Wanderlust
Title: Wanderlust
Characters: Fuji-centric; appearances from Fuji Yuuta, Saeki Kojirou, Shiraishi Kuranosuke, Niou Masaharu, Hirakoba Rin, Oshitari Yuushi, Tezuka Kunimitsu
Rating: NC-16 (mentions of sex)
Summary: Fuji has questions, and goes on a trip to seek out the answers.
Notes: I'm... sorry. D:
Wanderlust
I don't know where to go.
Spring was upon them. When they were younger, Fuji would drag Yuuta along by the hand to see the sakura. Sometimes Fuji held his hand so tightly that Yuuta would throw a tantrum - Aniki, it hurts! But then Fuji would smile at him and stroke his hair and that gentleness sort of made up for the pain in between his fingers, at least for awhile. Then Yuuta would start yelling again and the older boy would let go.
There was no explanation as to why Fuji was standing there on the pavement now, luggage sitting beside him on the concrete slab; a suitcase for clothes and another for camera equipment. Sakura petals floated through the spring breeze as Yuuta lingered by the gate, lips pursed as if to refrain from saying something he’d regret later. As the cab pulled up by the sidewalk, the younger Fuji stepped forward slightly. “Aniki - “
Anyone else would have paused at least for a moment, in face of Fuji’s smile. How was it possible to be this beautiful, if you were a man? Yuuta was always both angry and fascinated by his brother, but today he didn’t want to think about the little things about Fuji that irritated him. He had other things on his mind. “Why are you leaving?” Yuuta demanded, frowning again. He wasn’t used to being the one by the gate, watching the other leave. It was usually the other way around, wasn’t it? Fuji was the one to see Yuuta off, and then the one to say okaeri upon his return.
Yuuta wasn’t used to this. Even if he was sure there was a reason for it -
“I’m looking for something,” was Fuji’s light response.
What? Yuuta wanted to ask if that was reason enough to leave, because what about Tokyo and tennis and me? The soft scent of vanilla had overtaken his senses ever so briefly as Fuji leaned in for an embrace. Yuuta fought the urge to pull away. He didn’t. His brother’s calloused fingertip trailed gently against his cheek. Yuuta blinked and he wondered why, for just that one moment, he felt something akin to jealousy rile up in his gut -
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said instead, voice fainter than he’d like. “What are you looking for?”
Fuji simply laughed and shook his head. “Saa. It’s not important.”
Then why are you going? The question went unsaid. But nothing made sense with Fuji, especially where Yuuta was concerned. “Take care.” Fuji’s words were a murmur, and that smile was back in place, practiced and genuine at the same time. Then his warm grasp lightened and Yuuta watched as Fuji stepped into the car with his suitcases, closing the door behind him. His fingertips were pressed against the window, as if he were trying to reach out for something. Yuuta blinked, lips parted as if to say goodbye, but the car was already on its way.
I'm looking for something.
If anyone had asked Fuji when he was nine who he was going to marry, the boy’s answer would have been Saeki. As long as Fuji could remember, it was Saeki’s hand that curled in his, Saeki’s soft white hair his nose was buried in, Saeki’s gaze he wanted to look into, over and over until he drowned in the evening blue.
Fuji looked up. Overhead the sun was setting, leaving pink ribbons across an evening sky; evening blue, the colour of Saeki’s eyes. The figure was looking down on him, lips pulled into an amused smile. For a long moment Fuji said nothing as he stared up at his childhood friend, taking in the sea breeze and grains of sand in between his own toes and the gradual increase of his heartbeat at the mischief in Saeki’s gaze.
Tokyo was home, but so was Chiba. Fuji closed his eyes again and he could hear the waves roar in his ear as they crashed upon the shore, the water shushing as it pulled back into the ocean. Then he felt Saeki fall onto the sand beside him, and he turned his head slightly to feel the breath of the other man against his lips.
“I wish I never moved,” Fuji commented, after a few moments of silence; nothing between them but sea and sunset.
“Hn,” Saeki agreed, brushing the strands out of Fuji’s eyes as the sea breeze pushed them right back. “You should have stayed right here.”
Fuji chuckled, expression crinkled just so that his blue eyes were hidden away. Briefly Saeki wondered which he would love more, Fuji’s blue, blue eyes or his beautiful, lilting smile. “So why are you here, Fuji?”
“To see you,” Fuji said. To get away, Saeki heard. “Don’t you miss me, Saeki?”
Saeki rolled onto his front, ignoring the prickle of sharp grains in his forearm as he rested on them. “Why ask when you know the answer?” A wry smile. “Tokyo not good enough for you?”
“Chiba’s better,” Fuji protested, but Saeki knew his brown-haired friend was humoring him. “And I don’t know the answer.”
Saeki leaned into Fuji, so close that their noses were touching. “You do, Fu-ji.”
“What are you planning to do about it?”
Saeki and Fuji gazed at each other for a moment, a few minutes. Saeki was too close. “Nothing,” Saeki said. But his smile was wistful.
The sky was a deeper blue now, and the sun was beginning to fade. Fuji tilted his head slightly so that he found Saeki’s shoulder. They stayed there for awhile, watching the stars fade in and out across the night horizon. The sand was warm still, making indents as Fuji shifted.
