scared to leave. Fourteen individuals were now making their way to the escape hatch Echizen and Momo had told them about. The last room before they left the north wing of the building belonged to Tezuka’s trainer. Her door was blocked by a fallen wall and ceiling fragments which the large group quickly cleared away. They had found the woman inside her room chiselling away at the concrete wall leading to the next room with a stainless steel fork. It was from this lady, whose senile appearance and drunken disposition alarmed those who had never met her, that Ryuzaki-sensei’s fate was discovered. Ryoma and Momoshiro directed the group to the safety exit before joining their team to find their coach.

Following the lead of Tezuka, they were soon outside his trainer’s office. This part of the building suffered minimum damage so they were hopeful of finding the woman hale. Thankfully, Ryuzaki suffered only minor injuries, though the scene looked more gruesome when they first walked in. Eiji and Momo had broken out into loud wails at the site before the gruff voice of their sensei told them to shut up and help her up.

It was with relief and distress the Seigaku tennis team emerged from the ravaged building. They were relieved that they were alive but their hearts cried at their fallen comrades. There was nothing that they could have done to save them; they could not even rescue their bodies to give them a proper farewell. They sat wearily on the grass where an evacuation area was being set up 200 hundred feet way from the partially destroyed treatment centre. A small distance away, a list of missing individuals were being formulated so the team decided to enter Inui and Kaidoh’s name. They were fifth in line when they heard a familiar voice calling out very, very familiar names to the person in charge of the list. Pandemonium erupted as the boys reunited with each other especially since both thought that the other set were dead or gravely injured. The sight returned to normal as a suspiciously wet eyed Momo accused Kaidoh of being cruel as he was not where he was supposed to be resulting in a loud argument erupting between them.

Tezuka and Fuji slipped away unnoticed by the group and stood in front of a large pink flowering tree looking at the destruction of the building they were in. It was here, with devastation in front of them and beauty surrounding them as the pink flowers fell, they confessed their love for one another and had their first kiss.

</div>

Fic for decollement - part IV

2008-08-22T13:59:29Z

Moulin Rouge - Part IV

Pairing: TezuFuji (main), one-sided AtoFuji; other canon pairings

Prompter: decollement

Prompt: Tezuka/ Fuji (and the rest of Seigaku, I suppose. Bonus points if Hyotei is involved somewhere) in a Moulin Rouge AU.

Wordcount: ~ 4900

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Atobe acquires the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, Fuji is informed of his fatal illness and decides act.

Warnings: Loooong, possible ooc, pluralis majestatis instead of ore-sama; scenes play out different than in the movie
A/N: 4/5

Moulin Rouge

Part IV

Friday morning was grey and dreary and reminded Atobe that the year was approaching its end. Not that his aching head particularly minded the lingering darkness outside; just as the caress of cool silk had chased the weariness from his body after waking up.

Last night had not been supposed to end like this.

On one hand he was angry at having been knocked out by an – as of yet – unknown person. The act itself counted as a crime and Atobe knew he could easily press charges. But then again, his own behaviour prior to this had not been flattering either.

In fact, now, that the alcohol had stopped obscuring his senses, he felt appalled. Hadn’t he resolved not to lower himself to the status of all the other men trying to win affection with money? Hadn’t he wanted to give this new notion a chance; this love that people everywhere were praising?

Heaving a sigh, he straightened up. It didn’t quite help his resolve either that in the back of his mind a voice kept reminding him, that – regardless of whatever idea he himself entertained – Fuji ought not have rejected him.

And Tezuka.

Kabaji had told him Fuji had gone and stayed at Tezuka’s small apartment last night. He shouldn’t be bothered, he knew, but something deep in his chest was aching. The sensation was unfamiliar and Atobe wasn’t yet sure what to do about it.

But he had to do something or he’d go insane.

“Fuji! Fuji!”

The actor woke to Tezuka softly shaking his shoulder. Buried underneath warm blankets he felt no inclination to get up, but smiled when Tezuka leaned down to place a soft kiss on the top of his nose.

“You have to get up.” The writer whispered, affectionately tracing the white cheeks with his fingers, “Rehearsals will start in an hour.”

A shadow crossed Fuji’s face for a split second as the warm, illusory cocoon burst to be replaced by reality’s obligations. He had yet to face Momoshirou and most certainly the Duke wouldn’t take last night’s events lying down…

“Are you feeling alright?” Tezuka asked, faint lines of concern visible on his face. Fuji just hadn’t stopped trembling last night; not even after he’d told Tezuka everything. It had taken far too long for the boy’s hands to warm up again and even longer for him to fall asleep, even in the safety of Tezuka’s arms.

“Yes.” Fuji answered softly. His throat felt a little sore and he hoped he wasn’t coming down with something – he was planning to give his very best at the premier.

Tezuka brushed a couple of hairs aside. “If you’re unwell, you should rest. You’re still pale…”

“I’m okay.” Fuji replied with a faint smile and sat up.

It was time to face reality.

“What did Atobe want?” Oishi asked the moment Atobe had left the director’s office. Eiji followed him in, biting his lip nervously and Momoshirou looked dreadfully pale.

There was a contract lying on the table, but Oishi wasn’t calm enough to read it over right now. They were all anxious since they’d heard about last night from Kawamura – who’d been reluctant to tell the entire story, but the little he had related had been bad enough.

Eiji had been about to run over to Tezuka’s to make sure Fuji was alright, but Oishi had been able to convince him to stay. Tezuka most probably was capable of dealing with the situation on his own – and, most important of all – Tezuka was the person Fuji needed.

The change in the young actor since Tezuka’s arrival was remarkable. Formerly false, shadowed smiles had turned bright and cheerful; and for once since Oishi had known the boy he’d been completely content.

Momoshirou’s sigh drew him out of his contemplations.

“Close the door.” The director advised and Eiji silently complied.

“Atobe…” Momoshirou slumped back into his chair, “Now owns the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.”

“What?” Eiji exclaimed and Oishi felt all blood leave his head.

With a bitter smile the director carried on: “He said it’s for financial security only. But, you know…”

They understood far too well. Far, far too well.

Straightening himself up, Momoshirou fixed both of them with a level glare. “Don’t tell it anybody yet. Especially not Fuji.”

Atobe’s coach was parked in front of the Moulin Rouge when Tezuka and Fuji hurried over, five minutes before rehearsals were due to start. Fuji bit his lip and tried to keep his smile from fleeing, while Tezuka gave the contraption a dark glare.

Then the doors opened and their ways split.

Fuji was immediately accosted by an extremely worried Eiji, followed by Oishi who appeared no less concerned. Together with Gakuto and some other familiar faces they disappeared off-stage, while Oshitari fixed Tezuka with a contemplative frown.

When Tezuka raised an eyebrow questioningly, the blue-haired actor only shook his head – but his expression meant no good. Before Tezuka got a chance to inquire however, a hand on his shoulder distracted him.

Inui pushed his glasses up. “Did you finish the script?”

Blinking in surprise Tezuka nodded. “Yes.”

“Momoshirou wants to see it, so could you please fetch it now?”

Upon entering his dressing room after fending of all the worried inquiries, Fuji was surprised to discover a large, beautifully arranged bouquet of white camellias, white carnations and purple hyacinths.

Stepping closer, he didn’t hear Eiji entering. Only when the red-head spoke up, Fuji looked away from the elegant flower arrangement.

“They’re from Atobe.” Eiji commented darkly. “He said he’ll be here to watch the afternoon rehearsals…”

Fuji nodded silently. And when Eiji had left again, he sighed and pressed his eyes together. Last night everything had gone wrong. Hadn’t he made up his mind to…?

And now, Atobe had sent him purple hyacinths[i].

As promised, Atobe appeared later in the afternoon. He had wanted to come earlier, so that he might be able to speak to Fuji in private, but some business deals had taken longer than anticipated.

Fuji was already on stage, dressed in his half-finished vibrant red costume and singing beautifully, while backstage Inui experimented with the lightening. One moment the stage was bathed in red, the next the room held a soft, golden glow.

Momoshirou was stuck between acting his part and voicing his opinions on Inui’s latest arrangement, but the other actors continued to play their parts without a hitch. Imagining the costumes finished and the stage decorated, the musical looked promising enough.

Still, Atobe felt safer with the deeds in his hand. If anything went wrong he could call things off at anytime he wanted – not that he intended to. And seeing Fuji on stage made him all the more certain that this musical was going to be a success.

When he went to take a seat in the front row however, he caught sight of Tezuka.

Perhaps the writer hadn’t heard him enter, but his eyes were glued onto Fuji’s small form. Almost obsessive, Atobe judged the way the writer was staring. Fuji most certainly was mesmerizing, but a gentleman ought to be able to keep himself in check.

… at least when he was sober.

Atobe couldn’t quite chase away the dark emotions that had overcome him at seeing Tezuka already here – the writer was lucky to be able to spend so much time around Fuji. He had no prior business matters to attend to; could do what he wanted with his time…

Envy, while unsuited, was hard to avoid.

And then all of a sudden Fuji’s voice stopped.

Atobe’s head shot up, wide-eyed he stared as Fuji gasped for breath. Saw Eiji turn, paling rapidly; didn’t even hear the music stop abruptly; could only watch as the actor tried to from words, to breath, to do anything…

Fuji’s long eyelashes fluttered, one small, white hand reached out in a futile search of something to hold on, and then he collapsed.

There was a thick, all-encompassing darkness smothering Fuji’s senses and somehow his body felt weightless, but far too lethargic to move at the same time. For once, he felt relaxed and warm and his lungs had stopped burning, even if his throat still felt sore. But he was already grateful there was no metallic aftertaste left in his mouth and he could breath without coughing.

A bit of fatigued had remained and for once Fuji was about to indulge; snuggle deeper into this soft cocoon and return into Hypnos’ realm. But then the hand he hadn’t even noticed holding his own left unexpectedly; a door closed somewhere far, far away.

“Atobe.” Tezuka sounded fairly displeased. A rarity, really, as the man showed little emotion to the outside world. He had to be fairly stressed, Fuji deduced.

“Tezuka.” Atobe replied, equally terse.

The steps came closer and Fuji felt those piercing eyes focus on himself. He wanted to curl away, but his body refused to move.

“Has your obsession reached the degree that you can’t even give him a break anymore?” Atobe questioned, turning to Tezuka, who merely raised an eyebrow. “While we see the necessity of heightened pressure for good performing, there is such a thing as too much pressure.”

“What are you saying?” Tezuka evenly asked, but Fuji could feel the tension building up far too well.

Atobe pressed his lips together. “Your presence is stressful for the actors, we feel.”

And while Tezuka could only blink in surprise, Atobe had already gathered momentum.

“We’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from watching the rehearsals any further from this point on.” Atobe coldly declared and Fuji felt the room temperature sinking by several degrees.

“I understand your desire to wish so.” Tezuka replied, his words polite but his tone icy, “However as the writer there are no legal grounds for me to stay away.”

Atobe merely raised an eyebrow. “The script has already been completed, as far as we know. We deem your presences detrimental to Fuji’s health.”

There was a moment of tense silence – long enough for dread to blossom in the depth of Fuji’s stomach. Too many unspoken words still hung in the air and he had a very bad feeling about it.

“You are entitled to your own opinion, Atobe-sama.” Tezuka answered, not losing an ounce of his composure. “Don’t hold it against me if I feel inclined to disagree, though.”

“So you will continue to come?” Atobe questioned and the almost gleeful undertone swinging in his voice raised Fuji’s distrust to new levels. Tezuka, too, sensed something amiss.

“There is no valid reason to be absent.” He carefully replied.

Atobe smirked. Slowly, almost sadistically the corners of his mouth moved upwards and he spoke the following words slowly, clearly savouring his triumph, even as Tezuka felt the ground slip out from under his feet.

“So you haven’t heard yet. Just this morning we acquired the deeds to the Moulin Rouge.”

Fuji’s heart stopped. Had anybody looked they’d seen his fingers twitch, but the two men were wrapped in their conversation.

“And since that names us the legal owner and Moulin Rouge our private property we have every right to deny you further access.”

Had Tezuka been a little less stoic, a little less self-controlled, only a little less calm, he’d have either broken down or flown at Atobe that very minute. Whatever foothold he’d had over the situation suddenly slipped through his fingers; his point of contact with Fuji violently destroyed by this annoyance.

Instead of wrapping his fingers around that neck hidden underneath a white lace scarf; or even punching that arrogant visage hard enough to break the nose and disfigure it permanently, Tezuka remained standing quietly where he was. Not a muscle in his face moved, though he was falling apart on the inside.

“Do you understand what we are saying, Tezuka?” Atobe asked suddenly, his victorious smirk wiped away; replaced by a far darker expression Tezuka had not yet seen on his face. Those eyes coldly bored into him and there was not a shadow of the civilized humanist Atobe pretended to be left. Not even the arrogance – this was the ruthless, unscrupulous businessman that had made fortunes.

Tezuka swallowed but refused to be intimidated. He remained standing near Fuji’s prone form on the settee.

“If you ever set foot into the Moulin Rouge again without a proper invitation, I can not guarantee for your life.”

Thunderstruck, Tezuka could only nod very, very slowly. He had no choice – even if his heart was wailing in protest and an abyss of swirling darkness threatening to overtake his soul. Fuji wanted to scream, but even if he’d been conscious he couldn’t have – shock froze his mind, body and soul.

Atobe was plainly threatening Tezuka’s life. When had things become like this? Why…

Why had everything come to such a painful conclusion?

“We have further business with the manager.” Atobe calmly state, his arrogant, educated self completely restored, “When we return in twenty minutes, we expect you gone.”

Even if Fuji remained pale, he insisted he was fine and rehearsals continued as scheduled during the following days. Atobe kept coming, and as Tezuka couldn’t, Fuji made sure to go and visit the writer every evening, often also spending the night.

As the weather grew colder those moments when his hand touched the worn wood became precious. There was always a softly lit room awaiting him, a dinner and the warmth of Tezuka’s embrace. More than often, they did barely more than embrace.

Rehearsals were becoming more and more taxing, often lasting long after sun set. Fuji grew increasingly tired, sometimes stumbling even on stage – but he tried to keep those moments as few as possible. He was all too aware of Eiji’s worried eyes watching his back or Oishi’s constant reminders to take it easy.

The coughing, though, was truly getting bothersome, because at times Fuji felt his voice scratch or notes go astray – which irked him, even if Choutarou said not to mind, he still hit far more right notes than Momoshirou.

Speaking of the director, the man was more subdued than usual. Fuji might not have noticed had he not overheard the conversation between Tezuka and Atobe, but like this he could easily tell that the changed ownership was deeply bothering Momoshirou. Still Fuji smiled, appreciating the effort Momoshirou put into making things seem alright – this kind of thoughtfulness was truly heart-warming.

The least Fuji could do in return was give his best on stage. And smile when asked if he was feeling alright; reassure everybody even if his head was spinning.

It was on one of those late afternoons after a long day of practice that Fuji felt particularly worn out. He tried his best not to let it show, but Eiji at least had caught on.

The very moment their scene was completed, the red head turned to Fuji, fixing his friend with a penetrating stare and said: “Sit down, Fuji. You look as if you’re about to faint.”

True, he felt like it, but Fuji raised his head and smiled the best smile he could manage. “Don’t worry. I’m al …”

All of the sudden the ground wasn’t underneath his feet anymore, the world was spinning, somebody screamed his name in the background and the world went black.

“Fuji!” Eiji jumped forward and barely managed to catch his friend’s body before it hit the ground. Sinking to his knees he carefully gathered Fuji’s unresponsive form in his arms. His friend’s face was pale and even unconscious he was gasping for breath.

“Oishi! Oishi!”

“I suppose it might be stress.” Oishi said calmer than he felt a few moments later when they had carried Fuji backstage and made sure the actor hadn’t injured himself in the fall. Eiji nodded with a sigh, eyes inevitably travelling over to Fuji. The boy’s breathing had evened out and he appeared to be resting peacefully – almost a rare sight these days.

“He lost a lot of weight recently…” Eiji muttered, stroking one pale hand.

Oishi pressed his lips together. “Eiji, it might have been only stress tonight, but …”

“I know.” Eiji whispered forlornly, “I know.”

When Fuji came to he was lying on an old settee, backstage with a bloodied handkerchief clutched in his right hand that just wouldn’t stop trembling. He felt cold and dizzy, but Eiji’s hand stroking his hair soothed the worst of the pain away.

Slowly opening his eyes Fuji turned a small smile on his long-time friend.

“Eiji…” his voice sounded uncharacteristically weak and Eiji looked heart-breakingly worried.

“Is he awake?” Somebody in the background asked and Fuji became aware of quite a couple of persons surrounding the settee. His first instinct was to sit up and apologize for worrying everybody, but his body refused to cooperate. Breathing alone hurt; sitting up was out of question.

There were Momoshirou and Oishi; Kawamura stood a little farther in the background; Gakuto and Oshitari near him.

A sense of dread blossomed in Fuji’s stomach. Something he’d long known subconsciously; something he’d tried to deny …

“Fujiko-chan…” Eiji whispered, probably trying to be reassuring, however his voice emerged as a strangled sob. “I… We…”

Drawing a deep breath Oishi steeled his nerves and stepped forward. He knelt down beside Eiji so that he could look into Fuji’s half-lidded, fever-glazed eyes.

“Fuji…”

Momoshirou bit his lip.

“I need to tell you something.” Oishi started, his voice soft yet steady. “Your coughing…”

“…it’s not a normal cold, is it?” The actor asked with a weak smile on his ghostly-pale face.

“No.” Oishi confirmed. “It’s tuberculosis.”

Grave silence fell over the small group. Only distant sounds from the stage filled the air, while Eiji held his breath, waiting for Fuji’s reaction. And the metallic taste spreading in Momoshirou’s mouth told him his lip was bleeding – but he couldn’t care less.

Fuji remained calm. With a faint smile on his face he turned to his friends. “I see.”

He didn’t even feel particularly shocked or grieved. Maybe he’d really known all along, but most of all, he didn’t want everybody to look at him with that expression. Fuji smiled because he didn’t want people to worry; especially those treasured few he called his friends.

He wanted to see those precious persons happy.

Sadness had no place on Eiji’s face, as little as he wanted to see Momoshirou frown anywhere else than during acting on stage. Oishi had already enough to worry about without adding Fuji on his list – so he resolved he’d do his best to make all of them forget about his illness.

One more question had to be answered, though.

Fuji managed to keep his smile from trembling when he turned to Oishi again.

“How long do I have?”

Oishi held his glance even if it broke his heart.

“Three month perhaps – if you take it easy. Otherwise…”

He just couldn’t bring himself to say that it might be a matter of mere weeks.

“There is something I’d like to talk to you about.” Momoshirou started, as soon as Tezuka had settled down opposite of him.

The writer nodded silently.

Momoshirou sighed and decided to go straight to the point. “We’ll change the ending.”

There was no visible reaction from Tezuka and that disturbed Momoshirou far more than any expression of rage or discontent would have done.

“I spoke with the Duke and the actors and everybody feels that the ending – while beautiful, very much so – just won’t go too well with the audience. It’s just too … too intellectual. This musical is meant to amuse people, entertain them – not to make them think. I know wanting to change the world or the way people think has long since been the task of writers and philosophers – but not ours.”

Tezuka remained stoic. After Momoshirou failed to say anything else, he asked: “How will the play end, then?”

“Most people suggested turning it into a tragedy.” Momoshirou looked away, out of the window, “Traviata[ii]-style or something like that. The Duke however was rather insistent the story should have a happy ending.”

All Momoshirou got in return was one barely raised eyebrow; otherwise Tezuka appeared not half as surprised as the director himself had been when Atobe had announced his expectations. Even Fuji had looked stunned for a moment then.

“When the sitar player is about to be executed the henchman changes targets at last minute and shots the Maharajah.” Momoshirou recounted, sounding not very convinced. “Because the Maharajah has been an unfair tyrant people are rebelling … I know it’s not very good, but the audience can understand that scheme. Revolutions and rebellions have always been popular – and are far easier to understand than the idea of liberty as the greatest proof of love.”

“I understand.” Tezuka replied tonelessly and Momoshirou felt like sighing.

Gathering his resolve, Fuji raised his hand to knock on the door.

For a single moment he let himself dwell on those gold-tinted memories. How often had he come here feeling cheerful? How often had his hands touched this wood already and had he ever spent a time more happy than within the room that lay beyond?

But no more, no more.

Tonight he’d play the role of his life. Tonight he’d settle things. And then cling onto those wonderful memories of happy days for whatever time remained.

There was no more time for contemplation, or unintentionally tear-shedding. Tezuka opened the door, already dressed down for the night. His eyes widened in surprise at seeing Fuji, but narrowed instantly.

The unreadable expression on Fuji’s face hadn’t escaped the writer’s notice.

“Tezuka.” Fuji started, voice even, “We need to talk.”

A nod and Tezuka opened the door. “Come in, then.”

Fuji stepped, but did not sit down. The room was just as softly lit as always and the welcoming warmth threatened to overwhelm his senses for a few moments, but Fuji steeled his resolve.

It would be better for everybody if he broke things off with Tezuka. Not because of Atobe, no, even though Fuji dimly understood that at one point in the future he might have had to decide between the two men.

Considering what Oishi had told him however… A faint smile crawled to his lips. He loved Tezuka, loved him from the bottom of his heart and only wanted to see him happy.

Having a beloved die in front of his eyes would certainly cause far greater unhappiness than the impending quarrel. If Tezuka hated him, Fuji concluded, he could die with his mind at peace.

“I won’t be seeing you anymore.” Fuji announced.

Tezuka flinched, turning around. Confusion swam in his eyes, mixed with hurt and suspicion and Fuji wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around those wide shoulders and take his words back.

“Is it because of the Duke?”

The actor shook his head.

“Why then?” Tezuka asked and Fuji heard the well-suppressed tremble in that smooth voice. It hurt to see Tezuka look at him like this, to watch his heart break, but …

This was no place for compassion. If Fuji tried to reason Tezuka would not hate him, but only be sad and grieve. And this was not what Fuji wanted.

Telling himself this was another play, Fuji slowly raised his head, a cold smirk playing on his lips. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Confused at the strange behaviour, Tezuka fell silent, watching in disbelief.

“You finished the script, didn’t you?” Fuji asked coolly, straightening himself up and brushed his fingers disdainfully over the table. How often had they eaten here together? Had talked about the most whimsical things and …

No regrets now.

“I don’t need you anymore.”

Tezuka’s eyes opened wide, thunderstruck. Silence hung gravely over the small room, with Fuji seemingly uncaring and Tezuka fishing for words.

“What?” ,was all the writer managed in the end. There was barely any blood left in his face and the oncoming sadness reflected in those hazel orbs had Fuji’s heart aching.

“Not what.” The actor replied, shrugging his shoulders, “That’s it. The play’s over, you can go home. Or come and watch, I don’t care.”

Tezuka breathed in audibly. “Wh … are you saying you have been using me?”

“Such a harsh way of putting it.” Fuji shot back, “But I guess, yes.”

Sadness gave away to indignation. Anger. Fuji felt his soul tremble at the sight, but had to remind himself, that this was exactly he reaction he had wanted.

“Everything was a lie?” Tezuka questioned, voice growing louder, even if disbelief was yet stronger than rage. “Everything you told me… everything we did together… all of that was fake?”

Fuji smiled calmly. “I am an actor, Tezuka. It is my job to make people see what they want to see.”

“You mean … you … I…” Tezuka sputtered and Fuji used the moment to further this heart-breaking exercise in cruelty. “It was rather easy to fool you, if I may say so. I had expected you to be somewhat harder to crack, but well… Did you honestly believe I’d pick you over Atobe? Are you that naïve?”

Even if he could feel the air trembling with tension and anger, Fuji went on: “I needed a script, fast preferably, to win the Duke for the project, so I’m rather grateful you appeared on the scene back then. And also helped me to make the Duke so nicely jealous. You’re too nice for your own good, really.”

Steeling his nerves, Fuji raised his eyes to meet Tezuka’s.

“But for what reason should I fall in love with a penniless, naïve day-dreamer when a wealthy, world-wise Duke is the alternative? I’m really surprised you thought I actually loved you…”

The deed had been done. Fuji could see the whirling emotions in Tezuka’s eyes, how firmly the writer was pressing his lips together and felt tears well up in his own eyes.

“I never loved you either!” Tezuka yelled after a split second and stormed out.

Fuji felt him brush past but made no move to stop him, even if his heart was screaming. Furiously he tried to blink away the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes; not moving even as a door slammed shut and Tezuka’s footsteps grew distant.

Maybe he’d never see that man again.

He’d just gone and intentionally destroyed what little happiness had remained in his life. Told the cruellest lie to the only man he’d ever loved. And still loved so much it hurt just to recall his face.

And those hands, so warm and gentle…

With a choked sob Fuji collapsed to his knees.

This is it, he thought, the morbid finality almost sweet to his shattered heart, this is the end. He had nothing left to loose.

“I love you…” Fuji gasped, voice trembling, burying his face in his hands, “I love you…”

[i] Purple hyacinths = I’m sorry

[ii] La Traviata – opera by Verdi, main character is curtisan who dies from illness

</div>

Moulin Rouge III

2008-08-13T18:28:03Z

Moulin Rouge - Part III

Pairing: TezuFuji (main), one-sided AtoFuji; other canon pairings

Prompter: decollement

Prompt: Tezuka/ Fuji (and the rest of Seigaku, I suppose. Bonus points if Hyotei is involved somewhere) in a Moulin Rouge AU.

Wordcount: ~ 7000(kill me now please)

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Tezuka and Atobe competing for Fuji’s affections. And then Atobe invites Fuji for diner.

Warnings: Loooong, possible ooc, pluralis majestatis instead of ore-sama; scenes play out different than in the movie
A/N: 3 of 5 (...) and I had to cut some scenes as lj was complaining the post was too large...

Moulin Rouge

III

No matter how fiercely Tezuka tried to deny the blossoming feelings in his chest, he was inevitably gravitating to Fuji’s side in the next few days. He found himself at the Moulin Rouge early in the morning, watching the actors practice while simultaneously working further on the script.

And in the break Fuji would drift over; even more beautiful in ordinary clothing than in those glittering stage outfits, ask him what he thought about this or that scene, share his own impressions and – by chance – brush a hand against his. Or lean forward to read the latest sentence written while his soft hair tickled Tezuka’s cheek and flash an impish smile when Tezuka cleared his throat.

But then Tezuka would interrupt practice, climb onto the stage to adjust postures. If Momoshirou saw his hand linger a little too long on Fuji’s waist or Oshitari had a problem with Tezuka spontaneously taking his place in a dialogue to “get the point across” – no complaint was ever voiced.

There was a new enthusiasm in Fuji’s act, a vibrancy to his gestures that Momoshirou had never seen before. Eiji had once, after almost an entire bottle of good red wine, told him that Fuji actually loved this job. Not quite the part of getting men worked up – but the acting.

“I guess it’s the only way he can do what he does.” Eiji had said, drunk and solemn, “Act all the way … even behind closed doors.”

That day Momoshirou, not for the first time, had wished he could change the Moulin Rouge’s shady image. Move away from being a high-scale brothel to being an honest theatre. Not for his own sake – but for people like Fuji, Eiji and all those others.

Maybe this time around it would work out, Momoshirou hoped, watching Fuji engage in a heated discussion with Tezuka – who’d taken Oshitari’s place for the scene – on stage. The sitar player was trying to convince the concubine that he loved her for more than her beauty; and Tezuka was being quite passionate in delivering his lines.

And the Duke was watching.

As always, if time allowed it and he had no prior engagements, Atobe Keigo made time to come by and watch the rehearsals – or, to be more precise, to watch Fuji. If he was lucky he managed to exchange a couple of words with the actor, or was graced with one of these sweet, sweet smiles; yet regrettably Fuji always was extremely busy.

If not on stage with Oshitari or listening to Momoshirou’s directions, then he’d be deep in conversation with Tezuka or fooling around with Eiji – barely a minute to spare for Atobe. Not even for dinner.

Atobe Keigo however wasn’t just sitting around.

Barely a day passed now without him bringing flowers, a present or any other token of affection for Fuji. He didn’t mind the money spent, as long as for those precious moments that the rose bouquet passed from his hands into Fuji’s smaller ones, the actor stopped caring for the world around them. And that dazzling smile was meant for Atobe alone.

He couldn’t help the shiver that went through him when their fingertips touched. Couldn’t help but wish for those minutes to last, even when Fuji had already returned to his fellow actors and when Eiji wrapped his arms around his shoulders, Atobe felt a darker sentiment blossoming in his chest.

He wanted Fuji.

And if he asked directly, Fuji could not deny him.

But Atobe didn’t want Fuji to be his companion only for the sake of money and obligations. He did not want to be another man on that list of well-paying customers that would be happy to leave the Moulin Rouge a high-class brothel.

What Atobe hoped for was for Fuji to choose him; select him for being who he was – not for his fortune, his social status or whatever. If that required buying presents, indulging strange whims or even taking that writer along on small excursions – Atobe didn’t mind.

“You should watch out.” Oshitari one day told Tezuka as they were taking a break backstage. “That Atobe doesn’t look as if he’d take well to being fooled with.”

Tezuka coolly raised an eyebrow and Oshitari continued.

“You and Fuji – it’s nice to see you actually smile for once, but I hope you know that the moment our dear Narcissus finds out there’ll be hell to pay.”

After a moment of silence Tezuka only replied: “I won’t let my guard down.”

“Atobe-sama!” Fuji exclaimed surprised, turning his back to Tezuka.

The Duke headed straight for the actor, not even glancing at all the other persons present. Tezuka frowned at the interruption, but remained silent.

“Mon chéri, you look lovely as always.” Atobe stated, taking one small hand and pressing a shallow kiss on its back, “We have something special for you today.”

Tezuka’s frown darkened.

“Kabaji!”

Without saying a word Atobe’s loyal bodyguard stepped forward, proffering a small box decorated by a violet, satin ribbon. It looked high-quality and within seconds all eyes had come to focus on Atobe and Fuji.

“For me?” Fuji questioned, sounding breathless. “But Atobe-sama, I really can not…”

Atobe shook his head. “If you want to make us happy, accept this humble gift.”

“I honestly can’t …”

“We saw it, thought of you and bought it. If you are to refuse it we fear it has been bought in vain.”

Fuji’s shoulders slumped a little, but his smile widened. “You leave me no choice…”

The curiosity when Fuji pulled off the ribbon and opened the box, Tezuka noted with disdain, wasn’t faked. While he knew Fuji was not one to be tempted by material things, the boy however liked to receive presents. And Atobe practically showered him with those – while Tezuka couldn’t even afford to take him out for dinner.

Maybe he should write his parents and ask them for money; yet he told himself it was not a good idea to enter this competition with Atobe. Fuji was not so shallow…

“… the shop owner told us the silk has been imported from China.” Atobe said; feeling strangely pleased at the sight of Fuji’s blue eyes wide open. Small white hands touched the silk scarf as if handling antique valuables; fascinated by the smooth sensation.

Atobe smiled. “We have come to notice you have been coughing lately and since winter is coming we thought you might benefit from this.”

Fuji in return gave Atobe the most brilliant, dazzling smile the Duke had ever seen.

Neither heard Oishi sigh in the background.

“Would you perhaps join us for dinner tonight?” Atobe asked the moment Fuji stepped off the stage.

Blue eyes blinked, and within those few seconds Fuji hesitated, Tezuka appeared at his side. The playwright’s expression was stoic as always and Atobe once again wondered just why Fuji got along so well with that man.

Sensing the presence beside him Fuji flashed the Duke a rather weak smile. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invitation. Monsieur Tezuka requested my assistance for working out some glitches in the script tonight.”

“We understand it’s important for the main actor to be familiar with the playwright.” Atobe was saying, fixing Momoshirou with a level glare over his desk in the Gothic Tower. “However we wonder whether the financier has no likewise right…”

Momoshirou swallowed dryly. He’d been afraid of that confrontation; yet knew it had been coming.

“Well, you see, the premier is drawing near so everybody is really upset and nervous and …”

“We are already aware of that.” Atobe sharply interrupted him, “Thus we extended dinner invitations at a time when rehearsals had already finished.”

Fuji had rejected that man one time too many. And while Momoshirou could understand only too well why Fuji had done so, he was afraid there was little he could do now to mitigate the affair.

He let the silence grow for a minute, before clearing his throat. “Dear Duke, did you perhaps consider… I’m almost embarrassed to say it, but you see … one doesn’t easily notice, but Fujiko-chan is rather shy in certain aspects. Maybe the prospect of dining with your Greatness on such short term notice frightened him.”

An eyebrow shot up, but Momoshirou saw the wheels begin turning in Atobe’s head and almost sighed with relief. Obviously Atobe had forgotten to consider the aspect of their different social statuses and picked up rather well on Momoshirou’s implication that Fuji might feel uncomfortable moving in upper-class circles. (which would however be a blatant lie, Momoshirou knew all too well)

“I could talk to him, if you’d like me to.” Momoshirou offered helpfully.

Atobe however shook his head. “No, no.” he muttered, “We wouldn’t want him to feel uncomfortable – maybe a private dinner would be preferable?”

“Just wonderful!” Momoshirou exclaimed, “Splendid!”

And then he leaned forward, fixing Atobe with one intense look. “But you’ll have to give Fujiko-chan time to prepare. He’s going to faint from excitement otherwise.”

“Oh?”

“He secretly adores you.” Momoshirou whispered, as if sharing a juicy secret, “Blushes and stutters when your name is mentioned – like a young girl in love for the very first time.”

Fuji would forgive him, he hoped. Tezuka certainly would not.

“I’m afraid that’s also why he hasn’t been speaking to you a lot – and dragged Tezuka along to your outings. He’s just afraid of being alone with you, afraid of embarrassing himself in front of you.”

Atobe looked vaguely pleased, so Momoshirou decided to go all out. “Fujiko-chan is a brilliant actor on stage, but always so afraid of blunders behind the scenes. He would never forgive himself if he did anything unsuitable in your company.”

“He’d never dare to look you in the eye again.” Momoshirou added and – for emphasis – snatched a white tablecloth and hid his face behind it.

For a split second Atobe appeared torn between disgust and amusement at the gesture, but then the Duke settled for smug. “So you’re saying Fujiko-chan is awed by our prowess.”

“Very much so.” Momoshirou coyly replied, “You’ll have to approach him carefully or he’ll run away.”

Fluttering his lashes, he added: “You just have to imagine you’re seducing a young maiden.”

A spark of unholy interest lit up in those cool, unfathomable eyes and Momoshirou had to fight back a shudder. He didn’t dare think upon what he was awakening, for Atobe appeared not only appeased, but highly intrigued.

“Like one of those young girls that have never been with a man before?” the Duke asked, for a moment forgetting all about Momoshirou prancing around him with a lacy tablecloth wrapped around his head.

“Indeed.” Momoshirou answered huskily, daring himself to lean close enough that the Duke could feel his breath on his cheek. “Being together with you will be a first time for Fujiko-chan.”

Atobe’s lips involuntarily twitched upwards.

“We shall dine with him on Thursday night. In the Gothic Tower.”

“No! No! Tezuka!” Fuji burst into incredulous laughter, dancing teasingly out of Tezuka’s reach. Rehearsals had been paused while Shishido and Inui were messing around with the stage props, giving the actors some time to pass as they pleased.

And indeed, Gakuto and Oshitari had been quick to disappear, Jirou had grabbed one of the pillows that made up the Maharajah’s chambers and still rested there, deep in slumber and Kaidou had procured a book and started reading.

The lead actor and the writer meanwhile had retreated to the first-floor balcony, lost in some private banter and didn’t hear the main doors open beneath them.

Oishi was the first one to emerge from backstage when the doors banged shut. Silence fell as the golden embroideries on Atobe’s navy winter coat glittered in the dim lightening. The Duke appeared supremely confident, a self-satisfied smile on his handsome face – and some of the dancers couldn’t help but feel faint at the sight.

Oishi bit his lip, while Atobe passed his coat to the ever-silent Kabaji with a flourish; dimly wondering who was going to handle this situation. From the corner of his eye he caught Tezuka and Fuji upstairs, with Fuji’s back against one of the wooden support beams, face tilted up to glance at Tezuka, who stood far too close.

If Atobe was to turn around …

Momoshirou chose just that moment to appear. The director was still in his red, over-decorated Maharajah outfit, and hurried towards Atobe with exaggerated enthusiastic movements.

“Dear Duke! What an honour to have you grace us with your presence today!”

The director’s smile was dazzlingly wide, but his eyes had already caught sight of his main actor upstairs. He could only pray Atobe was willing to play the charade for the sake of appearances in front of the other actors.

… there was no need for anybody else to know what would happen had already been decided. That freedom of choice within these walls had become a mere illusion.

“Bonjour.” Atobe greeted as upstairs Tezuka leaned forward and closed the last of the remaining distance.

“We came to see how rehearsals are progressing.” The Duke smugly proclaimed and searchingly glanced over the present actors. There was no telling by his expression, but today he was truly feeling good – he would extend his invitation and then he only had to wait for Thursday night to come. Fuji would finally be his.

Tezuka’s kisses were like water, Fuji mused as his arms slid around Tezuka’s neck. They could be soft and soothing, deep and intriguing, stormy and passionate and a myriad of other things. With weakening knees he could only hold onto the taller man, wondering if one day he was going to drown in these wonderful kisses.

“Rehearsals are going wonderful.” Momoshirou replied brightly, and then suddenly changed his demeanour completely. His dark voice boomed through the room, and Gakuto curiously peeked out. Caught sight of Momoshirou proclaiming on stage. Atobe in the audience. And Tezuka and Fuji lip-locked up on the balcony.

“The Maharajah is already becoming very impatient.”

He never wanted to let go, Tezuka thought as small hands mussed up his hair. Maybe he’d always inwardly rolled his eyes when friends had started raving on the wonders of love; but right now he begun to understand. Feeling this warm body pressed up against his, those pliant lips responding, he couldn’t help but wish this moment would never end.

“We’re currently taking a break while our master technicians fix up some things.” Momoshirou, back to being the director, stated in good-humour; as Gakuto disappeared backstage again, dashing upstairs with Oshitari in tow.

Atobe smiled. “So maybe the lead actor would have some minutes to spare for us?”

“Fuji! Fuji!”

Fuji heard somebody urgently hiss his name and rather reluctantly separated his lips from Tezuka’s. The writer turned to look into the direction of the caller, his expression stoic even if his face was flushed.

“Atobe’s here!” Gakuto hissed.

Not daring to look up in fear of giving the couple away Momoshirou smiled. “But of course.”

Tezuka’s eyes flew open.

“Fujiko-chan! Stop hiding!” Momoshirou called, praying they had caught themselves up there and Atobe turned around to glance upwards.

Oshitari dove for Tezuka and in a mad tumble, three men went down.

Atobe only saw Fuji smiling at him from the first floor balcony, with his face flushed from nervous excitement. One white hand was holding onto a support beam and his eyes were sparkling.

“Come down and join us!” Momoshirou called, outwardly cheerful but Fuji could easily see through this, “The Duke would like to speak with you.”

“Oh my.” Fuji put a hand in front of his mouth to signify his astonishment, “With me? I shall be with you at once!”

Tezuka, held down in his uncomfortable position by Oshitari’s body on top of him, frowned at hearing Fuji’s sweet tone. And his frown deepened further when Fuji turned and walked away without sparing him even one more glance.

As if Atobe’s sudden presence had completely banished him from Fuji’s mind.

It was all Atobe could do to stop himself from reaching out and touching that smooth skin. As always, up close Fuji looked even more stunning and today his beauty was emphasized by a slight flush spread over his cheeks.

“Atobe-sama.” Fuji said, bowing and Atobe automatically shut out the world around him. He didn’t notice the insistent look Momoshirou directed at Fuji.

Instead he took hold of one small hand, relishing in feeling a fast pulse under white skin and smiled his best smile – the one that had already charmed half of the Parisian ladies off their feet.

“Mon chéri.” Atobe said, not caring about their audience, “We were wondering if you would deign to dine with us on Thursday night.”

As etiquette demanded he tore his eyes away from Fuji’s face for the moment, and let his gaze slide over the fragile body meanwhile. For a boy, Fuji’s waist was quite small, thus he could easily pass for a woman and those long dresses only emphasized this.

Fuji’s eyes met Momoshirou’s. He didn’t dare to glance up, to where Tezuka might be watching and waiting.

“I told you to be careful.” Oshitari hissed at Tezuka, while the writer rubbed at his left elbow, brows ceased in discomfort. He couldn’t help but feel confused at the fact that Fuji had just walked off – he understood the confusion, but one glance shouldn’t have been too much to ask, should it?

“Really, Tezuka, I understand what you’re feeling, but the Duke’s kind of a big fish out there.” Oshitari continued. “You don’t want to mess with somebody like that.”

Tezuka pressed his lips together. Back at home he’d also been called a person not to mess with. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to help himself. He’d dealt with his share of over-confident aggressors quite successfully – and even if those people here in Paris didn’t know, Atobe wasn’t that far out of his league as everybody automatically assumed.

“Nobody wants anything bad, Tezuka.” Gakuto added from where he was kneeling between the benches, “It’s just you should watch out. There are a lot of stage hands around and who knows what kind of rumours those gossiping girls could spawn – nobody of us wants to see you or Fuji get into trouble because of that.”

With a pout Gakuto added. “You know, everyone here is really looking forward to doing this musical. So if Atobe was to back out, that’d be …”

Tezuka only nodded in silence. He understood what Gakuto was saying. But he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right thing to do. If Fuji’s obligation to the crew was enough of an argument to forsake his personal happiness.

“I should be honoured.” Fuji replied, and his voice trembled slightly as Atobe tightened his grip.

Momoshirou bit his lip and Oishi wearily dared to glance upwards to Tezuka. The writer’s face seemed expressionless, but Oishi had an inkling of what had to be brewing beneath the surface. If it were Eiji standing in Fuji’s place now …

“Then come to the Gothic Tower on Thursday night.” Atobe stated; pleased at how the pulse underneath his fingers jumped. “It shall be just the two of us.”

Fuji fought to keep his smile on, yet something deep within him was trembling. He understood his obligation far too well, knew exactly what he had to do – and yet he couldn’t silence the little voice in the back of his voice that kept wondering whether he wasn’t betraying all of them by playing this charade.

“I shall do so.” He replied, his voice a mere whisper that carried through the silent room. Atobe smiled in satisfaction – perchance the Moulin Rouge’s director had not been lying when he’d told Atobe that this was going to be a first time for Fuji.

With one last bow, Atobe reluctantly let go of that warm hand. “We shall be looking forward to Thursday night.” And turned to go with a flourish – but not without casting a smirk up to where Tezuka was watching with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Are you really going to meet Atobe?” Tezuka asked Wednesday evening.

Fuji had come with him to his apartment after the rehearsals had finished for today and since the gang upstairs had gone out, the room felt unusually quite. With half a sigh Tezuka sat down on the edge of his bed and springs squeaked.

Fuji meanwhile drifted over to the window, thoughtfully starring out into the slight drizzle of rain against the onset of darkness.

“I suppose so.” The boy replied after a moment.

Tezuka watched the small form and couldn’t help but think that Fortuna was being unfair.

“But you turned down all his previous invitations.” He stated and saw a slight frown reflected on the window pane.

“Yes. I could, back then. They were less formal and spontaneous.” Fuji replied, sounding exhausted, “Not like today.”

“You can still tell Atobe you’re not feeling well on Thursday.”

“Nee, Tezuka.” Fuji suddenly turned away from the window and faced Tezuka with a sad smile, “I might be an actor but I don’t like lying. And I thought you didn’t either.”

Tezuka held the blue gaze for a moment before letting his head drop. Fuji was right. They’d already been making up far too many white lies recently and at times he felt as if he didn’t recognize himself anymore. Yet just seeing Fuji’s smile made every lie told worthwhile.

“And well…” Fuji continued, stifling a cough, “The Duke is the very person financing this musical. And somehow it doesn’t feel right to treat the person making your dream possible that badly.”

While Tezuka could understand the sentiment; he paled at the implications. The affectionate tone Fuji had used …

“Fuji.” He said and the flat tone made Fuji’s eyes widen, “Do you mean… you won’t turn him down?”

Recognizing the spark lightening up those dark eyes far too well, Fuji bit his lip. He could always lie, but Tezuka would see through him.

“I won’t.” he simply replied, dimly wondering how he could be so calm.

Tezuka swallowed dryly. To assuage his nervousness he stood up.

“And if Atobe … you know, wants more?”

Fuji closed his eyes resignedly. “I won’t deny him either.”

“Fuji!”

Three loud steps, then Tezuka was in front of the young actor and reached out to grasp him by the shoulders. Fuji’s eyes however remained closed and his voice even.

