1369 words and unbeta-ed; I apologise in advance for my attempts at humour D:

It isn’t in Tezuka’s nature to be remotely disturbed by anything, much less show it on his face; Inui has once calculated that if he could convert Tezuka’s lack of facial reaction into a marketable formula he would outsell Botox in three weeks.

But there is something ( Read more... )

Please excuse angst; I hate having to re-adapt to new things, and junior college just started, so ;_;

Fuji is perfectly self-possessed at the best of times; he survives Inui’s juices with nary a grimace, welcomes Kikumaru’s exuberance with a smile, soothes Oishi’s worrying with a calming pat on the shoulder, counters Echizen’s returns to his Triple ( Read more... )

A/N: New Year's is a bad time to be writing bad and pointless angst, and this has very little plot or purpose, but happy new year, 
( Read more... )

If there had been any bystanders they would have told you that yes, Oshitari Yuushi and Mukahi Gakuto were clearly having a fight.  For one thing there was a good deal of yelling and vulgar language involved (Mukahi), and for another there was the occasional scathing remark (not of a particularly teasing or friendly ilk) coolly interjected when ( Read more... )

Rating: G

This is a drabble. Also, it was written at two-something in the morning, which I suppose explains Tezuka's abnormal thought processes.

The thing about being a Pillar of Seigaku, thinks Tezuka occasionally, is that there is so much expectation, so much anticipation. It gets tiring, some days, to keep standing straighter, taller than the day ( Read more... )

If you wanted an epic love story of fairytale ilk, that of Tezuka and Fuji is not for you.

Simply because one day they were not-quite-friends and the next Fuji realized (as calmly as if he had simply been watching his cactus grow) that he quite liked the way Tezuka tilted his head back to drink water after matches, the shadow of his eyelashes an ( Read more... )

Watching Fuji Syuusuke play tennis is like watching a silent, inexplicable arthouse film; characters slightly fuzzy at the edges, languorous elegance drawn out in washes of watercolour; but a quick cut of the eyes to the side and the sinuous curve that is the momentary arch of his back as he reaches up and over crystallise as sudden, still moments ( Read more... )