“You proposed to me here, remember?” Fuji’s voice was quiet against Saeki’s chest.
Saeki’s laugh hummed through his throat, familiar and comforting all at once. “Did you come here to remember that?”
Fuji smiled, closing his eyes again. You’re the only one I want to marry, Saeki had said, eyes wide and earnest. Can he marry me, ne, Yumi-onee-chan?
“I wish I never moved.” The words had slipped out again. Softly. Unintentionally.
Saeki’s fingers found their way into Fuji’s hair, his eyelashes brushing against Fuji’s cheek. “…I wish you never moved, either.”
As Saeki stood before him that night for them to say their goodbyes, Fuji held his hand and pulled him close, breathing in the scent of the other man’s hair and watching those eyes for as long as he could before his own disappeared behind his smile.
Sometimes, Fuji thought, if there wasn’t Tokyo, they probably would have been lovers. Even now, in the present moment, he belonged to Saeki. His best friend’s caresses were light, gentle - as if he was afraid of breaking Fuji, somehow. Yet Saeki was probably the only person in the world, Fuji knew, who would never do so.
I wish I never moved.
Fuji didn’t have a plan, but he did tell Shiraishi once that he wanted to visit Osaka again. They were in the locker room after their match, and Shiraishi was smiling and Fuji wanted to smack that cheer right off the taller man’s face. “You can always look for me, you know,” Shiraishi said good-naturedly. “I don’t mind having another match with you.”
“I won’t lose,” Fuji responded.
There was challenge in his eyes. “I’ll shut down all your counters.”
“Maybe,” Fuji said with an eyeless smile, “I’ll just make new ones.”
Shiraishi lived in a corner of Osaka, beside a street of honking cars even at this time of the night. Fuji climbed the stairs up to the apartment with some difficulty - he was slight and the suitcase with his camera in it was rather heavy - before coming to a door. He glanced at the slip of paper on his hand and knocked.
“I don’t get it,” Shiraishi groaned a few minutes later, rubbing his head. “Didn’t you say you’d only arrive in the morning, Fuji-kun?”
“The train was early,” Fuji explained, but Shiraishi didn’t trust the innocence in Fuji’s expression. “And you’re the only person I know in Osaka, Shiraishi-kun.”
Shiraishi took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t come off rude, but seeing as it was three AM in the morning… he didn’t doubt Fuji’s unexpected arrival was due to the other’s insistence on making life as difficult as possible for the former Shitenhouji captain. He didn’t put it past Fuji’s ability to hold a grudge.
“It’s… not a good time, Fuji,” Shiraishi tried. “Perhaps you can put up in a hotel first, or - “
“Iya.” Fuji’s smile was serene and disturbing. Shiraishi cringed at the idea that this was possibly payback for beating the prodigy at the Nationals. “I don’t mind the floor, Shiraishi-kun. I promise, I won’t cause you any problems - “
Shiraishi had to snort at the irony of that statement.
“…so please.” Fuji’s gaze was earnest and dangerous all at once. “Let me in.”
They were not friends, that much was clear, but they were more than definitely rivals. Shiraishi knew this because barely five minutes into Fuji’s grand entrance the man had pulled out several cartons of beer from his suitcase, which - to Shiraishi, anyway - immediately debunked the explanation of Fuji’s arrival due to an early train. The prodigy had obviously come prepared.
“Winner gets the bed,” Fuji announced, with a sort of glee that was almost… disturbing.
Shiraishi rubbed his eyes. “Na, Fuji-kun, you can just take the bed if you’d like. I’m not going to argue, I just need my sleep - “
“Winner gets the bed, Shiraishi-kun,” Fuji repeated. “Unless, of course, you’re scared of losing.”
Shiraishi stared at Fuji. “…is this about tennis?”
“No,” Fuji said. “Should it be?”
An hour later Fuji was comfortably tucked in Shiraishi’s bed as the latter made do with the wooden floor, head woozy and alcohol running through his system. He was drowsy even as he looked up at Fuji; the moonlight filtered through the curtains and illuminated the other man’s face. Shiraishi blinked tiredly, almost managing a little smile; he’d always found Fuji pretty, and tonight was no exception. Fuji was watching him back, half-smiling.
“You could have taken the morning train,” Shiraishi muttered, reaching out to grab anything soft for a pillow. His head was spinning.
“I couldn’t wait.” Fuji rested his chin into a pillow.
“You said you were looking for something.” Shiraishi had shut his eyes. He felt like passing out. “When you called. Is’it in Osaka?”
“It’s not important.” A pause. “You’re really bad at drinking, Shiraishi-kun.”
“Hnnn.” Shiraishi wasn’t really thinking anymore, by this point. “We should’ve a game sum’time.”
Fuji smiled. “Did we just not?” he asked, settling back into the warmth of the bed. It smelt of cologne and sweat; not particularly unpleasant. Fuji thought that perhaps he could get used to it, if Shiraishi let him.
“I’ll still beat you in tennis.” Shiraishi’s words were a slur now. Fuji had to laugh. He reached forward and tapped Shiraishi on the forehead.