“Tezuka. You know this is necessary. This is my job, my obligation…”

“There’s no obligation forcing you to share a bed with that man!” Tezuka exclaimed, his fingers tightening almost painfully around Fuji’s upper arms.

Blue eyes snapped open. “But to tell him more lies?” he questioned, not caring if an ounce of his true emotions leaked through. He didn’t want to do this any more than Tezuka wanted him to, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice.

Tezuka ought to understand.

“No, Tezuka, no.” Fuji shook his head and tried to step back, out of Tezuka’s hold, but his back only connected with cold mortar. “I may not hold any feelings for the Duke, but the fact alone that he is the man making my dream possible makes him deserving of special treatment. I’m not going to deny him any longer.”

Silence descended. Tension hung thick in the air; Fuji felt as if he was suffocating with Tezuka’s eyes boring deep into his own. All he could do was cling onto his resolution, regardless of how badly he just wanted to fall into Tezuka’s arms.

Fall into his arms and stay there. All day tomorrow. And tomorrow night, too. With a wistful smile Fuji whispered: “Why couldn’t you have been the Duke?”

But in front of him Tezuka’s eyes turned cold. All warmth vanished and Tezuka stepped back, detaching his hands from Fuji’s body.

“Just do whatever you want.”

“What shall I wear tonight?” Fuji asked cheerfully, looking around in question. Eiji still had a frown on his face, but Gakuto had already decided that the least he could do was help with picking out a dress. Even if Oshitari was waiting for him.

Fuji meanwhile picked up one long black dress. “How about that one?”

“Isn’t that the one with the slit that almost goes up to your thigh?” Gakuto asked; one eyebrow raised. “It surely suits you.”

Eiji on the other hand frowned. “Nya, I don’t know. Didn’t Momo say you should go for innocent?”

“I guess that means the red dress is also out of question then.” Fuji nodded in contemplation.

“You could go for the college girl look.” Gakuto suggested. His own closet had a wide variety of such garments and he wouldn’t mind borrowing one set to Fuji.

“We don’t know if that would suit his majesty’s tastes.” Eiji replied, “Though considering the length of those skirts…”

“I was only saying.” Gakuto shot back sullenly, “Do you have any better suggestions?”

“Fujiko should wear something long with a high neckline, nya. Or pants.”

Fuji turned a soothing smile to his worried friend. “Eiji. You know it’s not the first time I’m doing this. And we depend on Atobe.”

“But Tezuka…”

“Tezuka is Tezuka and Atobe is Atobe. I have to be fair to both of them.”

Because, Fuji told himself, even if he couldn’t deny anymore that the man he loved was Tezuka, Atobe’s feelings were probably just as honest. And the man was making a considerable effort as well, so lying to him any further wouldn’t only be cruel, but also go against any ideas of right and wrong Fuji held.

He’d have to give Atobe this chance at least.

“Why don’t you wear white?” Eiji suggested after a few seconds.

Tezuka had woken up to a steady drumming of rain against the window. Skies outside were grey and his head had felt stuffed, tired, even if his watch read a time that was closer to midday than morning.

Dimly he had recalled his conversation with Fuji last night, but the turmoil bubbling in the depth of his heart had him trying to bury the memories instead. He didn’t like this sense of anxiety disturbing his peace of mind; how he just couldn’t seem concentrate.

How every little thing in this room reminded him of Fuji.

After choking down a tasteless lunch Tezuka found he couldn’t stay in his apartment any longer. The silence only invited memories of things he didn’t want to recall – he hadn’t meant what he’d said to Fuji. But he’d been angry.

The walk in the rain didn’t do anything to make his mind stop circling around the same subject. Instead Tezuka found himself faced with the realities of Montmartre once again – bohemian spirit and naïve idealism contrasted with stark materialism.

Fuji and he were no exceptions from the rules of society. Things had to be done to live, to survive – to make dreams possible even. Who was he to challenge Fuji’s resolve?

He should not have been angry. He shouldn’t have blamed Fuji for agreeing to meet with Atobe. He should have…

A sigh. Tezuka could only admit that this must be a lot of harder on Fuji than it was on him actually – it was just that he’d been too blinded by his feelings to see. And now all he could do was apologize and hope Fuji would forgive him.

Tezuka bit his lip. Looked at the muddy ground.

He had to talk to Fuji.

Everybody looked up as the doors slammed open.

Out of breath and with his hair in disorder, Tezuka stalked into the showroom. His eyes looked from the left to the right, wandering over the stage hands and actors loitering around, but didn’t stay on anybody for more than a split second.

There was Oishi sitting in one of the front seats, a book opened on his lap; Choutarou sitting together with Shishido behind the piano and Jirou dozing away on a settee. Eiji sitting comfortably on an armchair and metallic noises from off-stage gave away Inui’s location.

Gakuto and Eiji sitting together on the edge of the stage, dangling their legs in a rare display of peace between them; but Tezuka’s eyes did not find the person he was looking for.

“Where is Fuji?” he eventually asked.

Oishi’s shoulder slumped; he could hear somebody sighing, but it was Oshitari, who emerged from backstage, still dressed as the sitar player, to answer Tezuka’s question.

“At the Gothic Tower.” The dark-haired man replied evenly, eyes boring into Tezuka’s. “To have dinner with Atobe.”

And somehow it sounded like a curse.

“Did you come to apologize?” the man continued, unmindful of the shadow on Tezuka’s face. “Did you say something to Fuji you didn’t mean? And wanted to rectify things now, as you yourself realize you don’t understand your reason?”

Oshitari drew closer, a foreboding expression on his features.

“You’re jealous.” he whispered into Tezuka’s ear.

Drawing a deep breath, Fuji lifted his head as the polished, wooden double doors were opened for him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tezuka snorted.

Directly behind the door, within the luxuriously decorated, softly lit chamber, Atobe stood clad in his best suit.

Oshitari smiled, tilting his head and Tezuka didn’t miss the way his eyes stayed over to the small red head, sitting on the side and chatting with a couple of other dancers.

“You look beautiful.” Atobe said, and meant his words. Bowing deeply, he reached for Fuji’s hand and placed a kiss upon it.

Oshitari turned back to the writer. “You’re in love.”

With only a small word of thanks Fuji let himself be guided to the long table; where upon fancy silverware the most delicious meal was laid out. This was beyond anything he had dreamed of in his childhood, but right now he couldn’t even rejoice.

“In love?” Tezuka asked, sceptically. Infatuation, maybe. But love?

Because in his mind, Fuji kept seeing Tezuka’s cold, stony face.

“Yes, in love.” Oshitari grinned. And behind him Choutarou started playing the piano.

There was nothing notable about the soup and the main course tasted like ashes in Fuji’s mouth. And Atobe’s eyes resting expectantly upon him send cold shivers down his spine.

Tezuka crossed his arms, seeing that Oshitari hadn’t gotten to his point yet. The giggling dancers sitting along the stage were slowly getting on his nerves and he longed for the quiet of his apartment.

“I have something else for you.” Atobe said, after the used tableware had been carried away.

“And because you’re in love…”

Fuji’s eyes widened.

“…you’re jealous.”

Atobe came closer, bearing on his hands the last silver platter that had not been uncovered yet. He should be happy, he knew, but he only felt scared. The cover was whisked away suddenly and the brightly, sparkling diamond necklace underneath made Fuji’s heart stop.

“I’m not.”

“Atobe-sama…” Fuji gasped.

“Oh, you are.” Oshitari replied, smirking, “Because right now…” leaning closer to Tezuka’s ear and lowering his voice “Sweet, beautiful Fuji is dining with Atobe.”

Those diamonds had to be worth a fortune.

“And who knows…”

“I can’t accept this.”

“… what might happen.”

“You’d hurt our feelings if you were to reject this petite token of affection.”

“Just think about it.”

“Let us see you wear those.”

“Atobe’s hands touching him...”

Fuji held his breath. Finger, as cold as the precious stones, were ghosting across his neck. The white skin felt incredible smooth underneath Atobe’s hands as he carefully drew the ends of the collier together.

“Atobe’s lips upon his skin…”

Spellbound, the Duke leaned down. The smell of Fuji’s hair was mesmerizing and the white, small neck looked so tempting; his lips drew closer until Fuji felt cold breath on his shoulder.

“Atobe-sama!”

A shrill cord rang through the hall. “Enough!”

Oshitari only smirked.

“Pardon us.” Atobe grinned and his lips descended.

Tezuka couldn’t hear anymore, couldn’t stop the images from assaulting his mind and Oshitari’s words didn’t help. This atmosphere of decadence, sexual tension and dim lightening – he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Fuji gasped, tensing up as Atobe’s lips caressed his neck; frozen in place even as a warm tongue traced his skin. Then teeth replaced lips, nibbling and biting and …

Tezuka whirled around, heedlessly storming out of the Moulin Rouge, leaving the double doors swinging in his wake. Cold rain met him outside, but he didn’t care; couldn’t chase away the images, couldn’t free his mind – so he ran.

Fuji abruptly stood, moving out of Atobe’s reach. Blue eyes, wide with well-disguised fear, stared at the smirking Duke. He couldn’t help himself, but right now he didn’t want to be touched by Atobe. Even if it was his job; even if it was supposed to be just another role to play …

“Did we surprise you?” Atobe asked, closing in and Fuji could smell the wine on his breath. One hand reached out and grasped his upper arm in a painfully tight grip; the other tried to grab his chin, but Fuji twisted away.

“Atobe…” he set out seriously. Somehow he had to tell Atobe to back off, preferably before either of them lost their temper. The consequences would be harsh, Fuji understood pretty well that the price for making Atobe back off now would be painful to pay, but he couldn’t pull off the act tonight.

His heart felt like breaking and he couldn’t get Tezuka’s cold expression out of his mind.

“I…”

“Don’t be afraid.” Atobe whispered, leaning forward to brush their lips together. “We won’t…”

Fuji’s mind went blank. Those dry lips against his and something in his chest started screaming; within a split second he forgot all about who that man was and why – he only knew that he did not want to.

“No!” Fuji abruptly turned away, stumbling backwards to escape Atobe’s fierce grip. The Duke’s hand slipped off his arm, but caught the fabric of the dress. A loud ripping noise echoed through the vast dark chamber, Fuji felt something tear and glanced up anxiously.

Atobe’s chest was heaving. The man had a half-obsessed gleam in his eyes; starring at Fuji’s now-bared right shoulder. Fuji’s throat constricted with fear.

Suddenly Atobe advanced, one hand seizing Fuji’s waist while the other went behind the actor’s head; long fingers burying themselves in silky, honey-brown hair, painfully forcing Fuji to tilt his head backwards. He wanted to scream but couldn’t, when lips violently smashed onto his own.

Alcohol-satiated breath hit his face, a tongue was ravishing his mouth, the grip the Duke had on his hair hurt and he couldn’t breathe. Something snapped and Fuji started struggling with all of his strength, teeth automatically clamping down on that tongue.

Atobe howled, jerking his head away and Fuji tried to push him away, almost falling backwards in the process. Fabric tore as Atobe’s hand on his waist tried to hold him in place, and Fuji only for a split second Fuji’s wide eyes met Atobe’s enraged ones.

Then something forcefully collided with his cheek, taking the small actor of his feet and throwing him onto the large divan. The world blurred, darkness on the corners of his vision for a split second, his heart beating like mad. Silk caressed his bare arms, and legs; dimly Fuji registered his throbbing cheek, but could only stare fearfully up at the Duke towering over him, a feral gleam in his eyes.

He never even saw the shadow rise behind Atobe.

A loud clang echoed through the chamber and slowly, almost gently, Atobe sank down. Fuji held his breath until the Duke’s body hit the ground and remained there, unmoving. He couldn’t tell whether he was dead or only unconscious, but he was definitely glad.

His fingers were trembling where they were clutching the silken blanket, because no matter how often he’d told himself that this was his job that he’d done this before, that Atobe really was no bad man – that wasn’t Tezuka. And how easily Atobe had torn away his clothes, thrown him down and overpowered him, had scared him deeply.

Slowly he raised wide-open blue eyes to glance at his unlikely saviour. Not Tezuka – but he’d be a fool to expect Tezuka’s help after what he’d said to him – but silent, ever-gentle Taka-san was looking down at him worriedly.

“Are you okay?”

Fuji breathed in deeply, trying to calm his frantically racing heart. To regain some strength in his legs so he could get up and leave. Instead receiving the desired oxygen however, his lungs constricted.

Before he knew it, coughs were wrecking his small frame, dry in the beginning, but the fit didn’t abate and the much dreaded metallic taste rose in the back of Fuji’s throat. He could only helplessly press his hands in front of his mouth and pray for everything to be over.

Darkness danced invitingly in front of his eyes, but Kawamura’s large, warm hand rubbing soothingly over his back convinced Fuji not to give in. Instead, he slumped against the broad frame, trying his best to get back his breath and fight away the tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

Kawamura didn’t ask a question, instead he only gently held him and Fuji felt eternally grateful for that steady, unassuming source of support. Taka-san, he unconsciously recalled, was perhaps the only man that ever held him without asking for more.

“We should leave.” Kawamura gently said after a while. Fuji had stopped trembling, but Kawamura’s heart ached when he noticed how the petite actor was stifling more coughs before nodding.

Carefully Fuji climbed to his feet, his knees still feeling unsteady and Kawamura wondered whether he shouldn’t just carry Fuji back. But then again he had known Fuji long enough to understand that the boy had a certain degree of pride that wouldn’t allow for any pampering.

He hoped it was enough to be the silent, helpful presence lingering at Fuji’s side as they slowly climbed down the winding staircase. It was still raining outside, so Kawamura slipped of his coat and draped it over Fuji’s small shoulders.

The white dress was ripped in so many places and Fuji accepted the coat with a small, warm smile and Kawamura felt his heart break.

Kawamura swallowed. Biting his lip he looked out into the darkness, before turning back to Fuji. Momoshirou would understand his decision.

“Go to him, Fuji.” Kawamura said, passing the boy his umbrella, “Go to Tezuka.”

A knock on the door made Tezuka look up from his sketches.

His chain watch confirmed that midnight was rapidly approaching and the hour thus too late for any decent visitor. Normally he’d already be getting ready for bed himself, but tonight had forced him to drown himself in work – to replace the other thing haunting his mind.

Not only the images. But also Fuji’s sad, sad smile last night. He hadn’t forgiven himself for being so cold, and even if Fuji refused him any further contact – he had to apologize.

With a sigh he pushed back his chair and went to open the door.

Blue eyes blinked up at him.

Brown hair was messed up, wet and sticking to pale skin. Underneath a too large, dark coat the white dress was ripped and torn and water dripped onto the wood below. The boy was shivering.

Tezuka’s heart stopped.

“Tezuka…” Fuji whispered; a soft, tired smile on his face.

And then Tezuka snapped, reached out and pulled Fuji into his arms, not minding the soaked clothes of the actor or the coldness of his skin. Fuji was here and not with Atobe; here in Tezuka’s arms and that was what mattered.

“Fuji…. Fuji…” Tezuka kept mumbling; his face buried in the crook of Fuji’s neck, as they stumbled inside his apartment and he felt Fuji shudder from the warmth. Small hands reached around his neck, mussed up his still damp hair and clung to him with all their strength.

“Tez…” Fuji muttered, half a sob, and then coughs snatched his voice away. Tezuka held on tightly to the shuddering body, silently wishing he could do more – anything to help – even as his head spun with unanswered questions.

What was Fuji doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be with Atobe? And that torn dress – what did it mean? He dreaded the answer, yet his mind wouldn’t stop connecting the implications.

“Fuji, I’m sorry.” Tezuka said, as the coughs had stopped wrecking the small body in his arms. “What I said last night – I was angry. I had no right to … I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Fuji gasped; the aftertaste of metallic liquid in his mouth. “It’s okay.”

All he wanted was to forget; to sink into those arms and never leave them again.

“When Atobe…” he whispered, voice choked with emotions, “When he… I couldn’t. I kept thinking about you and I … I couldn’t.”

Tezuka didn’t even feel like rejoicing. Seeing Fuji broken like this, feeling tears soak through his violet cotton shirt, he couldn’t help but wish things hadn’t turned out like this.

“Don’t cry.” Was all Tezuka could say, stroking wet hair affectionately. “Everything will be alright.”

“I love you.”

P.S: Too long. Sorry. *is dead*

</div>

[Fic] Linger for dhorz

2008-08-11T15:50:15Z

Linger
By misanagi

For: dhorz
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji. Side Fuji/Saeki.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Some angst.
Prompt: What Tezuka feels when Fuji goes back to Chiba to meet Saeki.
Word Count: 2400

Special thanks to ketchupblood for the beta!

( read )

[Fic] Understanding Love for white_ashes07

2008-08-11T11:44:59Z

Hello! It's peachy_milktea here posting for syuzuka_nhowy on her behalf. Because of some technical fault on LJ which says that her post is too large, here are the links(fake-cuts) instead.

Understanding Love Part 1

Understanding Love Part 2

Click! :D

Oh, and one more thing. I have to thank vierblith_tefufor helping nhowy(and me) re-beta the story! ^_^

I bring Fic for gem_chibati

2008-08-11T02:24:01Z

Title: Ultimate Prankster...Tezuka?!
Pairing: TezukaxFuji
Author: chibikaoruchan
Prompter: gem_chibati
Prompt: People usually blame Fuji for practical jokes. Little do they know that the mastermind for the best ones is usually Tezuka.
Word count: 875~ (short!)
Genre: Pure, Nonesense crack.
Rating: PG
Summary: After losing his match again Shiraishi, Fuji had never felt so depressed. And the reason behind all those shameless glaring is...?
Warnings: Possible OOC-ness. But hey, it's crack, let's face it.

A/N: I noticed only few people wrote fic featuring Fuji's loss against Shiraishi so I decided I'd make... a joke out of it. Many thanks to my F-list for helping me with muse, and my lovely beta, lovefujitez!

And last but not least, hum, enjoy..? ^^;; *Nervous laughter*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ultimate Prankster...Tezuka?!

It is noted by Taka-san that he has never seen Fuji in such a state before.

After losing the National Semifinals, tensai Fuji Syuusuke never felt so depressed. It reached the point where he let down his own poker face for everyone to see his once-hidden emotions. It was his first time losing an official singles match during a tournament while his entire team watched as he fell on his knees in defeat and swallowing hard whatever pride he had left.

He didn’t play his best. No, more like, he couldn’t play at his best. Fuji was indeed a prodigy, but the only thing he lacked was the desire to unleash his true potential

And his defeat had led him to this. He didn’t smile anymore and was less talkative than before. That was actually an understatement; he shot lightning with his blue orbs and only opened his mouth to sigh. He even glared at his own fan girls, and trust him, his glare was far worse than his stoic buchou’s. He now took tennis practice seriously, and whoever had the misery to play against him either lost the game after five minutes or just simply forfeited.

So this was the real and serious tensai Fuji Syuusuke.

And those who wished Fuji would let down his poker face were all damned to hell.

“We really need to do something about this, nya! Humanity is going to end soon if we don’t take action!”

“You’re too loud, Eiji!” Oishi complained. The golden pair glanced sideways to spot Fuji scowling at Tezuka one last time before running his assigned twenty laps. Both thought that it was indeed weird only Tezuka was unaffected by those electric blue eyes. (He didn’t even flinch!)

After fulfilling his task, the tensai returned to the court to massacre his opponent. He was about to unleash his disappearing serve when Tezuka called out all regulars to meet in the clubroom. The prodigy growled disapprovingly but abandoned his match nonetheless, walking with no hurry towards the small cabin beside the tennis grounds. No matter how he glared or sighed, he was still obedient –and that was what had kept his teammates alive, and they were very grateful of it.

Meanwhile, the eight regulars discussed about how to get Fuji back to normal, before calamity fell upon them. They all agreed that Fuji’s current state would help them win the National tournament, but the cost for that prize was detrimental to their own psychological health. (He would drink three mugs of Inui’s vegetable juice a day, which highly damaged their appetite.)

And then the word Tezuka came in their minds. If their buchou was the only one who could stand the tensai in such a state, then surely he could either reverse the situation, or at least help them with it. There was definitely something their captain knew that they didn’t.

After some shameless threatening from his team members, the Seigaku captain finally decided to speak up. He wasn’t a talkative man and decided to tell only what’s necessary.
What he didn’t expect was at the very moment he spoke Fuji showed up in the clubroom and heard his statement to the group.

“Fuji lost a bet. If he had won the match, he would’ve been able to top me for a month.”

At the door, Fuji flinched, his crooked smile speaking ‘oh no, he didn’t’.

And then, the team burst out laughing. If it wasn’t for Tezuka being Tezuka, he probably would have thought the whole world could hear them. Momo folded himself in two and clutched his stomach with both hands, not even trying to be quiet with his loud voice while Eiji desperately tried to stand up from the floor –which he failed badly. Inui dropped his notebook in disbelief and even Oishi couldn’t help a small chuckle. Echizen tucked down his cap low over his eyes and mumbled an inaudible ‘Who would have thought Tezuka Buchou was uke?’

Not quite realizing why they were laughing so hard, Tezuka just stared at his team mates one by one, all of them turning red as a tomato.

Was it so funny that he, for a month, would be Seigaku’s no.2?

Naïve as he was, Tezuka didn’t quite catch the hidden meaning of the bet he was forced to agree to.

Finally, after some good minutes of intense hilarity, Eiji settled long enough to babble out something comprehensible. “Te…” there was a pause for air, “Tezuka, was that supposed to be a joke?” he finally asked, half laughing, half in disbelief.

The stoic buchou just stared back, knitting his brows together and not quite getting why he would joke about such a matter. On his back, he could feel Fuji’s ultimate they-thought-it-was-a-joke-you-idiot glare. Tezuka being the only one finding nothing funny, turned to see Fuji flushed to his ears. It was probably the most embarrassing situation he got himself into, thought the tensai, and the worst part is that the one who had caused all this had no clue as to what he had just done.

“It wasn’t a joke” Tezuka commanded, facing once again his team mates with his ever-cold expression plastered on his face.

And then, silence.

Fuji sighed: ‘Tezuka, you hopeless idiot.’

~End~

</div>

Divorce! Fic for forbiden_past

2008-08-06T09:25:31Z

Title: Divorce!
Pairing: TezuFuji
Author: Neerod (dhorz)
Prompter: forbiden_past
Prompt: Chibi!Tezuka/Chibi!Fuji:still tenipuri family, grandpa!Tezuka/marilyn relationship made grandma!Fuji got jealous and asked for divorce!
Word count: 958
Genre: Comedy, romance
Rating: PG
Summary: [TeniPuri Family] Grandma demands divorce, and Marilyn is the root of all evil. Some chibi corniness and sap.

Author’s Notes: From this point here on, ‘Fujiko’ shall be the name of grandma!Fuji. And grandpa!Tezuka is still Kunimitsu. I turned Renji into a lawyer here. Oh, and there is italics abuse.

Dina-chan, I hope this is good! (And treat this as your b-day gift too!)
And thank you to speadee for the beta!

~~~~~

Grandpa had a lovely dream, but woke up too early, and did not get to offer Marilyn’s twin to Grandma. Maybe he would dream of it again sometime.

He went to the kitchen to find Grandma and their elder grandson already seated. Ryoma-kun had a sour look on his face, as if he detested the Western-style breakfast before him with all his heart, though his stomach undoubtedly said otherwise. Grandma had a sunny smile on her face.

“Good morning,” Grandpa greeted.

“Good morning to you too!” Grandma greeted back, and stood up to offer a seat, which he took. His inner alarm blared once, then went quiet. “I’ve cooked breakfast today.”

“Where’s Shuuko?”

“Still in bed. She does not want to get up.”

Grandpa stared at the innocent-looking sunny-side-up on the plate and wondered where the wasabi was hidden. Grandma’s culinary skills were disastrous at best, and Grandpa had never failed to throw up afterwards. The last time she cooked breakfast, she had hidden the wasabi in the yolk, and goodness knows how she did it.

“Here it is.” Grandma shoved a saucer of wasabi towards him as if she knew he was looking for it. “It’s wasabi dip.”

“I’m not hungry!” Ryoma-kun declared and stormed out of the room, leaving Grandpa alone with his diabolical wife. Grandpa gaped and almost leaped up to follow his grandson, but Grandma managed to seize his arm in an unbelievable grip, and he turned his head to look at her.

“I’ve prepared this breakfast just for you,” she said.

Grandpa was suspicious, because the last time she made breakfast just for him, she was preparing to cut Marilyn down.

“Ah… I’m flattered,” he replied for lack of a better answer. “But I am not hungry.”

“Why not? Are you sick? Is your stomach in pain? Do you want medicine?”

“No.”

At that moment she looked so sad and hurt, so he decided he could survive this meal. After all, it was certainly rare that Grandma made something just for him.

With shaky hands he took the fork and cut off a portion of the egg. Then he bit into a piece of bread, ate the bacon, drank the juice, and waited. There certainly was a catch to this…

“How is it?”

Grandpa nodded. “It tastes good.”

“Then it’s decided.”

“…What?”

“You’re mine.”

Grandpa gaped. “Whatever has gotten into your head?”

She glared at him. Something had really gotten into her head, and it’s one of those stupid ideas that made him wish he could knock some sense into her with his Zero-Shiki. “Whatever, you say? Most definitely Marilyn can not cook!”

“M-Marilyn!” What the hell?

“The love of your life!” she sneered. “If you want to marry her so much you can divorce me!”

She must be crazy, Grandpa decided.

“…Did you bump your head or something, Fujiko?” he asked.

A plate suddenly sailed towards his head, and before he can drive it away with his Tezuka-Zooone, it hit his forehead, and he yelped and stumbled. A big bump formed on his head.

She stormed away.

~~~~~

When Grandma shoved the papers to his face, hitting the bump, Grandpa realized that, she was indeed serious about the divorce.

“B-but Fujiko!” Grandpa stuttered. “Why?”

Grandma shot a poisonous glare at the potted bonsai, Grandpa’s prized possession, and the love of his life—no, make that one of the two loves of his life. “I’m divorcing you so that you can marry it. Satisfied?”

“Marilyn is not an it, Fujiko! She—“

“See! You’re even defending her! Yanagi-kun! Yanagi-kun!”

Yanagi-kun, Sadaharu-kun’s weird-eyed friend, came running, out of breath. “Hai?”

“Kunimitsu is signing it,” Grandma stated.

“Who says I’m signing it! I’m not signing anything, Fujiko! This—this is ridiculous!”

“But you’ll have Marilyn.” Grandma sounded bitter, and Grandpa did not understand—he’s never gotten jealous of Yuuta-kun, has he not? “Let’s get this over with, Kunimitsu. I want my freedom.”

Grandpa glared at her, because he couldn’t understand what she was thinking. Divorce! It was outrageous.

He opened his mouth to shout, but reconsidered it, and instead barked, “20 laps around the town, now!”

“W—what!”

“You too, Yanagi-kun!” Grandpa ordered.

“H-hai!”

As they ran, Grandpa went to Marilyn and caressed her beautiful green leaves. She was his inspiration, and no one soothed his soul like she did. Confused, his chibi hands reached for the watering can.

Right, no one else soothed his soul like Grandma did, and Marilyn couldn’t beat her, not in forever.

~~~~~

So when Grandma returned, Grandpa rushed to her, cried, and clung to her that she’s so surprised she could not react.

“Please do not divorce me, sweetheart!” Grandpa begged.

Eyes watering, Grandma gently touched the bump on his forehead and cried. “Yes, sweetheart, I will not! I love you!”

“I love you too! More than I love Marilyn, more than I love anything else in the world!”

They cried together and swore they will not part until death, and Grandpa silently promised to give her some money and accompany her in a shopping spree in case she decided to kill Marilyn afterwards. Better safe than sorry.

~~~~~

Shuuko, Sadaharu, and a sweaty, exhausted Renji watched as Grandpa and Grandma left for the mall.

“For the forty-sixth time,” Renji complained to Sadaharu, “your mother has tricked me. The next time I come here, I am really going to charge you a fee, divorce or not!”

Sadaharu laughed. “That’s also the forty-fifth time you say so.”

Renji sighed. “Seriously, tell me if they’re going to divorce for sure. I don’t like running those laps.”

“No one does,” Sadaharu agreed, and they laughed, chibi-style, because it’s a happy ending.

The End

fic for decollement 2

2008-08-04T14:35:15Z

Moulin Rouge - Part II

Pairing: TezuFuji (main), one-sided AtoFuji; other canon pairings

Prompter: decollement

Prompt: Tezuka/ Fuji (and the rest of Seigaku, I suppose. Bonus points if Hyotei is involved somewhere) in a Moulin Rouge AU.

Wordcount: ~ 6500

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Tezuka and Fuji grow closer; Atobe enters the scene
Warnings: Loooong, possible ooc, Atobe uses pluralis majestatis instead of ore-sama; scenes play out different than in the movie
A/N: Part 2/4 ~ hope everybody enjoys!!! ^^

Moulin Rouge

Tezuka had been glad when the show was over, because for all impressive cleavages and stunning performances, he hadn’t quite been able to enjoy himself any longer. He kept recalling Fujiko’s smile and the way those sky blue eyes had sparkled in amusement.

And regardless how he much tried to deny it, he couldn’t quite quench the ounce of worry that had taken root in the depth of his stomach.

So when Inui had turned to go – even though Choutarou had yet to rejoin them – Tezuka had frowned and then mentioned his invitation to the elephant. Whatever said elephant was.

“The inner sanctuary of the Moulin Rouge.” Inui had explained, pushing up his glasses, “A metal structure in form of an elephant, housing Fujiko’s private chambers.”

And Tezuka had swallowed. He’d contemplated not going, but Oshitari, who’d still not let go of his companion, had objected that he couldn’t possibly turn down such an invitation. Thus, he’d let himself dragged backstage by Oshitari.

“But do you think it is okay?” Tezuka asked as they were passing several stage hands that were busy with cleaning, “After all she fainted…”

Curiously enough Oshitari’s companion who looked far too young to even enter an establishment like the Moulin Rouge - much less even work there - answered in a surprisingly mature fashion. “If Momo didn’t tell you otherwise, then I guess it should be okay.”

“But…” before finishing the red-head glanced up at Oshitari who looked far too amused for Tezuka to be at ease. And indeed…

“Didn’t you notice?” Oshitari whispered; a devilish smirk on his handsome face, “She is a he.”

Tezuka blinked in disbelief. Recalled the long, smooth legs, that thin waist and those small hands – he had touched the soft skin, so there was absolutely no way…

Oshitari grinned and his red-haired companion burst into laughter, drawing some curious stares. “Don’t tell me he really didn’t know?” the red-head asked the blue-haired man, ignoring Tezuka – who wondered if the ground couldn’t be nice and just swallow him now - completely for the moment.

Tezuka tried his best to objectively recall those minutes he’d spend dancing far-too close with the subject of their discussion. They’d been chest to chest – Tezuka remembered, trying his best to fight down the on-coming blush – true enough, the softness he’d heard college-time friends praise extensively, hadn’t quite been there. But even so …

Wiping at his tearing eyes Oshitari shook his head. “Nope. And if you ask me he still doesn’t believe me.”

Perhaps it was possible, Tezuka had to admit. Still; the idea that beautiful Fujiko was not of the fairer gender seemed absolutely absurd in his mind. Because that meant he …

Then the red head suddenly turned to Tezuka. “Monsieur, my friend here told me you doubt Fujiko-chan’s gender, so, if I’m allowed to ask, of what gender do you believe me to be?”

Tezuka could only raise an eyebrow. He had a bad, bad feeling about this, but answered nonetheless. “Female?”

Because really, said red-head had chin-length hair and was wearing a very, very short skirt.

“Nope.” At least that one didn’t feel offended – which was somewhat good, but Tezuka couldn’t help but feel that he was being made fun of. “Mukahi Gakuto. One hundred percent male. Everything else is just the clothes.”

Not that Oshitari was helping the scene along. “Still so innocent, Tezuka.” He muttered, absentmindedly patting Gakuto’s head as he succumbed to giggles, “Didn’t you notice that about half of the girls up there actually were male?”

Tezuka refused to answer that question. He’d cling to the last shreds of his dignity as long as he could; and thankfully Oshitari didn’t seem inclined to ridicule him any further.

“Fujiko’s just like that. Most people can’t tell, but it’s a well-known secret.” Oshitari smiled, rather honestly this time around, “You’re pretty lucky to be invited to the elephant straight away – most guys keep dreaming of a chance like that for their entire life.”

Gakuto had recovered from his giggling fit enough to add his two cents in, too.

“You’re very lucky indeed! And take good care of Fujiko-chan!”

The boy left with a cheerful wave, but Tezuka had heard the “or I’ll do something really, really painful that’ll make you sorry for the rest of your life” rather clearly. Well, luckily enough he had absolutely no intention of doing anything harmful.

Thus, he let himself be guided into the inner realm of the elephant, wondering why his fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.

So, here he stood, feeling completely out of place among the opulent decorations in more shades of red than he could name. Velvet and silk, sparkling gemstones and golden trims glowing under rich, almost sensuous lightening. He felt like a penguin in a king’s treasury in his old black-and-white smoking.

And most probably was moving just as stiffly.

What was he going to do?

First night in a bordello at all, and then the Moulin Rouge of all places. And then he’d somehow promptly managed to score a one-on-one date with the star of stars, with the admittedly most beautiful human being he’d ever come across.

Even though his mind was still reeling from Oshitari’s latest revelation.

And then, suddenly there was no more time for contemplations, because the doors opened (Inui thankfully choose that moment to disappear from his perch outside of the large window, though Tezuka had no doubt he was going to stay close by - for the data) and then he forgot to think anymore.

Clad in a black, eastern-style gown only held together by a wide, purple belt wrapped around her (no, Tezuka had to correct himself – his) small waist the Moulin Rouge’s sparkling diamond flashed the simply most breathtaking smile he’d ever seen at him.

“Good evening, dear Duke.” The sensuous creature whispered, voice honeyed and husky, “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

With that he advanced, a long, long white leg emerging from the robe-like dress, revealing high stockings and polished black heels.

“My name is Fuji Syusuke.” Another breath-taking smile on red-painted lips, “And I shall be honoured to entertain you tonight.”

Even if Tezuka was completely mesmerized by the beauty so close to him, he’d been raised to be polite – thus staring, especially open-mouthed, was absolutely out of question. Instead, Tezuka recalled every word he’d ever heard concerning good behaviour.

“Tezuka Kunimitsu, at your service.” He said, proud at how smooth his voice sounded and bowed. “It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Fuji smiled rather coyly. “There is nothing I should hope more for than for it to pleasure you, dear Duke.”

Why was he calling him Duke? But maybe that was the way things worked here, so Tezuka wouldn’t question the meaning, if he could make Fuji stop. His act was flawless and for all Tezuka could read that smiling face opposite of him Fuji might really be pleased to meet him, but then again he’d already seen how convincing Fuji could be up on stage.

“Please call me Tezuka.” Was his only request, just to make things between them a little more real, a little less of a staged play.

“As you wish, dear Du – Tezuka.” Fuji stepped deeper into the room, drifting dangerously close to the king-sized bed, “Would you like some wine?”

Tezuka could only wordlessly shake his head, mesmerized by those swaying hips – exaggerated perhaps, and most certainly ridiculous on any other person, yet the movement seemed perfectly right on Fuji.

“Or would you like to start with something else?”

Fuji sat down among silk cushions and velvet linen, smiling enticingly up at him.

Tezuka felt the blood rush to his head. If he hadn’t turned tomato red before, he most certainly was now. (And honestly, tomato red was absolutely at odds with all the other shades of red decorating this lair.)

Tilting his head in an unspoken invitation, Fuji leaned backwards, and Tezuka knew if he didn’t look away now, he was definitely doomed. Thankfully, self-preservation instincts prevailed. And his composure – brittle though it was – remained intact.

“Perhaps we should start by getting to know each other.”

A raised eyebrow was covered by another seductive smile within a split second. Tezuka would have almost missed the surprised expression on Fuji’s face, hadn’t he been studying his reflection on the window pane quite intently.

“That sounds interesting – so why don’t you come over here, so that we can get acquainted.”

Tezuka bit his lip to keep his face from flushing at the implications. Retaining a straight expression, he smoothly replied. “I like the view from here.”

Long, dark eyelashes fluttered suggestively. “Do you, now? Well, what would you like to see me do, then?”

“Just act as you please.” Tezuka promptly replied in an attempt to cool the situation. Even with his back to the window, the night air penetrating the badly isolated glass pane didn’t nearly feel cold enough.

Smooth skin glowed far too brightly in the golden tinted light when Fuji gracefully leaned backwards – and the right half of his robe-like gown started sliding off his shoulder.

“Oh, but I’ll only be pleased when you are, Monsieur Tezuka.” Fuji breathed huskily, “So you’ll have to help me out here.”

Tezuka shuddered. He couldn’t keep his eyes distracted by the odd knickknacks populating the room any longer, the picture in front of his was simply too delicious. Blood-red lips, half-opened; a hooded glance cast into his direction; smooth white skin stretched over fragile-looking, well-defined collarbones and…

His eyes inevitably slid downward. And encountered the undeniable lack of a bosom.

… right. Oshitari had told him.

“I thought you were a woman.” Tezuka abruptly blurted out and Fuji almost fell off the bed from shock. Lips opened and closed, but no sound emerged – and while Tezuka could have smacked himself for the rudeness of his declaration; at least he had successfully defused the situation.

Wide-open blue eyes blinked at him in confusion. “You, wh … You didn’t know? You… I mean…”

So Fuji, smooth as he was, could loose his perfect composure, too. And Tezuka found he liked this flustered boy that suddenly looked far younger than his prior comportment had let on much better.

“Nobody told me earlier and your performance is rather convincing.” Tezuka told him dryly.

“But … doesn’t it disgust you?” Fuji asked, still atypically flustered, “I mean if you thought I was female and, I don’t know, just found out…”

For those few seconds of silence Fuji looked truly worried and Tezuka was surprised that his reaction would mean so much to a person he’d only met two hours ago. Wasn’t he just one of many? But in spite of his bewilderment, Tezuka felt an even more pressing urge to sooth those worries.

“Not really, I guess. It’s been common practice for a long time to have male actors act female parts; and your performance was quite brilliant. And well,” he said, a slight smile on his face though he didn’t quite know how it had gotten there, “I always rather liked Catull[i].”

Fuji blinked, and Tezuka felt his heart warming at the sight of a real smile spreading across the boy’s face, before starting to chuckle. “Catull, ne.”

Tezuka waited until Fuji had recovered from his fit of mirth; glad the tension had faded from those small shoulders. They boy’s complexion was still a tad to pale underneath the make-up in his opinion, but maybe he was reading too much into little things.

“But still, most people do despise this.” Fuji said with a half-bitter smile and Tezuka was surprised to see the boy’s mask disappear for a moment. “Men disguising as women and selling their bodies to other men.”

A soft sigh, but then Fuji continued. “I understand why people behave like this, but I can’t help thinking at times that they’re all being quite hypocritical. I mean, if all was right with their morals, there’d be no need for this.”

Tezuka swallowed. The boy was sharper than he’d accounted for, and while that was generally a good thing, those words made him feel like reaching out and embracing him. Take his hand and drag him out of this depressing, golden cage…

Unaware of Tezuka’s thoughts, Fuji carried on: “But that’s okay, I guess. It’s something else for those really in love. You know, my best friend is actually together with another man, but they can’t tell anybody, least of all their families …”

He let the sentence trail of and the smile looked a little sad; a little lost, like that of a child that had grown up too fast.

“Prostitution is one thing, but I think love is a free emotion. Society errs too often to be credible and, I think, mankind should be allowed more liberty in decision making.” Tezuka slowly contemplated, taking into account the different ideas of freedom he’d read about.

Because, if applied consequently and without allowing for fabricated exceptions, freedom in choosing a partner would allow for same sex relationships. Even though, Tezuka resumed, feeling almost bitter; he’d yet had to hear that thought voiced.

“Are there a lot of unhappy marriages where you come from, too?” Fuji questioned with the air of somebody who had seen far too many. Tezuka didn’t doubt he had; the boy’s occupation mainly existed because of unhappy marriages.

“… I guess there are.” Tezuka replied, recalling all those rumours he’d heard exchanged behind closed doors, over gold-rimmed tea cups in decadent saloons. “But what is far worse is the way they deal with it, I think. On one hand they complain and have all their secret little affairs, on the other hand nobody dares to honestly contemplate getting a divorce.”

“Because they aren’t as unhappy as they claim to be.” Fuji replied, “Those people are quite happy to live like that, able to indulge in their selfishness and maintain a proper façade. Even though they’ve got no clue as to what love actually is.”

He smiled and Tezuka felt his heart warm at the sight. “No, they don’t. Those people never learned to appreciate a person beyond their assets – and society not only allows them, but etiquette even encourages them to do so.”

Fuji nodded thoughtfully and Tezuka, unusually talk-active as he was tonight, continued. “Etiquette and morals have become too much of something to hide behind instead of acting responsibly. I guess there is nothing wrong about loving somebody of the same gender if one stands to his decision.”

With a smile he turned back to Fuji, finding the smaller boy close enough to see himself reflected in wide, dark pupils.

“I think love is not so much about gender, social standing or plain physical attraction, but about the person.” Tezuka declared and was surprised at his own words and the conviction he felt.

The smile Fuji directed at him in return was even more beautiful from up close – and breathtakingly honest. Deep within him Tezuka felt this was no act of routine anymore when the boy tilted his head slightly backwards. The words exchanged between them had been deeper than a usual conversation.

There was feeling of connectedness Tezuka had never before experienced. This bond between the two of them was something very, very rare and precious.

With trembling lips he leaned forward, still wondering at what was happening to him but completely convinced at the same time that neither Tyche[ii] nor Dionysus had instigated this.

And as there was barely a distance left between their lips, somebody knocked on the door.

“Are you decent?” Momoshirou cheerfully called and Tezuka stumbled backwards in surprise. “The Duke is waiting!”

Perplex Fuji turned to look at Tezuka. Blue eyes met brown and Tezuka felt a shiver crawl down his spine, pinned by the intensity of that look. Even though he felt like panicking and wouldn’t have been surprised if Fuji got mad at him, the boy in question only quirked another, rather dry smile.

“So you’re not the Duke.” Fuji stated. And then, with a dramatic sigh, “I guess that was to be expected.”

Tezuka wanted to ask what exactly he meant by that and took a step forward, only to be interrupted by a second, more urgent knock.

“Fujiko-chan~ We’re coming in!”

Tezuka panicked. Glancing around he found no hiding spot near enough – and the door was already opening. His heart raced, his mind went into overdrive and cold sweat was forming on his forehead – what to do, what to do, what to do?

And before he could even put any distance between himself and Fuji his eyes encountered another brown pair – one that was just as shocked. But Momoshirou Takeshi hadn’t survived all those years in the showbiz without learning anything. Even if there was a strange man in a chamber reserved for the highest paying customers only – and the man in question wasn’t a customer Momoshirou did remember meeting – he had to remain calm.

The show must go on.

“Fujiko, this is the venerable man who is going to finance our very first musical, Duke Atobe Keigo.”

A spark lit up in Fuji’s sea blue eyes and successfully drew all attention to him with a stifled gasp. Since Tezuka was being ignored for the time being, he used the chance to study this Atobe Keigo closer.

The man was impeccably, if extravagantly dressed. Up close he could see that his suit wasn’t black, but a dark shade of purple with silver embroideries – that matched the colour of his hair. His skin was flawless, his posture perfect and completely self-confident, his behaviour spoke of experience and education and all Tezuka could do was not groan out loud.

He knew this type. They were a lot of talk, but what made them worse was that they more often than not could actually back up their big words. And this specimen in particular looked less than pleased at finding the person he had reserved with another man. Alone.

Fuji however remained completely in control.

“It is an honour to finally meet you.” A dazzling smile directed at Atobe and the man instantly forgot about Tezuka’s very existence. In one smooth move he reached out and grasped the gloveless hand Fuji was offering.

Lips met skin and Tezuka felt strangely uncomfortable at the sight. Momoshirou’s face didn’t waver, but his eyes spoke another language as the Duke’s lips lingered. Then the man straightened up to his full height and Fuji had to tilt his head to look up at him.

“Enchanté, mon chéri.” Atobe suavely returned with a smile that promised more than an ordinary human being dared to dream about.

Fuji’s eyes were sparkling and remained fixed on Atobe, apparently completely lost in the other man’s presence.

“You wouldn’t believe how glad I felt when Momo told me you were willing to help us stage our very first musical. At that moment I just knew I had to meet the man about to realize my dreams.”

“It shall be our honour.” Atobe smoothly replied. “Our only regret is not having known earlier about the vast pool of talent and beauty hidden among the streets of Montmartre.”

“Now is as good as anytime, dear Duke.” Momoshirou chimed in with a wide grin and earned himself a lukewarm smile from Atobe.

