[nagano]
Title: Nothing Gold
ID: [nagano]
Word count: 4,200
Character(s) or pairing(s): Seigaku ensemble
Nothing Gold
This is how love ends.
- Oishi Shuuichirou -
He and Eiji ended up going to the same high school after all, much to everyone's surprise. No one had really taken Eiji seriously when he said he was applying to whatever school Oishi was applying to, because no one had really believed Eiji could actually pass the entrance exam.
But Eiji did, just as Oishi always knew he would, though he never dared to speak the words out loud for fear of breaking some magic spell. With Eiji, the impossible didn't exist.
Over spring break, Eiji often dragged him to play tennis at the street courts. They never meant to play for too long--but somehow one game turned into two, and two to three, and then suddenly it was already dark and they both should have been home hours ago.
His parents never said anything when he came home late--so late sometimes that he missed dinner altogether and had to make do with leftovers--but he always saw the disapproving look in his mother's eyes, no matter how hard he tried to avoid eye contact.
School forced an end to this routine, of course, but he still saw Eiji everyday at lunch and after school, even though they had no classes together, so that was all right. But now Eiji was always nagging him about joining the tennis club, as if here were uncertain of the foretold future. As if he knew what Oishi was thinking.
"You are going to join, aren't you, Oishii?" And Oishi would find himself smiling weakly and changing the subject as quickly as possible.
Perhaps Eiji did know what he was thinking, because though Oishi couldn't find the heart to say no to Eiji, he knew he shouldn't--couldn't--say yes, either. The tennis club required too much dedication on his part, dedication and time that he knew he should be spending on his studies, if he ever wanted to become a doctor. Dreams required sacrifices.
But he had already given up swimming at the end of junior high, because his father had said it took up too much of his time. Why should he have to give up tennis as well? He could still keep up his grades, stay at the top of his class...
Except that was a lie, and Oishi knew it. If he actually joined the tennis club and committed himself, as he had in junior high, he knew that he would spend too much time on the club and with Eiji, and then his grades would slip, and his parents would disapprove, and he would never forgive himself because he knew in his head, if not in his heart, that he could not continue playing tennis like this.
His mother brought up the subject during dinner one day. "The club fair is tomorrow, isn't it?"
He concentrated on his rice and nodded. "Yes." There was a long pause, as if his answer had been inadequate. "Actually, I was thinking that, uh, I..." He paused to take a breath--and his father cut in.
"Your workload will only become heavier from now on, Shuuichirou," his father said. "I don't want you to join any clubs that will take up too much of your time."
"Like tennis," his mother added. It was as if they had rehearsed this. "We've talked about this before, remember? You said you would stop playing tennis when you got to high school and concentrate on your studies instead."
He looked up at that. "Okaa-san, you can't expect me to stop playing tennis altogether--"
"Did I ever say that?" She waved his interjection aside. "You can certainly play tennis, but your studies must come first. As such, I think it would be best if you didn't join the tennis club."
"Your mother and I agree on this, Shuuichirou," his father said, and that seemed to be the final word on the matter.
He bowed his head again. "I understand."
The next day, he did his best to avoid Eiji, lingering in one corner of the fair for as long as possible, hoping to go unnoticed. But Eiji found him anyway; they had never been any good at hiding from each other.
"Oishii, what are you doing?" Eiji's frown was closer to a pout. "The tennis club booth is over there. Come on!"
Oishi shook off Eiji's hand, earning a surprised look from his friend. "Eiji... I'm not joining the tennis club."
Eiji stared at him. Oishi winced inwardly, but made himself continue. "I need to focus on my studies, and tennis would take up too much time. I really want to, Eiji, but I just can't. Not anymore." He caught Eiji's blue eyes, willing him to understand.
Eiji crossed his arms. "I don't believe you."
"Eiji--"
"Your parents forced you to quit, didn't they?" Eiji's voice was rising. Oishi motioned for him to keep it down, but Eiji ignored him. "I know you wouldn't just quit on me like this, Oishi. You said you would--"
"Eiji, listen to me--"
"But you promised--"
"I never promised you anything!"