“Not while you’re drunk.”
Their competitiveness could be completely childish sometimes, even if that childish quality was something Fuji found amusing. Shiraishi, in face of rivalry, seemed to forget all common sense. Fuji licked the ice-cream cone that the other had bought for him (green tea because Shiraishi refused to buy the wasabi-flavoured one) and glanced coyly at the ash-haired man, who glanced back.
A flick of tongue was all that was needed. Fuji was winning the ice-cream war when Shiraishi took a huge bite of his cone in an attempt to take the lead. Then he keeled over.
“Is everything alright, Shiraishi-kun?” Fuji took Shiraishi’s arm to help him up, but the other man shook his head with a pained expression.
“Brainfreeze,” he managed to say. Fuji burst out laughing.
So please. Let me in.
Niou was a difficult one, but that was precisely the reason why they were jerking each other off right after their match at the Nationals. The silver-haired male had pushed Fuji against the wall of the locker room and that was the beginning.
He was Fuji’s first.
Tonight they were kissing madly the moment they were inches from each other, hands reaching desperately under silk and cotton and onto hot, damp skin. Niou tasted familiar and strange and so, so good. Fuji gasped as Niou’s tongue flicked onto the sensitive skin of his neck, lips playfully sucking now. Fuji had to smile in between breathless murmurs, his own fingers curling tightly into Niou’s shirt.
It hadn’t been intentional, but when their eyes met across the dance floor, the lust had built up in the pit of Fuji’s stomach, coiled up so tightly that it had only been a matter of course that he had let Niou pull him outside, in the alleyway of the club with the silver-haired man inside of him and moving hard and fast, pressing Fuji into the wall and taking him over and over -
Fuji let out a soft cry as he came over them both, his senses tingling from the orgasm as his head fell onto Niou’s shoulder, breaths coming out short and staggered. Niou’s hands were still sliding under Fuji’s shirt and across his back, sensual and teasing and so mischievous.
“Welcome to Kanagawa,” he whispered, and Fuji turned his head slightly to meet the trickster’s eyes, glinting ever so slightly under the dim light of the alleyway.
It was Yagyuu’s fault in the first place. Yagyuu was the reason why Niou had fucked Fuji in the locker room that one year ago, and also the reason why he was fucking Fuji now. They lay there as morning slipped in tiredly through the window, Fuji’s head rested on Niou’s chest so he could hear his heartbeat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
“When did you start smoking?” Fuji asked, although they both knew he wasn’t particularly interested in the answer.
“Awhile ago.” With Niou there was no gentle caress, no competition, only pleasure and pain and sometimes the hollow that came after both. Fuji watched Niou; took in the graceful curve of the other man’s neck and up his beautiful face and Fuji thought that perhaps he’d never been more infatuated with anyone else in his life. Niou looked over at him and smirked.
“Is he why you’re here?”
The sun was streaming in, less weak now as the minutes go by. Fuji hummed, trailing a finger down Niou’s chest. “No.”
“Liar.” Niou was the one who liked to lie. Perhaps that was why Fuji found him addictive. If he closed his eyes Niou could be anyone Fuji wished him to be.
“Tell me about you.” You meant Yagyuu because Niou was Yagyuu was Niou. Niou looked away from Fuji’s gaze, inhaling deeply from his cigarette. Fuji watched the smoke curl above him and disappear.
“Will you come back?” was all he said.
Fuji shifted on top of Niou and felt the hardness against his own. His fingertips roamed down a tanned chest, head tilted forward as Niou’s tongue slid across his jawline and hands moved over Fuji’s naked waist. “Maybe,” was all Fuji said. And they were kissing again.
“I still can’t pull off the zero-shiki,” Niou said later that evening, dropping his racket and accepting the bottle of water from Fuji.
Fuji smiled. “Are you doing this for me?”
Niou laughed, the trails of water sliding down the sides of his face.
Tell me about you.
Okinawa was a detour, a last minute decision. The place was like Chiba, and walking along the road with the sea beside him made him think of Saeki. It was Hirakoba who received him, panting and hands resting on his knees as he came to a stop before Fuji, trying to catch his breath.
“You should have told me earlier you were coming,” whined the blond, as Fuji watched him in mild amusement.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference, Hirakoba-kun.”
“True, ne,” sighed Hirakoba, but Fuji could see the sheepishness in his eyes. “And call me Rin. Can I call you Syuusuke?”
They were not close, but they were friends. The last time Fuji came to Okinawa, it was for one of his photography projects. He had spoken briefly to Hirakoba then, having been acquainted with him through the junior high Nationals. There was an Eiji-like quality to Hirakoba that endeared him to Fuji.
Hirakoba brought Fuji to see the limestone caves by the Okinawan beaches, where Fuji busied himself with photography for an afternoon. The stone was cool against his skin, a relief from the heat of the sandy beaches outside. They sat at the foot of one of the caves, watching the water wash up the coral rock - swish, swish. The sky seemed to go on forever, as did the blue of the ocean. Fuji lifted a hand to his eyes.