Fuji’s smile brightened a notch and from the corner of his eye Tezuka noted Momoshirou turning away for a moment, while Atobe visibly basked in the warmth of said smile.

“Your timing most certainly leaves nothing to be desired.” Then Fuji tilted his head, as if slightly embarrassed. “My manners, I fear, however do. Though I hope you’ll excuse me if I say I was bewitched by your unrivalled charisma.”

Atobe heaved a pretentious, long-suffering sigh, but remained smiling. “Rest assured you’re not the first one to be intoxicated by our charm.”

“I’m most relieved to hear so.” Fuji brightly replied, “Now, before I forget again, please let me introduce to our script writer Tezuka Kunimitsu – the man who is writing the musical and probably already preparing the latest scene in his head as we speak.”

“He’s one of the young and upcoming talents in the scene.” Momoshirou added, sounding as if he’d known Tezuka for all his life. “We’re very glad he agreed to join our production.”

“Oh?” a perfect eyebrow shot up.

Tezuka, even if he was rather confused, obediently took his cue and bowed, while Fuji staged a giggle at his side. But underneath the wide smile those blue eyes were fixed on Momoshirou.

“He just came by with the script for the latest scene and I insisted we rehearse it right now.” Another coy giggle. “I hope you’ll forgive my enthusiasm.”

Atobe smiled rather benignly. “Most certainly, mon chéri. But if you’d honour our curiosity – what is the play going to be about?”

The instant of silence was short but all-encompassing. Tezuka struggled for an answer, but Momoshirou beat him to it.

“The most important thing in the world – Love, of course.”

“Set against the changing context of social obligations and the modern ideas about personal freedom.” Tezuka added for the sake of his personal pride. Even though Momoshirou almost flinched Fuji repaid him with a grateful smile – and Atobe nodded thoughtfully.

“Set in India.” Fuji added with sparkling eyes.

Tezuka, at that moment, for the first time in his entire life experienced what it meant to be in over his head. Or so he thought. When a frighteningly familiar, new voice joined the conversation, the sensation increased tenfold.

“With bewitching, exotic music!” Oshitari exclaimed, emerging from behind one of the curtains, a red scarf wrapped around his head, fixed with a diamond brace and a sitar under his arm. Strumming two chords he gestured to a more shaded area – and the real music started.

Whatever Oshitari had said about Choutarou’s musical talent obviously was correct. The boy had talent – even when using a mere piano to create the impression of oriental music.

Momoshirou – completely unfazed by the emergence of yet more unknown men – joined in. “And acrobatics!” Waving one arm, two of the dancers Tezuka had admired on stage earlier this evening practically somersaulted into the room.

Each of the red-heads then proceeded to present short, but stunning belly dance and froze obediently the moment the music stopped. But Atobe, whose powers of perception were also nearing the limit Tezuka’s had already passed, wasn’t allowed a break.

“Magic and electricity!” Oshitari yelled and Inui dramatically pushed a switch, setting of a spectacle of miniature explosion and multicoloured lights flickering too fast for the eyes to get used to. Tezuka felt dizzy after a few seconds, but didn’t dare to close his eyes.

Atobe, too, looked to shades paler after Inui had finished, and supposedly to stop the insanity from growing any wilder raised his hands. “Yes, yes – but what is the story about?”

Momoshirou was prompt to reply. “Well, there’s the courtesan. The fairest in the entire land.”

Fuji elegantly raised one arm, hiding the lower half of his face behind a black silk sleeve and directed one absolutely enchanting glance at Atobe – his eyes were even more fetching as the smile was hidden.

“Who falls in love…” he whispered temptingly, “…with a poor sitar player.”

If Oshitari was surprised at his sudden turn of being in the spotlight no one could tell. The man only tilted his head and strummed four or five melancholic chords, looking very melodramatic while doing so.

“But alas.” Tezuka added with a straight face and the sane part of his mind was left wondering what he was doing, “They aren’t free to choose their fates, as society won’t allow them to break from their roles.”

“They have to meet in secrecy.” Oshitari continued, a note of melancholy in his voice, gently stroking the sitar.

Momoshirou spontaneously reached for a white scarf and a red, over-decorated coat, slipping both things on and joining the act. “But there is the Maharajah.”

The director reached out, wrapping on arm around Fuji’s slim shoulders and forcefully pulled him close. “Who is in love with the courtesan.”

“But still…” Fuji whispered, putting his hand over his heart with all the air of a girl suffering from heart-break, “…she only loves the sitar player.”

He elegantly stretched out his other hand into Oshitari’s direction. The dark-haired man strummed two sad chords on his sitar. “And he loves her too.” He replied, mirroring the gesture.

Something tightened in Tezuka’s chest at the scene and from the corner of his eye he caught Gakuto frowning. Their little impromptu rehearsal had gathered a lot of curious onlookers by now and he recognized Jirou (appearing awake and frighteningly enthusiastic), many showgirls and some black-dressed stage hands; all eyeing the spectacle with a mixture of surprise and amusement, some even tapping their feet along to whatever tune Choutarou played.

“However!” Momoshirou exclaimed, advancing towards Atobe; one arm sweeping through the room, “Their love is discovered by one of the Maharajah’s spies!”

Darkness fell abruptly; while the duke echoed. “A spy?”

A click, and then a sole light flickered up, casting deep shadows on Oshitari’s face. “A spy indeed and he immediately reports his findings to the Maharajah.”

Momoshirou stood tall, undaunted by the light suddenly pointed into his direction. Tilting his chin proudly upwards, he frowned and twirled his imaginary beard.

“The Maharajah devises a plan.” Tezuka explained evenly, his deep voice sounding eerily ominous in the almost complete darkness, “To have the sitar player murdered.”

A dramatic gasp echoed through the room and then there was a moment of complete, tense silence. Tezuka tried to think of how the story would end; of any suitable conclusion, but as if on a secret cue, the room practically exploded.

All lights came on at once, blinding Tezuka; the music went from non-existent to fortissimo; a burst of confetti overhead; miniature fireworks to his right; a flurry of activity with people practically falling over each other.

Oshitari stepped forward, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Drama and passion. Love and Jealousy. A play so intense that it’ll take your breath and blind your senses. A love story as if written by Eros himself; set within a scenery that’ll make the muses pale with envy. This will be different from anything previously seen; this will secure you the lead position with the avant-garde!”

And then he bowed aside, some bed-sheet turned curtain was dropped and the spotlight focused on the little group posing in the room’s centre. Fuji with a red scarf wrapped around his head in the middle; one of Oshitari’s arms wrapped around his waist. Looming behind him, almost threatening with his dark gaze, stood Momoshirou; Eiji and Gakuto kneeled of to the sides, in clothes that somehow managed to pass for a belly-dancer’s outfit. And confetti still snowed down upon them.

“The audience will love it!” Momoshirou enthusiastically proclaimed with confetti stuck to his hair and his face flushed bright red. “Guaranteed!”

And as much as Atobe Keigo had been fascinated by the show; had even allowed himself to be pulled into this; here was the point where his business acumen emerged. Instead of cheerfully agreeing, the Duke tilted his head and let a long, calculating glance sweep over the persons in front of him.

A weird group, but capable of doing their jobs. And Fuji was even more beautiful up close; so if sponsoring a little acting group’s dream would help him to become closer then he wouldn’t mind putting up with some idiocy.

Those beautiful blue eyes had attracted him the moment he’d seen them open back at the show. That rich voice had sent shudders down his spine and when he’d imagined holding this graceful creature in his very own arms, his heart had fluttered in anticipation.

Adonis[iii] had to be jealous of such beauty, Atobe had thought, staring dreamily at that slender figure moving so effortlessly through the crowd.

If he could make Fuji his, then he wouldn’t care about the money spent.

“We suppose this looks somewhat promising.” Atobe declared at long last.

Momoshirou was well-versed enough to pick up the cue. “Please join me in my office to discuss the details, then.”

“Kabaji.” Atobe called as they turned to leave and for the first time Tezuka noted the fearsomely tall, black-clad man following the Duke like a shadow.

“Hm, the Duke looks rather handsome.” One of the girls muttered the moment Momoshirou, Tezuka and Atobe had left the scene. There was some giggling and a loud hiss from Kaidou.

“Nya, but the other guy – what was his name again – looked really good, too.” Eiji declared, bouncing over to wrap an arm around Fuji’s shoulders.

“Tezuka.” Fuji muttered in reply, still looking too pale in Eiji’s opinion. What worried the red-head more however was the way his friend’s body shivered.

Gakuto, too, flashed a wide smile at Fuji. “He was quite cute, that one.”

Both acrobats exchanged significant glances, deeming the small area in front of the elephant as far too crowded, but clueless as how to diffuse the mass of giggling girls. Eiji gently began pulling Fuji inside, while Gakuto turned to look for Shishido, who somehow managed to grasp the situation at once. The tall young man spontaneously approached the group.

“Oi, you!” he called, looking annoyed and successfully distracting the girls from stopping Fuji’s and Eiji’s retreat, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have work to do?”

The girls scattered, looking somewhat petulant about being denied being privy to the latest rumours, but Shishido’s glare allowed for no pardon. And anyways, Eiji had already closed the door behind himself and Fuji.

“Sit down first.” Eiji admonished his long-time friend, “You’re still not looking well.”

Fuji didn’t even protest but sank down into one of the over-stuffed arm chairs with a sigh. He accepted the glass of water pressed in his hand silently and didn’t flinch away when Eiji pressed a hand against his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever.” The red-head state with a slight degree of relief, “But how are you feeling?”

Under normal circumstances Fuji would have flashed his brightest smile at Eiji and declared himself perfectly healthy and perfectly happy. Tonight however too much had happened.

“Okay I suppose.” Fuji replied, still managing a small smile. And then: “I should have known he was too nice to be the Duke.”

Blinking in surprise Eiji straightened up. “Who? You mean Tezuka?”

Fuji wanted to reply, but started coughing all of a sudden. Eiji was by his side in split second, but couldn’t do anymore than rub a soothing hand over Fuji’s shuddering back. Whatever colour had returned to his friend’s face before was completely gone when the fit abated.

There was no blood on Fuji’s hands though, Eiji gratefully noted. But it didn’t help that those delicate, white hands felt cold and trembled.

“Do you want me to fetch Oishi?” Eiji asked, watching Fuji worriedly. The other boy wordlessly shook his head, still gasping for breath. Slowly he begun straightening up and Eiji wondered whether or not he should run and get Oishi anyways.

“It’s …” Fuji eventually ground out, “… I’m okay. … Don’t worry so much.”

Eiji only leaned back with a sigh. “If you say so, nya. If you say so. But promise me to get some rest soon!”

Tezuka’s silver chain watch read 1.30.

The fact that he was able of deciphering the time shared a cause with his incapability to sleep – mainly the noise (and light effects) stemming from the apartment over his. Meaning, the party upstairs still continued.

He’d joined them at first, elated at having landed them a job in the stage production and his meeting with Fuji, but had begun to tire after some time. Oshitari had brought Gakuto along; Choutarou’s dark-haired friend had shown up later on, too and Jirou had long since returned to Hypnos’[iv] realm.

… right now he was actually envying the narcoleptic.

Well, he could do something better with his time then just lying around. Maybe he’d just take a walk to clear his head.

Barely ten minutes later found Tezuka out on the streets; his late-night promenade cut short by another sleepless figure out on a softly lit balcony, looking wistfully up at the sky. There was no mistaking that graceful figure. Or that silky hair fluttering playfully in the soft breeze.

Tezuka bit his lip. The apollonian part[v] of his mind urged him to ignore the scene, walk for half an hour and return home to sleep.

But…

Maybe he’d be behave like a foolish lover in one of Shakespeare’s plays for once and brave the climb up to that balcony. Although he’d have to replace the romantic hedge with a quite more practical (and safer) fire ladder.

“What are you doing here?” Fuji asked, looking stunningly taken aback at Tezuka’s sudden presence on the roof of the elephant. Overhead, the stars were twinkling brightly and Tezuka felt unusually carefree and – dare he say it – happy.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He replied, looking stoically unmoved; ‘and I kept thinking about you’ he mentally added but refrained from speaking, because he didn’t want to seem overeager.

Fuji laughed slightly, not as high pitched or sensuous as earlier that day, but a real laugh. “I couldn’t sleep either – I’m often going here when I can’t sleep. You can actually see some stars.”

He pointed upwards and Tezuka automatically turned to look into the direction. And true to his words, he could make out some sparkling lights amid the black sky. Though they were few – there was too much light in Paris nowadays; but London had the same problem.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

When Tezuka failed to respond, Fuji turned to him, smile appearing somewhat sadder. “Ah, I guess they aren’t as impressive from here as when viewed from somewhere else.”

A giggle and then he looked skyward again. “I’ve never been out of the city, so I wouldn’t know.”

Tezuka recalled Fuji’s words earlier that evening and a spark of his desire to take that beautiful human being bathed in moonlight in front of him from all this decadency was rekindled. Still, he knew it was impossible. Understood far too well he wasn’t even supposed to be here, and yet …

His heart told him he was doing the right thing.

“If I may ask…” Fuji set out again after a short moment of silence, “How did you get here? Pardon me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem the type to come to the Moulin Rouge.”

He had to admire the boy’s perceptiveness.

“Coincidence, I suppose.” And then added with a slight smile. “It happened sort of the same way as I got hired to write that play.”

“Did you ever write one before?” Fuji asked curiously.

Tezuka swallowed before replying. “Well, back in school. But don’t worry, I’ll give my best.”

“Thank you for that.” Fuji smiled. “But please don’t make it all sad and melancholic like it’s been fashionable lately. I’d like something that’ll make the audience enjoy it, no matter if it ends up being a tragedy. You know, something like the Bohème[vi].”

Tezuka stepped up behind Fuji, looking out over the brightly lit Parisian night sky. There were so many lights still on; flickering golden stars of petroleum and electricity replacing the stars above.

“That is…”

Tezuka forgot the rest of his sentence. Fuji had just chosen this moment to look over his shoulder and they were so close he could feel a few strands of Fuji’s hair tickle his cheek as the night wind played with them.

Blue eyes blinked up at his; almost insecure, and with a myriad of lights reflected in those wide, dark pupils. Tezuka’s breath hitched; skin touched skin and even if his mind was screaming – there was an unfamiliar, wonderful warm sensation spreading through his body, a sense of intoxication blanketing all those warning signs.

And with a smile Tezuka leaned forward and closed the last of the remaining distance.

At first Fuji remained motionless; the kiss but a simple press of lips against lips. But then, almost tentatively, he opened his mouth, allowing Tezuka access. One pale hand reached up, burying itself in Tezuka’s already slightly messy hair; enjoying the texture underneath his fingertips.

Tezuka wrapped his arms around Fuji’s slim waist, pulling the smaller man firmly against his chest until there was no space left between them; until he could feel the warmth of the frail body through several layers of clothing. And unlike earlier, when Fuji had danced far too close, Tezuka didn’t even feel remotely uncomfortable.

That small body seemed to fit perfectly against his, and the peaceful sensation spreading through his mind only proved his earlier words – love is not about a gender; but about a person. And Fuji – so beautiful and sharp-minded - was all and more than he could ever ask for.

Eventually they had to break the kiss for air, but Fuji didn’t step away. He remained leaning against Tezuka’s chest, listening absentmindedly to that steady heart beat.

“… I apologize.” Tezuka said rather formally, even if he had yet to remove his arms. He knew he was breaking every kind of social rule ever established; yet this felt right.

“You don’t need to. I …” Fuji didn’t complete the sentence and there was no need to. He didn’t dare looking up, because he knew what he’s see in those hazel brown eyes; and it would make him happy – but …

Tezuka nodded, feeling uncharacteristically bitter. “It was a bad idea.”

“Yes.” Fuji quickly agreed.

Still, they didn’t step away from each other. Tezuka’s arms remained firmly in place and Fuji made no move to disentangle himself. There was Atobe, there were all his obligations, there was society – and yet he couldn’t help but wonder if they might not just be wrong. All of them.

Because if there was anything right in this world, Fuji felt, it had to be resting in those arms.

With a sigh, Tezuka set out again. “We shouldn’t…”

“But?” Fuji asked, sounding almost hopeful. He shouldn’t hope for this, shouldn’t encourage this, because this was doomed. Tezuka was not the Duke; without the Duke there’d be no musical, and without a musical he was as good as dead.

“But…” Tezuka bit his lip, praying he was making the right decision in speaking his mind. “We can try. Even if it’s a bad idea. But, who knows, maybe we’re wrong …”

Fuji smiled warmly at Tezuka’s suggestion. Neither of them was naïve enough to write of those feelings to a fluke, and here they were, hanging onto that excuse.

“Perhaps.” Fuji replied, looking far happier than before. “Only time will tell.”

Tezuka half-smiled. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

And leaned down to steal one last kiss before leaving.

[i] Catull – Roman poet that wrote ~~gay~~ ~~porn~~ love poetry

[ii] Tyche – Greek Goddess of Fate

[iii] Adonis – a the pretty boy in Greek mythology

[iv] Hypnos – Greek God of sleep

[v] apollonian principle – © Nietzsche as in “don’t do stuff Dionysus stands for”

[vi] La Bohème - © Puccini; Moulin Rouge as an opera, sans the stage involvement

</div>

Fic for decollement

2008-08-01T13:53:14Z

Moulin Rouge - Part I

Pairing: TezuFuji (main), one-sided AtoFuji (<--not yet); other canon pairings

Prompter: decollement
Prompt: Tezuka/ Fuji (and the rest of Seigaku, I suppose. Bonus points if Hyotei is involved somewhere) in a Moulin Rouge AU.

Wordcount: ~ 6000

Genre: Drama, Romance

Summary: Setting the scene; Tezuka arrives in Paris, meets his neighbours and goes to the Moulin Rouge

Warnings: Loooong, possible ooc, Tezuka has yet to realize Fuji isn’t female
A/N: Part 1 of 4 (as of now)
Hope this meets the expectations and everybody enjoys! ^^

Moulin Rouge

It is the year 1900.

And the world is changing.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, though young, was very aware of the fact that old morals, antiquated ideals and long-standing sentiments were running out of time. Their existence was drawing to a close, slowly, but certainly, and with that, everything his parents and grandparents had believed and to a certain degree did still believe in, was doomed to give away to a new world.

And while people everywhere mourned the loss of old, venerated etiquette, there was something in the air that made this goodbye almost sweet.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, however, was no member of the new generation’s young, hot-blooded idealists who wrote poetry about how the world had to be, proclaimed everything old worthless, pleaded for forsaking every kind of moral and dreamed of a society build on the goodness of the human heart.

To live on love and air – no, that was not, what had brought twenty year old Tezuka to this tumultuous, lively, infamous city on the Seine on one September evening. Neither was he one of those who replaced God with technical achievement; his believe in machinery was limited, because he held firm to that everything can only be as good as it’s creator.

Everything considered his college friends might have been rather astonished had they heard Tezuka had crossed the Channel to enter the city of idealists itself. Had anyone dared to ask, he’d have received the following answer.

“Liberty.” Tezuka had told his unsettled parents, “I want a chance to develop my own character free of influences and expectations. As you know yourself, if I stay here, I’ll be caught in ever-the-same circles of society and those bounds will pose an unbreakable limit, not only for me personally, but also to my range of decision making.”

Worried as his parents had been, they’d seen reason. And his grandfather had even been proud.

“Go over there, child, and live. So that, might God want it, if you come back, you won’t fall prey to corruption and the temptations of this bored, frustrated society that can do nothing but watch its own demise helplessly with a glass of over-priced champagne.”

And then his grandfather had turned away from the window, the sinking sun shining in through white lace curtains painting his face a gentle orange.

“I hope you’ll learn something there. Maybe even that …”

Tezuka had spent the longest time of his journey puzzling over his grandfather’s parting words. He had heard the term before, but only from his more naïve friends, or from overly idealistic poets. But his grandfather was neither; he was a strict, upright man, who gave little for sentimental whims.

So he couldn’t possibly have meant that.

Paris didn’t quite show its bright side to Tezuka. And when he’d been directed to Montmartre in search of an affordable flat, he had his first experience with the long-anticipated, infamous bohemian liberty, which he found lacking at the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, where the old elite still ruled.

The sort of liberty he encountered in Montmartre was not quite what he had expected. There were drunken men singing on the streets, girls and women out in clothing that would not even be considered decent within closed rooms and generally …

… this was more what he’d thought a bordello looked like.

And when he looked out of the window of the worn-down one-room apartment he’d finally rented, bright, blinking letters spelling out “Moulin Rouge” glared cheekily up at him. Swallowing, he closed the shutters, praying they would hold for his stay, while trying to find his inner equilibrium.

The infamous Moulin Rouge was just on the other side of the street. This symbol for everything rotten, indecent, decadent; everything that his parents had ever warned him about. The incorporation of everything the old society stood for.

Well, he’d just have to live with it for now.

So he unpacked his rather meagre belongings, and before long his cherished type-writer was set up. He’d concluded he’d use his stay to write something. Ideally a play, as his mother would be overjoyed and literary accomplishment was always an impressive feature in one’s curriculum vitae.

Rubbing his hands together, he sat down, posed them over the typewriter---

--- and suddenly there was an odd crash behind him, and then, faster than he could even turn around, the ceiling had given in.

Dust, a flutter of papers in the air and an odd shape swinging like a mutated pendulum - and Tezuka couldn’t quite believe his eyes. The shape, it turned out, was humanoid, blond-haired, strangely dressed and snoring.

Vaguely dumbfounded, Tezuka approached the spectacle, while the unannounced visitor (whose foot obviously had been caught within some kind of contraption that left him dangling upside-down) remained soundly asleep.

Three equally astonished faces looking down from the apartment overhead returned his inquiring glance.

Until one of them straightened up and pushed up eerily reflecting glasses. “Ii data.” And he appeared about to add something, but a man with hair that was longer that proper on purpose and a rare shade of bluish black took the spotlight.

“Good afternoon, dear neighbour.” The glasses wearing man said with a bright smile that was almost as dazzling as the clothes he wore (which weren’t anything out of the ordinary, really, but somehow that individual managed to make classical clothing look bohemian).

“I fear we have not been introduced yet – unforgivable, honestly; but fate has smiled down on us. So let us act according to Fortuna’s[i] wishes – please join us over a glass of wine one floor closer to heaven.”

And Tezuka could only nod.

The moment he crossed the threshold to the apartment over his own, Tezuka discovered he’d failed to appraise the weirdness of those people. The sudden, break-through like arrival of the human bat (that by now had been transported to a divan, but had yet to wake up) had been too much for his brain at that moment.

But now, taking a closer look of the inhabitants of the upper floor, Tezuka couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a world he was just entering. And that was, if he disregarded the strange assortment of draperies, odd, mismatched furniture and a rather random collection of clothes, ranging from exotic to absurd. Not to say anything about the layer of glitter that covered everything in sight. A strange heady smell of spices, exotic perfumes, old socks and male sweat drifted about, almost visible in its density.

“Welcome, welcome, to our humble abode, dear strange, please mind your step as the most dangerous, most dazzling, most spectacular items have taken residence up on our floor.”

This, to Tezuka meant, he’d better not look down.

His attention was drawn away from the fascinating array as one from the mismatched group stepped forward, bearing himself in his bohemian style suit like any good circus director would. Even if, admittedly, his vocabulary was far more elaborate and he was wearing glasses.

“… to the world where the most fantastic becomes reality. We are Spectacular Spectacular – and this…”

With a rather charming smile, he stepped behind a person even Tezuka would consider tall. Though, Tezuka’s first impression was rather influenced by the glass the man was holding. Especially the blubbering, green liquid in it.

“… is our ingenious inventor. No matter what you want, be it an onstage thunderstorm or a love potion, if you want to evoke a deus ex machina or a favourable reaction from your greatest critic, this is the man you should ask – Inui Sadaharu.”

Inui smiled. And held out that liquid. “Would you like to try it?”

As politely as possible Tezuka shook his head, failing to notice the bemused smiles that were being exchanged behind his back.

“This very polite man here is Ootori Choutarou – one of the most talented musicians you’ll find you ever met. There’s hardly an instrument he can’t play and – hum a tune and he’ll write you done the score. Play a chord and he’ll tell you the key.”

The individual in question by now was as red as an overripe tomato. Which was somewhat at odds with his rather rare hair colour. Tezuka, however, felt quite grateful that there appeared to be at least one normal individual among his neighbours.

“And then there’s our sleeping beauty- Akutagawa Jirou.” A thumb pointed into the direction of the still gaping hole, where the fourth member of the theatre ensemble still dangled. “One of his kind. A brilliant actor, really, but suffering from a rare condition – narcolepsy.”

Tezuka didn’t quite know whether he was expected to gasp or ask for an explanation. As far as he knew narcolepsy wasn’t common, true, but whether suffering was really the right word to apply…

“Now, I won’t tell you anymore, just be prepared to find yourself fascinated the moment he wakes up.”

The other man glanced around, though Tezuka understood that the pause was for dramatic effect only. Still, the entire introduction was quite fetching, once one got used to its weirdness.

“Last but not least, let me introduce my humble self.” An elegant bow. “My name is Oshitari Yuushi and I am the leader of Spectacular Spectacular. At your service.”

The man possessed style. With a dramatic flair, but style nonetheless. Against his better judgement, Tezuka found himself just the slightest bit impressed. Like when he found a street musician that actually played well.

Still, his face expressed nothing of this when he bowed in front of those three expectant faces.

“Tezuka Kunimitsu. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

There was a moment of silence, but all of a sudden Oshitari’s smile grew wider.

And more threatening.

Tezuka didn’t quite step away. But, rather suspiciously he followed the direction, in which the dark haired man had turned his head. Looking over the odd knick-knacks covering the ground, until he arrived at the new connection between his own one-room apartment and this flat.

Where Jirou, snoring gently, was still dangling upside down.

But within the thick, tense silence, Tezuka felt that it wasn’t his sleeping colleague, Oshitari was looking at.

“Say, Monsieur Tezuka…” Oshitari raised his voice, a dramatic trembolo enhancing his precise, smooth movements, “Might you perhaps be….”

And everybody was waiting with baited breath.

“A writer?”

“Well…” Tezuka wouldn’t actually call himself a writer. Sure, he’d written short theatre pieces (which had been quite well received) during his time in college, written essays and short sketches in school and poetry in private, but he had yet to publish anything and thus earn the right to name himself a writer.

Still, Oshitari didn’t appear put out. “You see, Monsieur Tezuka, we are currently without one. And a theatre ensemble without a writer is like a man without his heart; only a functional unit, like a golem, incapable of standing on his own feet, voicing his own thoughts, incapable to rear up against the constrictions of pre-made scripts like Prometheus[ii] against the Gods.”

Tezuka merely raised an eyebrow. He happened to be rather fond of Prometheus, even if he thought there were better ways to go about a rebellion, but he wasn’t about to tell that to a man he just met five minutes ago under the weirdest of circumstances.

Oshitari smiled rather benignly. “Don’t mind what people tell you about manners, publishers or requirements. In my mind, if you can reproduce your thoughts on paper you are already a writer. It’s only society that thinks it’s the readers that make the writer, but this is already what makes us – Spectacular Spectacular – so spectacular. We are not like the rest of the world. We do not share their preference for the same, old stories! We want to realize new ideas, directly made into words and brought onto the stage without society meddling!”

Even though Tezuka almost recoiled from the pompous words, he reminded himself not to judge hastily. He’d come to Paris to get rid of all the prejudices that had been hammered into his head back in England, so maybe he ought to take the man in front of him a little more serious.

Certainly, the words used were pathetic and far too much. Though the intent behind them appeared honest – not like those people back at home holding speeches about the values of honesty and humanity and renouncing them the moment they stepped down from the podium.

Oshitari might not have the refined rhetorical skills of the upper class, but he had a vocabulary. And he was honestly enthusiastic.

Sensing his hesitation, Choutarou intervened with a smile. “It’s not that bad, really. Just join us for a couple of days and try it – if it’s not to your likening nobody’s going to stop you from leaving.”

Inui only nodded his silent agreement, then looked at his notebook again. “Should we stage on of your sketches we’ll naturally share the profits with you.”

… yes. He just had arrived in Paris and had on purpose not brought a lot of money with him. And writing home to ask his parents for more was not part of his plans either; what basically rendered him in dire need of a job.

So, after all, there was no actual reason to disagree.

Swallowing down the last bit of protest, Tezuka eventually nodded. “I guess I’ll hazard a try.”

“Excellent.” Oshitari replied, while Choutarou looked overjoyed enough to spontaneously hug Tezuka. Inui chuckled behind his notebook, muttering something concerning the probability of Tezuka agreeing – and Tezuka silently wondered if it had really been a good idea to become a part of this madness.

A sudden change in the atmosphere however drew his mind away from all speculations.

“Tonight.”

Oshitari’s smirk grew promising, almost forebodingly dark.

“We’ll celebrate.”

Tezuka looked up; noticing how all heads turned abruptly and even Jirou woke with a hiccup.

“At the Moulin Rouge.”

Red, electrically lit letters sparkled overhead, brightening the dark Parisian night sky and in front of Tezuka loomed well-polished, light brown double doors.

The gateway to the realm of Dionysus[iii].

He could hear the music, fast, hard-paced; his mother would have claimed this was nothing any sane person could dance to; the smell of alcohol and smoke permeating the air, together with dark, sensuous perfumes, exotic aromas, and from time to time he caught a whiff of something even more forbidden. There were so many people milling around, he had at times difficulties to stick with his companions; black-clad men in tuxedos, members of every class of society had gathered here tonight.

He saw dark, polished horse-carriages being hidden in back alley, saw men, whose suits were torn and stitched – but all of them were so black, colourless, plain and plebeian compared to the women milling around. Dresses, so low cut and short that they ought not to be called dresses anymore, blood-red lips, faces as white as snow or darker than the night, bright, glittering diamonds, some faker than what was filling a lot of those décolleté and slowly he felt as if his senses were being over-stimulated.

And then, two stiff-standing, expressionless men opened the doors for the group and him.

Heavy, velvet draperies and finest, shimmering marble; red carpets on the ground and lively music, loud, half-hysterical laughter, women almost without dresses, skirts raised high enough to see garters, men with their shirts undone, bearing bright red lipstick marks all over their bodies, clinkering glasses, sparkling chandeliers, glittering necklaces, rose petals and top hats on the ground

Giggling women stumbled past him, their dresses in disarray and cheeks flushed, a stupidly smiling man following them on unsteady feet. A tumult to his left caught his attention; a closer glance revealed a dark-haired woman seductively sliding off her dress, while only a few paces father two men were plainly making out.

Swallowing, Tezuka did his best not to recoil in disgust – seeing the enthusiastic light in his new-found friends’ eyes told him such a reaction would not be appreciated – he let himself stiffly be pulled through the crowd, while the music was getting louder and louder.

And then, all of a sudden, a voice rose above all the uproar and automatically all heads turned toward a stage that Tezuka hadn’t even noticed before.

“Welcome to our temple of delight, dear Gentleman.” A broad-shouldered, gaudily dressed man by the name of Momoshirou Takeshi was announcing. The multicoloured lights were making his hair shine in more colours, than even his outfit consisted of, and Tezuka couldn’t tell whether his enthusiasm was real or just a professional act.

“Tonight, let me acquaintance you with the most sensual pleasures known to earth! Don’t be afraid to approach our beautiful ladies, but be sure to pay your respects to them! And now, without further ado, here are Moulin Rouge’s most beautiful, wonderful, ladies!”

With a graceful turn, he swung away, and exactly at that moment the lights dimmed, a hushed silence hung over the crowd and only the stage remained well-lit. An unfamiliar tickling within his stomach made Tezuka hold his breath.

Without any prior warning the first chord crashed into the wide hall, loud and cheerful and the lights lit up explosively; the curtains were whisked aside faster than the eye could follow and then there were brightly dressed women on the stage, one more beautiful than the other, dark-skinned, light-skinned, exotic and familiar, one girlishly pretty, the next sensually tempting, naively cheerful and fatally beautiful…

His head was spinning.

The scents, the colours, the drink somebody – Oshitari perhaps?- had pressed into his hand only minutes ago was destroying his rationality, playing tricks on his senses and all he could do was lean against one of the velvet covered pillars, while he could dimly hear Oshitari cheering in the distance. Inui’s eyes rested fixed on one dark-haired dancer on the left side of the stage, his mouth slightly open and for once, his pen wasn’t moving.

Those girls up front were dancing the cancan, voluminous skirts swinging up and up and up and then, as if a magical chord had been played, those girls descended from the stage and mingled with the crowd beneath excited cheers from all directions.

Tezuka took a step back, leaning against the solid wood behind him and knew further retreat was impossible. His newfound friends had abandoned him, leaving only a half-empty bottle, a softly snoring Jirou and overturned glasses behind as the hall became submerged in spectacular chaos of loud music, flashy clothes and multicoloured lights.

Just slightly to his left he found Oshitari standing rather closely to one of the red-haired dancers that had displayed surprisingly acrobatic moves during the show. The girl (even though Tezuka would have sworn he could make out an Adams apple there) was smiling coyly up at the dark haired man.

He turned his head further, trying to find Choutarou – the only one who’d even acted remotely sane during the show, but failed to spy him anywhere. Tezuka couldn’t have known that Ootori Choutarou had long since been friends with the Moulin Rouge’s main pianist, Shishido Ryou and the two of them had disappeared backstage in search of a quieter environment.

Inui however appeared to be enjoying himself just fine, showing something in his notebook to that one particular dark haired dancer, whose figure showed a surprising lack of curves compared to the other women working here.

As fascinating this decadent spectacle was, Tezuka concluded, it wasn’t quite to his likening. The way men let go of all rationality and reduced those women to means to fulfil their desires wasn’t quite what he associated with bohemian spirit.

But just as he turned towards the exit, the spotlights turned to the stage again. And once more, Tezuka caught sight of the tall, dark haired man gesturing to the audience to calm down.

“Are you enjoying yourselves?” Momoshirou Takeshi yelled, once again amazed by the countless flushed face staring up at him. “Is this enough?”

And smirked widely when the crowd roared in reply. He’d never thought he’d reach this point. But here he was – with his main star waiting for his cue just behind the curtain.

“No?” Momoshirou asked for clarification and somewhere in the back of the crowd Tezuka felt like rolling his eyes.

Tonight was special, Momoshirou knew. Not only because of the show, but because of the audience – if things went well the Moulin Rouge would be finally able to cast of its image as a shady establishment and become a fully recognized musical theatre.

If things went well…

The Moulin Rouge’s star had promised to do the very best to convince the Duke, but…

Now was not the time for doubts or contemplations. Momoshirou smiled brightly, banishing all his worries from his mind for those seconds spend basking in the spotlight.

“Now, I shall give the Moulin Rouge’s brightest jewel”

And even before he’d finished his exclamation the crowd was already screaming in ecstasy, clapping and stomping and Momoshirou could only yell his words over the crowd.

“Here is Fujiko!”

And bow out elegantly, just as the lights went out.

A reverent hush settled over the crowd. Even Jirou lifted his head from his comfortable resting place, blinking confusedly at the sudden change of lights. A strange sort of tension lingered in the air, making all hair on Tezuka’s body stand.

“Oh…” Inui whispered, glasses glinting in the dimmed lights, “Here we go…”

And Oshitari, one arm still loosely thrown around his somewhat worried-looking red-haired companion, leaned over to conspiratorially whisper into Tezuka’s ear: “Watch closely. Because this…”

All eyes turned up towards the ceiling, the room had fallen completely silent.

“…is a moment, you’ll never forget for the rest of your live.”

For some odd, inexplicable reason, Tezuka’s heart shuddered. Gooseflesh rose on his back and a hush went through the silence.

With teary eyes, Tezuka, too turned his head upwards, looked against the blinding lights, where the outlines of a vague shadow were becoming visible. Like a small, small bird, high up against the sun; he couldn’t make out any details, yet the contours were becoming clearer with each passing second and Tezuka held his breath.

Up there, sitting gracefully on the swing-like contraption, was possibly the most stunning human being Tezuka had ever laid eyes on. Long, slim legs peeked out from underneath the long, high-slit dress, dangled elegantly, and not even the sparkling jewellery she was wearing could outshine her face.

Smooth, porcelain white skin glowed in the lights, soft, silky looking brown hair framed a beautiful face and when those rose-red lips opened, his heart stopped.

“Diamonds.”

A voice, smooth and enchanting, cut through the spell that seemed to hover about the breathless crowd. Blue eyes sparkled within the light, sensuous and promising, stunning in their brightness that seemed to outshine even the precious jewellery decorating her thin neck.

A smile flashed at the expectant crowd; and then those tempting lips opened again.

“… are a girl’s best friend.”

And then the music set in and everything blurred together. The only thing Tezuka would be able to recall clearly later on was the way Fuji moved; all graceful, subtle gestures and elegant smiles. He forgot to even listen to the words of the song, too lost in the sound of that rich voice.

Tezuka didn’t see the Moulin Rouge’s director in his colourful clothes walk past him and approach a tall, well-dressed man. Didn’t hear the words exchanged behind his back.

How Momoshirou greeted Duke Atobe Keigo and asked him how he liked their show. And how said Atobe inquired whether it would be later to meet the main star in private after the show.

Tezuka’s eyes were mesmerized by that beautiful creature that had stepped of the swing to tease the crowd further, accepting presents of admires only to hand them to others, play them until they were on the ground, begging.

But no matter how far she took it, her voice remained strong, unruffled. Her act professional, perfect to a degree that Tezuka hadn’t seen even in London’s upscale theatres. Fujiko – if that was her real name – was the incarnation of every playwright’s dream.

And then, all of a sudden, their eyes met.

Tezuka at first thought it was a fluke, or maybe he was just another poor, soon to be heart-broken person on the receiving end of that dazzling smile, but those sparkling blue eyes lingered. As if to exchange a secret message with him.

… No. He had to be imagining things. Certainly, the alcohol and the air had addled with his brain. There was no way Fujiko would notice him among this sea of over-zealous admirers.

So why exactly was his heart racing like that?

Desperately trying to clear his head, Tezuka did the only thing he could and tore his eyes away. Turning around he almost collided with a tall, well-dressed man deep in conversation with the Moulin Rouge’s director in spite of the noise surrounding them.

That man in the black coat didn’t look a year older than Tezuka himself, but the way he carried himself – maybe he was one of those patrons. Those people that came here because things weren’t working out at home anymore; that believed money could buy what they desired.

Still, this specimen in particular didn’t quite fit the stereotype. But with a frown Tezuka turned around again as a pointed elbow courtesy of Oshitari connected with his side. The dark-haired man smirked, before wrapping an arm around his companion and disappearing into the rather indecently dancing crowd.

But there was no time for him to even register what Oshitari was about to do.

Because all of a sudden it seemed as if a spotlight had been aimed at his face; and Fujiko stood barely three metres away, surrounded by a kneeling admires. She was singing, something about women growing old, yet the words completely escaped Tezuka.

She’d caught his stare.

And was returning it with a soft little quirk of cherry-red lips; eyes sparkling with amusement. Tezuka held his breath, while the palms of his hands grew sweaty. He felt like tugging at the collar of his shirt, but willed his hands to remain motionless – and didn’t even allow himself to give Fujiko anything other than a cool, collected glance in return.

Fujiko’s smile widened, as if accepting an unvoiced challenge.

And without missing a beat or slipping up on a note, the Moulin Rouge’s star detached herself from her fans, taking slow, almost predatory steps into Tezuka’s direction. The young man didn’t move, but his expression didn’t change either; not even when Fujiko stopped right in front of him.

“Are you enjoying the show?” she whispered between her lines, a gloved hand coming to rest temptingly on Tezuka’s shoulder. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek; barely heard her words over the thundering of his own heart.

He only nodded in reply, trying his best to keep his composure. Not that Fujiko was helping.

“I don’t think you’re enjoying it enough.” She breathed directly into his ear; close enough for some strands of honey-brown hair to tickle Tezuka’s cheek, “Why don’t you join me on the dance floor?”

It wasn’t a question, really. Good manners alone completely forbade Tezuka to reject any ladies’ invitation; especially if that one was this extraordinarily beautiful.

Thus he inclined his head, stepped forward and put one hand on the small of her back, taking care not slip too low. For a split second he was almost surprised at how thin her waist seemed, how small that right hand felt within his grasp – and then the music changed.

He barely recognized the rhythm, yet long lessons had schooled him to automatically fall into step, stop thinking and let his body simply move along to the music. People always were surprised that a stiff man like himself was such an accomplished dancer, and he too could sense an ounce of astonishment in Fujiko’s gaze, even if mirth was far more prominent.

Fujiko went along with long practiced ease, pressing herself even closer to Tezuka, so that he could feel their bodies touching. And sense the warmth radiating from her. She tilted her head to smile at him, as if to say his dancing skills were still rather mada mada dane.

Tezuka calmly raised an eyebrow and spun her around – skirt and hair flying – before calmly catching her again. Blue eyes glittered.

Left foot back. Wait. Right foot to the side; then two steps forward.

Fuji’s left arm sneaked around his neck, teasingly playing with his hair; her body once again pressed closer than was decent – and Tezuka could feel every breath she took, every rise and fall of her chest.

Stop. Tezuka leaned forward, forcing her to bend backwards.

But Fujiko wasn’t a well-accomplished dancer for nothing – she leaned back with ease, completely letting Tezuka support her weight, even as she found her head mere centimetres away from the wooden floor.

With a daring smile she let her left foot teasingly slide down Tezuka’s leg, but the man firmly clung onto his composure. And dance time was almost up, too.

Tezuka spun her one last time, catching her expertly in his arms afterwards and found she looked even more beautiful, slightly flushed like this. He could feel his expression soften, but the conversation remained one-sided.

“You’re a very good dancer – I like that.” And than her voice grew softer, even more tempting and there was a light in her eyes Tezuka hadn’t seen before.

“Why don’t you come to the elephant after the show? I’ll be waiting…”

And with one last coy brush of hair against his cheek she was gone, wading through throngs of admires like a queen; beautiful and aloof, singing once again that song about diamonds and women.

His mind was still spell-bound and his skin still tingled, and he didn’t even notice how Inui came to stand at his side, eyeing him in unveiled interest. Neither did he notice the jealous glares he was being flashed by countless other men – all he could see were those sparkling blue eyes.

Even if this was fake – it was wonderfully thrilling.

Fujiko was distant again, settling gracefully on the swing once more. Her voice filled the hall, richer than ever and maybe it was just a trick of the light, but she appeared paler than before.

The swing begun its slow ascend as the song approached its final chords; notes getting longer and longer, yet Fuji effortlessly sung them all. No strain showed on her face, not even as the swing had almost reached the ceiling.

And then the music paused, allowing a solo for the singer, but…

Tezuka knew the moment he saw those red lips move in an inaudible gasp. Choutarou turned around the second the music remained silent a beat longer than scripted. Momoshirou’s eyes widened in panic, while the crowd still watched in pure fascination.

‘She can’t breath.’ Tezuka thought in shock, and before he even had grasped the implications, Fujiko’s eyes fluttered closed. Still so stunningly graceful her body slowly sunk backwards; then small white fingers let go of the ropes.

She fell; a flutter of pale robes and honey-brown hair softly fluttering around that small body; a speechless crowd frozen motionless with shock.

Before anybody could even blink, however, her prone figure had been caught by a broad-shouldered man – not a guest here, Tezuka thought, judging by his plain clothes. A stage hand perhaps; or maybe one of the guardsmen; who, in a touching display of gentleness, gathered Fujiko in his arms and carefully carried her through the still silent crowd.

And out of sight, leaving some hundred men wondering what fate had befallen the Moulin Rouge’s star. Even Tezuka couldn’t shake off the sense of unease, the need to know that this was none of the tragic fates one Alexandre Dumas[iv] had written about.

But suddenly, as if nothing had happened, the Moulin Rouge’s director was back on stage. Tezuka never heard what he shouted, but around him, the party continued.

Behind the scenes however things were far grimmer.

Momoshirou started running the moment he was out of the spotlight, immensely grateful that the dancers had taken their cue and immediately been ready to go on stage again. Even Kaidou and Gakuto had gone out, even though Momoshirou knew those two were quite close to Fuji.

No trace of Eiji, one of the Moulin Rouge’s two famous acrobats, could be found onstage, but that was natural, he supposed, passing several stage hands in varying states of distress. As long as the show went on, everything was alright…

Momoshirou bit his lip and ducked underneath one old, dirty curtain that separated a small corner from the rest of the backstage area. Surrounded by a small group of worried friends Fuji rested on a worn couch; face far paler than normal.

Kawamura lingered silently in the background, concern written all across his features, but there was little he could do. There was little anyone could do, as even their long-time honorary doctor only gently shook his head in reply to something Eiji had asked.

“Oishi…” Momoshirou tentatively set out, still somewhat breathless from his short sprint backstage. The Duke was waiting, a small part of his mind reminded him, but right now there were far more important things.