Eiji's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence. He glared at Oishi for one long moment--then turned away. "No, you didn't, did you? Guess I was wrong all along."
"Eiji, wait!"
But Eiji was already gone, disappeared into the crowd of people, none of whom seemed to notice that Oishi's world had just shattered into a thousand little pieces.
That night, Oishi sat on his bed with his cell-phone in hand and waited, knowing--hoping--that Eiji would call. Soon. Because they needed to talk, and surely this was just a little bump in the road of their friendship. It could be resolved quickly enough, if Eiji just called.
But the phone never rang, and finally Oishi flung it across the room, unsure whether his anger was meant for Eiji or for himself.
He finished his homework and went to bed early, leaving the phone where it had fallen on the floor, still half-hoping to be woken up by his ring tone in the middle of the night.
Dawn saw him already awake and checking to see if he'd perhaps broken his phone. But it was functioning. And there had been no missed calls. No messages. Nothing.
Eiji avoided him at lunch that day, and the day after that, and the day after that as well. Oishi told himself that Eiji would come around eventually, though that grew harder and harder to believe as he watched Eiji go on laughing and making friends as if nothing had happened.
One day, on his way to a student council meeting, he passed the school tennis courts and saw Eiji playing doubles with a second year Regular. As Oishi watched, Eiji put one arm casually around his partner's shoulders, leaning in close to discuss game tactics.
Oishi turned around and went straight home.
"You're home early," his mother commented when he walked in the front door. Then she stopped, frowning as she took stock of his expression. "Shuuichirou, are you all right? What happened?"
He shook his head, forcing a smile. "Nothing. I'm fine. I'll be in my room." He dodged past her and ran up the stairs.
He was being ridiculous, he knew as he looked at himself in the mirror. Eiji had his own life. He had his own friends. They both did. In a week or so, Eiji would have mellowed out enough for them to talk again and heal whatever rifts had arisen. Then everything would be back to normal.
But Oishi had never been very good at lying to himself, and he knew that things could never go back to the way they once were.
He glanced from the cell phone on his desk to the tennis bag by his bed. He could call Eiji right now and apologize, but it wouldn't fix everything. He could ask Eiji to go play tennis this Saturday, and Eiji would probably agree, but it wouldn't be the same.
He could play tennis on his own, or with someone else, but it would never be the same again.
He could feel the textbooks sitting in his backpack, weighing down his shoulders. It was stupid to think that life wouldn't change, he told himself, and he had never been an idiot.
Oishi kicked the tennis bag under the bed, determined not to look at it again.
- Fuji Shuusuke -
Tezuka went pro after finishing high school in Japan. He left the same day Shuusuke received an acceptance letter from his top-choice college.
While helping Shuusuke pack his things over break, Yumiko noticed a rather conspicuous absence. "Shuusuke, what happened to your tennis rackets?"
Shuusuke looked up from organizing his book collection. He gave her a close-eyed smile. "I donated them to a children's sports program."
Yumiko paused for just a moment. "Oh."
Shuusuke went back to his books, and Yumiko resumed folding his shirts.
After a minute of silence, she said, "Yuuta is going to have a fit, you know."
Shuusuke chuckled. "I know."
"What will you tell him?"
Shuusuke never stopped smiling. "Maybe I'll just let him figure it out on his own."
Yumiko sighed. "Shuusuke..."
"Or maybe I'll let you explain it to him, nee-san. You've always been better at explanations."
Yumiko shook her head. "I don't think he would understand anyway. His concept of rivalry is slightly different than yours."
"Saa, then maybe we just won't tell him."
"...Maybe."
- Kikumaru Eiji -
Eiji didn't make the Regulars in his first year of high school, but that wasn't really surprising. He had never been a spectacular singles player, and unfortunately his high school tennis club's rankings were determined by singles matches--just like they had at Seigaku, only the level here was much, much higher.
He just shrugged it off with a smile and a cheerful "Maybe next time."