“You can tell me what’s bothering you, you know,” Hirakoba said, lifting his arms in the air as if to capture the sea breeze. “Sometimes the people close to you don’t get it. You should know that, otherwise you wouldn’t have come so far.”
Fuji raised his camera, and Hirakoba sputtered before deigning him a cheesy smile.
They walked down the beach later that evening, when the sun was setting and Fuji watched the water curl around his feet as his toes sank into the sand. “How far are we from Chiba?” Fuji asked.
“Uh.” Hirakoba looked confused. “I failed geography.” He paused thoughtfully. “Hey, isn’t that where the team with the freshman captain came from?”
Fuji shook his head and smiled.
Hirakoba said that he would love to go to Tokyo again one day. “To find love,” he exclaimed dreamily. “They’ve got the hottest chicks, don’t they?”
“I’ll show you around if you do visit,” Fuji said, and Hirakoba’s smile lit up the room. That night as Hirakoba snored in his sleep, Fuji stayed awake to think about Tokyo and everything that had eluded him there.
It wouldn’t have made a difference.
Oshitari was a lot the same as Fuji, but the ways in which he was different he was a mystery. Their relationship was like their tennis; laidback and intense and predatory. The first time Oshitari kissed Fuji was at a tennis gathering of sorts; he had wanted to make Atobe jealous.
Tezuka had turned and talked to Inui. Fuji thought that perhaps he didn’t even notice.
The first night he was back in Tokyo, Fuji rested against the headrest of the velvet couch and listened to Oshitari play the violin. The blue-haired man was elegant and moved with purpose and grace. A moment later he had set down his violin and occupied the seat across from Fuji, sipping from his china teacup, a smirk pressed onto his lips.
“Where have you been?”
Here and there, Fuji wanted to say. But there was no point in lying to Oshitari. The man was not called a prodigy for nothing. Or perhaps Fuji didn’t feel like lying anymore. “Love,” he mumbled. The jetlag was getting to his head; suddenly he was exhausted. “I went looking.”
“Looking for love?” Oshitari’s laughter was deep, a deep rumble that echoed off the walls and marble. “Tsk, Fuji-kun. I would have expected more of you.” The clink of the teaspoon, and the saucer and teacup were set carefully on the glass table. Oshitari crossed his legs, finger tapping lightly against his lower lip as he studied the other man.
“Are you really tensai?” he murmured, but Fuji could detect the note of amusement.
Fuji craned his neck and opened his eyes, pristine blue meeting a critical, bespectacled gaze. Oshitari chuckled lightly. “Hnn. You’re so very romantic, Fuji-kun.”
The smaller man closed his eyes again, letting out a soft breath. He heard the rustle of movement, and then the quiet breath against his cheek. “I met Tezuka the other day,” Oshitari murmured in a soft drawl. “…He asked me if I heard from you.”
Fuji felt his heart jump slightly, and his lips parted, as if in question.
“Seems only right that I know where you are,” Oshitari mused, gently stroking Fuji’s hair. “Since we’ve kissed, hmm? He might have thought we were… dating.”
Fuji’s fingers curled, nails leaving red crescents in his palm.
Love. I went looking.
The thing that Fuji loved about cacti was the fact that it could survive without him for days, but yet it could never be completely independent; eventually the plant would need him for water. It was prickly and yet so very adorable, sitting in their clay pots and looking at the sun. Fuji dropped his keys in the evening light, setting down his suitcase and smiling to himself.
He only saw Tezuka a few days upon returning home, as the former Seigaku captain was leaving the bookshop they both used to frequent as junior high students. Tezuka paused when he saw Fuji, and the latter simply smiled. “Tadaima.”
Tezuka nodded, but said nothing.
It was always comfortable to walk with Tezuka, because Fuji wasn’t the conversational sort, anyway. A lot of the time with Tezuka all he needed to do was to be himself; chatty if he wanted to, otherwise it wouldn’t make a difference. Fuji closed his eyes and thought, this feels like home.
When Fuji had finally returned home from his trip, Yuuta had been standing by the door, scowling. “Took you long enough,” he all but snarled. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Here and there.” Fell out of love on the sands of Chiba. Had ice-cream on the bustling streets of Osaka. Made love in dark alleys of Kanagawa. Lay under the gentle shush of the caves in Okinawa, and ran all the way back here again. Fuji’s cheeks were pink from exertion but his smile was still in place, the same way it was when he left. Yuuta’s arms were crossed as he stared at his brother, before he finally huffed and looked away.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
Fuji hummed under his breath as he stepped past Yuuta into the familiar surroundings, letting the scent of home warm his senses. In his pocket, his phone buzzed quietly. Fuji pulled out his cell, flipping it open to see Tezuka’s name across the screen.
“Aniki.” Yuuta’s voice was persistent.
Okaeri, said the text message. Fuji let out a soft chuckle.
He turned to face Yuuta, lips slightly parted as he considered the question. For a moment Yuuta found his voice stuck in his throat at the sight. Even under the fluorescent lights, Fuji was beautiful, wisps of hair falling across pale skin and sky blue eyes. And then - that smile, as Fuji turned away again.