Oishi looked up from his conversation with Eiji, a frown on his face. Almost tiredly he straightened up and his expression was already saying more than the Moulin Rouge’s director wanted to hear.

“Momoshirou, it’s…”

He didn’t even finish his sentence as Fuji started coughing all of a sudden. Dry, painful coughs in the beginning, but they turned wet and hacking and Momoshirou felt all colour drain from his face.

Ice froze his mind and he could only watch helplessly as Eiji gently procured a handkerchief and began dabbing it against Fuji’s mouth, making soothing noises. Oishi remained standing where he was – he already knew there was nothing he could do.

But when that white handkerchief came away sprinkled with blood, Momoshirou felt as if the ground underneath his feet had disappeared.

This meant…

“… should rest for tonight.” He only belatedly caught the end of Oishi’s sentence, eyes still transfixed on Fuji’s prone form. The doctor was eyeing him with his lips pressed into a grim line, while Eiji made no move to hide the tears glittering in his eyes.

Momoshirou was about to nod, when a small voice in the back of his head protested. “But the Duke requested…”

“Momoshirou.” Oishi said fiercely, “This isn’t about requests of some wealthy gentlemen anymore. For Fuji this has become a matter of life and death. If …”

“It’s Atobe Keigo.” Momoshirou could only utter, feeling completely hopeless, “We can’t refuse him…”

Oishi, too, fell silent. The name Atobe was well-known, not only in Paris. The young duke belonged to generation of heirs, which generally said little about their own capacities – yet Atobe Keigo had proved himself to be exceptionally gifted. With barely twenty he hadn’t – like many of his peer group – spend his father’s fortune, but tripled it.

His business acumen was legendary. His style notorious. His capabilities frightening.

But still, Fuji…

A soft cough drew Oishi’s attention away from the turmoil inside his mind; and Momoshirou, too, turned to look at Fuji. Still too pale, and those blue eyes were slightly glazed, but their star was conscious and trying his best to sit up.

“I’ll…” Fuji cleared his throat, swallowing down the metallic taste, “I’ll meet him.”

A gentle smile spread over blood-red lips and Momoshirou wondered if this was what heart-break felt like.

“Don’t worry, you two. Just leave it to me.”

tbc

[i] Fortuna – Roman (Greek) Goddess of luck and fate

[ii] Prometheus – one of those guys who rebelled against the gods

[iii] Dionysus – Greek God of “wild parties” ^^;

[iv] Alexandre Dumas: “La Dame aux camelias” – sad, sad novel about a courtesan, a love affair and another premature death on account of some lung disease.

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fic for daisy_chan

2008-07-31T21:20:37Z

Title: One's Duty
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Prompter: daisy_chan. I hope that you like it.
Prompt: An unintentional coming out fic.
Word Count: 1363
Genre: Humor
Summary: Same as prompt
Warnings: None. PG-13
Disclaimer: Not the property of enasniyllagel
Beta: vierblith_tefu. Thanks for you help.

PROLOGUE

Captains have a duty, a responsibility to those under their command. Great captains rise against all challenges and lead their subordinates to victory. The strength of a good captain is enough to stabilize a team. When a captain fails in his obligations, the entire team fails. The goals of the group falter and fail.

Tezuka believed this with all his heart. This was why he accepted the post. It was the reason why he was known as the pillar of Seigaku. Nothing must come in the way of being the foundation. To have obstructions or deviations from the common goal was to fail. This was the reason why Tezuka could not have the team knowing of his relationship with Fuji.

He had tried to fight it. He had attempted to deny his feelings, deny his heart but he failed. His brain condemned him as a weakling. His resolve was fragile, broken by the object of his affections. Every smile, every twinkle of blue eyes and flutter of brown hair broke him. His heart crumpled from not voicing his desires for the tensai of Seigaku. Eventually, love, lust and intrigue won and he confessed his feelings to Fuji. Yet, he was still weak. Truthfully, he was a coward because he could not admit to anyone what was happening between Fuji and him. So he hid it, and convinced Fuji to hide it as well.

Tezuka Kunimitsu withheld the truth. He told Fuji that society would not accept them, that their parents would hate them for being what they were. They were abnormal and should thus remain hidden for fear of rejection and stigmatization. Normal fourteen year old boys were not supposed to have feelings for each other. They were supposed to be discovering their longing for girls, girls with soft curves and rising mounts of flesh, not for boys with hair growths and hardening muscles. However, something within Tezuka rejected this view. With Fuji in his arms, he could justify the righteousness of their love. When Fuji looked at him with a gentle smile on his face, he believed that he could discard the image of a good captain, good son, and finally be who he wanted to be, with Fuji Syusuke forever and always.

-----------------------------------------

“Kunimitsu, let’s go eat at that diner today after practice,” Fuji asked nicely as the boys finished their lunch. The classroom was empty except for them as Tezuka’s classmates usually opted to eat either in the cafeteria or on the sunny grass outside.

“We can’t, Fuji.” Fuji winced as his surname was stressed. Tezuka was severe when it came to being informal in public places.

“Please, we haven’t spent any time together for a long while. It’s just an after-training snack between teammates. Please.”

Tezuka sighed loudly. Fuji had that hopeful puppy look on right now. There was no way he could say no to that face.

“I’ll meet you there.”

Fuji grinned victoriously. He jumped out of his seat across Tezuka and kissed the latter firmly. The kiss was a simple press of lips. They had only recently tried kissing with open mouths. Both enjoyed that type of kissing a lot. But that type of kissing could only be done when they were absolutely alone as it brought out strange feelings from both of them; it was definitely not to be done in a classroom that could be entered into by anyone at any moment. Tezuka threw a reproachful glare at him; kissing was strictly forbidden at school.

“That was a reward for making me happy.”

-----OO-----

The rest of the day was uneventful. Since they no longer shared any classes together, Fuji was unable to tease Tezuka and Tezuka was unable to be distracted by the gorgeous boy. Tennis practice passed without incident as well. Here, Tezuka adopted his captain façade. His visage was impenetrable from Fuji’s seductive wiles, intentional or not. On the courts, there was no Tezuka-and-Fuji.

The end of practice found the boys a couple of blocks away from school at a small diner. The clientele was sparse given the time of day. They ordered before finding a seat in a far corner. Fuji did most of the talking, jumping from one topic to the next while Tezuka contented himself with eating melon bread and listening to Fuji, occasionally answering or contributing opinions.

Their date drew to a close as the sun continued to descend from the sky. They walked home together, strolling closely to each other, their fingertips touching with every other stride. They split ways at the junction, where one street led to Fuji’s house and the other to Tezuka’s. The deserted streets gave Tezuka courage to end the date properly. He kissed Fuji quickly before spinning away, hustling down the street that would eventually lead him home, leaving a flabbergasted Fuji standing at the intersection with a blush on his cheeks and two fingers to his lips.

Tezuka closed his bedroom door and sank to the floor, his back against the door. He had no clue what possessed him to kiss Fuji in the middle of the street. He was never the one to initiate contact between them in public. Fuji was always the one to push conventions away, while pushing him to see how far he would let Fuji go.

Tezuka ran a hand through his hand before sighing. He had to remain strong, he had to keep their secret safe.

Fuji arrived early for tennis practice the next morning. Last night, he set his alarm clock half an hour earlier than usual so that he could reach school before Kunimitsu did. Fuji leant back against the wall, awaiting Tezuka’s arrival. He still could not believe that Tezuka had kissed him in public. Even though the street had been empty, it was still a vast improvement for Tezuka to engage in public display of affection. He smiled warmly as Tezuka approached him, unlocking the door to the changing the room. Once inside, he embraced Tezuka tightly.

“Thank you for the date yesterday, I had fun.”

“You’re welcome, Syusuke. I had fun as well.”

If anything, Fuji’s smile widened. He stood on the tips of his toes and kissed his boyfriend. The slight press of lips deepened when Fuji pushed his tongue against Tezuka’s lips.

Tezuka could not explain why or how but his arms engulfed Fuji, drawing them closer together. Lately, he did a lot of things that were inexplicable. No. There were explanations; he was just not ready to admit them. He could not resign himself to believe that his control could slip so easily because of hormones. That was the truth, however, and nothing could change it. The increasing presence of stains on his sheets and pyjama bottoms and dreams about Fuji was evidence to indict him.

The kiss grew and burned with fire, each boy lost to the rising level of testosterone in their blood. They were so lost in their desire for each other that they failed to recognize the sound of the door opening and the rest of the tennis team entering. They broke apart when a shocked gasp echoed around the room. The surprised, open-mouthed gapes of the regulars and the embarrassed, blush-tinged cheeks of Syusuke pushed Tezuka into a stunned depression.

Their secret was out. He would lose the respect of the team as captain and Seigaku would fail in its bid to reach Nationals. Because of him and his human inefficiencies, the dreams of the club members, of the regulars and of their coach were shattered. He was roused out of his guilt as the members entered the room, each going to his locker to begin changing. The world was not ending; there weren’t screams of disgust or hatred. No one was demanding him to resign as captain. His stoic mask slipped and a bewildered look appeared on his face.

Oishi, seeing his captain close to a nervous breakdown, approached Tezuka. With a sympathetic pat to Tezuka’s shoulders, he started, “We always knew that you were gay, Fuji too. We just never thought that we would find both of you making out with each other in the changing room.”

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fic for paranoid_fridge

2008-07-31T21:07:35Z

Title: In the name of love
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Prompter: paranoid_fridge. I hope you like it.
Prompt: Fuji is kidnapped and Tezuka [play the hero] frets
Word Count: 4739
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Same as prompt
Warnings: None. PG-13
Disclaimer: Not the property of enasniyllagel
Beta: vierblith_tefu. Thanks for you help.

Dear Fuji-sama,

With each day that passes, my love for you grows. Like the roses in the garden, my love for you blossoms every time I see you. You are an angel among the rubble who makes my heart flutter whenever you walk by. Maybe one day, I will have the courage to approach you and tell you how much I love you. Until that day, I’ll continue to admire you from afar.

Yours Always,

Secret Admirer.

Fuji re-folds the letter, placing it back into his locker, and sighs. This is a new love confession. For the day, he has already received three such letters. Some part of his heart feels sorry for the girls that he inadvertently rejected. His rejections are not based on any deficiencies on their part but on the fact that he loves someone else.

Feeling someone’s eyes on him, he looks up and sees the only person who captures his heart. The person approaches him. For many, the meeting looks normal but for the two people it concerns, it means everything. Fuji can see the love in the person’s eyes as they approach each other, he can feel the desire the person has for him through the intense gaze. Likewise, this person’s eyes see through him as well. They see his slight melancholic aura and the slight droop of his ever present smile.

“Fuji, the bell rang for class. Why are you still in the hallway?” The ever impassive face looks at him.

“Sorry Mr. Student Council President.” Fuji peers through his bangs with an impish expression on his face.

“Go to your class.”

“Can I first have an incentive to go?” Fuji’s smile widens.

“Fuji, we are in school.”

With a flutter of his eyes Fuji pouts and begs, “Please.”

Tezuka glances around to make sure that the corridors are deserted before bending down and pressing his lips to Fuji’s. The innocent kiss involves a quick brush of lips before Tezuka draws back. “Be good,” he states before walking away.

An indignant voiced tone follows his retreat. “I’m always good.”

---------------------------------------

“Nya, Fujiko, tennis practice was so hard today.” Eiji whines loudly in the changing room while clinging onto Fuji.

Unaware of Fuji’s distress of being clutched so tightly, Eiji continues to complain.

“Buchou is so mean. Fuji, you need to work your magic on him. Make him stop pushing us so hard.” Eiji shows Fuji his most pitiable look.

Fuji successfully disengages himself from the anaconda-like Eiji and smiles, alarmingly amused; Eiji is always so much fun to be around.

“Saa, Eiji what am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno. You’re his boyfriend,” was the piteous response.

Fuji laughs at his best friend before patting Eiji’s head. Standing in front of his cubbyhole, he begins to change back into his school uniform.

“Fujiko! So mean.”

The changing room is soon empty. The light of the fading sun casts a golden hue against the worn tiles of the clubroom. Soon, the blanket of the night sky reaches out and covers the vibrant earth, enticing it into a slumber. The quiet of the setting is disturbed by the agile approach of a displaced piece on the closing ambience. The figure locates one compartment among the shelves, appearing similar to the rest but dissimilar and special in its own right. The door closes after the departure of the uninvited. The room remains untouched, nothing disrupted. The pale stretch of the rising moon’s light illuminates the shimmering edges of the unsuspecting enveloped letter.

---------------------------------------

Dear Fuji-sama,

Sometimes I wish I was a brave knight such as yourself so that I would be able to approach you. The urge to smooth away your ruffled fringe today was unbearable. Oh, how I wish that I could caress your magnificently pale skin, to wipe away your worries and discomfort. To kiss away your pain and wrap you within my warm embrace, I would like to know the feeling of your head pressed against my maturing bosom as I stroke your soft brown hair. But at last such courage refuses to come to me so that I may confess to you in person my love and secret desire. Always will I have to gaze from afar the beauty that is you, Fuji Syusuke.

Yours Always

Secret Admirer.

Where a smile once was, a frown now appears. The perfect face is marred by the unsettled expression it now possesses. The act of changing into his tennis uniform is abandoned as the bluest eyes stare at the unnerving letter. A foreboding feeling engulfs the supple figure as his body slowly settles itself on a bench. The other occupants of the room quiet themselves as they observe the unusual reaction of their unmoveable second ranked player.

Warm, gentle hands touch the tensai’s shoulder before a concerned but masked voice questions his well-being. Fuji raises a hand which trembles marginally, and thrusts the letter into the other’s waiting hand.

Tezuka reads through the rose-scented letter, his frown deepening as each sentence is completed. The letter is placed on the bench next to him as he holds his boyfriend’s hand, which has gone cold from the shock.

“This isn’t the first time you received such a letter?” The tone which enquires is strangely filled with an unidentified emotion.

A small nod answers the question, which already seems obvious.

“The handwriting is the same as the one before.”

An indifferent intonation rises above the muffled whispers from the other side of the club house where the letter is now clutched within the firm grasp of Inui Sadaharu’s hand.

“Che, Fuji-sempai. Its not like you haven’t received raving fan-girl letters before.”

“It sounds different Echizen, more morbid.” The soft and worried rebuttal comes from Oishi who has finished reading over Inui’s shoulder.

Fuji shakes his head, as if to get rid of the presentiment he experienced from the letter, before rising to gather his tennis clothing. His smile returns to his face though it is somewhat strained and weary.

“I now know what neesan means when she says that a premonition feels like someone walking over your grave.” His smile turns devious, the same smile he gains when his sadistic side takes over.

“It seems I inherited some of our family’s supernatural abilities after all.”

The ominous mood in the room is lifted after Fuji’s comment. Those yet to change clothes do so quickly while the ones who are already in their tennis uniforms hustle to leave the room. No one wants to hear any of Fuji’s stories about the paranormal. They still remember the nightmare-filled two weeks after his last story.

Tezuka wraps his arms around Fuji as the clubroom is emptied. He kisses the top of Fuji’s head and tells him not to worry before leaving to assume his role as captain.

Fuji stares down at his hands; the tingling sensation is yet to leave.

----------------------------------------------------

The regulars walk triumphantly to the tennis courts. Yesterday, they had a practice match with Fudomine. The match was somewhat difficult as there was raw talent in each member of that team. Seigaku had won all of the matches except doubles two; Echizen and Momoshiro still did not make a good doubles team.

The courts erupt with cheering from the other club members. Pride settles deep in each person’s heart from being a part of the victorious team. Taking the cheers in stride, the regulars pair off with each other to start practice matches. The courts are soon filled with the sound of rackets hitting solid green balls penetrated by the occasional grunt of a player.

Fuji approaches his water bottle which is lying on the bench against the wired fence. Sitting down, he swipes the minuscule drippings of sweat dotting his forehead with the back of his hand. Taking a gulp from his water, he notices the envelope that the bottle was holding down. A feeling of trepidation rolls down his spine and into the pit of his stomach, his pale elegant hand hesitantly procures the letter.

Dear Fuji-sama,

Yesterday you looked like an angel on the court. Shinji Ibu cannot hold a candle to your wind. You are the one true tensai. I was there, did you know that? You looked at me, right at me, with that dazzling smile of yours. My heart clenched so hard when your eyes took in my form. I wanted to kiss you so badly. My love, when will you return my love? Tt’s hard when two shy people are in love, isn’t it? You try so hard not to be, but I know that you are. That’s the reason you find it so hard to approach me. I know that you love me as much as I love you. I’ll be here until you get the courage to approach me. Maybe I’ll break the rules of convention and approach you. Syusuke, I’ll defy all regulations to be with you. To break every rule in the proverbial book is something I can do to declare the depth of my love for you. My imagination ran away from me just now as I wrote that last line. Do you want to know what I thought about? Of course you do. We were just married and you held me in your arms, sweeping me away to be all yours. I wish that day to come soon. I love you Syusuke.

Yours Always.

Secret Admirer.

The grip on the scented blue paper tightens. That girl was there yesterday. He looked at her. Fuji bows his head, a hand massaging his temple as he tries to recall the girls he looked at yesterday. Dozens of faces flash through his mind. Even with the elimination of girls from other schools, it is still difficult to narrow down to the potential admirer. Fuji never thought until today that he would regret continuously smiling. He would have had a better chance of identifying his stalker if he did. A rueful smile appears on his face. His stalker. The thought of having one is amusingly ridiculous. If he were a professional tennis player, then it would have been feasible. But he is just a fifteen-year old school boy with a barely masculine body.

“Do you have a headache?”

Fuji starts, unaware that someone has approached him. Looking up, he smiles, taking his hand away from rubbing his temples.

“Tezuka. No, I was just trying to remember something.”

Tezuka sits beside Fuji. A curious look is etched on his features.

Fuji waves the letter in front of them. “She was there yesterday. Apparently, I smiled at her.”

“Do you remember seeing her?”

A sigh punctuates the air before a despondent whisper replaces it. “Kunimitsu, do you know how many people I smile at?”

Tezuka runs a consoling hand up and down his thigh. “She’ll give up sooner or later.”

“I surely hope so.”

One last squeeze is given to Fuji’s thigh before Tezuka rises and heads back to the court and his game with Kawamura. Folding the letter, Fuji slips it back under his water bottle before returning to the courts himself. Unseen to all, the letter disappears into the pockets of an intrigued individual.

After tennis practice, Fuji and Tezuka walk to a small café. They seat themselves in a dark corner, far at the back. Tezuka orders for both of them. He holds Fuji’s hand as the waitress leaves with their order. Gently caressing each finger, Tezuka traces the outlined pattern on the delicate skin. Despite years of gripping a racket, Fuji’s hands are soft and smooth, a deep contrast to his own blistered and worn ones.

A small timid smile etches itself on Fuji’s face as Tezuka plays with his hand. He can’t deny the sense of security and love that such an innocent act creates within him. In moments like this one, Fuji knows and believes with all his heart that Kunimitsu loves him. In times like this, words aren’t needed or wanted. A gentle caress is enough.

They take a nearly deserted path home so that they can walk holding each other’s hand. The secrecy of their relationship and other peoples’ dislike lowers the degree of intimacy between them. Fuji’s father also visits for the week, which means that their time together will be cut short unless they are going to tell him about them, which they aren’t exactly planning to do. At the beginning of the path to Fuji’s home, Tezuka stops walking. He tugs Fuji closer to him and gently kisses the surprised boy.

“Goodnight Syusuke.”

Syusuke,

How could you!! How could you let him touch you like that? I’m the only one who should do that. How could you let him KISS you? He kissed you, Syusuke. He is a boy! He’s not supposed to do that to you. You’re supposed to be mine. You were created only for me. You exist only for me.

Fuji stares at the text message that woke him. The girl has his cell phone number. She was there at the dinner and when they walked home. He sits up, perplexed, on his bed. When Tezuka kissed him, there was no one around, which was why Tezuka did that in the first place. So how did the girl even see that? Not wanting to worry Kunimitsu, not to mention that the text has left him feeling scared, Fuji deletes the message and decides not to tell his boyfriend about it.

----------------------------

Today, the regulars have another evening training in preparation for a practice match scheduled for next week. The changing room is charged with heightened energy. Everyone wants to defeat their opponents so the change into uniforms is quick. Fuji, already in his tennis gear, picks up his rackets to enter the courts. The tennis bag that he left in the clubroom is already slightly open, something that he did not do when he placed the bag in the room. Opening the bag fully, he discovers his slashed rackets. The threads on the rackets are cut in the middle while the extra threading he keeps in his bag is shred into little pieces. Not wanting to disrupt practice because of the shredded rackets, Fuji remembers that he has stored a packet of his racket’s special threading in his locker inside the school building. After letting Eiji know that he is leaving, Fuji makes his way into the school to retrieve the strings to rethread his racket.

Riffling through his locker, Fuji finds the packet of thread he had thrown into his locker several days before. It is always good practice to have extra strings, especially when tournaments are approaching. He is glad that he has thought of purchasing more strings despite having some already and also of knowing how to thread his racket since he actually wants to practice today with the rest of the team.

“Fuji-kun.” Fuji jumps, startled by the timid voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry I scared you.”

“That’s all right. I wasn’t expecting anyone to still be in school.”

“The cooking club session takes place on Wednesdays.” The girl explains to Fuji. In a shy voice, she continues, “We’re using wasabi in our menu today and I decided to make wasabi sushi but no one wants to taste it. Could you, that is, if you don’t mind… could you taste it and tell me if I did it properly?”

Fuji smiles at the girl warmly as she uncovers the dish she is holding to reveal the wasabi sushi. Along with his love for anything with wasabi, Fuji is also a generous person so he would not decline the girl’s request. Also, he hates making girls cry so he agrees to taste the sushi. For a first attempt, the sushi tastes pretty good except for a weird after-taste. Most likely, the girl had put too much of some spice.

“It’s really good, but there’s too much of something. I’m not sure what it is though.”

The girl’s eyes gleam evilly as she replies, “I think I know what I put too much of, Syusuke. Ground sleeping pills really have no place in sushi, don’t you think?”

Twenty minutes of practice passed and there is still no Fuji. Eiji informs Tezuka after leaving the changing room that Fuji went into the school to get racket strings because his racket needed rethreading. It does not take that long to enter the school so Tezuka cannot fathom where Fuji has taken off to. Leaving Oishi in charge, Tezuka goes to find his wayward second player.

The door to Fuji’s locker is open and a pack of tennis strings lie on the floor. Tezuka picks up the pack, placing it in his pocket before closing the locker. He checks the boys’ washroom but sees no sign of Fuji. He decides to go back to the tennis courts to see if Fuji has turned up there.

“Did Fuji come back?” He questions Oishi as he approaches the courts.

“No, he didn’t.”

Tennis practice ends for the evening, leaving the pit of Tezuka’s stomach churning. Fuji still hasn’t come back to practice. There is no trace of the genius anywhere. To say that he is worried would be an understatement. Tezuka is scared out of his wits. Fuji would not leave campus without telling someone. Sitting on a bench in the changing room, Tezuka stares at the broken strings on Fuji’s racket. Thumping through them, he realized that broken is a wrong word, the strings must have been cut.

To be a captain means having and taking responsibility, especially at times when one does not want it. Today, Tezuka wishes that he is not the captain. That way, he would not be standing outside the Fuji household, waiting for the door to be answered, to inform the family that Fuji has disappeared during practice and he has no idea where Fuji is. His trepidation is amplified dramatically when Fuji’s father answers the door. Here comes the man he will face one day to say that he loves Syusuke and wants to have a life with him. This man will now remember him as the captain who told him his son is missing, the captain who failed to protect his subordinate.

Television shows always state that a missing person’s report is filed twenty-four hours after the disappearance. That is the only way the police will get involved. The television lies. Tezuka is seated in the living room of the Fuji residence, surrounded by police officers, members of Interpol and the Federal Bureau of Investigations. This is real life, this is the response when an ambassador’s son goes missing. He has been questioned repeatedly by different officers. He explains about the letters Fuji has been receiving and suggests that there could be a connection. No one listens to him. He more or less expected that they would not. For one, he is a teenage boy with no experience in kidnapping and the timeline to the officers seems suspicious. In a matter of hours after the ambassador’s arrival in the country, his son goes missing. It indicates that the son was taken by some enemy the ambassador unwillingly made and not by some secret admirer.

The lack of evidence is against him too. He has searched for the letters in Fuji’s lockers but he has found nothing. Fuji’s parents have searched through their son’s room and no letter was found. Fuji Yuusuke had immediately sent patrol cars out to bring Yuuta and Yumiko home, he can deal slightly with one of his children missing but not all of them.

Tezuka has given up trying to persuade the law enforcers and Fuji-san about his theory. They do not see the letters nor feel the malevolent vibes that radiate off them. He leaves his contact information with one of the officers and goes home.

Tezuka feels guilty going home. His parents will want him home at this hour of the day, but he somehow feels as if he is betraying Syusuke. Syusuke is somewhere, in some unknown condition with the police searching in the wrong direction while he is giving up and at home, sprawled on his comfortable bed. Glaring up at the ceiling, Tezuka strengthens his resolve. He will find his boyfriend and he knows just the person to call for help.

------------------

He can’t see anything and he can’t move. A cold, icy fear sweeps down his spine and through-out his body. He feels groggy and drained while his brain refuses to start, to process the situation that he is in. It takes him a while to remember eating wasabi sushi and starting to feel drowsy. The innocent-looking girl who offered it to him came to mind before she turned into a vicious fiend, snarling about sleeping pills. Fuji only remembers darkness after that. Wiggling his fingers, he realises that he is tied, and is laying on something soft, probably a mattress or a bed. There’s a blindfold around his eyes and a coarse material is in his mouth, secured by another binding.

“Are you ready to love me now, Syusuke?” The innocent voice is back. Fuji attempts to wiggle but his movements are severely restricted.

“I’m not letting you go until you remember that you love me. Whatever spells Tezuka placed on you, I’ll break it. We’ll be together soon, my love.”

A door closes and Fuji knows that he’s alone. His crazy stalker has him, he has let his guard down and now he is paying the price. He could only pray and hope that someone finds him soon.

------------------------

Tezuka rises up early, mentally running through all the information in his head. He calls the Fuji residence only to be informed that the coalition of law enforcers has no leads. Fuji is still missing. He gets dressed quickly and makes his way to a house he knows but has never been inside of. He rings the doorbell once and waits.

“I need your help.” The words come out of his mouth before the other has a chance to say anything.

A pair of glasses glints with the morning glare before the owner pushes them up. “What can I do for you, Buchou?”

Tezuka and Inui sit before the dining table, numerous papers spread out around them. Inui has brought out all the letters Tezuka has pilfered.

“What have you found from analyzing the letters?”

Inui glances around uneasily. “This admirer is obviously a girl. She attends Seigaku and is likely in our year. There is an eight-five percent chance that she is in Fuji’s class. She’s highly disturbed. There is a sixty percent chance that she suffers from a mental illness and a forty-seven percent probability of post-traumatic stress. She’s attaching herself to Fuji most likely because he’s a stable figure in her daily life or she considers him to provide security.”

“Will she hurt him?” Tezuka questions.

“That might be a possibility if Fuji stays in her grasp long enough. She thinks she’s in love with him and that he returns her sentiments, which, we both know, is not true. If he continues to deny her, it is likely that she would become violent.”

“How soon can you find out who she is?”

“That would depend. How do you feel about investigating student files?”

--------------------------------

The Fuji family is in despair. Their Syusuke is missing. There is no way to know with certainty if he is alive or dead. Based on what the Interpol officials are saying, the latter seems more likely. They have discovered that Yuusuke’s latest case involved members of the Chinese triad. If that group has felt slighted, it would have involved an innocent like Syusuke to hurt Yuusuke. The family is desperately hoping that it is not true. They cannot lose their son, their brother.

The school is vacant. The entire building is corded off as a crime scene. The school is closed until further notice. This, however, does not stop two boys from entering. Answers to the questions they have are in that school. Nothing or no one will get in the way of attaining them.

--------------------------------

Fuji has fallen asleep sometime during the night. He is able to open his eyes when he awakes since the blindfold has been removed. The stuffing in his mouth has also been taken away. Fuji frantically looks around the room. He still has no idea where he is. Listening intently, he realizes being deadly tired. Betting his life on his decision, he starts screaming for help. He reasons that he cannot be that far away from civilization.

The girl is bigger than him in size but he doubts she would have been able to log around his body without anyone knowing. Plus, his father is home to visit. Knowing the man, he figures that his picture is on every newspaper, magazine and flyer. His face, name and story are probably already broadcasted on every television and radio station. A large reward must have been offered for his safe return. People would be looking for him. He just has to help them along. He stops screaming when the door opens and Suzuki enters.

“You can scream all you want but no one is going to hear you. This room is soundproofed.”

“Why are you doing this Suzuki?”

“I need to save you. You’ve forgotten that we belong together. It was declared by the celestial bodies that watch over us. Tezuka has tricked you, you don’t belong to him.”

“Suzuki, you’re wrong. I love Tezuka and Tezuka loves me. You and I don’t belong together.”

“Shut up! Stop lying, stop repeating the lies you’ve heard. He’s brainwashed you, Syusuke, but don’t worry, the longer you’re away from him, the more you’ll remember us. Here, I brought breakfast.” She sits next to him and holds up a piece of onigiri to his lips.

Fuji purses his lips together and turns his head away from her.

---------------------------------------

Tezuka and Inui sit on the floor of the principal’s office, going through the personal files of the girls in Fuji class.

“I’ve found something.” Inui breaks the silence that has nestled over them. He moves closer to Tezuka and shows him the file at hand.

It is Yamanto Suzuki’s file. Tezuka looks dubiously at Inui. Yamanto-kun is a shy, quiet girl. She mostly keeps to herself and works alone. She is always second in place in term examinations.

“Why do you think it’s her?”

“Since she’s always second to Fuji, she might think that it’s her rightful place. Her family was killed in a car accident three months ago so she’ll want a source of comfort and security.”

“Inui, you have to be sure that it’s her. I can’t go to Fuji-san with the wrong information.”

“96% possibility. Data doesn’t lie, Tezuka.”

The boys approach the house where Yamanto Suzuki once lived. It is logical for her to hide Fuji here since she lives with an aunt somewhere else but still legally owns this structure. They have debated on the way over here on how they will get into the house. They have opted to break into the house.

Inui has revealed his propensity for opening locked doors. Tezuka stands behind a kneeling Inui as the latter fiddles with the keyhole. They slowly tiptoe into the house as the door opens. They have agreed that Yamanto will be keeping Fuji in the basement since that room is least likely to be directly observed by neighbours or pedestrians passing by. The door to the basement is open and they could hear Suzuki-kun arguing about her and Fuji’s destiny. They look at each other and Inui smirks. Data predictions are always correct when all factors are taken into consideration. They enter the room as one. Suzuki is taken by surprise by their entrance and is hence easily subdued by Inui.

Tezuka makes his way to Fuji. He strokes Fuji’s head before engaging him in a passionate kiss. The bindings that used to hold Fuji down now secure Suzuki. Tezuka has made a call to Fuji-san, so he and his family are now coming with the police. Tezuka has not released Fuji from the hug he has engulfed him in since untying him. Fuji holds on to him just as tightly, both of them ignoring the disapproving glares from Suzuki.

“Thank you for being my hero.” Fuji looks up at Tezuka lovingly before starting another passionate kiss.

</div>

cactuscontinuum @ 2008-07-28T22:57:00

2008-07-29T04:07:27Z

Title: How (Not) to Study for an Exam ~~sorry for the lame title! >.<~~
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji/Atobe
Prompter: shenguin
Prompt: Tezuka/Fuji(/Atobe if possible), geeky science or math class. Schrodinger's cat would be LOVE. As would happy/perfect/Achilles/etc. numbers. Or the Google algorithm, etc. Really, the geekier, the better. I ♥ well done science fic.
Word Count: 1617
Genre: study!fic
Summary: Tezuka takes his studying very seriously. Fuji and Atobe do not.
Warnings: Lots of mathematical and scientific terms that are quite possibly misrepresented but that you do not necessarily need to understand to get the story. ^___^ also, a very vague time-frame, somewhere after high school.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis, or any alive-dead cats.
Beta: skittles (thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!)

The sun was setting and Tezuka and Atobe were no closer to ready for the test than they had been before they began "studying". They both placed their blame squarely on the innocently smiling tensai lounging on his bed, who seemed, if anything, extremely amused at their predicament.

"Ore-sama cannot concentrate on these horrible books any longer," Atobe finally snapped, "especially if Fuji continues to test Ore-sama's patience."

Fuji giggled and closed his too-blue eyes in undisguised amusement. Idly kicking his feet behind him, he replied, "I'm just looking."

"Staring. Ore-sama cannot handle your rudeness."

"Ne, but I'm bored."

"Fuji," Tezuka deadpanned, concentrating quite hard on his own book, which he was highlighting and making notes in quite rigorously, "didn't you say that you had your own work to do?"

"I finished it," Fuji said, shifting so that his head was resting on his boyfriend's shoulder, peering down at the book with mild interest. "You need to use the Euler Equation for that one." Tezuka frowned and shot Fuji a slightly reproachful glare, before beginning the problem again. Sometimes having a tensai for a boyfriend seemed detrimental towards his learning.

"Finished it?" Atobe asked incredulously, peering down his nose at the smaller boy. "Ore-sama cannot imagine how you have finished it, as ore-sama has not seen you open a book all day."

"Nobody needs books for web assignments," Fuji said condescendingly, somehow giving the impression of rolling his eyes though his lids remained firmly shut. Atobe grumbled mutinously but turned back to his book, huffing.

Another ten minutes passed this way, Atobe quietly fuming and taking angry -but of course, still perfectly written- notes in his notebook and Fuji occasionally correcting Tezuka before the brown-haired captain had a chance to correct his own mistakes, earning himself several more increasingly exasperated glares. Finally, Tezuka's nearly infinite impatience began to see its end. "I will not learn the material effectively if I do not perform these equations on my own, Fuji."

Fuji's eyes opened, but before he could reply, Atobe put in his two pieces. "Ore-sama thinks that we should study together. Ore-sama finds it quite pointless for us to study separately for essentially the same test."

"You were the one who wanted to concentrate on "Ore-sama's specific needs,"" Fuji pointed out, sending the heir a surly look.

"Combining our notes would be an efficient way to study," Tezuka pointed out peaceably. Fuji 'hmph'ed and rolled over, curling up in the middle of the bed in a little fit of pique. Atobe preened triumphantly in the sulking tensai's direction.

Tezuka sighed as he got up and sat on the bed with them, trading notes with Atobe and reaching out to stroke Fuji's hair. The tensai purred at the attention, placated. Atobe grumbled and huffed at the injustice of it all. Really, Tezuka reflected, their petty rivalry was annoying sometimes. Fuji did everything in his power to get on Atobe's nerves -he had only begun really forgiving him for injuring Tezuka's elbow- and the Atobe heir always responded with his trademark dosages of regal wit and petty revenge. Still, studying was more important. He could figure out what their slender lover had done to earn the Atobe heir's ire (yet again) later. "Syuusuke, what's the mathematical formulation of the uncertainty principle?"

Fuji, happy with the attention, hummed and shifted so his head was resting on Tezuka's thigh before answering. "The product of delta x times delta p is greater than or equal to half of h," he responded easily.
Atobe glared over the reading glasses that they all knew he didn't need. "Why aren't you several years ahead of us again, Fuji?"

"Why, Keigo, I couldn't possibly leave you and ‘Mitsu all alone," Fuji gushed, blue eyes slitting open.

"Atobe. Your notes are missing Schrödinger's cat," Tezuka interjected.

"Why would a cat be important on a math exam?" Atobe wanted to know, huffing regally. "Ore-sama refuses to subscribe to such foolishness. Ore-sama does not understand why educational institutions waste Ore-sama's precious time with foolish things like cats and Indians."

"Indians?" Fuji asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Ore-sama's teachers in high school thought that Ore-sama ought to learn about a 'Chief Sogetoa' but Ore-sama would not stand for such foolishness in class," Atobe declared, drawing himself up with pride. "Ore-sama put his foot down. Ore-sama's education is far too important to be wasted on fanciful ridiculousness such as that!"

"Chief Sohcahtoa?" Fuji asked, breaking into giggles.

"It doesn't matter what the name was," Atobe insisted, "and I do not see what is so funny about a waste of one's educational time! Some people might find such trivial distractions amusing, but for those seriously interested in learning-"

Fuji, sensing a long speech coming on, fought down his mirth and interrupted. "Atobe, was it ever difficult for you to remember how to fine the sine, cosine, or tangent values from a right triangle?"

"Well of course," Atobe said, his ire increasing. "Especially with everybody muttering 'Sogetoa'-"

"Sohcahtoa."

"-Whatever! all the time. How could one be expected to concentrate?!"

"Atobe," Tezuka interjected calmly before Fuji could begin another round of useless 'amusement', "it is an acronym."

Atobe blinked, and Fuji had the grace to turn his face towards the wall as he snickered in the background.

"What?"

"‘Chief Sohcahtoa‘." It's an acronym. It's supposed to help you remember the equations for finding Sine, Cosine, and Tangent angles of a triangle."

"Soh: Sine= opposite (leg) over hypotenuse. Cah: Cosine= adjacent (leg) over hypotenuse. Soh-cah-toa. They're like FOIL, Kings Play Chess on Fine Green Silk, and the Preposition Song," Fuji piped in helpfully, rolling back over to face them. Neither he nor Atobe seemed to have noticed that Tezuka had voluntarily spoken more than a single sentence at once. Well, Fuji probably had, Tezuka mused as he turned his attention back to comparing their notes, but he was having far too much fun belittling the captain of Hyoutei to pay much attention.

"Well, if you know so much then you might as well explain everything to us!" Atobe replied exasperatedly.

"‘No one who cannot rejoice in the discovery of his own mistakes deserves to be called a scholar‘!" (1) Fuji trilled.

Tezuka headed off any further teasing by agreeing with Atobe's statement. Hopefully this way the two would both be too busy to continue getting on each other's nerves, and they might actually be prepared in time for the test tomorrow.

"What do you want to know?" Fuji asked, stretching lazily on the bed and seeming quite content to accept his victory.

There was brief silence for a moment. "Schrodinger's cat," Tezuka finally said, frowning at the sketchy notes that they had on the subject.

Fuji's smile went disturbingly feline. "The alive-and-dead cat?" he asked rhetorically? "Oh, that one's fun! It challenges the Copenhagen ideas about quantum superposition by suggesting that the cat placed-"

"From the beginning, please, Fuji," Atobe ground out, looking like the effort to be polite was costing him a good deal of patience.

"My," Fuji pouted, "nobody can finish a sentence today, hm? Well, Schrodinger devised a thought-experiment by which he might expose the extreme bizarreness of the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics. The idea is that if you apply the Copenhagen interpretation of superposition to a scenario in which there is a cat in a sealed box who has equal chances of surviving or dying then according to quantum mechanics, the cat is both alive and dead, until somebody opens the box and looks in to make a 'measurement'." He paused, smiling slightly. "The exact situation is as follows: a cat is placed in a sealed box shielded against any kind of environmentally induced quantum decoherence. A flask of hydrocyanic acid with a hammer poised to break it is placed in with the cat. There is also Geiger Counter containing a minute amount of radioactive substance which may or may not, depending on chance, go off and make the hammer break the acid open, killing the cat." He rolled over so that he could peer up at his quiet audience.

"Funny, ne? Following?"

Tezuka nodded, his hand reaching over and resuming its perch Fuji's head as he digested the information. Atobe got up from his chair by the window and declared "Ore-sama's" total and unequivocal understanding, sweeping off his glasses and ending the declaration with an impressive stretch to remind his subjects of his unparalleled balance and flexibility. Fuji smiled in mild appreciation, though Tezuka, still buried in his book, didn't seem to notice.

Atobe cleared his throat loudly to get even their stoic boyfriend's attention and imperiously declared a break. "Ore-sama will call for a snack to be brought immediately," he said, already flipping open his blindingly metallic phone, "if you two may prepare tea."

With a soft snort, Fuji let it made known his opinion of Atobe calling anything that he had to call for a 'snack', but did not otherwise protest and leaned up to give Atobe a peck on the cheek as he and Tezuka adjourned to his family's kitchen. It was deserted, his mother and Yumiko out to visit relatives and friends in other locales for the next few days, and his father overseas on business.

"You should not quarrel with him so much." Tezuka said, locating the cups and tea with little difficulty.

"We enjoy it," Fuji replied cheerfully, filling the kettle with water from the tap. "It's our own special way of bonding. We're simply trying to find our happy numbers."

Tezuka sighed, too tired to figure out exactly what the slender tensai meant by that. He should have known better than to think that this 'break' would be very restful, with Fuji around.

1. A quote by Donald Foster, found via quotationspage.com

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed!!! Please feel free to read and review- this is my first-ever finished POT fanfic, so constructive criticism is very welcome!

I hope I followed your prompt okay, shenguin >.< I was having lots of trouble understanding and searching out mathematical and scientific stuff to use. I'm sorry if it's very inconsistent. ;___;

I'm afraid that this ending might be too abrupt- I had actually continued this quite a bit, but it was starting to head in a direction I was not sure what to do with (and I thought it was getting a little forced and redundant) so I cut it all out. If anyone likes, I could finish it up and send them a full version later.

EDIT: Many thanks to paranoid_fridge for pointing out that Copenhagen is a place, not a person! *headdesk* Ah, I knew that I had to have messed up somewhere...

fic for dhorz

2008-07-28T16:13:31Z

Title: Picking Up A Hobby
Rating: G
Wordcount: 3544
Request: Fuji needs a new hobby, who is Tezuka.
Summary: semi AU, wherein Fuji is two years older than Tezuka and engages in sneaky private investigator-ly activities.
A/N: dear dhorz, I'm not sure if this is what you envisioned entirely, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! && many thanks to pndaftw and ailura for beta-ing at such short notice.

i.
Fuji Syuusuke first notices the boy who lives opposite his office building in the middle of Umeda-san’s recount of her husband’s increasingly late returns from his tennis sessions at the club.

To her, her story is a newly discovered tragedy, but to Fuji it is hardly original. The plot is routine, tired; even if the sordid details do vary. There was Oshitari-san, who suddenly developed a remarkable interest in gymnastics as well as great flexibility, and turned out to be having an affair with his Pilates instructor. Momoshiro-san, who started spending most of the household budget buying massive amounts of grape Ponta that he never seemed to drink but which disappeared anyway, cans and all. Oishi-san, who pilfered the stuffed toys his wife had bought for his nieces’ and nephews’ birthday from the cupboard, with a preference for the teddy bears.

Fuji thinks, with a certain amount of scorn, that if he were them he would never let himself get caught, either in the supposed sacrament of marriage or in the act of cheating. The motto of a private investigator: Never let your guard down.

He notes absently that Umeda-san has a lovely voice, smooth and mellow like melted butter swirled in a pan. It trickles past his awareness and pools somewhere in his subconscious; he will remember what it says when he has to.

Across the street the bottom of a woman’s paper bag breaks and apples tumble out, rolling all over the pavement. The street is wide and empty and the apples gleam rosily where they stop in patches of light, and Fuji imagines that they are plump fish, darting and stilling in ponds of clear water shot through with sun.

The boy that emerges from the building is unremarkable (tall, lanky, bespactacled; untidy hair) beyond the fact that only he stops to help, producing a white handkerchief to carefully wipe off any grime the apples might have picked up and proffering them to the woman with a slight bow. Even from one floor up, Fuji’s intuition tells him that, from the line of his mouth and the set of his shoulders, he doesn’t smile much and probably has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility.

By this time Umeda-san’s composure has crumbled and she is crying, tears casting little splotches of shadow on the wood under the glass-top of his desk. He offers her a tissue from the lace-covered box on his right and murmurs something vaguely comforting, rising to fetch a cup of tea.

When Fuji looks out the window again, the boy is gone. Umeda-san’s tears are now little hiccuping sobs, and he gives her another tissue because the first is now just ragged edges and specks of white dotting her skirt.

There is a leaf fluttering weakly to the ground at the corner where the boy may or may not have turned.

i & i/ii.

Hobby /hɒbi/: An activity or interest pursued outside one's regular occupation and engaged in primarily for pleasure.

If this is the universally accepted definition of hobby, anything Fuji Syuusuke might take up is, arguably, precisely that.

This particular venture began as one, because Fuji thought he could probably do a better job than those dim private detectives waffling around in mystery novels, or those investigators who crept around and pressed themselves to brick walls in dark alleys. For one thing he hasn't any scruples about eavesdropping, and for another he is thin enough to fit into cramped spaces between drainpipes and alley walls, melting silent into shadows.

(He needs the extra money for rent, but that is secondary.)