But by the time he finished his second year, still without once making it onto the Regulars, Eiji was resigning himself to the fact that he just wasn't good enough anymore.
Still, he always went to see the tournament matches, because his friends and teammates would be playing, and Eiji wasn't about to let them down. He saw Fuji quite often, and Tezuka, too. They had both continued with tennis, and were both Regulars on their own school teams by the time they were second years. Eiji was always excited to see them play, even if he was a bit jealous sometimes.
Then the third year of high school rolled around, and Eiji realized that Oishi hadn't talked to him in nearly five months--and the last time they had spoken was about homework, which hardly counted as conversation.
Oishi had changed. He remembered their falling-out from first year, but Eiji had tried to talk to Oishi pretty soon after that, hadn't he? And Oishi had apologized and said everything that should have meant they were friends again.
Except they weren't. Not really.
Eiji sometimes thought that it was his own fault, but he never thought too hard about that disastrous club fair day if he could help it, and gradually the memory faded until it was too dim to recall clearly.
If Oishi didn't want to talk to him anymore, then that was Oishi's problem. Eiji could live without him, even if it was kind of painful to remember their lost friendship. And if Oishi was stupid enough to stop playing tennis because of something like that, then...well...that was his own problem, too.
High school graduation rolled around almost before Eiji knew it, and then they were all off to college--except Tezuka, of course, who had finally gone pro--and Eiji realized belatedly that he had never said good-bye to Oishi.
But everything healed, or faded, with time, and after a while Eiji stopped wanting to beg Inui for Oishi's new phone number. It wasn't that important, was it?
Eiji didn't play tennis competitively in college, but he did get a part-time job teaching a weekend tennis class for children. It paid well, and it was kind of fun.
Except one day, it wasn't fun anymore, and all he felt was a weary sort of impatience as he tried to teach six-year-olds how to hold their rackets correctly.
It wasn't just the class. Tennis wasn't fun anymore. Tennis hadn't been fun for a long time, Eiji realized. Not since high school. But he didn't know why, and he didn't really want to think back and figure out why, because realizing that fact was painful enough.
He quit his job a week later.
When his friends asked why he no longer played tennis, Eiji just shrugged and said, "It was getting old."
- Tezuka Kunimitsu -
He remembered when he had hurt his elbow in seventh grade. His mother had been waiting for him on the front steps when he came home. She had taken one look at him and promptly called the doctor's office. She never scolded him, only asked how he was feeling.
She had been just as supportive when he injured his shoulder in ninth grade, and now, as he stepped off the plane and walked slowly to the luggage area, he saw her waiting there for him, as she always had.
And the first thing she said was, "How are you feeling, Kunimitsu?"
It was good to know his mother would always be there, especially now, as he tried to piece his life back together.
Five years, he thought sometimes as he lay in bed at night. Five short years, and it was all over already. His doctor said he was lucky he could still walk without a limp. Tennis was out of the question.
He had gone to three different doctors, but everywhere the verdict was the same. There was no way he would ever play tennis again. It would be months, maybe years, before he would even be able to run.
His professional career was most definitely over.
His mother suggested quietly, "You could still coach tennis, Kunimitsu."
He could do that, yes. He started with his old contacts, looking for some suitable opportunity, but the world seemed to have turned its back on him.
Inui was no help, suggesting every few seconds that he should consider continuing his education first.
Oishi never returned his e-mails, and when he tried to call Oishi's cell phone, he got a rather flustered woman who told him that this had been her phone number for more than two years now.
Fuji, it turned out, had gone to Paris to study art.
He would have called Atobe, but his pride didn't allow it.
He wanted to call Sanada, but the last e-mails they had exchanged were dated from more than half a year ago. From when the injury had occurred. Sanada evidently wasn't interested in someone whom he could no longer consider a rival.
Finally, he contacted Inui again and asked for a recommendation to the university where Inui was conducting his research. Inui agreed, of course, sounding much too smug for his own good.