“It wasn’t very far from me after all.”
Characters: Fuji-centric; appearances from Fuji Yuuta, Saeki Kojirou, Shiraishi Kuranosuke, Niou Masaharu, Hirakoba Rin, Oshitari Yuushi, Tezuka Kunimitsu
Rating: NC-16 (mentions of sex)
Summary: Fuji has questions, and goes on a trip to seek out the answers.
Notes: I'm... sorry. D:
Wanderlust
I don't know where to go.
Spring was upon them. When they were younger, Fuji would drag Yuuta along by the hand to see the sakura. Sometimes Fuji held his hand so tightly that Yuuta would throw a tantrum - Aniki, it hurts! But then Fuji would smile at him and stroke his hair and that gentleness sort of made up for the pain in between his fingers, at least for awhile. Then Yuuta would start yelling again and the older boy would let go.
There was no explanation as to why Fuji was standing there on the pavement now, luggage sitting beside him on the concrete slab; a suitcase for clothes and another for camera equipment. Sakura petals floated through the spring breeze as Yuuta lingered by the gate, lips pursed as if to refrain from saying something he’d regret later. As the cab pulled up by the sidewalk, the younger Fuji stepped forward slightly. “Aniki - “
Anyone else would have paused at least for a moment, in face of Fuji’s smile. How was it possible to be this beautiful, if you were a man? Yuuta was always both angry and fascinated by his brother, but today he didn’t want to think about the little things about Fuji that irritated him. He had other things on his mind. “Why are you leaving?” Yuuta demanded, frowning again. He wasn’t used to being the one by the gate, watching the other leave. It was usually the other way around, wasn’t it? Fuji was the one to see Yuuta off, and then the one to say okaeri upon his return.
Yuuta wasn’t used to this. Even if he was sure there was a reason for it -
“I’m looking for something,” was Fuji’s light response.
What? Yuuta wanted to ask if that was reason enough to leave, because what about Tokyo and tennis and me? The soft scent of vanilla had overtaken his senses ever so briefly as Fuji leaned in for an embrace. Yuuta fought the urge to pull away. He didn’t. His brother’s calloused fingertip trailed gently against his cheek. Yuuta blinked and he wondered why, for just that one moment, he felt something akin to jealousy rile up in his gut -
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said instead, voice fainter than he’d like. “What are you looking for?”
Fuji simply laughed and shook his head. “Saa. It’s not important.”
Then why are you going? The question went unsaid. But nothing made sense with Fuji, especially where Yuuta was concerned. “Take care.” Fuji’s words were a murmur, and that smile was back in place, practiced and genuine at the same time. Then his warm grasp lightened and Yuuta watched as Fuji stepped into the car with his suitcases, closing the door behind him. His fingertips were pressed against the window, as if he were trying to reach out for something. Yuuta blinked, lips parted as if to say goodbye, but the car was already on its way.
I'm looking for something.
If anyone had asked Fuji when he was nine who he was going to marry, the boy’s answer would have been Saeki. As long as Fuji could remember, it was Saeki’s hand that curled in his, Saeki’s soft white hair his nose was buried in, Saeki’s gaze he wanted to look into, over and over until he drowned in the evening blue.
Fuji looked up. Overhead the sun was setting, leaving pink ribbons across an evening sky; evening blue, the colour of Saeki’s eyes. The figure was looking down on him, lips pulled into an amused smile. For a long moment Fuji said nothing as he stared up at his childhood friend, taking in the sea breeze and grains of sand in between his own toes and the gradual increase of his heartbeat at the mischief in Saeki’s gaze.
Tokyo was home, but so was Chiba. Fuji closed his eyes again and he could hear the waves roar in his ear as they crashed upon the shore, the water shushing as it pulled back into the ocean. Then he felt Saeki fall onto the sand beside him, and he turned his head slightly to feel the breath of the other man against his lips.
“I wish I never moved,” Fuji commented, after a few moments of silence; nothing between them but sea and sunset.
“Hn,” Saeki agreed, brushing the strands out of Fuji’s eyes as the sea breeze pushed them right back. “You should have stayed right here.”
Fuji chuckled, expression crinkled just so that his blue eyes were hidden away. Briefly Saeki wondered which he would love more, Fuji’s blue, blue eyes or his beautiful, lilting smile. “So why are you here, Fuji?”
“To see you,” Fuji said. To get away, Saeki heard. “Don’t you miss me, Saeki?”
Saeki rolled onto his front, ignoring the prickle of sharp grains in his forearm as he rested on them. “Why ask when you know the answer?” A wry smile. “Tokyo not good enough for you?”
“Chiba’s better,” Fuji protested, but Saeki knew his brown-haired friend was humoring him. “And I don’t know the answer.”
Saeki leaned into Fuji, so close that their noses were touching. “You do, Fu-ji.”
“What are you planning to do about it?”
Saeki and Fuji gazed at each other for a moment, a few minutes. Saeki was too close. “Nothing,” Saeki said. But his smile was wistful.
The sky was a deeper blue now, and the sun was beginning to fade. Fuji tilted his head slightly so that he found Saeki’s shoulder. They stayed there for awhile, watching the stars fade in and out across the night horizon. The sand was warm still, making indents as Fuji shifted.