It does make him feel rather cheated that it is so easy to be good at this, too. Two successful assignments and his name is discreetly dropped into conversation over high society teas, quickly becoming part of that knowledge which is necessary to survival in those circles.

Fuji Syuusuke is technically five years old; he is brilliant, and he is bored.

ii.
Inui announces two days after the meeting with Umeda-san that they are going to reorganise the office.

“My research shows that at least 76% of people feel less threatened and are more receptive to suggestions in non-cluttered environments,” with a pointed look in the direction of Fuji’s desk, which has beige folders stacked unevenly at either edge, seven-eighths of its surface covered in loose sheets of paper, and a steaming cup of tea in the left corner.

“You probably couldn’t even find a pen if you needed one,” and Fuji arches an eyebrow at him before delving into a particularly precarious sheaf of papers and emerging with a pen triumphantly held aloft. “If that is the pen you dropped two months ago and bent the nib of at 24.3 degrees, I meant a functional pen, or one with a non-crooked nib.”

“Straight things confuse me, Inui, or doesn’t your data already tell you that?” Fuji leans back on his chair, balancing on two legs and idly twirling the pen with his left hand. Inui no longer suspects he is being mocked: after a year and seven months working with Fuji, he knows he is.

“The shadows cast when your desk is in that position reduce visibility by 26 percent, with an cumulative increase of 0.07 percent past the hours of 6 p.m.,” he points out reasonably.

Fuji doesn’t reply, instead propping his chin on the heel of his palm, fingertips warm on his cheek.

The boy is there again today. This time he has a tennis bag hoisted onto his right shoulder, looking left-right-left before he crosses the road, pushing up his glasses with two fingers at the bridge. The sunlight glances off his lenses when he looks up at the sky, and Fuji is dazzled.

“Tezuka Kunimitsu, Seigaku high school’s tennis club ace.” This is partly why Inui makes such a good colleague: he answers questions before Fuji needs to ask them.

“I thought it important that we gain a better idea of our neighbourhood before we decided to relocate here.”

Fuji lets his spinning pen clatter to the table.

“I’ll just move my desk over to face the window, shall I?”

The tea is cold by the time they finish pushing the desk into position, but Fuji drinks it anyway.

iii.
After office hours he hangs the Closed! sign on the door and spends three hours looking through their newspaper archives, until his hands smell like carbon and cheap paper and he leaves grey imprints of the whorls on his fingers on Shinji-san’s case file.

He was a very patient child, he thinks hazily, somewhere in between a picture of a small and serious five-year-old Tezuka holding up a piece of paper coloured completely in neon green crayon with a grid over it (this is the tennis court after practice through my racket) and a dramatic article recounting his win against Eishirou Kite of Higa Chuu Gakuen that is replete with duelling metaphors.

Tezuka wins the majority of his matches in straight sets, but all told he has only played very few times as Singles One. He doesn’t believe in dating before graduating from university and has an ankle circumference of -- cm. His index finger is longer than his fourth: a “clear sign of masculinity”, according to the magazine reporting it. He has never lost an official match.

Fuji thinks with a small pang of regret that this invincibility makes him rather less interesting. Nobody is interested in justifying a god.

The windows of the building across the road are alternating rectangles of light and dark. Fuji wonders which is Tezuka’s, wonders if he has curtains at his windows. What sort they are: if they are flowery or striped or white, panels of light chiffon through which the sun falls in soft, parallel lines. This is something the interviews don’t say.

iv.
When he first started this hobby Yumiko asked him laughingly if he wanted her old trenchcoat to go sneaking around in. Even if it’s two seasons out of fashion, Syuusuke.

Why not?, he replied, and it hangs on the coat-rack at their office now, taking up a permanent space. The pockets are filled with dried sakura petals from when Yumiko last wore it, crumbling pale pink to the touch; the sleeves covered in lint.

It doesn’t fit him around the shoulders, but he likes the touch of authenticity it adds to their office. Today, though, he puts it on and slips unobstrusively into the crowd behind Tezuka, silent and nondescript: brown hair and brown eyes, sharp elbows and skinny wrists.

***

By the end of the day he has followed Tezuka to the tennis supply store, a street tennis court, the gym, and the Seigaku High clubhouse (where he lingers for an unusually long time talking to a short boy whose cap is barely visible over the bottom of the window frame). His only conclusion is that Tezuka is completely obsessed with tennis and his idea of a wet dream, unlike *most teenage boys', entails the best tennis players in the world surrounding him and serving tennis balls at him, at maximum speed. Simultaneously.

*which involve things of Unspeakable Immorality.

v.
Fuji feels the crash of thunder tremble through his chair, rumble low and threatening through his chest.

He wonders if it is possible to play tennis in rain like this. Japan has a lightning strike frequency of twenty-odd per square kilometre, and for people who wear glasses the raindrops will stipple their lenses, accumulating and trickling down in phases like ellipses.

“Pass Shinji-san’s file over, will you?” Inui’s voice is oddly muted, made distant by the rain, but it is enough for Fuji to remember that now is still within office hours, that this is now his regular occupation, and bend his head obediently over Takahashi-san’s hotel occupancy record.

vi.
He often tries to envision how they might meet.

Perhaps at the bookstore down the road: they will reach for the same book and their fingers will brush. They will discover their shared interests in Nietzsche and spend their days together in a dim apartment that smells of hotel linen and twilight, in a philosophical haze of Pavlov and Rawls and Descartes. It could be a bakery encounter, when Fuji buys a pie and drops his pencil on the way out, whereupon Tezuka will coincidentally enter and graciously, gracefully pick it up. He will invite Tezuka back for a slice of apple pie in gratitude, arranged on the whitest plate he owns with a sprig of whatever it is chefs put on food as decoration (the logistical concerns of this plan are secondary), and they will make friends over the steam wafting warm and white in swirls between them. There are lots of pretty places around: parks with benches made of wrought-iron curlicues, cafes with stainglass windows, fountains; Fuji envisions a meeting in each and every one of them.

The scene he imagines is always slightly out of focus, shaky and smudged with shadow, as if whoever took the picture was running towards the sun, shutter speed on slow.

*

Reality is a lot more prosaic. They need a photographer to cover Tezuka’s match against one Yukimura Seiichi, of Rikkai Dai Fukozu, so Fuji calls the number in the advertisement and gives his name, turns up at the interview on a sunny Saturday afternoon in a crisp shirt with a dossier of his photos tucked under his arm.

It turns out they’ve seen copies of his work before, so he sits opposite a large man with stubby fingers and eyebrows like two thick squiggles drawn with a fuzzy marker in a childish hand (glued-on pelts of hairy black caterpillars) and answers yes, no, no I don’t use photo editing software unless absolutely necessary, yes sir I can take leave from class and work and be there before nine. All very standard answers; Fuji allows his attention to wander.

The man’s office is full of pictures, sports stars that are two-dimensional cutouts of themselves, specimens pinned to the walls under sheets of fingerprint-free glass, faces opaque white where the light reflects off the shiny magazine paper. He fills in the blank voids of their faces with Tezuka’s, those paper dolls Yumiko played with when she was seven, but Tezuka’s expression stays firmly the same no matter how much Fuji tries to imagine it any different (even when he places it on a swimsuit-clad body: the eyes are still sharp as splintered shale, chin pointedly disapproving)

Fuji likes trying to change things that won't; it is less a hobby than a particular talent of his.

vii.

He takes a bus down to Seigaku High after work one day. The school hasn’t changed much since he was there, except that maybe the crack in the wall beside the gate is a little wider, and there are more shoeprints on the whitewashed wall than he remembers.

It’s 5.40 in the evening and the hallways are empty and still, awash with evening sun the colour of tea. Fuji takes the long way round to the tennis courts, straining his ears to catch the residual echoes of a ball against the concrete.

He pushes the door to the clubhouse open and stops. Blinks, because Tezuka Kunimitsu has just turned to look at him from where he is standing in front of the window with his hands in his pockets.

"I," Fuji says to break the silence. It takes him some time to realise that he doesn't actually know what to say, because this is not how he envisioned their meeting; their meeting was to be remarkable in some way, whether by virtue of setting or situation or the psychic connection that would manifest itself as almost-tangible sparks in the air between them. To his chagrin there is nothing but dust motes, drifting, catching the light. He smiles a little wider, stands a little straighter. "I'm Fuji Syuusuke. I was a student in the tennis club here a few years ago."

To his surprise Tezuka is looking at him appraisingly. "Fuji Syuusuke, first singles." It's not a question. "Ryuuzaki-sensei talks about you often, how they won the Nationals the only year you were in the club."

Fuji shakes his head slightly. "I only played tennis for fun, my brother is a lot more serious about it than me." From anyone else this would be false modesty, but from Fuji it is a simple statement of fact.

"I heard you were rather better than a somebody who just played for fun," Tezuka replies drily. Somehow in reality he looks less solid than Fuji has thought him to be, standing in a pool of twilight sun against an apricot sky, a backlit subject of a picture. Fuji has always had a keen appreciation of beauty.

He focuses on the wall between the window and the lockers, with its photographic documentation of every time they have won Nationals. The last photo is testimony to one of his discarded hobbies: he isn't in it because he took it. That explains the gap between Yamato-buchou and Inui; Fuji thinks wistfully that he really should've been in the picture because then at least Tezuka would have to see him on a regular basis whether he wanted to or not.

"Fuji-san. Would you do me the honour of playing against me?" Tezuka is formal enough that Fuji feels as if they are facing each other at a tea ceremony, signing a huge business deal. This is why Tezuka will forever be unchanging to the people that follow him: he was born serious and he will stay serious, like unweathered bedrock. The silence stretches between them, two people on either side of a strike-slip fault.

“No,” Fuji says at last, “No. I don’t play tennis any more.” It's childish, but he doesn't want to be indebted to their shared brilliance at tennis; he knows, already, that if anything does start he will always be Tezuka's second love, secondary to his tennis. Such is the danger of letting a hobby matter too much, so that everything fades into grayscale behind the gold luster of a championship trophy.

Tezuka looks at him, expression inscrutable, breakwater-impacable, doesn't say anything. Before Fuji can try to make amends (it will not be a concession), though, someone at the door says, "Buchou?" It's the boy with the cap he saw through the window: probably just a freshman, but despite that the air is suddenly different, sharper. Fuji hates him with an immediate, unreasonable instinct that says, rival. Tezuka picks up his bag and bows gravely to Fuji, then walks out.

Things don't change much, thinks Fuji. The last time he was here Yuuta walked out on him and everything is still the same, the rank smell of socks and unravelling rolls of grip tape trailing out of lockers, the unidentifiable growth in the crack between the lockers and the wall, the corner of the wooden bench below the window warped by damp.

viii.
Fuji calls Ryuuzaki-sensei and offers to play the freshman (Echizen Ryoma, says Inui, Seigaku's first year prodigy) as preparation for Nationals.

"Yes, sensei, I was just visiting the school during tennis practice and I saw Echizen-san playing... Yes, I think it would be interesting... If you don't mind, sensei? Tomorrow, then, at 5.45 after practice? Thank you." She is only too grateful for the challenge he is offering: it turns out that Echizen has prodigiously beaten every member of the team but Tezuka.

It takes him some time to find his tennis racket in the hall cupboard; the grip is sticky and slightly rank with dried sweat from games long concluded, inevitably in his favour. Tomorrow's will have to be no different.

viv.
He likes Echizen even less after actually meeting him; the boy is dismissive of this outsider, this interruption in his practice time with Tezuka. They rally for a while to warmup and Fuji misses a few on purpose because he doesn't feel like running for them. Echizen smirks at that and Fuji's returning smile is exactly a half-secret wide; when he hits back Echizen's opening Twist Serve (the advantages of having semi-eidetic memory and Inui) the vibration comes thrumming up his arm, through his chest in a surge of satisfaction.

Across the net Echizen looks disbelieving, as if having his Twist Serve returned is a prospect he's never imagined. He does come up with a few new surprises, but nothing Fuji cannot decipher in time, and after a while Fuji is playing with his eyes shut and by instinct.

It doesn't surprise him that by the time the score hits 4-2, Tezuka is watching through the fence. He pulls out his counters: one, two, three, Echizen surprises him into using number four, but he disguises it as an accident.

By the time he wins 6-4 the sky is overcast with curls of grey cloud and the smell of rain is in the air. The wind whips through the fence, lifting scrap paper from the ground and tossing Fuji's fringe into his eyes, making Tezuka's regular jersey flare out behind him like a cloak. It blows in Tezuka's direction and Fuji lets his feet follow, so that he drifts over to Tezuka and they are face to face through the fence.

"You don't seem very tired."

Fuji can't think of anything to reply to this that wouldn't sound arrogant, so he tilts his head back and looks up at the sky. It begins to drizzle, rain-dark splotches on the dull green and red of the court, beading the metal grid of fence; he figures that this is probably as romantic as things can get, standing out in the rain with a fence in between.

"I thought you didn't play tennis any more, Fuji-san." Tezuka is polite, but his words are pointed and Fuji is surprised to feel almost ashamed.

"Ryuuzaki-sensei thought it would be good practice for Echizen-san to play with someone outside the team," he demurs. "I was only too glad to help." The lie slips out easily enough, and Tezuka doesn't look entirely convinced but he nods, and Fuji takes the chance to say casually, "I'd play with you sometime if you wanted," and look as earnest as he can.

One side of Tezuka's mouth crooks upwards imperceptibly (Fuji's intuition tells him, in retrospect, that it is triumph) and he replies, "It would be an honour, Fuji-san." They retreat into the shelter of the clubhouse and decide on a time and place; Fuji watches Tezuka walk towards the busstop through the clubroom window with his umbrella held stiffly like a rifle, dissolving into an outline in the gauze of falling rain.

x.
5 o’clock on a Friday evening.

Inui looks up at 5.01 and sees Fuji standing at the door; doesn’t remember him ever being so concerned about leaving straight after work.

“You’re out fast today, Fuji.”

Fuji pauses, left hand on the doorknob and jingling car keys with his right (is that a tennis bag on his shoulder?), turns to flash Inui a brilliant smile.

“Just picking up a hobby.”

</div>

Fic for white_ashes07

2008-07-27T06:13:46Z

Title: AND HERE, WE MEET AGAIN
Characters: Tezuka Kunimitsu, Fuji Shuusuke
Prompter: white_ashes07 (LJ)
Prompt: Having the promised match after the Nationals Tournament (manga-verse).
Word Count: ± 7100
Genre: Would you believe me if I say this is “Friendship”? :P
Rating: PG-13 for their kinda complicated thoughts and feelings to each other (that gave me quite a headache writing them)
Summary: Ten years after graduation, the regulars held a little reunion for they barely meet each other. On the very same courts they had once built their dream together, Fuji Shuusuke’s mind drifted into one fateful match he had with the Tezuka Kunimitsu.
Warnings: switching POVs and… switching timelines? And read the A/N pls, it’d help
Disclaimer: Konomi Takeshi owns PoT and its characters. And the song isn’t mine either, it’s Tezuka’s and Fuji’s feelings for each other XD
Beta: speadee (really much thanks for taking my request in such a short notice and for beta-ing super-fast!)

A/N: I know that in the manga, Fuji’s eyes are brown, but it’s a bit weird for me (and for you to read too, I suppose) if I were to describe his eyes as brown, so I keep them blue. But this is manga-verse, okay? (Well, it’s a fanfic after all!) xD
And I know in the last chappie, Echizen was back to the states, but let’s just say he went there after the seniors graduated, so that he won’t miss this ultimate match :D
Also, I inserted the lyrics of “Koko de Bokura wa Deatte Shimatta” here and there. Translation’s taken from kalika1997

p.s.: Please excuse me on the during-match descriptions. I don’t even play tennis, so... *grins sheepishly* but I’ve tried my best, so I hope it’s good enough ^^;;
Oh, and please don’t compare this to episode 174-176 of the anime. Since this is manga-verse, if you could please see this separately from the anime? Thank you :D

~AND HERE, WE MEET AGAIN~

Ten years have passed since their graduation from Seishun Middle School. The ex-regulars who led Seigaku to the national championship were currently having a reunion in the school they had studied in a decade ago. With help from Inui who is currently coaching the Seigaku tennis club, they had managed to hold a barbeque party on the very same tennis courts where they had once built their dreams.

A twenty-five-year-old Fuji Shuusuke was observing the court, and found two people not present yet. Momo said that Echizen had called earlier, saying that he would be late. Fuji smirked. Apparently, the brat was still fond of being the last to arrive.

‘Too bad, though,’ Fuji thought, ‘the one who is supposed to assign laps has also yet to show his nose.’

// I thought I heard your voice. When I turned around, what I see is the blue sky //

A breeze blew past him, fondling with his shoulder-length hair. The soft wind carrying the scent of spring had somehow made him feel really nostalgic. Fuji was quietly watching his ex-teammates’ antics; Kawamura just brought a huge package of Sushi and everyone seemed ready to wolf it down when another breeze passed by, carrying a familiar voice that he hadn’t heard in a while. He promptly spun his head, and the starry sky came into view.

Feeling the wind toying with his hair, Fuji silently whispers Tezuka’s name.

They had entered different high schools after graduating from Seigaku, and could barely meet after starting college. Their studies managed to eat a lot of their time, and so, only irregular phone calls and e-mails were left as their means of communication these past years.

Seeing his old teammates gathered like this sure brought back memories of those days when they were fighting together to achieve their dreams, led by the one who would always be their captain, Tezuka Kunimitsu.

Memories of their days together were now coming to his mind’s eye. Both of them used to be addressed as the two strongest players in Seigaku for years, without ever really settling the question of who was the stronger between the two. Fuji had invited Tezuka for a match in their freshmen year, but the injury Tezuka had back then didn’t get them anywhere.

Eventually, after two and a half years of unfulfilled promise, both of them managed to have a rematch, and the memories of that fateful day started to come into Fuji’s head. Clear mental pictures were appearing in his mind’s eye as if they had happened only yesterday.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was their graduation day. The three years they had spent in Seishuun Middle school had ended this very day. The graduation ceremony included the farewell speeches of the memories shared between friends, partners, and even lovers, bringing tears to almost all the seniors graduating.

Fuji had stood under a sakura tree, watching as the sakura petals were carried by the wind, spreading the scent of spring. Spring was the season of a new beginning, Fuji had thought. It was the season where a new academic year began; where grade-schoolers became middle-schoolers, middle-schoolers first stepped their feet into high school life, and finally the high-schoolers found separate ways from their friends since some would be continuing their education in different subjects while others preferred to work right after graduating.

The prodigy had chuckled once he realized that his mind had been straying around.

“Fuji.”

The light-haired youth quickly diverted his gaze from the sakura tree to the owner of that familiar voice standing not far to his left. With a smile, Fuji greeted his now ex-captain.

He was surprised when the stoic youth threw a tennis ball at his direction. Catching the lime-green object swiftly, Fuji threw a questioning glance at the bespectacled boy now standing right in front of him.

// If there are still things here left to be done, perhaps this too, is one of them //

“Let’s have a match,” Tezuka simply stated while looking straight into the cerulean orbs now opened from the sudden invitation.

“A match,” Fuji repeated, staring at the round object in his right hand before turning his gaze to the hazel orbs.

‘After this tournament is over, will you have a match with me?’

That was a question the prodigy had thrown some months ago. Fuji still remembered how he felt after winning the match against Niou. The trickster had tried to imitate Tezuka, but still, he was NOT Tezuka. Even so, the match had been quite thrilling for him that inside, he had craved for a match against the real Tezuka.

‘Sure, if that’s what you want,’ had been his captain’s answer while they joined their hands in a tight grip, conveying their spirit of rivalry to each other.

The promise, however, had not been fulfilled until that day. After the Nationals, school had been waiting for them. Before they were tennis players, both of them were students in their last year of middle school. They had to study for their exams and prepare themselves for high school.

Fuji was glad the captain had remembered their promise. ‘Of course,’ Fuji thought, ‘Tezuka Kunimitsu is always true to his words.’

The moment they spent gazing into each other’s eyes felt like forever. With cerulean orbs reflecting those regal hazel eyes, the prodigy let out an open-eyed smile.

// Even now, the two of us still have the childlike innocence from that day //

‘Someday, when your arm heals completely, let’s play once more.’

‘Ah,’ Fuji thought. That was his own statement after their first match in their first year, which ended in Tezuka’s complete defeat. He had asked for a rematch that day, and Tezuka had agreed. Yet until the Nationals, Fuji had no real desire for a rematch. He had wondered during his match against Niou that maybe, both of them had been avoiding having a rematch.

As he looked beyond the rimless glasses, though, Fuji saw the same enthusiasm Tezuka had once when they were twelve. Then, the prodigy smiled as he stared back into the hazel orbs. Their eyes locked with each other, reflecting the determination and excitement… and that something else they had yet to understand.

// It’s not too late to start now //

“Let’s have a good match,” said Tezuka after they had finished changing into their tennis uniforms.

Fuji took a moment to study the form of the bespectacled boy in his Seigaku tennis uniform, and then looked down at his own figure in the blue and white shirt. The prodigy let out a wistful smile. This would be the last time they would wear this tennis uniform.

Stepping out of the clubhouse holding rackets, they immediately attracted the attention of their juniors gathered near the courts. Not long after, a commotion started as those juniors looked for their senpais so that they wouldn’t miss the match between the two strongest tennis players in Seigaku.

By the time they faced each other on court A, the old regulars were standing on the side of the courts, while the non-regulars and interested bypassers slowly cramped themselves behind the fence

// “Shall we get started?” //

“Rough or smooth?” asked Tezuka as he prepared to twirl his racket.

“Smooth,” Fuji answered.

The racket spun and fell with a soft clatter on the ground. Tezuka knelt on one knee to check, and murmured, “smooth.”

“My serve, then,” Fuji smiled as he turned his body and walked towards the baseline.

Pulling out a ball from his pocket, the smiling prodigy opened his eyes, trying to hold down his excitement before it got the better of him. Measuring the distance between them, Fuji threw the lime-green object to the air, and with a loud ‘thwack’, the ball marking the beginning of their fateful match had flown across the net.

-oOo-

Serve after serve was delivered, with the green and white missile flying back and forth between the two rivals, accompanied by thwacking and cracking sounds. Their scores were chasing each other’s, and Kawamura, who had volunteered to be the referee for this crucial match, really couldn’t keep his eyes off the ball even for a second. He unconsciously gripped his diploma so hard from the tension of the match.

With neither of them planning to lose this match, they entered a ten-minute rally, making their audiences frown in anticipation.

“Nyaaaa~! How long are they going to rally? This is driving me insane!” Kikumaru exclaimed as he scratched his head with both hands in frustration.

“Fssshu….” Kaidoh hissed, eyes getting a bit tired from never leaving the ball that kept zooming back and forth. That was when Inui shoved his diploma into his hand since the data-player had finally come to his senses and decided to take data instead of just watching the match.

“Ten minutes of rally… and they haven’t even used their special moves yet,” Inui mumbled while scribbling madly on his notebook, as if taking notes on every little move they made. “This match is going to give me precious data,” he continued without looking up from his notebook.

“Oi, look!” Momo patted Echizen’s back repeatedly, making the shorter boy annoyed. Even without his senpai telling him, Echizen knew their Captain had activated it.

Fuji, too, had noticed. Because no matter where he intended for the ball to land, the lime green object kept heading for Tezuka’s direction, and the bespectacled boy didn’t have to move from his spot.

“Nyaaa~! It’s Tezuka Zone!”

Fuji smirked. It seemed like Tezuka was getting serious. Chasing the ball, the smiling boy concentrated on his right hand and when he had the chance, he hit one of his counters, trying to break the Tezuka Zone.

“That form!” Momo unconsciously shouted in Echizen’s ears that the younger boy wished that he presently had his hat to pull down over his ears, if possible.

“Is it Tsubame Gaaeshi?” Oishi murmured, eyes still focused on the ball.

“No,” Inui cut him off. “It’s the upgraded one.”

Unable to pull the brim of his non-present hat, Echizen slipped his hands into his pants pocket instead, and muttered, “Houou Gaeshi… was it?”

But the round object didn’t seem able to reject the force that attracted it to the stoic youth, and eventually, it bent from its track and Tezuka conveniently hit a zero-shiki drop shot that Fuji failed to return.

“Game, Tezuka! 1-0!”

Silence.

// On that day… We ran into each other here //

Calmly walking back to the baseline, Fuji prepared himself for whatever serve Tezuka was going to give him. For a few seconds, both of them just stared into each other’s eyes, despite the distance separating them across the court. Fuji remembered their first match here, and how he had been waiting in anticipation of what kind of serve a twelve-year-old Tezuka would give him.

Then, the stoic captain bounced the ball twice, tossed it in mid-air, and swung his racket. With the sound of the racket kissing the ball, Fuji’s mind was back to the present, and he ran to the right side of the court to return with a cord ball, and managed to score from Tezuka.

“0-15!” Kawamura shouted.

“Fuji scored pretty quickly with a cord ball,” Inui mumbled, still scribbling in his notebook.

“Fssshu… Inui-senpai, aren’t you going to predict the percentage of their next move?” asked Kaidoh, since he was wondering why the data collector hadn’t said anything like ‘there’s 68% chance of…’ and was merely scribbling on his notebook instead.

“No, Kaidoh, this match is unpredictable, so I’m not going to waste my time making predictions. I’m just going to take their data while I can,” he explained without taking his eyes off the match or notebook.

“Oh look, Tezuka-buchou’s going to serve!” Momo yelled yet again.

“Momo-senpai, could you please be quiet?” Echizen requested, annoyed.

“Wait,” Oishi frowned deeper, scrutinizing Tezuka’s stance, “that serve is…”

The ball zoomed forward, and suddenly dropped just as soon as it reached the other side of the court, right in front of the net. Fuji froze in his failed attempt to return the serve.

“Nyaaa~! It’s zero-shiki serve!”

Standing straight, Fuji eyed the ball, then diverted his gaze to the taller youth, standing proudly on the other side of the court. He let out an open-eyed smile before walking back to the baseline.

He was thrilled. It was only the second game, but Tezuka had already used his zero-shiki serve. The ex-captain was taking him seriously.

---Since the first time Fuji had seen Tezuka on this very same court, he had a feeling that the bespectacled boy was going to give something in his stagnant life.

Fuji felt like his hand was shaking in excitement. This was it. He felt like he could… that he should play at his full strength with Tezuka.

The next serve from the captain was not another zero-shiki serve, as he probably thought Fuji would start formulating ways to counter the serve after seeing it several times in a row. But maybe, it was also because he had learned not to put too much burden on his arm.

“That’s smart, Tezuka,” he said as he was chasing the ball, and hit it with a lob. Out of instinct, Tezuka jumped to smash the ball, and Fuji’s eyes glinted and he held his racket with both hands to counter his opponent’s smash with his Kirin Otoshi.

Fuji didn’t realize though, that the captain had activated his Tezuka Zone, causing the ball to be attracted towards him, and allowing him to return the ball. Unprepared for his returned counter, the prodigy failed to retrieve the ball that bounced at the far left, just a few centimeters from his baseline.

“15-15.”

Another counter had been broken.

Fuji stared at his opponent with such intensity. Something was burning inside him.

Tezuka was trying to pull his real self out.

-oOo-

As time went by, the crowd of audiences watching this rare match hadn’t seemed to decrease. Rather, the amount of people gathering was getting bigger. Ryuuzaki-sensei had now joined the regulars near court A to get a better view.

The score was now 3-3. Once again, they entered a seemingly never-ending rally. The ball kept whizzing back and forth between the two. Neither of them could be careless, or the other would crush him immediately.

Having beaten two of Fuji’s counters, Tezuka was now challenging his opponent to break his Tezuka Zone, and Fuji more than welcomed the challenge. The now former captain wanted to know if the prodigy would be able to break one of his ultimate moves.

// And we both realized that //

It’s not that Fuji hadn’t been trying, but the ball kept being attracted to the zone. However, the prodigy seemed to have realized something so suddenly that it delayed him from reaching the bouncing ball, so the score went to Tezuka yet again.

“40-30!”

Fuji merely eyed the ball and smirked. Eyelids sliding close, he smiled and said to Tezuka, “I think I can break your Tezuka Zone.”

Murmurs were immediately heard from the crowd around them, wondering how he would do it. Would he use one of his counters? Or did he have another trick?

Tezuka merely looked at his opponent across the net; his stoic expression betrayed nothing like anxiety or worries.

---And since the first time Tezuka saw Fuji, even though he had thought that the lithe boy wasn’t outstanding compared to his unique teammates, Tezuka knew that Fuji was nothing like his fragile and girly outlook.

“Then go ahead and try,” were the only words that flowed out of the bespectacled boy’s lips.

Fuji once again just smiled.

// The door to a new world has opened //

The next ball brought them into another rally, but this one didn’t last as long because Fuji planned to beat the Tezuka Zone soon enough. Once he saw a chance, he retrieved the ball with the reverse side of his racket and reversed his wrist to force another spin to the ball.

“That move!” Momo yelled, again.

“Nyaaa~~ it’s the Gate Keeper of… of… what was that again?”

“Hecatoncheires. Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheires,” Inui corrected.

Tezuka’s eyes widened for a second since he didn’t expect Fuji to use that move against his skill. He chased the ball to the left side of his baseline, effectively breaking his Tezuka Zone. The ex-captain managed to hit the ball, but the green and white object sunk before it reached the net.

“40-40!”

Fuji let out a satisfied smile.

Tezuka eyed the ball rolling slowly on his side of court. Then he once again stared at Fuji’s eyes.

---Since the first time their eyes had accidentally met, something started to flicker inside them.

Both of them spent quite a moment looking into each other’s eyes, reflecting the flickering fire of their rivalry. Fuji threw yet another challenging smile, and Tezuka’s lips unconsciously twitched a little upward in response.

Fuji started with a disappearing serve, but Tezuka managed to return it with a zero-shiki drop shot. The genius had predicted this shot, however, since he had dashed towards the net, and with little difficulty, dived and returned the ball to the other side of the court. Tezuka ran forward to the center and hit back the ball. Seeing the oncoming round object, Fuji held his racket with both hands as he brought his racket down in an overhead swing.

“Aaah, that…” Momo remarked loudly.

The ball had flown graciously across the net, and by the time Tezuka swung his racket, the lime green object had already bounced near his baseline.

“Kagerou Zutsumi… isn’t it?” Oishi muttered.

“Game, Fuji! 4-3!”

-oOo-

“I must say Fuji’s Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheires is indeed a good move to break Tezuka Zone,” said Inui suddenly to the watching regulars, while the two players were now taking a short break to gulp some water and relax a bit from the match’s tension.

“How so?” Kikumaru asked.

“Tezuka Zone works because Tezuka puts a specific rotation on the ball, forcing nearly all returns to be "sucked" into his hit zone. To counter this extreme spin, his opponent must put a powerful new rotation to the ball,” Inui continued.

“Ah, so that Fuji’s counter is…” Oishi murmured.

“Indeed. Fuji’s Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheires works from the extreme underspin Fuji creates, which is strong enough to counter Tezuka’s spin on the ball. But I believe Fuji has to put double effort on the previous Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheires to counter the spin Tezuka had added, and make the counter work,” he explained while still scribbling in his notebook.

“They’re getting stronger, aren’t they?” Ryuuzaki-sensei added, and all heads turned to watch the two of them currently sharing a bottle of water a junior manager had provided.

Echizen stood there, his eyes on the two seniors he had been looking up to. Watching their match, he felt the urge to get stronger and stronger, somehow feeling that he was still ‘mada mada dane…'

-oOo-

“Ne, Tezuka,” Fuji called after gulping down some water, then offering the bottle to the taller youth standing beside him.

“Hn?” he responded, accepting the water bottle from Fuji and gulping down the content, dripping water into his dry throat.

“Don’t you even think to use your ‘Tezuka Phantom’, okay? And don’t use too much of yours zero-shiki drop shot and zero-shiki serve,” he said, exposing his cerulean orbs with such serious look on his face. Then, his eyes softened, and he smiled wistfully and said, “I don’t want to be the cause of your arm’s permanent injury.”

Tezuka took a moment to gaze at Fuji’s eyes, then diverted his eyes to his left arm. Covering his left upper arm with his hand, he firmly replied, “I won’t.”

A smaller hand crept up to cover his own hand and Tezuka found Fuji staring softly at his left arm.

“This arm of yours is too precious to waste on such a match,” the genius started again.

// And here, we meet again //

“Fuji, this match is also important to me,” he stated firmly, hazel eyes boring into those cerulean orbs.

Fuji smiled. “I know. But even without your ‘Tezuka Phantom’, I believe you are strong, ne? You’re my rival after all.”

Registering his friend’s words to his heart, Tezuka unconsciously let out a small smile.

“Thank you.”

---And as they stood on this court today, that ‘something’ was getting stronger and stronger by the minutes.

“Shall we continue the match, then?” Fuji asked while picking up his racket.

Copying his friend’s gesture, Tezuka replied, “Let’s play without regrets.”

With that being said, the two rivals walked in opposite directions, only to face each other once more across the court.

-oOo-

The match continued, and grew fiercer as the game went on. Score after score they made; at one time, Tezuka was leading, and in the next few minutes, Fuji would surpass his score. Game after game went by until they had lost count, too absorbed in the heated match they had been avoiding yet longing for at the same time.

// You probably cannot imagine what your gentleness has left for me //

As he was playing, a lot of things came to Fuji’s mind. He remembered his three years spent in Seigaku; all the time he had known the taller boy. The sandy-brown-haired youth was now wondering, what was actually the meaning of Tezuka’s existence to him?

Tezuka was a challenge, he had thought once. He was a challenge, not only in tennis, but also in friendship. With Kikumaru, their friendship developed just as naturally as breathing; Fuji couldn’t even remember when they were not best friends. But Tezuka was different. With the stoic youth, efforts were needed to approach, before he was finally acknowledged as a ‘friend’.

Once they were friends, however, he had come to know that beneath the stoic façade, Tezuka was one of the most caring people Fuji had ever known. The subtle displays of concern Tezuka threw him every now and then were slowly corroding his own smiling mask.

His train of thought was cut off when he saw his rival giving him a zero-shiki drop shot. He sprinted to the net and dived, not caring for the stinging pain his elbow suffered from the harsh contact with the ground.

The ball managed to get across the net, and Fuji scored.

---For Fuji, Tezuka was a challenge, indeed.

Tezuka was a challenge for Fuji to reach his full potential, but more than that, with the concealed kindness the dark-haired youth possessed, he was a challenge for Fuji to face his ‘real-self’, even outside the tennis court.

Fuji smiled as he jumped and smashed the green and white missile, only to be returned graciously by the bespectacled boy.

‘Tezuka’ was his goal.

// We are searching in each other, the thing that will fill our emptiness //

As Tezuka had anticipated, this match was tough. The match he had lost to Sanada had also been really harsh, but this was different. All those times, Tezuka had played to win for the sake of Seigaku. That was also where he had gotten his strength from: his supporting teammates and everyone’s expectations had been able to push him to his limit.

But this match was different. Against Fuji, he fought for himself. His strength came from his desire to pull Fuji’s true self out, because he wanted to see it. He wanted to see more of what was hidden behind that smiling mask and that seemingly effortless attitude.

Hitting another ball with a loud thwack, Tezuka suddenly recalled the first time he had become friends with Fuji.

Tezuka was never one for words. When he really used words, they were usually very straightforward, causing some people had mistaken him as cocky, a reason why he hadn’t made many friends at first. That was when Fuji had approached and offered him ‘friendship’.

The captain had never been really capable of socializing; he was awkward in other people’s presence. But somehow, Fuji—with all his nonchalant attitudes that Tezuka’s straightforwardness had no effect on him—had managed to slowly become his friend, and soon, they had gotten used to each other’s presence. The ever-smiling Fuji being by his side had chased away the uncomfortable feelings the others had for him, and it was before long that he had become a ‘part’ of the team’s friendship circle.

Eventually, he and the prodigy had gotten even closer to the point of having unspoken understanding. Fuji had the things he was lacking, and vise-versa. Together, they completed each other.

Even so, Tezuka had always wondered why Fuji hadn’t revealed his real self in front of him, both in tennis and in their friendship.

---For Tezuka, Fuji was a mystery.

Fuji was a mystery that had somehow entered his life, inciting the needs of other people’s presence around him, filling the empty spaces within him.

Now, he was about to unravel the mystery, starting from this tennis court.

// Now, if you desire it, I will show you the real me //

‘Where is the real you?’

While Fuji was preparing to return a cord ball, the question his friend had asked quite some time ago came to his mind.

As far as the prodigy could remember, Tezuka had made it clear that he wanted to see the real Fuji Shuusuke. He wanted to see what was hidden beyond his mask and preferred nonchalant display of attitudes, inside and outside the courts.

---His real self had always been there, waiting to be found, to be pulled out.

He was the one who first approached Tezuka, and yet he still wanted to keep the barrier built around him.

Fuji smiled wistfully. That was rather unfair of him, so he would show what Tezuka had been wanting to see, starting with the display of his full strength in this match.

“The wind is blowing,” he murmured, enjoying the soft breeze fondling with his hair. “Be prepared, Tezuka.”

The lime green object zoomed in his direction and he returned the ball using Hakuryuu, but Tezuka was fast enough to hit the ball before it bounced, so the counter was broken. However, as the round object went back to Fuji, he once again retrieved the ball with the reverse side of his racket, twisted his wrist, and released the Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheires.

Having experienced this particular counter a few times, Tezuka had come to know that all he needed to do was to put a counter-spin on the ball just strong enough to send the ball across the net. So he did that, burdening his arm a little.

Though Tezuka finally broke this Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheries counter with a cord ball, Fuji didn’t seem to be shocked. Rather, the glint in his eyes told Tezuka that this was actually Fuji’s real objective. As soon as the cord ball was coming, the prodigy smashed the ball straight into the sky with a loud thwacking sound.

“No way, that is…” Momo exclaimed as he threw his gaze upwards, looking for the ball that was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s Hoshi Hanabi, nyaaah~!!”

Tezuka had barely adjusted his eyes skywards to search for the ball, when suddenly there was a loud thud behind him, and the white and green missile with an irregular spin then bounced to the side, almost hitting Kaidoh in the process if the said boy hadn’t been fast enough to dodge.

Silence.

“Fo… 40-30!” Kawamura finally shouted once he regained his composure.

Looking at the bespectacled boy across the net, Fuji let out a smile… which, to his surprise, was returned with another smile, a challenging one.

// I won’t hide anything anymore //

Another rally was currently going on, but this one was rather different. Somehow, Fuji looked wearier by each ball he hit. Unlike his opponent, Tezuka seemed to be just fine, and every shot he returned was doubled in strength, until finally Fuji failed to return Tezuka’s shot so the ex-captain scored. It wasn’t long before the prodigy realized that Tezuka had activated that.

“Hyaku Ren Jitoku no Kiwami. No wonder Fuji looked exhausted. Each ball he hit was returned doubled to him,” Inui commented while still scribbling

Barely hearing Inui’s comment, Fuji just smiled as he was maintaining his breath. “So you’ve finally used that, eh, Tezuka?” he said more as a statement than a question.

Not long after, they had entered yet another rally. This time, Fuji started to catch up with Tezuka, even though each shot he hit to the ex-captain would be returned doubled.

Tezuka was thrilled, not only for the heated game, but also to see the side of Fuji he had longed to face inside a tennis court. He was happy that the prodigy had finally played him with full-strength, that he was able to make Fuji play at his full potential.

---Fuji had let him pull his real self out. Now, it was his turn to give Fuji all he had gotten.

“Seven shots,” he murmured, making the prodigy’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Buchou, so you’re really going to use that…” Echizen mumbled, his eyes glued on the regal form standing proudly on the court.

As he felt Fuji’s eyes pierced him, Tezuka just stared back, conveying the message via his eyes. Accepting the challenge, the prodigy smiled.

The rally continued as Tezuka had predicted, and so this game went to Tezuka.

“Game, Tezuka. 6-5!”

// "Shall we get going?” //

The lime-green object kept on going back and forth. Rally after rally was done, and before Tezuka knew it, Fuji had defied his prediction.

As the ball he failed to return bounced a few times and rolled out of the baseline, Tezuka stood still and gazed at his rival’s face.

“Fuji, you…”

The tensai’s eyes were closed.

“This is just like Fuji’s match against Niou,” Oishi remarked.

“It was very effective against Niou’s imitation of Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami. But will it work just as perfect against Tezuka’s original one? This is really going to be a great data,” Inui continued jotting down notes in his green notebook.

The data Inui took after that showed that Fuji’s closed eyes were just effective against Tezuka’s Saiki Kanpatsu no Kiwami, as Fuji had defied some more rallies after that. Feeling like there was no use for predictions if he couldn’t even predict his opponent, Tezuka chose to play using only his Hyaku Ren Jitoku no Kiwami.

But Fuji was strong, and the type who could still develop even during a match. Even though all of his shots were return doubled, the tensai had a way to keep up with his stamina, using some tricks involving wrist movement and the wind.

After a fierce battle of scores and points, Fuji ended the game gracefully by countering Tezuka’s smash with a successful Kirin Otoshi.

“Game, Fuji, 6-6. 12 points, tie break!!”

Uncaring to the sweat-drenched shirts or the damp hair glued to their foreheads, the two rivals stood there, looking at each other’s eyes, conveying their determination to win the match.

---They were going to settle things, soon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A soft pat on his shoulder jerked Fuji back to the present. He turned his head to the right and found the tall figure of his ex-captain. Looking up, his lips curled up as he saw the slight smile his old friend was giving him.

“It’s been a while,” Fuji said as a foreword after not meeting his friend for God knows how long.

“You were spacing out,” was the taller man’s reply. Fuji chuckled at that: his friend had not changed much.

“I see you’re still as straightforward as I remembered,” said the sandy-brown-haired man, tilting his head to one side as he threw an open-eyed smile to his ex-captain.

Tezuka gave no comment to that. Instead, he folded his arms and asked, “What were you thinking about?” in a more casual tone instead of the stern one he had always worn during their school days.

Fuji smiled at him before turning his head to Court A, where they had their fateful match ten years ago.

“Ah,” Tezuka murmured knowingly.

// Someday, the memories of the tears shed here //

“We had a good match back then, hadn’t we?” the prodigy spoke again, as if to himself.

“So good that you had cried?” Tezuka teased. Yes, ten years is a long time; long enough to soften the once stoic youth’s personality that he is now capable of jokes and teasing.

Fuji faked a pout. “Would you please not talk about that?” he said laughingly, betraying the pout he had bothered to make earlier.

Tezuka’s lips twitched a little upward.

“And just in case you don’t know, you were the one who made me shed tears,” he added lightly.

The taller man unfolded his arms and put them in his pants pockets before replying, “Then, should I be proud?”

Fuji threw a side-glance to his ex-captain, and smiled softly while saying, “Yes, you should.”

The bespectacled man felt a sudden change in the mood.

// The words we exchanged here on that day //

Tezuka remembered that day, after he had won the match with a very slight difference in score: he had been startled to see tears rolling down the tensai’s smiling face.

‘You’re crying,’ were the only words that managed to flow out of his lips.

‘Am I?’ Fuji asked back while raising a hand to trace his own face, and looked a bit surprised himself when he felt the liquid flowing from his eyes.

Tezuka said nothing.

‘Thank you, Tezuka,’ Fuji said suddenly and Tezuka threw him a questioning glance. ‘When I lost to Shiraishi, I felt really horrible because I knew I could’ve done better, but…’ he paused to reach out his right hand.

Seeing the gesture, Tezuka reached out a hand to meet Fuji’s, clasping their hands in a tight grip without diverting his gaze from the prodigy’s face… and tears.

‘Losing to you now, I have no regrets. Because I know I’ve done my best,’ he continued while exposing his cerulean orbs, ‘thank you, for pulling my ‘real self’ out in our match,’ he added, smiling genuinely.

Tezuka didn’t know if it was by instinct, but his left hand moved by itself and a finger was lifted to erase the trace of tears there.

Those tears were real. Fuji’s emotion at the moment was real, unmasked by whatever façade or barrier the prodigy usually had on him. All the things he had just said were honest, true from his heart.

Unconsciously, Tezuka let out a small smile.

‘I hope that smile doesn’t come from seeing me cry,’ Fuji said while wiping his tears. ‘I don’t need you to laugh at me, you know,’ he added, still with a smile, but this time, accompanied by the glazing blue eyes glinting a bit dangerously.

‘It’s not that,’ Tezuka simply stated, not bothering to hide the smile that was still plastered on his usually stoic face. ‘It’s just I finally got to -see- you.’

Fuji’s eyes widened for a moment, but then a soft smile was making its way to the beautiful face of the fair-haired youth.

“My, Tezuka, you’re zoning out. That’s rare,” came the teasing yet still as melodious voice to his ears, and Tezuka was back to the present.

“Sorry. I just suddenly remembered that day,” he replied. A faraway look can be seen in his eyes as he gazed at court A.