The university was close to his home, at least, so he wouldn't have to move into a dormitory. It would save his mother that much trouble.
He chose to study law, because that was what his father had always wanted him to study. He felt like he owed his family, after all that they had given him.
He wanted to ask his mother what she would have him do. But before he ever got a chance to speak the words, she put a delicate hand on his shoulder one evening and said, "I just want you to be happy, Kunimitsu. You know that, right?"
And what could he do, but nod and try his best to make her smile again?
His own dream was gone, but he still carried their dreams on his shoulders. He could not afford to let them down as well.
- Inui Sadaharu -
"Visiting hours don't start for another thirty-five minutes, hakase."
"Please, kyouju. You know perfectly well that I am on a first-name basis with all the doctors--and most of the nurses--in this hospital."
Renji's lips twitched in a smile, but his eyes remained closed. They were always closed now. It reminded Sadaharu of childhood days when Renji had enjoyed being eccentric.
"Touche," he murmured. Sadaharu smiled, though he knew Renji wouldn't see it.
"I brought the notes from your colleague," Sadaharu said, pulling a thick binder from his messenger bag. "She said you could keep them for as long as you want."
"Thank you." Renji turned his head slightly in the direction of the sound as Sadaharu put the binder on the bedside table. "I won't be long."
Sadaharu faltered just long enough for an awkward silence to creep in through the barriers of conversation. He quickly drew a breath and asked, "Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?"
Renji shook his head. "Sit, Sadaharu. You're making yourself nervous, pacing around like that."
Sadaharu froze in mid-step. "I'm not pacing," he said, sitting quickly.
Renji smiled. "How were your classes today?"
"As well-behaved as always," came the dry response. "They're getting better. I suppose all students must be twitchy on Friday afternoons."
"Especially when stuck in a chemistry lab with Inui-sensei." Renji was trying to keep a straight face.
"Have some pity, Renji. Just because you don't have to deal with them right now doesn't give you the right to mock me."
Renji didn't quite manage to produce a convincing smile. "I apologize, Sadaharu. I know it is difficult."
Another awkward silence threatened. Sadaharu swallowed. "They're becoming more civilized," he said, choosing to misunderstand Renji's statement. "Actually, the dormitory boys are trying to send you flowers."
A grimace crossed Renji's face. "Please tell me you gave them a false address."
"I encoded it into a logic problem that will take them at least three weeks to solve," Sadaharu replied. "And if any of them cheat and send you flowers before then, I will know, and then they will have to explain that problem in front of the entire Intro to Logic seminar."
"Sadaharu, please refrain from torturing my students," Renji said, but he was smiling. "But thank you," he added in an almost inaudible whisper.
"I try, Renji," Sadaharu murmured in return.
The silence that descended wasn't awkward, but strained, as if unspoken words were slowly choking on their last breath.
Renji sighed. "It's been unseasonably cold for this time of year."
"But it is not unpleasant," Sadaharu noted, "especially when compared to the sweltering heat that we usually get in September."
"True. It feels like perfect weather for tennis."
Sadaharu realized that Renji was waiting for a response. "...Yes. It is."
"You still play tennis, don't you?"
Sadaharu weighed the value of honesty for a moment. "No," he admitted. "I haven't played in six and a half months."
There was a pause as Renji tallied up the months. "I see," he said. After a moment, he smiled and continued, "You should play. You'll get out of shape otherwise, puttering around your lab all day. I bet you've already gained weight."
"I am still as fit as I was twenty years ago," Sadaharu said firmly. He let the pause go for just a millisecond too long before adding, "We'll play each other when you get better. For old time's sake."
Renji turned slightly toward the wall. His smile didn't waver for one moment; it seemed frozen in place. "You're not as young as you used to be, Sadaharu. Don't kid yourself."
Sadaharu breathed out a soundless sigh. He made himself smile so his voice wouldn't betray him. "You're just jealous I never lost my good looks."
"It is difficult to lose something one never had."
Renji laughed at his friend's affronted huff, and Sadaharu smiled in spite of himself. But at the same time, he couldn't help noticing that Renji's laugh was thin and short-lived.