“You proposed to me here, remember?” Fuji’s voice was quiet against Saeki’s chest.
Saeki’s laugh hummed through his throat, familiar and comforting all at once. “Did you come here to remember that?”
Fuji smiled, closing his eyes again. You’re the only one I want to marry, Saeki had said, eyes wide and earnest. Can he marry me, ne, Yumi-onee-chan?
“I wish I never moved.” The words had slipped out again. Softly. Unintentionally.
Saeki’s fingers found their way into Fuji’s hair, his eyelashes brushing against Fuji’s cheek. “…I wish you never moved, either.”
As Saeki stood before him that night for them to say their goodbyes, Fuji held his hand and pulled him close, breathing in the scent of the other man’s hair and watching those eyes for as long as he could before his own disappeared behind his smile.
Sometimes, Fuji thought, if there wasn’t Tokyo, they probably would have been lovers. Even now, in the present moment, he belonged to Saeki. His best friend’s caresses were light, gentle - as if he was afraid of breaking Fuji, somehow. Yet Saeki was probably the only person in the world, Fuji knew, who would never do so.
I wish I never moved.
Fuji didn’t have a plan, but he did tell Shiraishi once that he wanted to visit Osaka again. They were in the locker room after their match, and Shiraishi was smiling and Fuji wanted to smack that cheer right off the taller man’s face. “You can always look for me, you know,” Shiraishi said good-naturedly. “I don’t mind having another match with you.”
“I won’t lose,” Fuji responded.
There was challenge in his eyes. “I’ll shut down all your counters.”
“Maybe,” Fuji said with an eyeless smile, “I’ll just make new ones.”
Shiraishi lived in a corner of Osaka, beside a street of honking cars even at this time of the night. Fuji climbed the stairs up to the apartment with some difficulty - he was slight and the suitcase with his camera in it was rather heavy - before coming to a door. He glanced at the slip of paper on his hand and knocked.
“I don’t get it,” Shiraishi groaned a few minutes later, rubbing his head. “Didn’t you say you’d only arrive in the morning, Fuji-kun?”
“The train was early,” Fuji explained, but Shiraishi didn’t trust the innocence in Fuji’s expression. “And you’re the only person I know in Osaka, Shiraishi-kun.”
Shiraishi took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t come off rude, but seeing as it was three AM in the morning… he didn’t doubt Fuji’s unexpected arrival was due to the other’s insistence on making life as difficult as possible for the former Shitenhouji captain. He didn’t put it past Fuji’s ability to hold a grudge.
“It’s… not a good time, Fuji,” Shiraishi tried. “Perhaps you can put up in a hotel first, or - “
“Iya.” Fuji’s smile was serene and disturbing. Shiraishi cringed at the idea that this was possibly payback for beating the prodigy at the Nationals. “I don’t mind the floor, Shiraishi-kun. I promise, I won’t cause you any problems - “
Shiraishi had to snort at the irony of that statement.
“…so please.” Fuji’s gaze was earnest and dangerous all at once. “Let me in.”
They were not friends, that much was clear, but they were more than definitely rivals. Shiraishi knew this because barely five minutes into Fuji’s grand entrance the man had pulled out several cartons of beer from his suitcase, which - to Shiraishi, anyway - immediately debunked the explanation of Fuji’s arrival due to an early train. The prodigy had obviously come prepared.
“Winner gets the bed,” Fuji announced, with a sort of glee that was almost… disturbing.
Shiraishi rubbed his eyes. “Na, Fuji-kun, you can just take the bed if you’d like. I’m not going to argue, I just need my sleep - “
“Winner gets the bed, Shiraishi-kun,” Fuji repeated. “Unless, of course, you’re scared of losing.”
Shiraishi stared at Fuji. “…is this about tennis?”
“No,” Fuji said. “Should it be?”
An hour later Fuji was comfortably tucked in Shiraishi’s bed as the latter made do with the wooden floor, head woozy and alcohol running through his system. He was drowsy even as he looked up at Fuji; the moonlight filtered through the curtains and illuminated the other man’s face. Shiraishi blinked tiredly, almost managing a little smile; he’d always found Fuji pretty, and tonight was no exception. Fuji was watching him back, half-smiling.
“You could have taken the morning train,” Shiraishi muttered, reaching out to grab anything soft for a pillow. His head was spinning.
“I couldn’t wait.” Fuji rested his chin into a pillow.
“You said you were looking for something.” Shiraishi had shut his eyes. He felt like passing out. “When you called. Is’it in Osaka?”
“It’s not important.” A pause. “You’re really bad at drinking, Shiraishi-kun.”
“Hnnn.” Shiraishi wasn’t really thinking anymore, by this point. “We should’ve a game sum’time.”
Fuji smiled. “Did we just not?” he asked, settling back into the warmth of the bed. It smelt of cologne and sweat; not particularly unpleasant. Fuji thought that perhaps he could get used to it, if Shiraishi let him.
“I’ll still beat you in tennis.” Shiraishi’s words were a slur now. Fuji had to laugh. He reached forward and tapped Shiraishi on the forehead.