“Oh…”

And once again, silence took over.

// The thoughts and feelings we both harbored //

Oblivious to the crowd around them, the two men just stood there, next to each other. They were both gazing at the starry night sky, each drowned in his own thoughts.

Fuji was the first to steal a glance towards the other man. Then, out of the blue, a question hit his mind.

“I wonder what we are now,” he voiced his thought out while gazing at the twinkling star up in the sky.

Tezuka turned his head as he raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

Letting a breeze play with his hair, Fuji chuckled softly. “I’m sorry, it’s just one of my random thoughts,” he replied in a cheerful tone that seemed forced… or at least, to Tezuka’s ear.

Seeing the look on his old friend’s face, Fuji knew the ex-captain was inquiring him to continue.

“You see, we’re no longer teammates or classmates. For the word ‘rivals’, we’re no longer competing against each other now, right?” he started while keeping his eyes on the starry sky. “And if you were to say we’re ‘friends’… we barely contact each other… so I was wondering if we are now just mere acquaintances. If yes, that’s a little too sad, though. Seeing we were so close back then…” he finished his words with a wistful smile plastered on his face.

Tezuka spared the smaller man a glance, then replied, “I see you still like to dwell on such random thoughts.”

The tensai chuckled heartily at that. “You know, somehow, I just knew you would say that.”

“Is that so?” the ex-captain replied casually.

“Yes. And it’s actually kinda amazing seeing how long we haven’t been in close contact. Seems like I still know you fairly well,” he answered. Somehow, Fuji was relieved that his ability to read Tezuka hadn’t been degrading too much.

“That would seem to be the case,” the stoic man stated matter-of-factly, but the tip of his lips was twitching upwards.

“And,” Fuji added, his eyes and tone of voice softening as he said, “I actually still feel comfortable being with you like this. It’s almost amazing that all these years that we barely meet seems to be nothing…”

“That’s because our hearts are still connected,” Tezuka said in a way as if it were the most natural thing on earth.

The lithe man blinked at him.

“As you said, Fuji, we were very close back in junior high. The bond we have is really strong, and it connects our hearts even when we’re apart and barely communicating. At times, we might not see it, but once we get in contact, that ‘bond’ is actually still there,” Tezuka explained.

At this, Fuji did take a moment to scrutinize his ex-captain. After a few moments of staring, the prodigy grinned as he said, “I’m amazed, Tezuka.”

The dark-haired man merely raised an eyebrow.

“Ten years ago, you wouldn’t be able to say such things. Apparently, I was wrong. I don’t know you that well now,” he smiled.

Ten years is really a long time, it seems.

// Even if the present is an illusion //

“We can always try to know each other better from now on,” said Tezuka as he fixed the position of his glasses with a finger.

Fuji glanced at the taller man, and seeing through those hazel eyes, he smiled. “Of course. Even a strong bond needs to be taken care of or it would get rusty, ne?”

“Ah,” was the older man curt reply.

For a moment, both men stared into each other’s eyes, searching, conveying… finding…

---And now, that ‘something’ that had once flickered since the first time they met, is now starting to glow. None of them are sure of what it is yet, but as they gaze into each other’s eyes, they know that whatever it is, it’s probably the one that connects their hearts.

Out of instinct, both men took a side step closer to each other so that their arms were brushing, transmitting the warmth of their body to each other.

They were content just being like that, feeling the presence of each other, bathed in the memories of their times together… Then, for a moment, time seemed to stop to give them a longer taste of happiness, and both of them silently wondered if this is what ‘eternity’ feels.

// On that day… We met for the first time here //

“Hoi, hoi! there are some rackets and balls here, anyone wants to play?” Kikumaru called, running from the clubhouse direction with Momo trudging behind him while holding a few rackets and a basket of tennis balls.

“I figured it would be a good chance to take data on whether you guys still in decent shape for tennis after all these years,” Inui said, smiling while rummaging his bag for a video-camera.

“I see you’ve upgraded your data-taking method, eh?” Oishi remarked laughingly.

“C’mon, who wants to play?” Momo asked, waving a racket in one hand. Then, he turned his head to the left to find Echizen who had grown much taller to about Tezuka’s height by now. “Echizen, play me?”

“Why not,” he smirked, and then walked over to take up his ex-senpai’s challenge.

“Who else wants to play?” Kikumaru asked; he had lost his habit of saying ‘-nya’ every now and then.

Glancing at his side, Fuji gently tugged Tezuka’s hand and asked, “Shall we play against each other? You know, for old time’s sake. Though I’m not as good as I was from the lack of training.”

Looking briefly at the slightly smaller hand tugging his left hand, Tezuka then gently squeezed the other’s hand and replied, “One friendly game wouldn’t hurt,” while smiling softly.

// And we both realized that //

Smiling back at the bespectacled man, Fuji then dragged Tezuka by the hand as he approached Kikumaru to get a couple of rackets.

“We’re going to play, Eiji!”

“This is going to be interesting data,” Inui remarked while walking towards court A, where the two men once known as the two strongest players in Seigaku were going to play. Kaidoh was silently trudging behind Inui.

“Then, I’ll be the referee again,” Kawamura raised a hand, and he received a nod and a smile of thanks in return.

They walked towards either sides of the courts, and then looked into each other’s eyes, reflecting the rivalry between them that was still there somehow, waiting to be awakened.

// The door to a new world has opened //

“Let’s have a good match,” Fuji said, smiling.

Returning the smile the lithe man gave him, Tezuka replied, “Sure.”

---This is not a match to decide who is stronger, better than the other. This match is a reminder that they were once rivals, friends… soulmates.

And they will always be.

Fuji bounced the ball twice on the ground, then tossed it into the air. With a loud thwack, he sent the lime green object together with all the mixed, intangible feelings he held towards the older man.

Tezuka returned the ball, and both of them smiled.

Today, they stood on this very court once again, facing each other from behind the net.

// And here, we meet again //

-NeverEnding-

A/N: err… the ending is kinda weird… ne? This fic was such a headache…their match and their thoughts on each other were a real pain! I feel really drained right now @_@
But finally, I wrote a tenipuri fic with tennis in it XDDD
All in all, I’m quite satisfied with my work, but I would really, REALLY like to know what you think of this fic, so please, please review! *bows*

Anyway white_ashes07, you are one of my loyal readers, so I really hoped to satisfy you in this prompt. And I hope you had a good read, ne ^^ *nervous smile*

Fic for violeteyedhair

2008-07-26T02:43:30Z

Title: One Way Trip
Rating: G
Wordcount: Just shy of 2,000
Request: Day Late Friend - Tezuka and Fuji run into each other years after they've lost touch. Fuji admits he was in love with Tezuka, Tezuka admits that he felt the same. Their respective girlfriends find them and come over. No happy ending. Lots of awkward smalltalk! ♥
Summary: ...Not going to bother, the request basically covers it.
Notes: A million bajillion thanks to summerslaughter who is the best beta ever for finishing so quickly because I'm terrible and didn't start writing until recently. She rocks. A lot.

Tezuka got on the plane with a phone against his ear, assuring Mika that the press conferences shouldn't take much longer than the tournament itself and that he would be back by the twelfth in time for their honeymoon. That was true enough, though there were still forms to fill out for the following tournaments and the new kid he was managing didn't have enough talent for half of the things that Tezuka was registering him for, for all that he had determination enough to win all of them. He found his seat quickly enough, shoved his carry-ons into the overhead compartments, and slid in. The seat was by the window and he turned to watch the airline workers pack the luggage into the plane while Mika relayed every detail about the resort they had already booked for the second time in ten minutes.

He could hear someone sitting down beside him as he promised Mika, "No, there are no tennis courts nearby."

She laughed lightly. "You've already told me, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just so excited to have you to myself for once, I just really want to have all of you."

"I know." Tezuka checked his watch. The flight would take off in five minutes; cell phones would need to be turned off then.

"Are you already on the plane?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry--"

"You don't need to apologize."

He could almost see her blushing on the other side of the line. "It's just that everything's going so well, I feel like something has to go wrong soon."

"You're being silly." A flight attendant walked to the front of the plane and held out the unattached seatbelt to demonstrate how to buckle it in. "We're about to take off."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll see you in a few weeks, then."

"It's not even two weeks," Tezuka reminded her.

"Well, yes. But--"

"You're worrying too much."

"There is so much irony in what you just said," she commented. "Say it again."

The attendant was putting on a lifejacket now, and the plane began backing out into the runway. "I'm sorry, I have to go now."

"All right." She didn't hang up, though. "I love you."

"...I love you too."

She laughed happily. "I'll see you soon, then."

"Yeah."

"Not going to hang up?" she teased. "Have a nice flight, Kunimitsu."

He pulled the phone away from his ear. The screen shone brightly and read in blinking letters, Time: 00:34:58.

"Girlfriend?" the man sitting next to him asked.

Tezuka stiffened, not quite taking offense to the prodding stranger but not pleased, either, and turned to his seatmate to--

"Fuji," he whispered, something not quite like guilt twisting in the bottom of his stomach.

Fuji smiled and Tezuka thought that Fuji's smile hadn't changed at all. "It's been a while, Tezuka."

"Mm." Tezuka managed to meet Fuji's eyes, but barely. "You look different."

"It's been ten years." Fuji chuckled. "People change."

"I didn't expect you would--" Tezuka swallowed. "You look well."

Fuji shrugged. "You've changed too."

Tezuka nodded. "I don't play anymore."

He wasn't sure why he said that, but he couldn't unsay it. Fuji didn’t look surprised or confused.

"I was just about to ask, too," was all that he would say.

The plane finished a turn onto the runway. The engines fired up and the plane accelerated down the runway.

"Do you?" Tezuka could have kicked himself. Of course Fuji still played. He was the favorite to win Wimbledon that year and on the cover of half the tennis magazines that Mika subscribed to for him, though most of the stories were more about Fuji's supposed romantic affairs than his tennis.

"Yes, captain," Fuji murmured with a smile. "Still the only thing on your mind?"

"No."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Wife." The word felt strange on his tongue and especially wrong when Fuji was the only one listening.

"Ah." Fuji's smile didn't waver but for a second it seemed faker, more plastered on. Almost immediately, though, it fixed itself and Fuji was prodding Tezuka for information about her. Did she play tennis, how did they meet, when did he propose.

Tezuka answered each question shortly as he tried to settle the feeling in his stomach. They were only kids back then, but when someone who tried as hard as Tezuka did to hold himself honest and honorable broke a promise, the single smear stuck out in memory and conscience. It had been inevitable, that they wouldn't be able to keep in touch. Tezuka didn't even know if Fuji had asked it of him out of a simple child's wish for nothing to ever change, or if he had honestly wanted keep their friendship as it had been.

Eventually their conversation dwindled down to nothing and Fuji leaned his seat back to sleep. Tezuka sat next to him uncomfortably until the stewardess came down their aisle offering drinks. Tezuka politely declined and waited for her to pass before maneuvering around Fuji's legs to get into the aisle. It took only a minute to get his briefcase from the overhead compartment and the match schedules and interview times from the briefcase. Fuji woke up and watched him put the briefcase back up. He got out of his seat and let Tezuka slide in, then sat back down. They didn't speak.

Fuji went back to sleep after that and Tezuka reviewed the schedules for the umpteenth time. There was little else that he could do with the match schedules. Jacob, the player he was managing, already knew who to watch out for and why, which ones he needed to really prepare for in advance, and there was little that Tezuka could do other than wait at this point. His odds weren't great to begin with, and it was practically a miracle that Tezuka could convince the reporters to take any interest in the boy at all. The interviews, though. Those Tezuka could, and did, go over in detail. It wouldn't be hard to paint him as a promising newcomer, because Jacob had enough charisma to charm a reporter or two, even if he didn’t have the skill to warrant the attention.

Tezuka must have fallen asleep between jotting down a note to remind Jacob to keep his comments on the safe side with Smithson and thinking that perhaps he should keep the overzealous player away from the female reporters, because the next thing he knew Fuji was shaking his shoulder and the stewardess was waiting for him to choose beef or chicken. He blinked and, in that moment of disorientation, Fuji smiled at her and said, "He'll have the chicken."

She smiled back uncertainly, but pulled a tray of the chicken meal out and passed it to Tezuka, who took it groggily. She wheeled the cart forward and Tezuka noticed that his schedules and notes were gone.

"I put them away for you," Fuji told him. "They fell all over the floor when you were asleep."

"Thank you."

"It was nothing."

The food tasted like sawdust with artificial flavoring thrown in to give it the illusion of actual chicken and the screen at the front of their section announced that they were two hours from landing. Fuji didn't quite fidget, but he was considerably tenser than when they had taken off. Tezuka didn't say anything, because he had never needed to say anything before and the years had only taken the unnecessary words and turned them into something that he no longer knew how to say.

The attendant came to collect the trays and Fuji handed his--also chicken--to her without touching most of it. Tezuka couldn't blame him. After she left, Fuji turned to Tezuka. "You missed the movie," he said.

"I'm not interested in movies," Tezuka said plainly.

"How silly of you." Fuji leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I used to love you, you know."

Tezuka didn't know what to say to that.

"It was a long time ago, though." Fuji opened his eyes and lifted a hand to the air conditioning control above his head. "I used to think you might have liked me back."

Tezuka swallowed. "I think I did."

Fuji laughed. "Really? I wonder if we could have become something."

"Probably not," Tezuka looked at Fuji. "We were too different." It felt like a lie.

"Are." Fuji put his hand down onto his lap. "We are too different, right?" He turned to look back at Tezuka, smile uncertain and looking for Tezuka to confirm the lie that they were telling themselves.

"Yes." Tezuka couldn't look away. "We are."

Fuji looked away, then. "We couldn't have known, back then," he said softly. "No one expected us to become like this either. We couldn't have known."

"But we know now."

"It's strange to think of you sitting behind the scenes instead of playing on the courts," Fuji said, changing the topic.

Tezuka shrugged and said that it had seemed like a more viable option than destroying every limb that he had. Fuji bit his lip, then steered the conversation away from tennis. Tezuka let him do that, since he seemed to need to distract himself more than anything.

They arrived on time and Fuji grew even more nervous as they landed. He didn't say anything about it, and Tezuka didn't ask. The plane touched down and slowly navigated the turns to the terminal.

The unfasten seatbelts sign lit up.

Fuji took a deep breath before he unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, reaching for the overhead compartment.

"Ah, good, they weren't crushed," he muttered. He pulled a bouquet down and took another deep breath before he stepped into the aisle. Tezuka followed silently, checking his own bag to make sure that Fuji had put the schedules into the right compartment. Their seats were close to the exit so it didn't take long for them to find their way out of the plane.

Fuji stopped walking once they got in sight of the entrance to the airport. "You might want to want to wait a minute or two if you don't want any pictures taken."

Tezuka shook his head. "It won't be any news if a manager's picture is taken."

Fuji shrugged and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled, dazzling, poised, and almost certainly more confident than he felt. Tezuka remembered that smile. They entered the terminal together and walked down the escalator to the luggage claims. As soon as Fuji stepped into view, cameras started flashing.

"Mr. Fuji! Is it true that you're not playing this season?"

"Your manager says that you're completely ready to take Wimbledon again this year--"

"After two years of straight wins, are you confident of another great year?"

"Are those flowers for someone?"

Fuji ignored all of them and scanned the crowd until he found who he was looking for. The tension melted from his shoulders and he stepped towards a girl who was standing behind the reporters looking entirely annoyed. Tezuka recognized her as Fuji's rumored girlfriend and then he realized--

And Fuji was walking towards her, pushing past the reporters and cameras, holding out the bouquet. She ran into his arms and the cameras flashed again and again. Tezuka's phone rang. He opened it without looking at the caller's name. "I'm here, Mika."

"Did you have a good flight?"

Tezuka tore his eyes away from Fuji. "Yes," he said, and he wondered why it hurt so much to just look away. "It was a nice flight."

Fic for crysaliz

2008-07-24T00:03:35Z

Title: BOND
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Prompter: crysaliz
Prompt: Adults, reflecting on the past. Flashbacks loved <3
Word Count: ~1800
Genre: mild drama / (imply-able) friendship =P
Summary: It starts with little things that remind them of each other, and they begin to miss each other’s presence.
Warnings: Switching POVs and timelines.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nuff said :(
Beta: lovefujitez (thanks sooo much!)
A/N: Sorry for the crappy title. I have no other Idea T_T. And crysaliz, I think this fic is pretty different from what you might’ve expected it to be, but I hope you’ll enjoy this :)

--//BOND//--

I’m always remembering
Your dear existence
And what I really want is
The part that isn’t just a memory
(Supernova by Bump of Chicken)

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//D//--

They didn’t go abroad to some faraway country; they’re actually living in the same city, the capital of Japan, Tokyo.

But, Tokyo is still a big city.

And after some time, they simply drifted apart.

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//E//--

Tezuka stood up from his chair and reached out to shake his client’s hand after which the woman excuses herself with a satisfied smile.

Just as Tezuka walked her to the door, the woman took a good look at his office, and threw an offhand comment, “Your office looks so plain, Tezuka-san. Don’t you want to put some pictures on the wall or on your desk?”

Tezuka stiffened at the comment, with a memory replaying in his mind.

'Your room looks so bland, Tezuka. Some pictures on the wall won’t hurt, ne?'

The smiling face he hadn’t seen in quite a while then came to his mind. He remembered Fuji’s comment the first time he stepped into Tezuka’s room in their second year of Junior high.

Fuji…

How long had it been since the last time he saw him?

“Tezuka-san?” the woman called as she noticed her lawyer spacing out.

With the voice of his client, Tezuka found himself back in the present. He muttered his apology and walked his client to the door. After exchanging their goodbyes, Tezuka closed the door behind him and took a look around his office.

Then, he thought that maybe, a picture or two wouldn’t hurt.

-oOo-

Fuji took a long glance at the Tennis court not far from the café he currently sat in. He was meeting someone from the Magazine to give his photographs, and the café where the appointment took place just happened to be near a tennis court.

Fuji rarely held a racket these past years.

“Ah, you used to play tennis, right?”

At the question, Fuji turned his head from the window and smiled to acknowledge his companion.

“They used to call you ‘Tensai Fuji Shuusuke’, right? You must be really good,” the short-haired man kept on talking as he sat down the chair. “Hey, how about we play a bit some time? I occasionally play tennis too, just for a hobby, though.”

“Saa, I haven’t played in quite a while,” Fuji replied. Then, he turned his head to the courts again, and opened his eyes to take the full-view of the tennis courts. For a split-second, the figure of a certain stoic youth in a Seigaku regular jersey came to his mind.

Fuji let a small smile formed on his lips. Somehow, tennis always reminded him of Tezuka. His mind idly joked if he searched for the word “tennis” in dictionary, he would see Tezuka’s photo next to it. Fuji wondered if Tezuka is still playing, after learning that Tezuka is a famous lawyer now, and quite well-known for his ability to conquer the courts.

Fuji smirked at the unintentional pun destiny threw at his old friend.

Somehow, he’s missing Tezuka.

Turning his head to his companion, Fuji could see that the man was still waiting for his answer. Smiling, he thought that maybe, one friendly game of tennis wouldn’t hurt.

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//B//--

Weeks before their junior high graduation, Fuji appeared unannounced at Tezuka’s house.

“You could’ve called first,” was Tezuka’s first words upon finding Fuji on his doorstep. Fuji just smiled, and without any other words, Tezuka led the other teen to his room.

Once they were in Tezuka’s room, Fuji, rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a stack of CDs. “I brought you these.” he announced jovially.

Seeing the stack of CDs, Tezuka frowned questioningly.

“Turn on your computer, please?” Fuji asked, ignoring the unspoken question Tezuka had thrown at him. Tezuka complied with his visitor’s request. Knowing Fuji, turning on the computer was the only way to find out about the CDs.

Tezuka sat on his bed and allowed Fuji to take over the seat in front of his PC, watching his friend as he made clicking noises with the mouse repeatedly.

“Come here, Tezuka,” Fuji finally said, twisting his upper body on the swivel chair so that he was now facing Tezuka.

Tezuka stood from his bed and walked the short distance to where his PC was, and he bent forward, using one hand to support his weight on the desk. On his monitor, Tezuka could see folders containing photos of the Tennis club.

“These are the pictures I’ve taken during our three years in the club,” Fuji explained before Tezuka could ask anything.

Tezuka just nodded.

“We’ll graduate soon, so I’m sharing these pictures with you. I also made copies for the other regulars. The non-regulars can ask Inui if they want copies of these pictures,” he continued with a somewhat wistful smile.

Not knowing what to say, Tezuka just nodded once more.

“After graduation, we’re going to different schools, and we might just drift apart. I hope these pictures would be some kind of remembrance for everyone, that we were once together,” Fuji said again with a soft tone of voice filled with sentimentality Tezuka never knew the tensai possessed.

But then, the mixed feeling inside him upon hearing his friend’s words indicated that he had just found out that he also had that kind of sentimentality.

“We’ll be in touch,” Tezuka said, breaking the pregnant silence that had enveloped them for a moment.

Fuji let his cerulean orbs revealed as he threw a small smile to his now ex-captain.

“Of course…”

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//F//--

Looking at the photos, Tezuka noticed whenever he and Fuji were in the same frame, they were almost always next to each other. Although there were not a lot of pictures with Fuji in it, since he was always the one behind the lens. The occasional photo with both teens present, they were always near each other.

Tezuka remembered being really comfortable in Fuji’s presence, for some reasons he didn’t bother to decipher back then.

Then, he sighed.

They were so close, literally and metaphorically. But now, even emails had become a rare occasion.

-oOo-

While sitting on his carpeted floor, Fuji stared at the pile of photo albums that laid open on the floor before him. A smile formed on his lips as he looked at the photos of his junior high days, bringing back fond memories.

He caught a glimpse of a photo of him and Tezuka, taken after the promised match during their last year in middle school. In that photo, Tezuka was smiling while snaking his arm around a crying Fuji.

A wistful smile crept up onto his face.

They used to chase each other’s shadow and pull out whatever real self they had. But now, they didn’t even have time to see each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//A//--

From the first time Fuji saw Tezuka, he had the feeling that this boy would mean something to his life. Thus, Fuji decided to be his friend.

Tezuka wasn’t easy to approach, considering his lack of speech and how he acted mature for his age, but that wasn’t something Fuji couldn’t handle. He had thought back then that no matter how stoic Tezuka was, he was still human, and humans need friends.

With that thought in mind, Fuji started to approach Tezuka. He helped the bespectacled boy collecting balls which was supposed to be a punishment for him only. He acted ever-so-friendly despite Tezuka’s stoic attitude, and offered rivalry when the others were busy admiring and envying the dark-haired youth’s tennis skills.

Eventually, Tezuka came to acknowledge his presence. Especially after their first match during their freshmen year, Tezuka started to see him as a friend. And by their second year, they had become close friends.

So close that they had come to possess the silent understanding which Fuji had really appreciated and fond of.

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//G//--

Now that Tezuka thought about it, he had never had someone who understood him so well like Fuji did. Oishi was able to understand him fairly well, even until now, but he felt like there’s something different by how Oishi and Fuji understood him. But even now, he still couldn’t really figure out what the difference is.

And now he’s starting to miss Fuji.

-oOo-

Fuji wondered why they had drifted apart. In high school they still had occasional gatherings for the team, but as time went by, the gathering had become less frequent until they no longer held it, which left the once-in-a-while phone calls and emails as their means of communication. Since they entered college, though, they drifted even further apart.

Fuji idly thought that his effort of becoming friends with Tezuka had now gone to waste if he wasn’t going to make any move to renew the bond between them.

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//C//--

They used to think that even if they were going to walk different paths towards their future, the bond they forged during the two and a half year wouldn’t dissolve so easily. They thought that they’d still be in touch one way or another.

But at that time, they didn’t think that if none of them made the effort to nurture their relationship, they would eventually drift apart.

~*~*~*~*~*~

--//H//--

Tezuka glanced at the clock hanging on the wall across his seat; it’s now thirty minutes before midnight. Idly, he flipped his cellphone open, scrolled his contact list and stopped as he found a familiar name.

Doubts of should he or shouldn’t he hit the dial button were creeping through his mind now, but a glance to his monitor showing a photo of himself twelve years prior with a certain smiling youth of his age standing beside, made his thumb moved on its own to press the dial button.

Accompanied by the dial tone, Tezuka had a feeling that this phone call was going to take him into a different bond then the one he had with Fuji during their school days.

-oOo-

Fuji jerked in surprise as his cellphone suddenly rang loudly. He just finished putting his photo albums back in their place when the device continued with its incessant ringing. Half annoyed, Fuji approached his desk and checked the phone display.

‘Tezuka Kunimitsu’ flashed on the screen.

Smiling, Fuji mused that it looks like this time, he didn’t have to be the one making the first move. Without wasting any more time, Fuji flipped his cellphone open and hit the answer button.

As he said a cheerful “Hello” to the other side of the line, Fuji had the feeling that this phone call was going to replace the rusty bond he had with Tezuka since junior high, with a whole new, different one.

--//NeverEnding//--

A/N: Yeah, I tried a different format here. I’m sorry, I wrote this fic kinda in a rush, so sorry if this isn’t satisfactory *bricked*
Reviews would be greatly appreciated :D

^{P.S: Happy b'day forbiden_past! Sorry I don't have time to write you any fic yet, but give me a prompt (a sentence or lyrics of your fave song) and I'll write something for you!}

round 1 - deadline reminder

2008-07-22T01:34:45Z

Hey, lovelies!

Just a reminder that the deadline for cactuscontinuum fic and art is July 29th. That's next Tuesday! You can still find (and sign up to be) a beta on the beta post.

If anyone needs an extention, please drop us a comment with how long you think you'll need.

Good luck, everyone! ^__^

A Chibi!Tezuka fic for chibikaoruchan

2008-07-11T22:54:18Z

Title: THE LITTLE CAPTAIN
Author: a1y_puff
For: chibikaoruchan
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: PG-13?
Genre: humor/fluff
Prompt: Tezuka's body became smaller (doll like) due to an after effect of Inui Juice. Seeing this as a chance, he went to Fuji's house...
Word Count: ~8500 (Yes, I know it’s LONG ^^;;)
Warnings: Crack. Possible OOC-ness. Switching POV between Tezuka and Fuji.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything... not even the prompt XD;;

A/N: Sorry, I took out the "seeing this as a chance..." part. I don't think it fits my Tezuka here ^^;;. but Tezuka still goes to Fuji so don't worry ^^;
I'm not sure I've balanced the crack and fluff in this fic, but I do hope you'll like this.
Oh, much thanks to my beta, lovefujitez for enduring the length of this fic with a hell bunch of grammatical errors in it. Hugs and kisses for darkmage009 and tacuma811 for poking my muse with their awesome ideas so I can finish this x3
Lastly, Tina-chan, I had fun writing this, so I hope you’ll enjoy this fic ne :D

~THE LITTLE CAPTAIN~

The day began just like any ordinary day for Tezuka Kunimitsu. He woke up at the usual time, got ready, left the house early enough to catch the bus and met OIshi on the way to school. During morning practice he assigned laps to some slackers while Inui introduced a new version of his juice for punishment.

Tezuka didn’t think something was going to happen. Although he had a bad feeling during morning practice, he waved it off despite the noticeable drop in his mood. He attended his classes and concentrated in finding the teacher’s mistakes to make sure his classmates had the correct information.

The afternoon practice went on just like any other days. The regulars did their extra heavy training, unlike the non-regular members. Inui had to torture them more with his Hyper Ultra Deluxe Inui Juice ver.13 which made half of the regulars suffer from temporary numbness of their taste buds.

After practice Tezuka stayed behind and worked on some paperwork for the club while the other club members promptly went home. Suddenly feeling thirsty, he reached out for his water bottle and drank the contents. His eyes immediately widened in shock; he just tasted something horrible. He promptly searched for the label on the side of the bottle and found Inui’s name.

If cursing was in Tezuka’s nature, he would’ve done so. Instead, he sighed and made a mental note to assign 20 laps to Inui tomorrow for taking his water bottle home.

After making sure that everything was neat, Tezuka arranged his things in his bag and prepared to go home. All of a sudden he felt something wrong inside his body. His head ached, his chest throbbed really hard and he felt hot like his body was aflame. He leaned against the lockers when his knees began wobbling, desperately attempting to calm down but failed miserably.

‘What is this?’ he thought, pressing his left hand against the locker for support. He pressed his finger between his brows to get rid of the pounding headache. He dropped his bag as he struggled to fight the pain, closed his eyes and fell on his knees. He cradled his head with both hands when the throbbing didn’t stop, his head felt like it was going to explode, his body continued to burn and then…

Everything was white.

Wait, no, everything wasn’t white. He was surrounded by a white material, something like his clothes. He looked at his own hand but could only see a blurry image of it. He touched his face and found that his glasses were no longer there. Letting both his hands trailed down his body, he noticed that he was naked.

Wait. Naked! Why was he naked? His mind screamed, panicked.

‘What’s going on here?’ he thought to himself.

Tezuka took a deep breath and tried to calm himself once more. What’s happening to him? Luckily, he wasn’t that blind without his glasses. He could still figure things out even though it was a bit blurry, better than being completely blind. After observing his surroundings, he realized that he had—though he really, really didn’t want to believe it—shrunk, and was buried under his own clothes.

Tezuka felt another headache, but this time he knew the reason. This was just unbelievable. How could he shrink like this? Was it because of Inui’s weird concoction that he had accidentally drunk earlier? It wasn’t logical, really. But Tezuka figured it was not the time to think about logic, but surely, one thing he would remember for the rest of his life was: Inui’s concoction is beyond logic.

In order to calm his chaotic mind, he decided to sort out his thoughts very carefully. First, he needed to find something to cover his naked body. He remembered his handkerchief in his pant’s pocket and slowly walked around searching for his pants. It was difficult without his eye glasses; it hurt his eyes to closely scrutinize each object in front of him. When he found his pants, he scrambled to find the pocket and dragged his handkerchief out. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes for a while to rest before he wrapped the handkerchief around him and tied it behind his neck. He felt like wearing girl’s clothes but he could be care less about that now. At least, he wasn’t naked.

Next thing, he searched for his cell phone. He could at least call someone for help. He paced towards the other pocket, almost tripping over the rumples of his pants causing him to glare at the non-living material. When Tezuka finally retrieved his cell phone, he tried to flip the huge cell phone open, only to find it was very low on power and eventually went dead.

Tezuka didn’t curse, simply because he didn’t know how to curse. If cell phones were a living thing, he would’ve assigned it a hundred laps around the clubhouse. He could hear an imaginary ‘Mada mada dane, buchou’ at the back of his head and fought the urge to assign Echizen a hundred laps tomorrow. It wasn’t the time to think about laps, he knew. He needed to figure out how to get help, now.

Going home to his own house was not possible since everyone’s gone away for a few days. After a few moments of deep thinking, Tezuka decided he should go to someone’s house for help. Maybe he could ask for help from his reliable teammates? But who should he go for help?

He thought of going to Oishi’s place, but the guy worries too much and instead of helping, Oishi would probably have a panic attack when he sees Tezuka in his current state. Then, he thought of Inui, the one responsible for all these, but he refused to imagine being used as a guinea pig for the various horrible concoctions the data-player would most likely give him in order to convert him back to his normal size. He would NOT drink any more of Inui’s concoctions. With that, he was left with Fuji. Besides Oishi, Fuji was someone Tezuka considered as a close friend and he might be the only one who wouldn’t freak out seeing him in miniature form. With that thought in mind, Tezuka decided to go to Fuji’s place.

He walked to the door and was about to go out of the clubhouse when he realized that the doorknob was… unreachable. He jumped, but his current size was far smaller compared to his normal form that he couldn’t reach the doorknob. He jumped once again, and still couldn’t reach it. As stubborn as he was, Tezuka gave up after the tenth trial and began to look for another way out of the clubhouse.

Tezuka noticed the window was slightly ajar; he could get out through that little space. And so, with some difficulties, Tezuka finally managed to climb out of the window.

* * *

Fuji’s favorite time of the day was nighttime. He enjoyed the moments he spent after dinner with his family and alone in his room before going to bed. He had this ritual to talk to his cacti on the windowsill while enjoying the night breeze coming through the open window.

“Ne, Mitsuki, how are you today?” he cooed at one of his cacti. He smiled as he heard an imaginary—or not—‘I’m fine’ from her. “You’re so beautiful today too, ne?” he continued, gently touching the pot.

‘Thank you Shuu-chan. How are you today?’

“Me? Ah, I’m fine also. It’s just today, we had to practice harder. Ryuuzaki-sensei even arranged a practice match with Hyoutei too. But really, do we have to train that hard?” Fuji was half-talking to himself.

“You shouldn’t get careless,” he heard a reply.

“Mou, Mitsuki, you sound like Tezuka—,” he paused as he noticed Mitsuki’s voice had changed into a deep, cold voice. “Wait, Mitsuki, aren’t you a girl?” Fuji asked finally, eyes snapped open as he scrutinized his cactus.

“Fuji, it’s me,” came Tezuka’s voice, the miniature Tezuka appeared from behind Mitsuki’s pot. He was relieved. He finally arrived after taking a long, long way and time.

Fuji stared at him.

Tezuka stared back.

Fuji stared some more.

Tezuka stared at him still when suddenly Fuji spun around and casually dropped himself on the bed as he mumbled, “I must be really tired to have such an illusion. Though mini Tezuka is kinda cute…”

“Fuji, I am not an illusion,” Tezuka replied. Annoyance in his tone was evident.

“Yes, you are. How come Tezuka just shrunk like that? What a joke,” he replied nonchalantly.

Restraining another urge to assign laps, Tezuka carefully jumped down to the floor, and walked to Fuji’s bed. He climbed up and stood next to Fuji’s head. He tugged at Fuji’s hand, pulled them away from his face to uncover the tensai’s eyes.

“I am not an illusion,” he repeated. Fuji’s eyes were wide-open. He could really feel Tezuka’s tiny hand tugging at his own hand.

He immediately sat up on his bed, and blinked. “Tezu… ka?” he called, mixed with confusion and amusement. 'How could this be? Tezuka Kunimitsu, the pillar of Seigaku, supposedly 178 cm tall is now just about 20 cm small?' Fuji asked himself.

“I think it’s a side effect of Inui’s latest concoction I accidentally drank earlier,” he tried to explain to the still baffled Fuji. He could see Fuji still had his eyes open, and he idly thought if this was the longest time Fuji exposed his cerulean eyes outside a tennis match.

Then, suddenly Fuji bent forward clutching his stomach. Tezuka saw Fuji’s shoulders were shaking and wondered what was wrong with his friend... until he heard a muffled chuckle from the brunette, followed by a sudden burst of laughter.

Tezuka’s annoyance was beyond words, which was why he could only glare at the tensai, and the latter tried very hard to suppress his laughter. Tezuka didn’t find anything funny; a lame joke that fate had thrown him, perhaps, but it was definitely NOT funny, especially since he was the reason for that annoying laughter.

Earlier, Tezuka thought Fuji was the only one who wouldn’t freak out after seeing him in his miniature form, but apparently, he was wrong. It’s true, Fuji didn’t panic the way his other teammates would, but he was laughing at him. And he laughed hard. Tezuka pondered if he should classify Fuji’s reaction as freaking-out-in-Fuji’s-way.

“I’m sorry Tezuka,” Fuji gasped between his laughter, “but how did this happen?” he asked after his laughter finally subdued.

“I don’t know,” Tezuka sighed, “I only remember drinking Inui’s weird concoction…” he continued while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Inui, huh… really, his concoctions are evil,” Fuji mumbled. Tezuka mused inwardly; he didn’t expect those words from Fuji since he drank Inui’s evil concoctions on his own free will.

Fuji noticed Tezuka kept massaging the bridge of his nose and between his brows. “Are you alright? You have a headache?” he asked in a soft tone of voice that was rarely heard from the tensai.

“My eyes hurt,” he replied. “I can’t wear my glasses.”

“Oh right, since it’s just your body that shrunk, ne,” Fuji just had to state the obvious. “Then how did you get here? It must’ve been hard with your bad eyesight,” he wondered.

“Please don’t ask,” Tezuka responded, recalling the horrifying events (bumping onto various objects, toyed by a stray cat and nearly crushed by a bike) he didn’t really want to share.

Both of them were silent for a moment, each drowned in their own thoughts, until finally Fuji broke the silence. “I’ll get you some clothes,” he said as he stood up from his bed. When Tezuka threw a questioning look, Fuji added, “I’m sure Yumiko-neesan has some doll’s clothes that would fit you.”

Tezuka cringed inwardly. Doll’s clothes; how pathetic could he be, really.

* * *

The doll clothes fitted him perfectly, and he had no problem with the white polo shirt but…

“Fuji,” he called, trying to maintain his composure.

“Hmm?” Fuji answered, a bit too-sweetly.

Tezuka glared at the tensai. “It’s a skirt,” he stated matter-of-factly, tugging at the soft material he was wearing, not to mention it was freaking pink.

“Cute isn’t it,” Fuji replied with a wide, amused grin, and a vein popped on Tezuka’s forehead.

“Give me back my handkerchief. I’m fine with that,” Tezuka demanded sternly as he reached out a hand, asking Fuji for his previous ‘clothes’.

“Mou, you’re no fun,” Fuji faked a pout, and then he pulled another material out of the clothes box and gave it to Tezuka. “Here are your pants. I was just joking,” he grinned.

Tezuka was truly annoyed. He immediately changed his… no, he wouldn’t say ‘his’. Well, he changed the skirt with the black pants Fuji handed him, and when he was finally fully (and decently) dressed, he snapped at Fuji, “How can you joke at a time like this?”

Fuji tilted his head to the side and his smile never faltered as he said, “But your body size is a joke already.”

Fuji’s statement upset Tezuka even further; how could Fuji toy with him and his situation? He needed his help; he thought he could rely on Fuji. He wondered what exactly was in his mind that made him go to Fuji in the first place, because he was now regretting his decision.

Seeing the look on Tezuka’s face, Fuji thought he might have gone too far. He cleared the rest of the clothes into the box then kneeled on the floor, folded his arms on the bed and rested his chin on them and looked at Tezuka, smiled with his eyes open and said, “I’m sorry.”

He reached out his hand, gently touched Tezuka’s hand with his finger, “Sorry I’ve said too much,” he continued uttering his words much softly.

Tezuka didn’t know how to react, so he only stared at Fuji’s blue eyes and saw his sincerity there. He could only grunt a hesitant “Hn.”

Seeing the unsure expression on Tezuka’s face, Fuji took Tezuka’s tiny hand with his forefinger and said, “We’ll find a way out for this.” Tezuka stared at him some more, then Fuji added with a genuine smile, “I promise.”

Tezuka‘s heart suddenly beat faster than its usual pace. He felt his face somehow grew warmer and he fought the blush that threatened to creep up his face by grunting another “Hn.”

And he received another genuine smile from Fuji.

Suddenly, he remembered his things were still in the clubhouse which he left unlocked. He told Fuji about it, and the lithe boy offered to go to the school and resolve the situation so everything will look normal for the next day’s morning practice.

* * *

Tezuka’s bag and uniform were now kept safely at a corner in Fuji’s room. The clubhouse was locked and secured. He didn’t have to worry about anything… at least, except for his miniature size.

“Tezuka, you can just sleep in my bed ne? I’m too lazy to search for the doll’s bed. We can sleep together on my bed without problem right?” Fuji inquired.

He didn’t want to bother Fuji any further (and since he didn’t really want to sleep in the doll’s bed either), Tezuka complied with a nod.

“Good, now let’s go to sleep. I have to wake up earlier tomorrow to unlock the clubroom, ne?” Fuji said. He crawled into his bed and patted to the space beside his pillow, signaling Tezuka to lay there.

As Tezuka climbed up Fuji’s bed, he thought it was probably the right decision to come to Fuji. He’s been helpful despite his annoying jokes earlier.

“Ne, Tezuka,” Fuji called from his side. Tezuka’s heart skipped a beat for Fuji’s voice was so close to his ear. He didn’t dare turn to face him; Fuji would be so close… and so huge beside him.

“Hn?” was Tezuka’s sole response to his friend’s call.

“Thank you for coming to me.” Fuji spoke with a serious yet soft tone of voice, something foreign to Tezuka’s ear.

He didn’t know how to respond with his heart hammering inside him, threatening to jump out of his chest. He turned away from Fuji and said, “I had no choice.”

Tezuka regretted what he just said; he should’ve come up with a nicer reply. But before he could correct his reply, Tezuka heard a faint “I see” from Fuji. The soft creak of the bed and the soft rustle of the sheets indicated Fuji had shifted his position and turned away from him.

The last thing he remembered was the awkward tension enveloping them into sleep.

* * *

Tezuka felt comfortably warm around him, but he also felt something heavy on his stomach. He slowly opened his eyes and finding a little bit of sunlight had peeked through the blinds. He blinked a few times before he realized that this room wasn’t familiar to him. He turned his head to the right and almost gasped, Fuji’s face was so close.

He remembered, he had shrunk the day before, and was currently in Fuji’s room. He needed to get up and wake Fuji up. They have morning practice, and Fuji had the clubhouse key. He tried to get up but he couldn’t; he immediately noticed on him. He had to try hard to fight the blush that was threatening to creep up his cheeks.

“Fuji, wake up!” Tezuka shook his friend’s hand but received no reaction. Tezuka leaned closer to Fuji’s ear, and once again called the other boy’s name, but still there was no reaction. Tezuka let out an exasperated sigh.

Was Fuji not a morning person, or did he need any special method to wake up? Tezuka tried to pinch Fuji’s cheek. He noticed how soft Fuji’s skin was and he blushed. Fuji didn’t move even by the pinch.

Almost giving up, Tezuka tried to extract himself from under Fuji’s arm. It wasn’t easy, but he managed to do it. Once he was free, he huffed and turned his annoyed face to his friend’s sleeping form. Being so close, he noticed Fuji looked beautiful in his sleep. His pale skin wrapped in a baby blue pajama, the silky strands of hair framing his serene-looking face wildly fell on top of his pillow, making him look angelic.

Tezuka shook his head; this was not the time to dwell on such thoughts. He needed to wake Fuji up. Tezuka tried slapping his cheek a little while calling out his name, but due to his small size it wasn’t very effective. Instead of waking up, Fuji rolled to his side and ended up cuddling Tezuka, causing the mini buchou to blush once more.

Oh how he hated it blushing thrice in only one minute.

Still imprisoned in Fuji’s cuddling arms, Tezuka reached out his hands to pinch Fuji’s nose with both of his tiny hands. In ten seconds, Fuji’s face twitched and Tezuka release his nose so that the prodigy could breathe again.

“Fuji, wake up!” Tezuka called loudly.

Said teen opened his eyes and stared blankly at Tezuka for a few seconds, before finally letting a small “oh” escaped his lips and released Tezuka from his cuddle. Fuji rose to a sitting position, still not fully awakened. His eyes opened but Tezuka saw nothing in them, and noticed Fuji’s ever-present smile was gone.

Tezuka wondered if that was Fuji’s real face, without the closed eyelids and the smile that was always masking whatever the “real“ Fuji had to hide

“Fuji,” he called, and received a groggy look from his friend.

Tezuka scowled at Fuji’s lazy facial expression.

“Fuji, we have morning practice. We should get ready for school,” he ordered using his captain tone—the one he uses to assign laps with.

“Oh… yeah…” came Fuji’s absent-minded reply, the lithe boy got out of bed and sluggishly walked to the bathroom to wash his face. Minutes later, Fuji was back to his room with his eyes closed and the ever-present smile was back on duty.

Tezuka idly mused that his friend has fully awake now.

* * *

Fuji waited until everyone was out of the clubhouse, before he opened his bag and let Tezuka breathed some fresh air.

“I hope you weren’t suffocating in there, Tezuka.” Fuji smiled.

Tezuka remained silent. Then, Fuji picked up Tezuka and slipped him into his jersey, before zipping it up until his chest.

“Fuji, I don’t want to be inside your jersey,” he complained.

“But Tezuka, I don’t want to leave you in here alone. What if a cat came in and mistaken you for a toy?” Fuji asked in a worried tone.

Tezuka was annoyed at how those mocking words sounded quite genuine flowing out of Fuji’s mouth.

“There won’t be any cats around.”

“Be a good boy in here, Tezuka.” Fuji patted his head once and zipped up his jersey a little higher before finally walking onto the court.

Tezuka took a mental note to pay Fuji back somehow, later when his body returns to normal size. Perhaps, assigning one hundred laps would do.

“Fuji, do you know where Tezuka is?” Oishi asked worriedly as Fuji approached the court.

“Ah, don’t worry about him,” he smiled as he walked past Oishi and into the court.

The non-regulars were scattered all around the tennis courts, and the regulars were gathered near the entrance, waiting for their captain to arrive. Inui was taking notes on how Tezuka was late today, and how it was a good data since the captain was never late without notification. Ryuuzaki-sensei was busy with paperwork, so she didn’t attend to morning practice that day, and Tezuka was supposed to take full-command.

Fuji cleared up his throat once, before managing his voice to be as loud as he could and said, “Everyone, attention please!”

Once all heads were turned into his direction, he continued, “Due to some reasons, Tezuka can’t come for today’s practice, but don’t worry about him, ne? Now, the non-regulars, twenty laps for warming up!” he commanded.

Everyone was silent.

Fuji smiled, exposing his blue eyes as wide as he could before repeating, “Non-regulars, twenty laps for warming up. Am I clear?”

“Y-yeeesss~!!!” came the stuttered reply, before everyone started scrambling and jogged in fear. The regulars shivered. Fuji seemed to be in one of his moods.

“Err… Fuji?” Kikumaru called to his friend nervously.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he replied cheerfully.

“Mou, you scared us, nya!” Kikumaru exclaimed.

“Che, lucky you weren’t the buchou,” Echizen remarked.

Fuji just chuckled a bit, “Maa, you guys come with me, ne?” he said before leading the team to the clubhouse. Inside his jersey, Tezuka shivered at the thought of Fuji as the team captain.

* * *

Seven jaws dropped when Tezuka revealed himself from Fuji’s regular jersey. All eyes stared at him in disbelief and it made him uncomfortable.

“Nyaaaaa~!!! Tezuka turned into a doll!!” Kikumaru exclaimed as he bounced right in front of Fuji.

“I’m not a doll, Kikumaru. I shrunk,” Tezuka explained matter-of-factly.

Then, a sudden laughter was heard, and they found Momoshiro clutching his stomach while trying really, really hard to hold back his laughter.

“Pfft… so, sorry, buchou... but… khh… your body… is… pfft… BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” apparently, he had lost the fight against his laughter.

“One hundred laps…” Tezuka murmured, and Momo’s laughter immediately stopped.

Fuji gently picked Tezuka out of his jersey, and placed him on the table in the clubroom, and the regulars immediately gathered around the table.

“This is the reason why Tezuka can’t show himself now,” Fuji explained. He then turned to Inui and said, “Looks like this is the result of your concoction, Inui.”

“Uwaaah~!! Inui-senpai’s concoctions are really beyond evil!” Momo commented.

Inui kept silent. He approached the desk and picked Tezuka up; his glasses glinted maliciously for everyone to see.

“This is interesting,” he mumbled. “I realized that I took your bottle by mistake and figured you might’ve drunk my latest creation that hasn’t been tested, but I never expected it would result to this.”

“Put me down!” Tezuka commanded.

“Hmm… I wondered how it’s possible… did it also shrink your body cells? This might be the biggest discovery for the century, it’s almost magical… No, magic doesn’t exist, it defies logic. But then again, a shrunken body is illogical. This is…” Inui was mumbling non-stop while examining every inch of Tezuka’s body. He was practically groping him.

“Inui, put me…”

“I-nu-i~,” the melodious voice called with a hidden murderous intent in it. Inui looked up from Tezuka to find the blue of Fuji’s eyes, glaring devilishly at him that he dropped Tezuka in shock.

Fuji caught him in time though, and Tezuka was somehow relieved to be back in Fuji’s arms.

Back in Fuji’s arms.

He hated how sappy it sounded.

“You shouldn’t touch Tezuka like that, ne? It’s improper,” Fuji said with a really blinding smile that everyone knew had the hidden message of ‘do-it-again-and-I’ll-kill-you’.

Regaining his composure, Inui immediately took out his data book and started scribbling madly while mumbling to himself.

“But still.” Kikumaru suddenly said, taking Tezuka from Fuji, “This is really weird, nya! I mean, is it even possible for someone to shrink like this? I can understand if he reverted back to his childhood form, you know like that manga called ‘Meitantei Conan’, but shrinking? I wonder if he will be back to normal-size if we just stretch him…” he murmured while stretching Tezuka’s body as far as he could.

“Kikumaru, let go of me… OW!”

“Eiji, stop that! You’re hurting him!” Fuji promptly snatched Tezuka back from his best friend.

“Nya, sorry Tezuka-buchou!” he grinned in apology.

Tezuka was aggravated beyond words to the point that he couldn’t find anything to say. Once again, he felt safer in Fuji’s arms, and he could care less of how lame it sounded.

“But Tezuka,” Kikumaru spoke again, “Do you wear underwear?”

Tezuka glared at the redhead with a ‘what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about’ look.

“Well you know, my sisters have tons of dolls, but none of them have underwear. I don’t think they sell it in stores, so I was wondering…”

“He wears underwear, Eiji, don’t worry,” Fuji cut him off. Then, he added with a smile, “Nee-san used to make her dolls some underwear since she was feeling sorry for them not having any.”

“Oh, your sister is so nice, nya! Lucky you, Tezuka!” Kikumaru grinned.

Tezuka frowned. Dolls usually don’t have any underwear? Then maybe, he was indeed lucky by going to Fuji. At least he still got to wear one now.

“But we really have to do something for Tezuka.” Oishi said worriedly. “Do you need something Tezuka? I’ll buy it for you. Probably some bottles for babies and some diapers, and…”

“Oishi-senpai, you’re making no sense. Buchou is not turning into a baby,” Echizen remarked.

“Ah that’s true… I’m sorry Tezu…” Oishi’s words dissolved in the air as they saw the quiet Kaidoh suddenly stared to Tezuka who was still in Fuji’s arm.

Tezuka stared back at his kouhai; tilting his head slightly in question. Kaidoh’s cheeks flushed a little, probably thinking that Tezuka-buchou is kinda… cute like that. Out of nowhere, Kaidoh pulled out a cat toy—the one he used to play with Karupin some times ago—and started shaking it in front of Tezuka.

“Fsshu… here, buchou… here…”

“BWAHAHAHAHA!! Mamushi you idiot!! Buchou is not a cat, hahaha!!!” Momo rolled on the floor, amused at how silly his rival could be at times. The other tried hard not to laugh and Inui was still scribbling on his notebook while mumbling something about Kaidoh’s obsession on cute things.

A vein popped on Tezuka’s forehead. He was ready to yell ‘one hundred laps’ for everyone, but Fuji spoke first, “Now, now, Kaidoh. While its true Tezuka is cute like this, he won’t be amused with that cat’s toy, ne?” he said while gently pushing his kohai’s hand away.

“Mada mada dane, senpai-tachi.” Echizen smirked as he took out his racket, and then pointed it right on Tezuka’s face, “Have a match with me, Buchou. I’m sure I can beat you now,” he grinned evilly.

Tezuka was too tired to respond, and began massaging the bridge of his nose, feeling an upcoming headache both from tiring his eyes without glasses, and from his team’s manners.

“Echizen, it’s not polite to point your racket at Tezuka like that,” Kawamura tried to help Tezuka controlling his junior, but he forgot that he was not to touch any racket outside the court. Once he grabbed the racket from Echizen’s hand, he went “BUUUURRRRRRNIIIIING~!!! Tezuka, you’re soooo cuuute!! LOVELY, BABY!!!” He swung his racket around in random directions, making the others back off.

Kawamura was about to grab Tezuka from Fuji, but the tensai managed to save him somehow, and crept their way out of the chaos his teammates caused by playing tag with the wildly-swinging-racket Kawamura inside the clubhouse.

'Oh, that’s enough!' Tezuka thought. He felt like his head was going to explode there and then from seeing the chaos his teammates made right before his eyes. He never knew his team could be this retarded.

Exasperated, he barked, “Everyone, one hundred laps, NOW!!!”

* * *

“So, Inui, how are you going to fix this?” Fuji asked.

“I need some time to make another concoction to counter the previous one…”

“No.” Tezuka sternly cut him off. “I’m not going to drink another one of your terrible concoctions ever again.”

Inui’s face fell a little, before saying, “In that case, I’m afraid you would have to wait until the effect wears off.”

Tezuka was quiet. How long would he have to wait? Could he even go back to normal? He didn’t find the idea of staying chibi for too long, appealing. He suddenly felt really, really tired, and he started massaging the bridge of his nose for the umpteenth time.

“Inui,” Fuji suddenly called, “Can you at least fix Tezuka’s glasses? His eyes have been hurting since his glasses are too big for him to use.”

“I can do that, I suppose. Give me his glasses,” Inui asked, and then Fuji took the spectacles out of his pocket and gave it to Inui. Tezuka was thankful Fuji brought his glasses with him.

“What are you going to do now, Tezuka?” Oishi asked worriedly. “We don’t know when the effect will wear off…”

“I don’t know,” Tezuka replied. He honestly didn’t know what to do. “My family‘s away for a few days, so going home is not an option.”

“If you didn’t drink too much of it, there is a chance the effect won’t last long,” Inui tried to make the situation seem brighter.

“Just tell us if there’s anything we can do, ne?” Kawamura offered.

“Saa, Tezuka, now you have a choice of who you’re going to stay with for the time being,” Fuji said, smiling. Somehow, Tezuka thought that this offer had something to do with what he said last night, and he felt a little uneasy about it.

“I’m staying with you,” he quickly replied. “That’s if you don’t mind.” he added, since he knew he was safe with Fuji.

He was relieved after Fuji responded with a genuine smile.

“Well there’s nothing we can do for now,” Fuji finally stated. “Classes will be starting soon, we should get going.”

* * *

Tezuka couldn’t go to his own classroom, so he decided to be with Fuji the whole day. He was in the same class with Fuji last year and he noticed some of Fuji’s habit hadn’t changed. Fuji liked it to gaze outside the window, uncaring for the teacher’s lecture. But Tezuka knew the teacher wouldn’t call on him, since Fuji was the tensai and he would be able to answer any questions asked of him.

There were times when Fuji was asleep. Tezuka could tell, even when he was smiling in his sleep. Kikumaru seemed to have noticed too, since he was lightly kicking Fuji’s desk when the teacher was walking towards his desk. When Fuji didn’t budge, Tezuka decided to pinch his hand to wake him up. He noticed that it was easier to wake Fuji up in class rather than in bed.

During lunch break, Inui gave him a pair of doll-size glasses. Tezuka was glad he finally could see clearly. He had enough of the headaches caused by his blurred vision. Having clarity of sight, he paid attention during the rest of Fuji’s class. Tezuka even jumped in an opportunity to correct the history teacher and made the sensei as well as the whole class (except for Kikumaru) gawked at the sudden change in Fuji’s feminine voice. Fuji just smiled, rather amused at the horrified look on everyone’s face. He spared them by coughing twice, and Kikumaru covered him by saying “Fuji caught a really, really bad cold, nya!”

Tezuka apologized, saying it was out of habit, really, but Fuji just laughed at that.

During evening practice, Tezuka was left in the clubhouse. The regulars agreed it wouldn’t be wise to show mini-Tezuka to the other members. Fuji decided to stay until the non-regulars were outside at the tennis courts. Then, he made sure to be the first one to return, cleaned-up, changed and immediately headed home with Tezuka carefully placed inside his bag. Practice was rather uneventful without Tezuka around, Fuji mused.

* * *

It was Saturday, the day Fuji’s younger brother, Yuuta, came home from his dorm. Fuji usually dawdled around his younger brother’s room and doted on Yuuta to no end. But with Tezuka staying in his room, Fuji felt he shouldn’t let his friend alone and decided on a short visit to Yuuta’s room. He ruffled his hair and received an annoyed scowl, he asked how Yuuta’s week was, and after receiving a short ‘uneventful’ answer from his dear brother, Fuji smiled and went back to his room.

“You could spend more time with Yuuta-kun, don’t mind me,” Tezuka said the second Fuji was back to his room.

Fuji sat on his desk, smiling at Tezuka who was reading one of his books and said, “It’s true that Yuuta is only here once a week… but having you here is not even a once-a-week occasion, ne?”

Tezuka looked at his friend’s face, and he wondered why he was labeled as a ‘sadist’. Sometimes, Tezuka thought that Fuji was too kind for his own good—despite his mischievous jokes.

“Thank you,” he muttered silently.

“For the new clothes?” Fuji asked, referring to the blue shirt and the white pants Tezuka was now wearing after his shower earlier.

“For taking care of me,” Tezuka managed to make his tone as flat as he could.

Fuji was surprised at the sudden expression of gratitude that he spent a moment gleaming at Tezuka with exposed cerulean orbs, before his lips finally curled upwards into a real smile and with a playful tone, he said, “My pleasure, Captain.”

Just as Tezuka was about to say something, the door opened and Yuuta casually walked in. “Aniki, lend me your dictio… na… ry…” his words faltered as he caught sight of his brother with a doll which ridiculously resembled the Seigaku’s infamous captain.

Tezuka stay stilled at his position, not knowing what to say or what to do.

“Aniki!! I didn’t know you were obsessed with Tezuka-san as to keep his doll!!” Yuuta exclaimed in a rather horrified look.

Tezuka’s brows twitched at Yuuta’s accusing tone to his brother, but he noticed Fuji’s face and smile hadn’t faltered one bit. Instead, the smile was getting wider by several millimeters.

“This is not an ordinary doll, Yuuta,” He began, and Yuuta’s brows creased. Revealing his eyes, Fuji continued with a lower, nearly hushed tone of voice, “This is a voodoo doll.”

Yuuta’s face immediately lost its color, and Tezuka felt pity for Yuuta as he looked like he just saw a ghost.

“Fuji, I think that’s enough…” Tezuka tried to warn his friend, but…

“IT TALKS!! THE DOLL TALKS!!” Yuuta jumped backwards, frightened. “Aniki, just what the hell is that thing?! You… you can’t be serious… it’s…” he stuttered.

Fuji bent forward, clutching his stomach; his shoulders were shaking violently as he tried hard to contain his laughter.

Tezuka was toying with the idea to take his words back. Probably, Fuji wasn’t really kind after all.

Once he was done laughing, Fuji gave Yuuta a brief explanation of the situation. He reassured Yuuta it wasn’t a voodoo doll nor was it some kind of supernatural being. Tezuka, the buchou, shrunk after drinking Inui’s evil concoction.

“But… is that even possible? I mean shrinking from a drink?” Yuuta asked in disbelief. Idly, he thanked the heavens for his transfer from Seigaku to St. Rudolph’s; he didn’t have to deal with any of Inui’s creation… daily.

Fuji sighed softly, his smile never faltered. “Well, you have the proof right here. I was also quite shocked when Tezuka showed up like this yesterday,” he said.

“And your idea of ‘shocked’ was to laugh at me,” Tezuka remarked with sarcasm.

“Sorry about that,” Fuji lightly replied.

“So, Tezuka-san…” Yuuta began as he was staring at Tezuka in astonishment, “How are you going to return to your normal size?”

“Inui said the effect would eventually wear out,” Tezuka replied with doubt in his eyes.

“I’m sure it will wear out soon,” Fuji said reassuringly, his eyes opened as he tried to sweep away the doubts and insecurities from his hazel orbs. Tezuka didn’t know how to respond. Somehow, Fuji’s soft gaze made him feel nervous…no more like uncomfortable.

“Aniki, stop staring at Tezuka-san like that, you’ll scare him,” Yuuta commented before he could help himself.

“Maa, Yuuta, don’t be jealous,” Fuji stood up and approached his brother who took a wary step backwards in response. “You do know how much I love you, don’t you?” he said teasingly as he patted his brother’s head.

“WHA—“ Yuuta immediately jumped back, his face was as red as a tomato, “Screw you, Aniki!! You’re gross!!” he shouted as he rushed out of Fuji’s room.

“Yuuta, you forgot the dictionary,” Fuji called his brother cheerfully as he waved the thick dictionary in his hand.

Yuuta stopped in his tracks, turned back wearing his most unfriendly face he could muster and grabbed the dictionary from his brother’s hand before stomping out of the room.

Tezuka looked warily at the door, wondering if Fuji was alright after being treated like that by his brother, who Tezuka knew the tensai loved very much.

“Don’t worry,” Fuji said upon noticing the look on Tezuka’s face,” his words maybe harsh, but he loves me.” he smiled cheerfully.

Tezuka said nothing, and Fuji turned his gaze to the door once again, before murmuring in a lower, softer tone of voice, “he does…”

Still, Tezuka said nothing.

* * *

At two in the morning, Tezuka was wide awake, worried about the following day, Monday. He needed to go to school, and his family will be returning from their trip this Sunday evening. He wondered if he’ll change back to his normal size then.

For the first time in Tezuka’s life he has trepidation over the uncertainties he’s facing with his current predicament. If he remained in his current state, how would he live, how could he explain this situation to his parents?

What about tennis?

A soft caress on his hair made him turn his head and found Fuji’s huge smiling face in front of him. “Stop worrying, Tezuka,” he said softly, “close your eyes and forget all about this tonight.”

Tezuka kept a stern look at Fuji, “Just go to sleep and not worry,” he responded.

Fuji chuckled. “That should be my line.” he replied. “Saa, go to sleep, Tezuka. Worrying over it won’t make you regain your normal form.”

Tezuka frowned and rolled to this side, away from Fuji. “You’re not the one who is 20 cm in height so you can say that ever so lightly,” he murmured.

Fuji blinked once. Tezuka was sulking; something Fuji thought Tezuka would never do. Considering the situations, though, he couldn’t blame his friend.

“That’s true,” Fuji replied softly, “but I do worry about you.”

Tezuka was silent for a while, then, he turned to face his friend and replied, “I appreciate that.”

Fuji smiled in response, and he patted Tezuka’s back lightly and in a reassuring manner. “Now, go to sleep,” He said.

Tezuka didn’t know why but he was now feeling slightly better. His lids felt heavier as he was feeling relieved with Fuji still lightly caressing his back. Then, he closed his eyes and succumbed to a much needed sleep.

* * *

So… when they woke up the next day, nothing changed.

Tezuka’s parents were due back in less than six hours, now they face a big problem. Both boys sat on Fuji’s bed, worried. Fuji called Inui earlier and asked the data-man when exactly the effect would wear out.

“I can’t say for certain. Tezuka was the first to drink the potion. But two stray cats had a sip or two of the juice and were back to normal within six to eight hours. Tezuka didn’t drink much of it, he should return to normal anytime today,” Inui stated.

“Today,” Fuji repeated. “When?”

“I don’t have the data to calculate the exact moment. I’m sorry,” Inui answered.

Fuji sighed audibly to the phone. “Was there any special condition that helped change the cats back to their normal size? Like, what triggered the change for one to be sooner than the other?”

“I don’t remember anything in particular. I’ll call you after I review the video of the cats,” Inui stated before ending the call.

“Don’t worry Tezuka, you’ll eventually change back,” Fuji reassured him, but he started to have doubts himself. This time, even Inui’s data wasn’t reliable.

“Ah…” was Tezuka’s sole response, he kept massaging the bridge of his nose; his headache bothered him since early morning. He didn’t know why, his chest felt too tight, but he didn’t bother to voice any of this to Fuji.

Once again, silence wrapped around them.

“Tezuka-kun will return to normal soon enough,” the sudden voice made both boys jerked in surprise.

“Mou, nee-san, don’t sneak in like that,” Fuji complained in mock annoyance. Yumiko just grinned at her younger brother.

“I read your card, Tezuka-kun,” Yumiko turned her head to meet Tezuka’s eyes, “it says you will change back soon, though probably, you’ll need a little… trigger.” she continued.

Tezuka just nodded absent-mindedly as he was still processing the fact that Fuji’s sister knew about him, even though this was the first time Tezuka met her after he shrunk. Then, a question struck his mind, “May I know what the trigger is, Fuji-san?”

“Saa, cards don’t give details, so I wouldn’t know,” Yumiko paused and looked like she was considering something. “But I was wondering if you could try that method,” Yumiko smiled, and Tezuka found this familiar gleam in her eyes that resembled that of her younger brother whenever the prodigy had something up his sleeve to entertain the team.

“What method?” Fuji asked.

Yumiko’s smile grew wider and Tezuka couldn’t help but flinch. “You know, Shuusuke, that method you find in every fairytale,” Yumiko paused to observe the expression of both boys. Since both of them seemed to have no clue, she continued, “Kiss him, Shuusuke.”

“Huh?”

“Or would you rather have me to kiss him?” Yumiko smirked.

“I… don’t think that would work,” Tezuka interrupted, looking all uneasy from the woman’s teasing. “It’s illogical,” he stated.

“But Tezuka-kun, your body size is already illogical,” Yumiko retorted.

Tezuka flinched inwardly. He knew he heard something similar to this before…

“Well, anyway, I think we should just wait for Inui’s call,” Fuji said, trying to save Tezuka from further discomfort.

Seeing both boys were facing each other with quite the right distance, Yumiko had this sudden urge to test out her method, so she pushed Fuji forward, hard enough to catch Fuji off balance and stumble forward, crashing his lips on Tezuka’s in the process.

Realizing what had now landed flat on his lips, Tezuka’s heart suddenly beat faster, and had his face flushed. Then, he felt heat rising inside him, and his heart pounded, hard, threatening to jump out of chest. His head was also aching, and so were the muscles on his body. He closed his eyes in an attempt to chase the pain on his head away, but all he could feel was his whole body throbbing.

Then, he felt something pinned him down. He slowly opened his eyes, and found Fuji’s face hovering just a few inches above his own. But wait… Fuji’s face wasn’t as huge as it used to be.

“Aniki, Nee-san! Okaa-san said before leaving that one of you should cook lunch. I’m hungry,” came Yuuta’s voice from outside the room.

The two boys stayed still, as they were still trying to register what just happened. Even Yumiko stayed rooted to her seat on Fuji’s chair.

“Nee-san, aniki, I’m…” Yuuta trailed off as his eyes widened in horror at the sight waiting for him inside his brother’s room.

There was his brother, pinning down the infamous captain of Seigaku Tennis club; the Tezuka Kunimitsu in his bed, while the stoic youth was… naked.

“MY EYEEEEEEEEEES~!!!” Yuuta immediately ran out of Fuji’s room. He covered his eyes, bumping into the wall in the process of his escape.

“Oh my, he might be traumatized for a while,” Yumiko commented once she recovered from her shock of seeing Tezuka’s body suddenly returned to its normal size and that made the doll clothes no longer could cover him.

“Tezuka, you’re back!” Fuji finally found his voice. He hadn’t moved away from Tezuka and just stared at his friend with wide-opened eyes, glad that all of the trouble had finally come to an end.

“Ah.” Tezuka murmured, still hadn’t totally recovered from his shock. Soon after, he realized just what kind of compromising position he was in, and nervously said, “Fuji, could you get off me?”

Fuji smiled. “Well, I’d love to, but…” he paused and turned his head to his sister, before continuing politely, “Nee-san, would you please get out? Tezuka wouldn’t like it if you see him.”

“Oh, right,” Yumiko promptly stood up and walked towards the door. “Don’t worry Tezuka-kun, Shuusuke is covering the interesting areas so I don’t get to really see you,” she added with a wink before finally walking out of the room, making sure to close the door behind her.

Once the door was closed, Fuji slowly moved away from atop of his captain’s body, and immediately walked to one corner of his room, picking up Tezuka’s uniform that was washed the day before. With his smile still on his face, Fuji approach Tezuka who covered his body with a blanket and gave the stoic youth his clothes.

“I’ll wait outside,” Fuji said sweetly.

“Thank you,” Tezuka replied rigidly, and for once, he didn’t look at Fuji in the eye. Fuji made a mental note that he’d love to see Tezuka blushing more often, since he looked cute.

Once outside, Fuji’s smile faded as he brought a hand to cover his flustered face. He sighed; while it’s true he had seen Tezuka naked several times in the showers, having a naked Tezuka beneath him was definitely another story.

Not a bad one, though.

* * *

“I’m sorry to bother you these past two days,” Tezuka said formally as he stood by Fuji’s doorstep with his bag slung over his shoulder, all ready to go home.

“Don’t mention it. It was nice having you here,” Fuji brushed the formality with his usual smile.

“Thank you,” was all Tezuka could manage. When Fuji’s only respond was another smile, the captain felt like words had fled away from him.

Tezuka was never one for words, but this was the first time he truly felt like he didn’t know what to say. His body finally regained its original size, shouldn’t he be happy? But why was there a tad of sadness whenever he thought that he would no longer need to be with Fuji?

The memories of his time together with Fuji during his ‘shrunken period’ came to his mind and replayed like a broken record. Now that he returned to his normal size, all of their time together had come to an end.

‘End’. For some reason, he despised the word.

“Next time,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Yes?” Fuji diverted his gaze from the ants lining up on the grounds to Tezuka’s face.

“I’ll bring you something,” Tezuka paused, thinking on what words should come out next.

Then, he looked at Fuji in the eye, and repeated his words. This time, he made sure that his tone of voice was certain.

“I’ll bring you something, next time I sleepover.”

Fuji blinked once, twice... and when he finally grasped the meaning inside Tezuka’s words, his lips unconsciously quirked up in a genuine smile, as his azure eyes connected with Tezuka’s.

“A package of wasabi-sushi and some DVDs would be nice,” Fuji suggested playfully.

“Sure,” Tezuka briefly answered, noticing the relief flow from within his own tone of voice.

After a slight nod, Tezuka left the Fuji household. Enjoying each step he took towards his own home, Tezuka mused inwardly that this was certainly not the end. Just like the steps he took, one step at a time with a newfound feeling inside his heart, he was now walking towards a new beginning.

~NeverEnding~

OMAKE:

“Nee-san, was Tezuka’s ‘curse’ really gone with a kiss?” Fuji asked while they watched some random TV shows. Yuuta still refused to meet Fuji after seeing such a scene.

“Of course not, you silly,” Yumiko laughed as she ruffled her so-called tensai bother’s head. Such a prodigy he was, a fourteen-years-old could be really cute at times.

“So that was indeed a coincidence,” Fuji placed a forefinger on his chin, thinking.

“It was,” Yumiko nodded. Then, she turned her head to her brother and smirked, “but you did want to kiss him, didn’t you? You should at least thank your onee-san.”

“Thank you,” Fuji replied flatly, though his smile was still on.

“But you’re really unfair, Shuusuke. I helped you get your first kiss from your crush and you didn’t even let me take a peek on him.” Yumiko faked a pout.

Fuji’s eyes fluttered open, he smiled sweetly at his sister and said, “There’s nooo way I would share that sight with you. That is one thing I wouldn’t share with anyone.”

Yumiko blinked once, and then she let out a little laugh.

“Oh, Shuusuke, you possessive brat…”

.end.

A/N: I’m not really sure about this, so please tell me what you think of it ne? :D

EDIT: I'm really SORRY for the error earlier!! I posted this in a hurry and didn't re-check!! SORRY!!! *shot self*

I bring a fic for ketchupblood

2008-06-25T23:09:05Z

Title: Truth or dare! [The princess and the stone!]
Author: chibikaoruchan
For: ketchupblood
Pairing: TezukaxFuji
Rating: G
Genre: Crack and fluff!
Prompt: Truth or dare! (Fuji likes playing games, Tezuka knows that much. But can the stoic buchou take part of them?)
Word count: ~675 (Short!)
Warnings: Well, no warnings... the title says it all! (And I meant it!)
Disclaimer: The usual "No, nothing belongs to me, except the cpu"

A/N: I hope ketchupblood enjoys!! I can bet it wasn't what you had expected =P Also, all thanks goes to my beta, lovefujitez for her wonderful help, without whom, this fic wouldn't be here!! <333 Thank you millions!! *bows*
Note: I used some japanese terms such as "Tensai" and "Buchou". I hope you don't mind! >___<
And finally... Enjoy!!

Truth or Dare!
~The Princess and the Stone~

Fuji liked playing games, Tezuka knew that very well. Though Fuji’s taste in jokes was… wicked, actually, Fuji’s taste in everything was twisted. Tezuka knew, since he’d been with him for three years, three long years of being a victim of never-ending teasing. At first, the stoic boy knew how to ignore him, but as Fuji gradually took more space in his daily life, he could no longer brush him off easily.

He had gotten used to Fuji’s senseless jokes now that they are ‘more than friends’ but every now and then the smiling boy would come up with something new, and surprise him with it. Even if it was so, Tezuka never showed his expressions, whether he was angry, sad, happy or annoyed; he knew better than to let his emotions get the best of him.

Today was one of those days, where everything was fine, until something unusual happens. Well, it wasn’t really unusual, since it was Fuji…

“Ne, Tezuka, truth or dare?”

The said boy stared at him, raising a brow. Another one of his games, he thought.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play! Just choose, ‘Truth’, or ‘Dare’?”

Tezuka didn’t have any intention of playing with Fuji now, while they were alone in the deserted locker room. After school practice was over, and homework was waiting.
Hearing no answer, Fuji smiled genuinely.

“If you give me an answer, I’ll stop bugging you with the question. Truth or Dare?”

Tezuka sighed, considering the offer. It’s true, that if he had just answered the question, Fuji would stop asking, but he doubted that the ‘I will stop bugging you’ part was completely honest.

“Truth.” He answered without thinking.

Fuji grinned evilly at that and asked as his Buchou was about to leave the room:

“Saa, Tezuka, which gender attracts you more girls or guys?”

Without even looking back at the smaller boy (to hide his surprise and his sudden pink cheeks), he answered, as stoic as ever,

“That doesn’t concern you the slightest.”

“But you have to answer.” The tensai explained. “It’s the rule of truth or dare! If you choose truth, then you have to, truthfully, answer a question I ask you. And if you choose dare, then I can dare you to do anything… reasonable.” He quickly added.

Tezuka sighed, sensing another headache coming. So now he had to answer his stupid question? Fuji clearly knew that he was the one Tezuka chose. He just had to ask… and now Tezuka had to answer.

“I like girls better.” Tezuka said, looking straight at the smaller boy, suppressing a smile as he saw the tensai’s smile disappear.

Fuji was confused. He didn’t understand at all what Tezuka was saying. If he liked girls better, then why did he choose to be with him? It clearly didn’t make any sense!
Tezuka was glad he and Fuji had an unspoken understanding between them, and answered all of Fuji’s questions without having him ask.

“You look enough like a girl to be mistaken as one… so I guess it’s okay if it’s you.”

The tensai’s mouth dropped open at his buchou’s bluntness while the said boy smirked inwardly at his victory. Fuji no longer knew if he should be happy that Tezuka just ‘confessed’ or mad because he just got called a girl… but Tezuka never gave him a chance to debate.

“What about you, Fuji? Which gender attracts you more?”

In a flash, Fuji regained control of the situation, and grinned.

“None.” He chuckled this time at Tezuka’s confusion. “I fell in love with a rock.” He added while staring at his buchou with fully opened eyes.

Never changing his expression, Tezuka counter-attacked. He definitely hated being led on, and did his best to regain the top.

“Truth or dare, Fuji.” He asked.

“Dare.” Fuji answered, his voice full of challenge.

“I dare the princess to kiss the rock.” Tezuka once again said, bluntly.

This time, he didn’t have to wait for his wish to be granted.

~End~

</div>

Fic for shenguin - The Tensai and the Buchou

2008-06-24T19:01:58Z

Title: The Tensai and the Buchou
Author: violeteyehdair
For: shenguin
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: PG
Genre: fluff/AU fantasy
Prompt: Tezuka/Fuji, fairy tale pastiche. Preferably either with the plots of the original (bloody-gory) versions of the fairy tales, or humour/crack.
Word Count: ~5,500
Warnings: It's dark fluff~
Disclaimer: Nothing in this is mine - not the concept, not the characters. ):

A/N: I used Beauty and the Beast... A friend of mine has a complete works of Brothers Grimm, but I couldn't find anything in it that really suited the beauty and grace and angst of Fuji and Tezuka. So! Since I am extremely familiar with the tale of Beauty and the Beast ~~because it's always been my favorite~~, I knew how well it could fit them! And how to change it to fit them, also. 8D Thusly, here you have it! Enjoy, shenguin, at least for the sake of my roommates who had to suffer through me reading out loud to them every time I thought something was even just a little cute. (credit to them as beta readers, too.)

There was a time in Fuji's life when he was happy. All at once, however, all that he loved was taken from him by an unfortunate accident: his brother, who he adored and teased both very much; his elder sister, who was at times distant but always there and always caring; his mother, lastly, who raised him and loved him with all that she was. When an uncontrollable fire enveloped their mansion and only home, he and his father were the only who escaped with their lives.

But that happened a decade ago. At sixteen, Fuji indulged in forgetting such things. His father had since remarried, and he had two wretched abominations of step-siblings and a step-mother whose age was never as constant as her hatred and wickedness. As a merchant, not only did he bring a lot of money home for his selfish wife, but he was also away a lot, leaving Fuji alone with the three corrupt women.

To be truthful, he didn't mind it too much. Following his mother's example, Fuji rarely let his smile wane and, instead of complaining or fighting back, he spent most of his time reveling in things outside of their black words. In fact, painting seemed to be his favorite pastime, which he did using paints he created from natural ingredients. Such a dirty boy as him could never carry the approval of his new family, something Fuji took a great amount of guiltless pride in.

When his father returned to the house one day from a week-long trip, he dismounted his horse and called his daughters, son and wife to him with great pride. "I have made a friend!" so he shared, pulling a bag off the saddle, a bag that was such a deep, dark red that it seemed likely the same color of the devil's eyes. "This friend has given me gifts to share with my family, and he promises more upon my return to him!" He pulled from the bag a large, jeweled hair ornament for his wife, at which she squealed in delight and placed it immediately into her hair. Next, a necklace with a large, drooping glass charm, at which the daughter he handed it to scoffed, but that didn't stop her from taking it. Third, an ornately decorated hand-mirror for the second daughter who snatched it away selfishly, admiringly herself in front of her sister who flaunted her own jealousy. Finally, once the three women had gone, he pulled nothing out for his own son of natural blood, but Fuji didn't mind. He wasn't selfish - he needed to know only that his father returned safely and that he wouldn't be alone in this house for too long.

When the next morning came and it was time to leave again, he stood with his horse at his side and his wife and three children in front of him. "Tell me your wishes, and I will surely bring them home for you from this trip," he told them, beaming with pride at his new connection and discovery. This was sure to rebuild the mansion his first family had once lived in! He would please his wife and two step daughters, and he would make his only remaining son happy once again.

"Dear," cooed the evil woman Fuji's father had married, stepping forward and tugging on his collard with faux-affection. "Bring me a gown more magnificent than the Queen's and the night you return, you will be treated as a King." She smiled with half-lidded eyes and stepped back in line.

The elder of the two daughters stepped forward and scowled. "Bring me two hand-mirrors and a brush to match both of them!" she demanded, stepping back instantly and sticking her tongue out at her sister who smiled coolly and asked of Fuji's father a pair of gloves and shoes that match each other and her mother's new dress.

When at last it was Fuji's turn to speak, he wanted for nothing more than these women to be the ones who died in the fire ten years ago. But, smiling politely, he requested of his father a rose.

"A rose?!" scoffed the older daughter, but Fuji only smiled at her.

"Indeed. A rose," he said calmly.

"Very well. A rose." And his father set off on his horse.

It was unfortunate, however, that the directions leading him to the other merchant were not very clear and they led him through a forest he was unfamiliar with. Hours into his journey, he found himself lost.

"Now this isn't right," he told himself as his horse trotted down the entryway to a castle. The night was biting his every inch of exposed flesh - it was unavoidable that he would have to find lodging, but he had no idea where he was. This castle, which appeared long-since abandoned, may not be a fantastic choice, but maybe there was somebody here he could ask for help with directions, and it was certainly more welcoming than the howling of the hungry wolves, even with the walls overtaken by blackened vines and thorns.

When he dismounted the horse and entered the castle, he found no servant or master anywhere and he helped himself to a bed for the night. The morning shook him awake with birds and wind, and Fuji's father started the day by picking fruit from the garden for himself and his horse. When he returned inside, there was a fresh suit sitting on a table which he determined to be quite nice so he changed into it. He could see no harm done since this castle seemed to belong to no one, and he was almost on his way once again when, on the front of the castle, he noticed one single rose.

Remembering his son's request, he reached to pick to rose and no sooner did his fingers touch the stem did a deep, booming voice cry out in what sounded like agony.

"Leave the rose!" it growled and the merchant looked around, but he saw no one. Shrugging to himself, he picked the rose and returned to his horse who backed away from him, whinnying and neighing with wide, frightened eyes.

"It is me," he said soothingly with a plain smile to the horse. "What frightens you?" But the horse was persistent, and the merchant turned around to see what the could be causing such a fuss. Before he had a chance to notice what there was to see, he was struck on the head by a great big hand and he fell the the ground, now with the same wild, panicked expression of the horse.

"I gave you shelter and breakfast," said a great, tall black-skinned... creature. Some kind of monster! A beast, with great black horns and eyes redder than a harvest moon. "I granted you clean clothes and let you leave in peace, but the one thing I bid you, you do not obey." His tone was low and bitter with no patience. "You have stolen from me the one thing I value, and so you may not go."

"No!" cried the man, shielding himself from the hideous view of the beast who surely would take his life in the most sadistic ways possible. "I have a family! I have two daughters and a son who need money! Who need food!" he pleaded.

"Rise!" shouted the beast, but the man only quivered pathetically on the floor.

"If they never see me again, they should worry!" he continued.

"QUIET!" the beast bellowed, the the man ceased his sniveling. "Why did you take my rose?" he demanded to know.

"My wife and two daughters asked for great things from me," he said quietly, too afraid to rise still. "But my son only wants a rose, and it was the most beautiful rose I've ever seen."

"Rise." The merchant slowly stood. "You will bring this rose to your son. And then you will return to me and be my prisoner." The man whimpered at the idea of it, but once he left he would never return. He was as good as free!

"And should you not return, I will find your home and burn it down. Then money will not be your family's problem."

As he was ordered, the merchant brought the rose home to his son, who accepted it graciously from his father, marveling at how beautiful it was and how gracefully its thorns sloped and rested on its stem. Fuji's sisters and stepmother watched bitterly, wearing their resentment proudly and laughing at the merchant's story about the beast and the reason he must return as quickly as possible.

"One night, father," Fuji said to him calmly. "This beast will not begrudge you your last night with your family who you love." He patted his father's shoulder. "Rest and eat well tonight - it could be your last chance."

The frankness and honesty in his son's voice, along with Fuji's willingness to believe such an unbelievable tale, never ceased to amaze him, but his son was bright and had good common sense.

"Yes. I will stay for the night," he agreed, resigning himself to his fate in the morning, but when he rose, both his son and his horse were gone.

Fuji leaned forward on the horse, stroking its mane affectionately when it hesitated to go forth to where it had seen the great, terrifying beast, but the castle was just as hidden and as harsh on the eyes as his father had described it. Fuji dismounted the horse once he was by the doors and walked in with great determination.

"I have come to return the rose," he said fiercely, throwing it onto the cold tile of the foyer floor; the room was so quiet that the sound of the petals colliding with the ceramic surface sounded as loud as his shout. "And to take my father's place." His eyes narrowed on a particularly dark corner of the room from which he heard the same voice his father had described:

"Don't be a fool," it said calmly in a low growl. "The merchant is my prisoner. I will accept no other."

"You will take me in his stead," Fuji said firmly, straightening his back and relaxing his face. Hearing the alleged beast's voice somehow calmed his anger - it was as if knowing the beast was real meant it was just a situation he could handle, whereas before he arrived the anxiety and uncertainty chipped at his confidence. If it was real, Fuji could conquer it.

When the beast stepped out of the shadows and into the faint light of the foyer, the red eyes that his father described shone the same deep red as the bag his father had brought home. Fuji frowned and took him in, but he showed no fear, not of his legs that were hairier than a bear's, not of his arms that could tear him apart, and not of his enormous black face that had the look of a human who had gone mad.

"You've done me no wrong. The man who stole my rose is the man who must suffer for it." Fuji noted that he was angry, but not malicious the way his father had made him out to be. Even realizing this, Fuji knew he had to upset the beast further, so he stomped on the rose, staring the beast in the eye.

There was a long silence where the beast's eyes ran up and down the young, effeminate Fuji as if appraising him. Fuji's eyes narrowed at the thought of what a beast like him might be thinking.

"You act to enrage me. You show me yourself as a brat." Taking in a deep breath, the beast turned and walked into the castle, away from Fuji. "And yet you lay your life down for a thieving father. Very well."

Hesitantly, Fuji followed the beast, but he found that when he entered the next room, there was no one round. It was like that for the following day, then two days, then a week when finally the solitude was beginning to drive him mad. It was almost better when he had those wicked girls to avoid.

He walked around the castle but could find no sign of anybody - there were no servants, no residents, and no sign of the master who was apparently keeping him as a prisoner, and yet there was always breakfast, always lunch, and always dinner sitting out for him when he entered the dining room, his bed was always made no matter how he left it and clothes were always laid out for him to wear when he rose. Nice clothes, not the clothes of someone who was a hostage. It seemed off.

One day, after he'd lost count of how long he'd been at the castle, Fuji was strolling through the castle's once-garden when he noticed the beast's presence through some trees. Curious, as he'd been so well-concealed before, Fuji quietly approached and noticed that the beast seemed to be in a state of despair. Instead of the anger he felt before, Fuji felt pity. How could such a fierce beast as him wallow in such depression?

If Fuji was going to stay here any longer, he would need somebody to talk to whether he liked them or not. Saying nothing, Fuji sat next to the beast, causing him to jump and look at Fuji with horror and run off.

The next day, Fuji found him in the garden again at the same time, but this time, the beast looked up when Fuji approached. His face showed none of the anguish of the previous day, but there was a distinct melancholy about him.

"I am your prisoner, but you do not bind me," Fuji said before the beast had a chance to do anything. Speaking felt odd, but it was a little refreshing since it had been so long. "You keep me here, and yet you do not take pleasure in it." He smiled and sat next to the beast who frowned and turned away from him.

Chuckling lightly, Fuji asked him, "You're not very good at being fierce, are you?" The beast growled in response, but it wasn't very threatening.

"You do not fear me," the beast said plainly, glancing over his shoulder at the sixteen-year-old boy who spoke to him.

"I pity you," answered the merchant's son.

Sighing deeply, the beast turned away again and said in the same flat tone, "I noticed you like to paint." Fuji nodded, though the beast could not see. "There is an easel somewhere in the palace, and canvas. You can have it. I do not use it."

"I am not a prisoner," Fuji said airily, amazed at how far this differed from his imagination.

"You may not leave," shouted the beast suddenly, and after he realized his outburst, he rushed away. When Fuji returned to his room that night, how found the easel and canvas, just as the beast had promised, but the beast was not in the garden the following day.

But he was in the dining room that evening, sitting quietly across from Fuji's usual seat, his plate already half eaten-from. Fuji was a little surprised, but he did not pause before sitting and bowing his head to quietly utter thanks. "It's been at least a fortnight since I've eaten a meal with another," Fuji said as he lifted his fork, not looking up from his plate. The beast continued to eat in silence. "I'm grateful for the company." He smiled brightly at the beast who, now, seemed almost timid. This beast, he tried to be fierce, but his heart wasn't in it.

When at last the beast spoke, Fuji's plate was almost cleared and the beast's had long since been emptied. His voice was hesitant yet firm when he spoke. "I will join you again for breakfast," he told him as he rose from his seat and he walked calmly toward the door. Fuji hadn't noticed before, probably because he'd only seen him a couple times and he was always in a rush, but the beast's walk was very refined despite his animal-like legs.

"I look forward to it," Fuji said honestly, finding after only these three short meetings that the beast was a pretty lonely character, even if he was anti-social.

But the next morning, there was no beast and Fuji was disappointed. It would be a few days before Fuji would see the beast again, at which time the beast said nothing to acknowledge his broken word.

"You didn't come to breakfast," Fuji said strongly, approaching the beast in the corridor who turned his back to Fuji no matter where around him Fuji tried to stand.

"I have no obligation to you," the beast responded curtly. "You are my prisoner."

Fuji scoffed. "Then treat like one and I will accept it." He followed as the beast strode quickly down the hallway with the expression of a man with a purpose. "You can't do it."

At once, the beast spun on his heel and struck Fuji, sending him onto his back. There was a moment when both of them looked on each other with surprise, when finally Fuji began to laugh. "Very well," he said quietly, rising. "Then, if I am a prisoner, do not be surprised when I try and escape."

But Fuji did not want to go back, not to that family. Sure he loved his father, but his father loved his wife and stepdaughters and surely the three of them were happier with Fuji out of the picture. Not that their happiness mattered to Fuji, but his father's did, and so did his own.

Holding his face wear the great paw had knocked him over, Fuji walked past the beast and into his room where he spent the next two days painting. He painted scenes he remembered from home, his brother, his sister, and his mother and father. He painted fields by the new house, and he painted horses that had come to and gone from his stable. When finally he could think of no other image that stuck with him, he began painting the garden where the beast had promised him the very easel he used to paint on.

On the third day, when Fuji had run out of canvas, there was a booming knock on his door. Surprised, having never had a visitor, Fuji wasn't sure how the beast expected him to react to such an introduction. "I'm indecent," he sang cheerfully, despite how angry the beast made him feel.