“Not while you’re drunk.”
Their competitiveness could be completely childish sometimes, even if that childish quality was something Fuji found amusing. Shiraishi, in face of rivalry, seemed to forget all common sense. Fuji licked the ice-cream cone that the other had bought for him (green tea because Shiraishi refused to buy the wasabi-flavoured one) and glanced coyly at the ash-haired man, who glanced back.
A flick of tongue was all that was needed. Fuji was winning the ice-cream war when Shiraishi took a huge bite of his cone in an attempt to take the lead. Then he keeled over.
“Is everything alright, Shiraishi-kun?” Fuji took Shiraishi’s arm to help him up, but the other man shook his head with a pained expression.
“Brainfreeze,” he managed to say. Fuji burst out laughing.
So please. Let me in.
Niou was a difficult one, but that was precisely the reason why they were jerking each other off right after their match at the Nationals. The silver-haired male had pushed Fuji against the wall of the locker room and that was the beginning.
He was Fuji’s first.
Tonight they were kissing madly the moment they were inches from each other, hands reaching desperately under silk and cotton and onto hot, damp skin. Niou tasted familiar and strange and so, so good. Fuji gasped as Niou’s tongue flicked onto the sensitive skin of his neck, lips playfully sucking now. Fuji had to smile in between breathless murmurs, his own fingers curling tightly into Niou’s shirt.
It hadn’t been intentional, but when their eyes met across the dance floor, the lust had built up in the pit of Fuji’s stomach, coiled up so tightly that it had only been a matter of course that he had let Niou pull him outside, in the alleyway of the club with the silver-haired man inside of him and moving hard and fast, pressing Fuji into the wall and taking him over and over -
Fuji let out a soft cry as he came over them both, his senses tingling from the orgasm as his head fell onto Niou’s shoulder, breaths coming out short and staggered. Niou’s hands were still sliding under Fuji’s shirt and across his back, sensual and teasing and so mischievous.
“Welcome to Kanagawa,” he whispered, and Fuji turned his head slightly to meet the trickster’s eyes, glinting ever so slightly under the dim light of the alleyway.
It was Yagyuu’s fault in the first place. Yagyuu was the reason why Niou had fucked Fuji in the locker room that one year ago, and also the reason why he was fucking Fuji now. They lay there as morning slipped in tiredly through the window, Fuji’s head rested on Niou’s chest so he could hear his heartbeat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
“When did you start smoking?” Fuji asked, although they both knew he wasn’t particularly interested in the answer.
“Awhile ago.” With Niou there was no gentle caress, no competition, only pleasure and pain and sometimes the hollow that came after both. Fuji watched Niou; took in the graceful curve of the other man’s neck and up his beautiful face and Fuji thought that perhaps he’d never been more infatuated with anyone else in his life. Niou looked over at him and smirked.
“Is he why you’re here?”
The sun was streaming in, less weak now as the minutes go by. Fuji hummed, trailing a finger down Niou’s chest. “No.”
“Liar.” Niou was the one who liked to lie. Perhaps that was why Fuji found him addictive. If he closed his eyes Niou could be anyone Fuji wished him to be.
“Tell me about you.” You meant Yagyuu because Niou was Yagyuu was Niou. Niou looked away from Fuji’s gaze, inhaling deeply from his cigarette. Fuji watched the smoke curl above him and disappear.
“Will you come back?” was all he said.
Fuji shifted on top of Niou and felt the hardness against his own. His fingertips roamed down a tanned chest, head tilted forward as Niou’s tongue slid across his jawline and hands moved over Fuji’s naked waist. “Maybe,” was all Fuji said. And they were kissing again.
“I still can’t pull off the zero-shiki,” Niou said later that evening, dropping his racket and accepting the bottle of water from Fuji.
Fuji smiled. “Are you doing this for me?”
Niou laughed, the trails of water sliding down the sides of his face.
Tell me about you.
Okinawa was a detour, a last minute decision. The place was like Chiba, and walking along the road with the sea beside him made him think of Saeki. It was Hirakoba who received him, panting and hands resting on his knees as he came to a stop before Fuji, trying to catch his breath.
“You should have told me earlier you were coming,” whined the blond, as Fuji watched him in mild amusement.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference, Hirakoba-kun.”
“True, ne,” sighed Hirakoba, but Fuji could see the sheepishness in his eyes. “And call me Rin. Can I call you Syuusuke?”
They were not close, but they were friends. The last time Fuji came to Okinawa, it was for one of his photography projects. He had spoken briefly to Hirakoba then, having been acquainted with him through the junior high Nationals. There was an Eiji-like quality to Hirakoba that endeared him to Fuji.
Hirakoba brought Fuji to see the limestone caves by the Okinawan beaches, where Fuji busied himself with photography for an afternoon. The stone was cool against his skin, a relief from the heat of the sandy beaches outside. They sat at the foot of one of the caves, watching the water wash up the coral rock - swish, swish. The sky seemed to go on forever, as did the blue of the ocean. Fuji lifted a hand to his eyes.