Regardless, the door burst open. "Is starvation your escape?" the monstrous black beast bellowed with brows furrowed in fury. Fuji stepped back, a little frightened by the sharp arrow of anger that struck him and paralyzed him. "You're going to die? Do you think that'll liberate you from my hideousness?" Frozen, Fuji watched as the beast stormed out. "You will come down for lunch. Clean yourself and join me immediately."

As Fuji obeyed, he realized that the beast's words were angry, yes, but there was another quality in them, a strength and a care that was what really scared Fuji. He looked hurt. Standing in front of the door to the dining room, Fuji straightened his coat which had been folded at the floor by his doorway; it was nicer than anything he'd ever worn and though he looked great in it, he didn't like the way it felt.

Thinking about the delicious food that always sat ready for him when he went for it, his stomach let out a loud growl and he realized for the first time in three days how long it'd been since he last ate. No longer able to hold back, he stepped into the room and smiled politely at the beast, bowing his head.

The beast nodded at him and looked away. "I apologize for getting angry," he said gruffly, taking a bite of steak from his fork. "Eat." And Fuji did. He took his seat and ate the large meal that was placed in front of him, thinking on how obviously shy and self-conscious the beast was as he tried to hide the fact that he watched Fuji eat.

"You have a very nice castle," Fuji said delicately, hoping to break some kind of ice between them. Despite being an alleged prisoner, he found a growing fondness within himself for the other man in the room. Perhaps if they could become friends, more of his mysterious personality could be seen.

"... Thank you."

"What is your name?"

The beast looked at him sharply. "My name is irrelevant."

Smiling pleasantly, Fuji nodded. He was very private indeed. "I'm Fuji."

The beast's expression softened. "Fuji..." he repeated, drinking from his glass.

"Even if it is irrelevant, I would like to know what to call you." It occurred to Fuji that constantly referring to him as 'the beast' wasn't kind. A name to attach to the personality might make their relation seem more personal. Silence. "Please." There was a long pause when Fuji's fork hovered over his plate while he waited for a response.

"...I used to be called Tezuka," he said gently, and Fuji was astonished at how soft the beast who looked like a devil turned out to be.

"Tezuka, hm? I like the sound of it. Tezuka. Thank you for the art supplies, and the food and the clothes, Tezuka." He smiled and returned to his plate of food. There was no discussion for the rest of the meal, or the rest of the day which was spent in each other's company, silent but comfortable. Tezuka sat in the garden while Fuji tended to it, pulling weeds and teaching the flowers to flaunt themselves. After dinner, the beast left before Fuji finished and Fuji found that he no longer wanted to be alone in his room, so he wandered the castle.

Nighttime was apparently very different from daytime. Doors seemed to close on their own and shadows moved and flickered as if torches were being carried past Fuji, around him or even above him. He stopped to examine one particularly interesting door that refused to close, unlike the others, when he heard a loud, roaring moan he'd never heard before. Fuji looked around, listening for it again to see where it came from and the second time, he determined that it was Tezuka, and he sounded anguished. Displeased with this, Fuji entered the door that wouldn't close, which actually seemed to open wider as he considered it.

Even though Fuji wanted to call out, he was much too interested in what was really happening that the beast was hiding from him. Now in the room, though, the moaning and howling was much louder, almost deafening, but Fuji could bear it.

This room was very dark, but even in the dim candlelight, Fuji could see almost everything. It was a bedroom at least three times the size of the one he'd been staying in with a bed that had been torn to shreds. Fuji was confident that Tezuka did not sleep on it, but he wept and wailed next to it pounding on a table to his side. His body writhed as if in pain, and Fuji rushed to his side immediately after realizing this.

"Are you hurt?" he asked cautiously, kneeling next to him.

But Tezuka didn't seem to hear him. In his pained state, he was aware of nothing and by mistake, he knocked something off the table he pounded; when Fuji picked it up, he discovered that it was the rose he'd stomped on at the very start, wilted and dying but not quite dead even after all this time.

"Tezuka," Fuji pleaded, placing a hand on the beast's arm. It was surprisingly warm and not at all cold and hard like he'd expected. Tezuka's body tensed but almost immediately relaxed when Fuji touched him.

He was asleep. Such a great big strong thing was only a vulnerable child after all.

Fuji lifted the beast into his bed and sat in a chair next to it, watching the monstrosity of a presence sleep. When his arm fell out of the bed, Fuji grabbed onto the hand and didn't even let go after he fell asleep.

When Fuji rose again, there were clothes folded for him on the bed and a note from the beast:

Fuji,
Go home to your family. You are released. Your father's debt to me has been repaid.

Angered by this, Fuji rose from the chair in the now-empty room and clenched the note at his side as he stormed down the corridors looking for the beast. He'd grown so accustomed to the calm, quiet and beautiful agony within the castle that he couldn't fathom returning to such fake suffering as his family-by-marriage.

"Tezuka!" he shouted angrily, walking brusquely into the dining room which contained food but no beast. "Beast! Tezuka! Where are you?" But there was no answer, because the beast was in the garden when finally found him, not inside.

"What is the meaning of this?" Fuji demanded, throwing the note on the beasts hairy black lap, but he didn't seem to notice Fuji. He neither looked at him nor at the note he'd written.

"Leave," he growled deeply.

"I will not." Fuji's eyes where sharp on the demon eyes of the animal man. "Because I do not want to," he added definitively, and the beast finally looked up at him with tears in his eyes but no expression on his face.

"Leave," he said again, his tone as hard as it was moments ago.

Fuji crossed his arms. "No."

The beast rose and looked down on Fuji with forced angry eyes. "I don't want you here."

"That's a lie," Fuji said simply, knowing he was right. "You're lonely."

"Irrelevant." The beast began to walk away, but Fuji took hold of his wrist. Although such a small human boy as himself had no power against the beast, because it was Fuji, he stopped in that instant.

And in the same instant, Fuji's voice softened to the feel of a feather on an angel's wing. "Why do you suffer at night?" he asked almost in a whisper.

"That's not your business," the beast answered, but Fuji stepped in front of him. Although the beast did not push him away, he turned his head to the side. "Please. If that is all, take any provisions you may need and be on your way." A tear fell from his eye, but the fur on his face kept Fuji from seeing it.

Still speaking softly, Fuji ran his fingers through the fur on the side of his face he could see and said to him, "I want to help you."

The beast's body trembled, but he did not pull away. "Forget about me and leave," he nearly pleaded.

"Tezuka," Fuji breathed, and the beast turned to him. "If I am no longer your prisoner, then allow me to be your guest."

But, the beast wouldn't have it. He began to walk away, telling Fuji without turning back, "If you're not gone by nightfall, I will kill you."

Of course, Fuji didn't obey because he was not easily commanded. Even so, by nightfall, the beast made no sign of checking on him. The strange shadows in the hallway that Fuji had noticed the night before pulled Fuji to the room where he'd spent the the last night with the beast, and Fuji entered without a second thought. "Tezuka?" he called out quietly. The only response was a heavy panting from the bed where Fuji placed him last night. Perhaps he did sleep in it.

Fuji rushed to the bedside and lit another candle with his own for more light. "You look ill." But the beast, as the night before, did not hear anything beyond his own pain. "Goodness, you're sweating," Fuji said, placing a hand on the beast's forehead as he remembered his mother doing for him. The fur, which had been so warm and comfortable in his fingers earlier, felt cold and wet. Feeling pity, Fuji pulled his hand away and kissed Tezuka on the forehead, but this the beast noticed.

"I told you to leave," he said weakly.

"You also said you'd kill me," Fuji said gently, touching the beast's face fondly.

"I'm dying." The beast closed his eyes and leaned his face into Fuji's hand. "You shouldn't bother with me."

Fuji gave a small, sad chuckle. "There are a lot of things in my life that I shouldn't have done," he teased, caressing Tezuka's cheek with his thumb. "But I don't think that caring about you is one of them."

The beast winced but brought a great hand to rest it on top of Fuji's. "Thank you," he whispered, before falling asleep again.

Come morning, Fuji woke laying in the bed next to the beast. He'd crawled under the cover to share his body heat, but now the bed felt like ice. Sitting up, Fuji caressed Tezuka's face as he had the night before. "Tezuka," he whispered. "Wake up."

But he didn't wake up.

"Beast." He kissed the monster's cheek, but he noticed there was no breathing.

Suddenly angry, Fuji shook the beast's body. A prisoner who was only imprisoned a couple of months? It was supposed to be a lifetime commitment! "Wake up, beast!" he shouted, but the beast only stirred as much as Fuji moved his body.

After a moment, Fuji brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. This beast was a kind man, more of a man than his father or any other man he'd met before. He was kinder than anyone he'd encountered, and he was humbler than a beggar, even in this great castle. Could it be that the idea of leaving made him so angry because he was fond of the beast? But that didn't come as a surprise.

He was fond of the beast, he realized with a start, because he loved the beast.

Crawling back under the cover and pressing his body against the cold fur, Fuji uttered the words, "I love you."

But he didn't have the chance to fall back asleep. All at once, the torches and candles in the room lit themselves and the cover flew off of them. The beast's body rose from the bed, hovering above Fuji as if held up by ropes.

Fuji's eyes widened and he stared at the beast, terrified. In a moment, the fur began to fall from the beast's flesh, and the grotesque animal-like features began molding themselves smaller, more human until finally, it was a human's body that fell back in the bed next to Fuji who looked at the body in wonder.

After the beast, who was now a normal man, woke up, Fuji learned that he had been cursed because of a crime his father committed against a gypsy's son, and that on his twenty-first birthday, if he had not earned the love of someone who he loved, then he would die.

Then Fuji learned that today was his twenty-first birthday, and he cried. He'd almost lost him, and it would have been his own fault for not acknowledging his own feelings. But all the while, he smiled because he was so happy to hear that the man he loved already loved him back.

Fuji leaned in and kissed Tezuka lightly on the lips, and the man blushed and turned away. "I love you," Fuji said happily.

There was a long pause and the faintest smile showed on Tezuka's lips. "I love you, too."

The End!

Fic for vierblith_tefu

2008-06-18T04:44:51Z

Title: Everything About You
Author: a1y_puff
For: vierblith_tefu
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: G
Genre: fluff
Prompt: Tezuka sometimes wonders why he is in love with Fuji. Every little thing you do.
Word Count: 1021
Warnings: Eh, a bit random, maybe. And this is very light and fluffy? XD;;
Disclaimer: Konomi owns Prince of Tennis. I'm just screwing up with the boys :p

A/N: When I saw the prompt, I could only think of something light and fluffy, so yeah, here it is. At first, I wasn't sure about this fic, but much thanks to my beta, thallein who also gave me advices so that this fic turned out better than the first time I wrote it. and also thanks to Ann-chan (tacuma811) for her encouraging comment so I had the courage to post this ^___^
So, Vier-chan, I don't know if this satisfies the prompt but I hope you'll like it, ne? *nervous smile*

~Everything About You~

Tezuka stood tall on the courts, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched his teammates practice. Today’s practice was just like any other day’s; first years had to practice swinging the racket, the non-regulars either ran laps, stretched or practiced with each other. Inui decided what the regulars should do, and of course, a certain penal-tea upgraded-whatever-mix version, Tezuka couldn’t remember the name, was part of the ordeal.

It was Fuji’s turn to play against Kikumaru and according to Inui, weight bands were attached to both player’s legs in order to increase their leg’s strength. After a minute of rallying, Tezuka could see Fuji purposefully missed his shot, which freed Kikumaru from becoming a victim of the evil concoction. Tezuka’s eyes followed the lithe boy’s form, as Fuji walked calmly towards Inui, accepted the penal-tea, and gulped down the whole glass without resistance or difficulty. The brunette then smiled at his teammates and calmly said, “This is even better than before. I definitely recommend it.”

Tezuka noticed how Fuji’s smile widened by three millimeters in enjoyment at the horrified looks on his teammates’ faces, and the victory over another of Inui’s evil concoction. Tezuka thought that the tensai must have noticed that he was being watched; within the next moment, Fuji turned his head towards him and smiled. Somehow Tezuka caught Fuji’s unspoken ‘Don’t you want to try this penal-tea? It’s good.

Tezuka returned Fuji’s stare; his eyes saying a firm ‘No, thanks.’

As he watched Fuji being glomped by the team’s acrobatic player, he idly wondered why exactly he was in love with the petite boy. He knew Fuji was beautiful and talented, yet he was certain those were not the reason he fell for the prodigy… or at least, those were not the only or main reasons.

Tezuka’s train of thought was disconnected by Momoshiro’s sudden scream. It seemed like Momoshiro was the unfortunate victim of the penal-tea that Fuji shoved to the poor second year. Then, he heard Kikumaru sigh with relief while thanking his lucky star that Fuji had decided to deliberately lose to him because the tensai had wanted to try the penal-tea. Otherwise, he would be screaming like Momoshiro. Fuji just chuckled at the defeated look on Momoshiro’s face. At that moment, Tezuka realized something.

Fuji might be mischievous, and considered sadist at times by some people, yet these same individuals could never hate the prodigy. Instead, people were attracted to him, be it for his appearance, his talent or his personality. In contrast to these people, Tezuka did not consider Fuji as a sadist. Rather, Fuji would be better characterized as being a little playful and always had his own agenda on what was considered entertaining for himself and the team. But no matter how skewed Fuji’s view of what constituted as entertainment, Fuji was actually one of the most caring persons Tezuka knew, especially to those who were important to him—Fuji didn’t only want to try the penal-tea; he was sparing Kikumaru from it.

Tezuka liked that gentle side of Fuji.

Now that he thought about it, there were many things he liked about Fuji.

The way Fuji walked, for one; Tezuka often wondered if the graceful movements were actually choreographed. Also, he remembered always thinking how beautiful Fuji’s fingers were, every time Fuji tucked his hair behind his ear when those sandy-brown strands tickled his face. There were also these occasional side-glances Fuji would throw him whenever they were standing side-by-side that never failed to make Tezuka had to fighting down a blush.

He cherished the silent understanding they shared; how Fuji knew when to pry, to joke him or to just be there for him while smiling soothingly whenever he was troubled. The comfortable silence they often had was also something Tezuka doubted he could get with other people; hence, he was grateful to Fuji for being able to provide such atmosphere.

Tezuka took pleasure in seeing the way Fuji’s smile twitched whenever he managed to turn the table on whatever word games the latter tried on him. He also enjoyed listening to Fuji’s mellow voice, and how it became more melodious whenever the lithe boy tried to tease him.

He was always awed by the blue on Fuji’s eyes whenever the tensai revealed them and he loved the feeling of drowning into the depth of those cerulean orbs whenever the prodigy stared deep into his hazel ones, conveying everything the light-haired boy felt for him, and thus, it never failed to make Tezuka marveled of how lucky he was to be the object of his affection.

And now, Tezuka could only wonder why he was questioning himself in the first place.

Tezuka loved Fuji just because he was Fuji. It was just that simple. Tezuka’s lips twitched upward at the realization.

“Tezuka, you’re smiling,” Fuji suddenly appeared in front of him; eyes opened in a knowing smile.

“I’m not,” Tezuka denied, feeling a little embarrassed at being caught smiling in public. It was just not in his nature, after all.

“But you are,” Fuji said again while settling himself beside the captain as they watched another match between Echizen and Kaidoh. “I wonder what was on your mind that made you smile,” Fuji said again, while tapping his chin with a finger.

Tezuka uncrossed his arms and slipped his hands in his pockets, before answering, “Nothing much.”

Fuji took a step closer to him, his right shoulder slightly brushed Tezuka’s left arm. With a playful tone, he teased, “Were you thinking about me?”

As he took a side-glance, Tezuka noticed the teasing smile that he came to know and love. After a few seconds of silence, Tezuka muttered a firm “yes”, and he inwardly smirked in triumph as he saw the prodigy fighting down the blush that was threatening to creep up his cheeks.

Ah, Tezuka thought, his ability to make Fuji blush every now and then was another thing he loved about being with Fuji.

And as he saw Fuji threw him an open-eyed smile, Tezuka mused that maybe, he just loved everything about Fuji.

-NeverEnding-

Comments would be really, really luffed! *bows*

fic for gj_isendre

2008-06-05T04:04:12Z

Title: Responsibilities
For: gj_isendre/Nightshade Shrub
Pairings: Tezuka/Fuji ('course!), Oshitari/Atobe
Wordcount:~5,200
Rating: PG13
Genre: Romance, Angst
Warnings: Fantasy!AU, a bit of magic, a bit of regency
Prompt: Fantasy!AU. They can be anything from princes to peasants - your choice. Prompt: Sacrifice. Optional: A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
Disclaimer: I gain no profit from this work. Plus, I don't have copyright over the book that Oshitari reads.
A/N: I used only sacrifice, sorry. The setting is my creation. As for their school, I fused the Japanese junior high and high school into one so there are six levels of secondary school. Please enjoy. :D Thanks and love to xXThe Grey LadyXx and reddwarfer for beta-ing.

To gain that which is worth having, it may be necessary to lose everything else.

~o)(vi)(o~

The Prince of Dmelia tried to concentrate on his breakfast. But the noise from the sports fest was rising five times higher than the students' spirits, leaving the Prince squinting at his pancake. His Gift amplified the cheers, the yells, and the bustle tenfold. The noise reverberated in his head, effectively muddling his thoughts. Gripping his fork tightly, he heaved a sigh and then tried to gather his thoughts in concentration. He started chanting, muttering foreign words beneath a usual smile. But, in a minute of attempt to shun the sound, he shook his head in resignation; the sources of the noise were simply too strong and scattered. Besides, he suspected that if he did succeed in blocking the noise, he would end up in bed, drained of all energy.

"This noise makes me lose my appetite," Atobe declared in exasperation. He pushed his plate of barely-touched mango crepe and turned pointedly to Oshitari.

Feeling Atobe's accusing gaze, Oshitari finally looked up from his book (Until You by Judith McNaught, the book cover said). He drawled, "I haven't lost my appetite."

Atobe glanced at Oshitari's plate and saw only crumbs of what used to be waffles. "Apparently," he said coldly.

"I can't stop the noise, Keigo," Oshitari stated. He inserted a bookmark between pages one hundred twenty-four and one hundred twenty-five of Until You before shutting the book. "What would you have me do?"

"Find a quiet place." Atobe said the words as if he was telling Oshitari that, naturally, one and one made two.

Oshitari's gaze wandered around the café before finally landing on the Prince. "Suggestions, Fuji?"

Fuji smiled despite the pounding in his head. "The library is the most silent place I can think of," he said placidly.

The corners of Oshitari's lips curled up slightly, causing Atobe's brows to arch in suspicion. "Ah, yes. It's most suitable for reading, too," Oshitari proclaimed. He got to his feet and, carrying his book, headed to the grey-bricked castle of Adage Academy.

Fuji walked a few paces behind, frowning as he gazed thoughtfully at Oshitari's back.

~o)(i)(o~

The Crown Princess of Dmelia tilted her head and smiled. Prince Syusuke had just climbed up the rungs of a ten-foot ladder and was now holding out a short arm to reach a particularly voluminous book at the top shelf of the Nature Section of the Palace Library. The Prince made a quick grab and cradled the book protectively in his arm. He paused, however, and looked at the floor below him, perhaps wondering how he could manage to climb down while keeping the book safe.

The thirteen-year old Princess put down her quill. "Hold on, Syusuke," she called as she walked away from her desk. When she reached the foot of the ladder, she said, "Drop the book and I'll catch it."

The Prince nodded with a grateful smile and cautiously let go of the book. The Princess caught the book with an Oof! as the Prince descended the ladder.

Princess Yumiko unceremoniously plopped down to the carpeted floor, not at all minding if her skirt was rumpled. "This is a rather heavy book, Syusuke," she remarked.

Smiling delightedly, Prince Syusuke sat cross-legged beside his sister. He took the book and propped it open before them. "Aren't the pictures great, nee-san?" he asked as he flipped the pages that revealed pictures of wild animals, towering trees and bright flowers. "I'd like to take this kind of pictures, too."

The Crown Princess smiled. "Why not?" she asked. Although she doubted that her brother could ever become a photographer, the Princess made a mental note to giver her brother a camera come his next birthday or, at least, come the next February twenty-eighth.

~o)(vii)(o~

Fuji stopped by the Zoology Section and scanned the collection for a wildlife photography book. Fuji liked reading, but he loved looking at photographs more. He never quite liked words as much as he liked photos for, he usually thought, he had heard enough words to last him a lifetime. Pictures, on the other hand, said many things without making any noise.

He took a leather-bound volume (Felines in the Wild) from a series of wildlife photography books and searched for his companions. A smile played across his lips when he found Atobe and Oshitari sitting across a familiar bespectacled boy.

"Are you ever not busy, Tezuka?" Fuji heard Atobe ask while Fuji sat on the empty wooden chair beside their fellow sixth level student.

Almost at once, Fuji felt comfortable; he stopped hearing the sounds from the school grounds.

"Good morning, Atobe," said Tezuka curtly, pointedly ignoring Atobe's question. He busied himself with a thick pile of paper, mechanically dipping his quill into the ink bottle and signing on the blank at the bottom right corner of each sheet.

"Atobe," Fuji said cheerily, "Tezuka is the President of the Student Council. He is never not busy."

"Why aren't you at the sports fest?" Tezuka asked, still signing the forms.

"Do you honestly think that Fuji will survive the noise?" Atobe asked airily. "And Yuushi can talk everyone into losing."

Fuji looked up. He smiled softly when he thought he caught Tezuka glance at him. But, aware of Atobe's Gift, Fuji quickly brought his gaze back to the photos.

"I meant you, Atobe," Tezuka said tonelessly. "You're allowed to play. Your Sight will do no harm to others. It merely gives you an advantage."

"Naturally," Oshitari said, without tearing his eyes away from his book, "he knows he will win all the events."

"Naturally," Atobe agreed.

Fuji couldn't help but chuckle over a picture of a tigress and her cubs.

Out of boredom, Atobe impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. But, after a few minutes, he lifted his head, as if remembering something. "I've caught someone perform a fifth level magic last night," he told Tezuka. "I'll give you the full written report later."

Tezuka nodded. "I'll make sure to give it to the Directress," he said dutifully. "Was anyone hurt?" he asked. The rule against using anything beyond third level magic outside classes was, after all, imposed to avoid injuries and, worse, deaths.

"None," Atobe replied promptly.

"I'll wait for the report then," Tezuka said. He neatly stacked the papers in front of him and rose to his feet. "Please excuse me. I have a meeting with the rest of the Council."

Tezuka was about to walk away from the table when Atobe called him.

Tezuka turned inquiringly to Atobe.

"Your room is 308, isn’'t it?" Atobe asked. His thin brows wrinkled together.

"Yes," Tezuka replied.

Atobe rested his head at the back of his hand and said casually, "The occupant of room 307 – Ishikawa – reported that he heard some noises at your balcony last night. At around ten-thirty, I believe."

Fuji stopped flipping the pages of his book to steal a glance at Tezuka. Tezuka, on the other hand, did not seem perturbed.

"There could have been a burglar, a spy or a stalker at your balcony last night," Atobe informed coldly. "As the Dormitory Head, I'd like to check your room later."

"I'm sure that my room is perfectly safe," Tezuka said in response. "But do as you see fit." He nodded his head and turned to leave.

As if turned on by an invisible switch, the noise began ringing in Fuji's head again.

~o)(iii)(o~

As it was still the first day of school, only a handful of students were in the library. However, despite the fact that there were almost a hundred free tables, the Prince chose to settle himself before a table that was already occupied by another first level student.

The other student, a boy who wore silver-rimmed glasses, looked up from his schoolwork. The boy tried to hide his surprise. But he failed evidently as his forehead wrinkled at the sight of the Prince.

"Tezuka," the Prince said cheerfully, "You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"

"Not at all," Tezuka replied, blinking away his surprise. He lowered his head and continued answering the first homework of the term, diligently dipping the tip of his quill in the ink and scribbling neatly on the piece of yellow paper.

"You do remember me, don't you?" asked the Prince in earnest. "I sat beside you during Charms and Enchantments. I also sat beside you in Potion-making."

Tezuka lifted his head and nodded courteously. "I remember, Your Highness."

The Prince grinned. "Just 'Fuji' would be fine," he said jovially.

"Yes, Fuji," Tezuka said obediently. Another frown formed on Tezuka's face. Fuji's friendly familiarity admittedly perplexed him; other people, children and adults, usually showed frightened discomfort around him. Didn't the Prince know…?

"You have the Nullifying Gift, haven't you?" Fuji asked.

Tezuka couldn't see Fuji's eyes but he could tell by Fuji's wide grin that the Prince was rather excited. "Yes, I do," Tezuka replied honestly.

"Will it be all right if I stayed with you? Oshitari said that you can help me endure the noise," said Fuji cheerily. "I'm not quite used to it, you see."

Tezuka blinked. He has heard that the Prince was home-schooled until the age of twelve—when boys were old enough to enter the Adage Academy—so the Prince couldn't have known before then about the ruckus that other students made. And, Tezuka thought, perhaps the Palace had spells all over it to block or muffle noises. Deciding that he could not refuse a Prince, Tezuka nodded dutifully. He resolved that helping the Prince should be his new responsibility.

~o)(viii)(o~

Upon hearing a familiar tap on his balcony door, Tezuka rose from his chair and abandoned his Astrology homework. He slid the balcony door open and did not show a trace of surprise at the sight of Fuji who sat peacefully on an old branch of a willow tree.

"You heard Atobe," Tezuka started in reproof. "He's coming to check later."

Fuji beamed innocently at Tezuka. "I'm sure Ishikawa didn't hear me," he said thoughtfully. "I always come here at eight and leave at nine. Your neighbor must have heard an animal… unless," Fuji's eyes flew open and glinted dangerously, "you're keeping a secret from me."

Tezuka glared. "Fuji," he said icily.

Throwing his head back, Fuji laughed. "Don't worry. I'm sure Atobe won't spill the beans if he saw us," he said reassuringly. He smiled gently and held out an inviting hand.

Tezuka obliged. He climbed up the railings and took Fuji's hand. Then, he leapt up to join Fuji on the tree branch.

Dangling his feet playfully in the air, Fuji shifted to lean against Tezuka. "Mother called," he muttered.

Tezuka froze. His hand went cold and he unconsciously squeezed Fuji's. But he didn't say anything and let Fuji continue.

"She wants me to meet the Rodensian Princess. She's here on a state visit," Fuji went. "I said 'No.'"

Tezuka stared straight ahead. His gaze pierced through rows of trees that looked like the one they were sitting on. "Fuji… you can't decline forever."

"I know," Fuji said patiently, but Tezuka did not miss the sharp edge in Fuji's voice. "You have a responsibility to your family. I have a responsibility to Dmelia—even if it's just marrying for diplomacy's sake. We can't sacrifice these responsibilities for selfish reasons," he recited the words tonelessly. When Tezuka did not answer, Fuji added, "In the future, I will be married. You will be married. You will be happy for me and I will be happy for you. Won't that be absolutely marvelous?"

Tezuka braved a glance at Fuji. Fuji was still smiling but annoyance, sadness, and regret caused his smile to quiver. Tezuka released a strained sigh.

"Did your headache persist?" Tezuka asked, hoping to change Fuji's train of thought.

Fuji nodded wearily. "But I just slept it off."

"I was busy," Tezuka said in a low voice.

Fuji lifted his head to see Tezuka's face better. Tezuka's lips formed a thin line and his eyes were dark and thoughtful. Fuji smiled and shrugged, knowing that the words were the closest thing to an apology that he could get from Tezuka. "I understand. My special earmuffs are probably the busiest in the kingdom."

Tezuka turned his head and shot Fuji a sharp look.

Nudging Tezuka's arms, Fuji chuckled. "And my earmuffs are the most serious, too."

~o)(ii)(o~

"Kunimitsu, dear," said Tezuka Ayana. She smiled patiently and tugged as she pulled a white shirt over her son. "You'll have to behave yourself when the visitors arrive."

Kunimitsu nodded obediently and Ayana's smile widened; Ayana did not know of any child who was more disciplined than her five-year old son.

Kunimitsu tilted his head to see his Mother who was now armed with a brush and battling against his hair. "Who will be visiting, Mother?" he asked politely.

"Some noblemen and ambassadors," replied Ayana gently.

Tipping his head in thought, Kunimitsu tried to remember what noblemen were. Ah! They were those rich people who lived in castles. Mother used to tell him that their names were old, older than their castles even. "Why are they visiting?" he asked curiously.

"They want to make business agreements with your Grandfather. They think he makes the finest wine there is," Ayana said cheerfully. She dropped the brush to her son's bed and inspected him. She made him turn around to be sure that there was no crease on his shirt and on his trousers. Satisfied, she asked, "Do you want to know what helps your grandfather make the best wine in the kingdom?"

Kunimitsu nodded his head.

"He has admirable sense of responsibility and determination," Ayana said proudly.

Kunimitsu's eyes widened in awe. He only knew of the five senses: sight, taste, hearing, smell and touch. He thought that his grandfather must be truly great to have two senses that most people lacked. But Kunimitsu knew that he, just like his grandfather, was a Tezuka so he thought that he must have those senses, too.

~o)(ix)(o~

Atobe knocked on the door embossed with '308.' He waited rather impatiently, rolling and unrolling the report he had to give Tezuka. A minute passed and yet no response came. He knocked again and when there was still no answer, he reached his hand to the doorknob and turned it. He arched a brow when the knob turned freely. He pushed the door open, smirking at the thought that Tezuka must have gotten careless to have left the door unlocked.

Stepping into the room, Atobe raised his brows again upon realizing that Tezuka wasn't in. But Tezuka's study lantern was lit, a quill was left lying on a half-filled sheet of paper and a low fire crackled in the fireplace. Deciding to come back later, Atobe made a move to leave until he caught sight of the fully opened balcony door. Atobe did not have to squint to see Tezuka and Fuji sitting abreast each other on the willow tree.

Atobe clucked his tongue. "Tezuka, you're letting your guard down." He flicked his hand in a swift wave and the balcony door shut quietly. Making sure that he locked the door, Atobe left room 308 and headed to room 305 to see Oshitari.

Oshitari did not even bat an eyelash when Atobe casually entered the room and slid the balcony door open. He continued playing chess by himself and was wondering where to move a white knight when Atobe announced with a smirk, "I've found Tezuka's spy." Atobe jerked his head, beckoning Oshitari to the balcony.

Oshitari checked his wristwatch and made his way to Atobe. He followed Atobe's gaze. Leaning against the doorway, he said, "Ishikawa did not hear Fuji last night."

Atobe's eyes narrowed. "How do you know?" Atobe asked.

"Fuji visits at eight and leaves at nine," Oshitari informed knowingly. "Always. It's a routine that Tezuka has established."

Atobe raised his brows. "I suppose you have a good reason for not telling me?" he said coldly.

"I found out by accident so I thought Fuji should tell you himself," Oshitari said placidly. "I saw them at the school garden. Fuji was taking pictures and Tezuka was trailing along."

"Then they're not being as discreet as they're supposed to be," Atobe said in a wry tone.

"They are," Oshitari contradicted. "To other people, they would appear to be long-time companions, just that. But, of course," Oshitari paused to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "I have my way of knowing."

"So do the King's spies," Atobe reminded curtly.

"Yes." Oshitari nodded gravely.

"And after Fuji's refusal to marry the Marquise of Nersev, I assume that the King knows by now," Atobe said. His eyes were fixed intently on Tezuka's and Fuji's figures. "He'd likely threaten the Tezukas' business to drive Tezuka away."

"And Tezuka will not want to mar his family's honor," Oshitari marked sedately. He watched the conflicting emotions of sympathy and disapproval in Atobe's eyes.

"A pity," Atobe marked.

Oshitari nodded. He reached out, brushing a thumb against Atobe's cheeks. He could only be glad that he and Atobe were experiencing a different set of circumstances.

~o)(iv)(o~

Fuji cast Tezuka a furtive glance and brought his head down immediately to stare at his paper. He had already spent an hour in Tezuka's room and all he had managed to write was three sentences—not even a decent introduction for an essay on potent herbs that their Potion-making teacher wanted. He stole another glimpse of Tezuka and repressed a sigh.

"Fuji, what's wrong?" Tezuka asked in a usual placid manner. He was occupied with scrawling neatly on his paper.

"Nothing," Fuji replied quickly. He smiled. "I just can't seem to find the right words."

Tezuka's brow arched. Tezuka lifted his head to frown at Fuji. "What's wrong?" he asked again.

"Nothing."

"Fuji," Tezuka persisted.

Fuji sighed in resignation. Offering a rueful smile, he finally turned to Tezuka. "Mother wants me to play host to the Marquise of Nersev. I suppose Father wants me to marry her because that way Dmelia can establish a stronger bond with the Great Isles." He pressed his lips. "Father always says that there is no stronger ally than the Great Isles."

Tezuka crossed his arms, waiting, as Fuji looked at the floor.

"If I rejected the engagement, the ties that we have with the Great Isles might be severed," Fuji said pensively. He inclined his head and forced a smile. "But I don't want to marry her."

"Why not?" Tezuka asked. His eyes flickered toward the wall for a moment before he added, "It's part of your obligation."

Fuji studied Tezuka's face for a minute or two. But all he saw was Tezuka's calm façade. "I don't want to be a pawn for Dmelia's diplomatic advances. I just want to be a photographer. I told you that." He gazed straight at Tezuka. His eyes opened, exposing his uncertain thoughts, baring his confused emotions. He dropped his voice so that he almost whispered, "And…I have a bigger reason. Do you want to know?"

When Tezuka remained still, Fuji's smile became wistful. Fuji leaned closer to Tezuka. Slowly, he moved and cautiously pressed their lips together. He kissed softly, willing Tezuka to respond. He nipped at Tezuka's lips, coaxing and fondling, while his ears thumped with his own heartbeats.

After several seconds, however, Fuji's shoulders drooped; Tezuka was as still as a statue. Fuji was about to draw away when a firm hand clasped around his arm and pulled him closer to Tezuka. His eyes grew wide when he felt Tezuka's lips mold his so gently, so delicately. Fuji shifted closer, digging his hands in Tezuka's hair, urging Tezuka to hold him tighter. When Tezuka's tongue traced his lips, he opened his mouth and allowed their tongues to wander.

With flushed faces and heaving chests, they parted and tried to catch their breaths.
Fuji's eyes blazed with hope as he glanced expectantly at Tezuka. But Tezuka was frowning, focusing his eyes on the floor. Fuji's eyes narrowed and Fuji slumped dismally against the backrest of his chair.

"But of course," Fuji started, forcing his voice to sound calm. "Duties come first. Sacrifices have to be made for responsibilities." He gathered his things, books, paper, ink bottle and all. "Perhaps I should marry the Marquise. I heard she's really beautiful. It wouldn't hurt, would it?" Cradling his things, he rose from his seat, but he paused when Tezuka grabbed his hand. He waited patiently, holding on to Tezuka's hand.

"Fine," Tezuka said.

"Fine?" Fuji asked with a small smile. "You mean it's fine for me to marry her?"

"No," Tezuka said darkly. "Tell them you're too young to marry. Tell them that you're not yet ready." Tezuka rubbed his temples with his free hand and sighed. "At least for now."

~o)(x)(o~

"Tezuka," started Atobe as he took long strides across Fuji's room. He raised a piece of paper on his left hand and sent it fluttering to Tezuka. "I meant to give this last night. But," he nodded towards Fuji, "you were busy." Neither Fuji nor Tezuka missed the stress Atobe added to the last word.

Fuji sat calmly on top of his desk as Tezuka stood beside him, still looking at a batch of freshly developed pictures. Fuji smiled, saying, "Even an heir to a dukedom is supposed to knock, Atobe."

"I used to tell him that," Oshitari said, settling comfortably on a couch near the hearth. He added tragically, "It never worked."

Atobe rolled his eyes and dropped flamboyantly beside Oshitari. Giving Fuji a calculating gaze, he remarked tartly, "I thought the two of you would have been more careful."

Tezuka handed the pictures back to Fuji and sighed. Deep lines marked his forehead when he said, "We are trying our best."

"Well," Atobe almost snapped, "it isn't enough." He turned dolefully to Fuji. "We have a reason to believe that Ishikawa heard a spy the other night."

Oshitari nodded in assent. "Most of the King's spies are chosen for their Gift of Stealth. But Tezuka, in his sleep, must have nullified the spy's Gift so Ishikawa heard a noise. There's more than ninety percent likelihood that the King knows why Fuji rejected the engagement with the Marquise of Nersev…"

"And the Princess of Rodensia," Fuji muttered.

Tezuka rubbed his nose-bridge absently and Atobe thought that Tezuka looked remarkably older than usual.

Atobe let out a low mirthless laugh. "I will not be surprised when His Majesty shows up on your door this instant."

~o)(v)(o~

Hugging one of Tezuka's goose-feather pillows, Fuji propped himself up on Tezuka's bed and leaned against the headrest. He watched quietly while Tezuka worked on an assignment. Tezuka's forehead wrinkled, his lips pressed and his eyes narrowed in concentration over a thick book.

Feeling Fuji's gaze, Tezuka asked without turning his head, "Did you finish your homework?"

"No," Fuji replied truthfully.

Fuji could make out Tezuka's disapproving frown. "I told you to finish everything before you come here," Tezuka reprimanded lightly.

"I know," Fuji said with a weak smile. "But I couldn't concentrate."

"You should have brought your work here then," Tezuka said, still poring over his book.

Fuji nodded although he knew that Tezuka couldn't see. He held the pillow closer to his chest. "Tezuka?"

"Hn?"

"Does being responsible make you happy?"

Tezuka paused. Finally, he lifted his head to look at Fuji. "In a way, yes," he said seriously. "I feel gratified after accomplishing a task."

"Following that logic," Fuji considered, "I'll feel gratified when I've fulfilled my duties to Dmelia despite the sacrifices I would have to make."

Tezuka peered at Fuji beneath his spectacles. His grip tightened on his quill as he watched Fuji stare at his bed's white linen sheets. After a minute of silence, Tezuka said, "An opportunity always entails a cost."

"But what if the opportunity is too expensive?" Fuji asked. His smile was wan, almost fading.

"Fuji," Tezuka almost sighed, "We already talked about this."

Fuji crushed the pillow against him. "I cannot help wondering," he said flatly.

Tezuka pursed his lips so tightly it hurt. When he brought his attention back to his homework, he found that the rest of the text no longer made sense. All he could do was lean back and shut his eyes.

~o)(xi)(o~

"Did you see Tezuka?"

Atobe, displeased with the interruption, glared at Fuji who stood on the doorway. Atobe shifted under Oshitari's weight and shoved Oshitari gently away. Heaving to a proper seating position on the couch, Atobe said, "Don't you know how to knock?"

"You don't," Oshitari jeered while he snatched his glasses from the coffee table an arm's length away.

"Did you see Tezuka?" asked Fuji, unfazed by the scene that he had just disrupted.

Atobe sighed. "No," he said upon seeing Fuji's fully revealed eyes. "Why?"

"We're supposed to develop some pictures today," Fuji said. His smile quirked, showing his effort to sound calm. "I checked his room but he wasn't there."

"He has a Council meeting on Saturdays," Oshitari informed. "They meet at three."

"He does," Fuji replied cursorily. "But it ends at four-thirty."

Atobe checked his watch. It indicated half-past five. His thin brows furrowed; as far as he knew, Tezuka was never tardy. He fixed his ruffled hair and rumpled shirt with a flick of his wrist before turning to Fuji. "Let's go to your room and wait," he said. He nodded to Oshitari and went, "Check Tezuka's room." At that, he got to his feet and led Fuji down one flight of stairs, heading to room 104.

"Aniki!"

Fuji stopped abruptly, seeing an annoyed Yuuta who was leaning on Fuji's door. "Yuuta, what are you doing here?" Fuji asked.

"Where on earth have you been?" Yuuta asked. Yuuta dropped his voice and said, "Open the door before I tell you." He moved sideways to allow Fuji access to the door.

Fuji nodded and stepped forward to insert a silver key into its hole. He pushed the door open and, once they were all inside, he turned questioningly to his brother.

After making sure that Atobe had closed the door, Yuuta started, "I saw Toyama with the Directress at lunch."

"Toyama?" Atobe asked. He raised an eyebrow. "The King's right hand?"

"Yes," Yuuta said urgently. He fixed his gaze on Fuji. "Nee-san told me about you and Tezuka so I thought you should know that Toyama is here."

Fuji dropped to the edge of his bed. "He's probably talking to Tezuka right now," he said blankly. "Thanks, Yuuta."

Yuuta only nodded his head and left.

"You cannot intercept or you'll compromise Tezuka's position even more," Atobe said. He sat on the couch and watched Fuji with narrowed eyes. "Just wait."

~o)(xii)(o~

Waiting for an hour was, in Fuji's opinion, more than enough. He stood up from bed and told Atobe decisively, "I'm going to look for Tezuka."

Atobe raised his head from the back of his hand. He watched Fuji for a full minute, checking if Fuji was sure. Then, he waved a dismissive hand. "Fine," Atobe said. "I'll wait for…" Atobe paused when the door creaked open.

Fuji glanced to the door and saw Oshitari enter the room. "Where's Tezuka?"

"In his room," Oshitari said informatively. "He's packing, but…"

"Packing?" Fuji asked, smiling forcibly.

"Yes, but…"

Fuji did not hear the rest of Oshitari's words. Taking purposeful steps, he walked past Oshitari and headed to Tezuka's room.

He stopped by Tezuka's doorway, folded his arms across his chest and leaned sideways against the doorframe. He did not say a word outright. Instead, he watched and waited as Tezuka neatly folded clothes and stuffed them inside a trunk. "You're leaving," Fuji said in a low monotone. Though Tezuka did not turn, Fuji knew that Tezuka was aware of his presence.

"I thought you'd at least put up a fight before you completely give in to your responsibilities," Fuji said dryly. "Apparently not."

When Tezuka still did not acknowledge him, Fuji said slowly, "Have a safe trip."

Fuji turned to his heels without a word more and went back to his room where Oshitari handed him a piece of paper the moment he stepped in. "Tezuka asked me to give this to you," Oshitari said.

Atobe just smirked beside Oshitari. "That Tezuka."

"A letter is all I get," Fuji said grimly. All the same, he took the piece of paper and read the words written in Tezuka's familiar neat handwriting. No expression showed on his face when he read the short note. When he was done reading, he crumpled the paper into a tiny ball and tossed it to the fire.

~o)(xiii)(o~

"Is this seat taken?"

Tezuka looked up wearily at the person who entered the train compartment. The newcomer wore a plain white shirt and a pair of khaki cargo pants, a camera hung across his neck. Tezuka could not see the person's face fully for it was shadowed by the lid of a khaki Gatsby cap. But Tezuka completely recognized the newcomer's smile.

"No," Tezuka said, a smile tugged playfully at the corners of his lips.

"Do I look like a typical photographer to you?" the newcomer asked brightly, taking the empty seat across Tezuka.

Tezuka nodded his approval. "Yes, Fuji."

Fuji's smile broadened. "I burnt the note as you said. Oshitari and Atobe helped me get out of school and they promised to inform of us of what's going on. You see," he fished a common-looking brown paper from the pocket of his pants and raised it so Tezuka could see. "I bought Missive Papers and gave one to Atobe. That way, we can get in touch."

"Do you think you've been followed?" Tezuka asked shortly.

"Not as far as I know," Fuji said reassuringly. "I went out of school in the guise of Oshitari's family photographer, while Atobe had one of his servants bring my luggage to the train station. Oshitari talked to the guards." He smiled knowingly.

"I see," Tezuka said curtly.

Fuji frowned slightly. He leaned forward to see Tezuka's face more clearly. And then he saw dark circles around Tezuka's eyes and tired lines around Tezuka's mouth. "Have you been followed?"

"I assume I was," Tezuka said quietly. "I got out of the train at the last station and stayed at an inn. I took the train back here at dawn this morning." He rubbed his nose-bridge in exhaustion. "But I think I led them to believe that I'm leaving for good."

"So this is your third train ride in two days?" Fuji asked in concern. He reached out to pat Tezuka's hand while the train started to chug away from the station. "Take some rest."

Tezuka nodded and turned to window. He leaned on his arm. "Fuji?" he said in a hushed, sleepy voice.

"Yes?"

"What we're doing…it's not foolproof. It just gives us two to three days ahead of the King's spies," Tezuka said slowly, watching the blur of fields that they passed.

"I know," Fuji said. "But we will not let our guard down."

Tezuka lifted his head to see Fuji's calm smile.

"How about you?" Fuji asked. He furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "Is it really okay for you that we're leaving our responsibilities behind?"

Tezuka shut his eyes for some rest. Before he finally fell into slumber, he said, "We also have responsibilities to ourselves."

~o)(END)(o~