“You can tell me what’s bothering you, you know,” Hirakoba said, lifting his arms in the air as if to capture the sea breeze. “Sometimes the people close to you don’t get it. You should know that, otherwise you wouldn’t have come so far.”
Fuji raised his camera, and Hirakoba sputtered before deigning him a cheesy smile.
They walked down the beach later that evening, when the sun was setting and Fuji watched the water curl around his feet as his toes sank into the sand. “How far are we from Chiba?” Fuji asked.
“Uh.” Hirakoba looked confused. “I failed geography.” He paused thoughtfully. “Hey, isn’t that where the team with the freshman captain came from?”
Fuji shook his head and smiled.
Hirakoba said that he would love to go to Tokyo again one day. “To find love,” he exclaimed dreamily. “They’ve got the hottest chicks, don’t they?”
“I’ll show you around if you do visit,” Fuji said, and Hirakoba’s smile lit up the room. That night as Hirakoba snored in his sleep, Fuji stayed awake to think about Tokyo and everything that had eluded him there.
It wouldn’t have made a difference.
Oshitari was a lot the same as Fuji, but the ways in which he was different he was a mystery. Their relationship was like their tennis; laidback and intense and predatory. The first time Oshitari kissed Fuji was at a tennis gathering of sorts; he had wanted to make Atobe jealous.
Tezuka had turned and talked to Inui. Fuji thought that perhaps he didn’t even notice.
The first night he was back in Tokyo, Fuji rested against the headrest of the velvet couch and listened to Oshitari play the violin. The blue-haired man was elegant and moved with purpose and grace. A moment later he had set down his violin and occupied the seat across from Fuji, sipping from his china teacup, a smirk pressed onto his lips.
“Where have you been?”
Here and there, Fuji wanted to say. But there was no point in lying to Oshitari. The man was not called a prodigy for nothing. Or perhaps Fuji didn’t feel like lying anymore. “Love,” he mumbled. The jetlag was getting to his head; suddenly he was exhausted. “I went looking.”
“Looking for love?” Oshitari’s laughter was deep, a deep rumble that echoed off the walls and marble. “Tsk, Fuji-kun. I would have expected more of you.” The clink of the teaspoon, and the saucer and teacup were set carefully on the glass table. Oshitari crossed his legs, finger tapping lightly against his lower lip as he studied the other man.
“Are you really tensai?” he murmured, but Fuji could detect the note of amusement.
Fuji craned his neck and opened his eyes, pristine blue meeting a critical, bespectacled gaze. Oshitari chuckled lightly. “Hnn. You’re so very romantic, Fuji-kun.”
The smaller man closed his eyes again, letting out a soft breath. He heard the rustle of movement, and then the quiet breath against his cheek. “I met Tezuka the other day,” Oshitari murmured in a soft drawl. “…He asked me if I heard from you.”
Fuji felt his heart jump slightly, and his lips parted, as if in question.
“Seems only right that I know where you are,” Oshitari mused, gently stroking Fuji’s hair. “Since we’ve kissed, hmm? He might have thought we were… dating.”
Fuji’s fingers curled, nails leaving red crescents in his palm.
Love. I went looking.
The thing that Fuji loved about cacti was the fact that it could survive without him for days, but yet it could never be completely independent; eventually the plant would need him for water. It was prickly and yet so very adorable, sitting in their clay pots and looking at the sun. Fuji dropped his keys in the evening light, setting down his suitcase and smiling to himself.
He only saw Tezuka a few days upon returning home, as the former Seigaku captain was leaving the bookshop they both used to frequent as junior high students. Tezuka paused when he saw Fuji, and the latter simply smiled. “Tadaima.”
Tezuka nodded, but said nothing.
It was always comfortable to walk with Tezuka, because Fuji wasn’t the conversational sort, anyway. A lot of the time with Tezuka all he needed to do was to be himself; chatty if he wanted to, otherwise it wouldn’t make a difference. Fuji closed his eyes and thought, this feels like home.
When Fuji had finally returned home from his trip, Yuuta had been standing by the door, scowling. “Took you long enough,” he all but snarled. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Here and there.” Fell out of love on the sands of Chiba. Had ice-cream on the bustling streets of Osaka. Made love in dark alleys of Kanagawa. Lay under the gentle shush of the caves in Okinawa, and ran all the way back here again. Fuji’s cheeks were pink from exertion but his smile was still in place, the same way it was when he left. Yuuta’s arms were crossed as he stared at his brother, before he finally huffed and looked away.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
Fuji hummed under his breath as he stepped past Yuuta into the familiar surroundings, letting the scent of home warm his senses. In his pocket, his phone buzzed quietly. Fuji pulled out his cell, flipping it open to see Tezuka’s name across the screen.
“Aniki.” Yuuta’s voice was persistent.
Okaeri, said the text message. Fuji let out a soft chuckle.
He turned to face Yuuta, lips slightly parted as he considered the question. For a moment Yuuta found his voice stuck in his throat at the sight. Even under the fluorescent lights, Fuji was beautiful, wisps of hair falling across pale skin and sky blue eyes. And then - that smile, as Fuji turned away again.
“It wasn’t very far from me after all.”