Sadaharu wondered sometimes if this was what heartbreak felt like.
He would give anything, he thought, just to see Renji happy again.
- Kawamura Takashi -
The old team photo still hung in one corner of the sushi shop. Some of the colors were fading, but that Seigaku blue was still as true as it had been the day the picture was taken.
Kawamura only wished he could say the same for the old Seigaku friendships. But he was half a century too old to really believe that such relationships always lasted. After all, the nature of human life was to live, learn, and then move on.
Kawamura had lived those glory days as a member of the Seigaku boys tennis team, and he had learned that while good-bye's were painful, remembering broken friendships was even worse. So he had moved on.
The old picture on the wall was enough for him. Any more might be too much, Kawamura knew, because the past had a way of coming back to bite you like that.
He still remembered when Oishi had stopped visiting. That was during high school. He remembered how Eiji used to drop by every week--and then that turned into every two weeks, then every month, then every few months. Then one day Eiji stayed until long after all the other customers had left, nursing a small bottle of sake and talking about seemingly nothing. It took an hour for Kawamura to finally decode his words and realize that Eiji had broken his heart over a certain someone, and by then Eiji was crying silently and clearly in no condition to get home on his own. Kawamura set him up in the guest room for the night, staying beside him until dawn to make sure he would be all right.
After that, Eiji didn't come back for two-and-a-half years. When he showed up again, he had changed--for the better, perhaps, but Kawamura couldn't really tell, because Eiji never stayed long enough for a real talk.
Sometimes Eiji's visits would coincide with Fuji's, who returned from Paris the same year that Eiji came back into their lives. At least their friendship never seemed to change, though Eiji was less exuberant than he had been, and Fuji seemed less sure of what to do.
Sometimes they watched tennis matches together, Eiji and Fuji sitting at the counter while Kawamura prepared sushi for all of them. They sometimes watched Sanada play, though Fuji was always more interested in Yukimura's games.
No one ever mentioned Tezuka. None of them had heard from their old team captain since he had left for America at the end of high school. They only had newspaper clippings and internet rumors to help them piece together what had happened.
Kawamura supposed that they could have asked Inui at any time, and Inui would be able to put them in contact with Tezuka. But though Inui often called Kawamura to see how he was doing, Tezuka never came up in their conversations. After a while, Kawamura decided it was best to not ask. Fuji didn't seem to want to know, anyway.
Eiji moved away after a few years, and Fuji left for Europe not long after that. The sushi shop felt oddly empty for some time, but he filled the spaces with customers and a new flatscreen TV, and his father was always there, so after a while everything seemed almost normal again.
Then Jin came back to Tokyo one winter, after spending nearly a decade abroad, and Kawamura spent much too much time waiting and wondering why Jin didn't stop by to visit, or even call. A week later he found out that Jin had only come back to attend his mother's funeral, and that he had left as soon as the service was over.
Kawamura knew then that it would be best to accept that Jin was no longer part of his life. It was never meant to be. Perhaps that was for the best.
Inui used to call every Christmas Eve to wish him happy holidays, but that year, when the clock struck midnight, the phone still hadn't rang. Kawamura decided to call Inui instead.
One of Inui's research assistants answered the phone. She said that Inui had died earlier in the evening. A laboratory accident.
Kawamura knew that he had plenty of excuses for not traveling all the way to Osaka to attend Inui's funeral, but he did so anyway. He felt he owed that much to his old friend, even if he hadn't actually seen Inui in person in more than two decades.
Even now, He still remembered that funeral clearly. He remembered the closed, black casket, lined with white lilies on the outside. He remembered being surrounded by students, professors, scientists, engineers, doctors... He remembered seeing Tezuka at one point.
He remembered learning that this was the second tragedy to have struck the university that winter: another professor had passed away due to illness at the beginning of the month. He remembered being asked if he had known Yanagi Renji, since they had both been Inui's old friends.
Kawamura had spent the entire trip home trying not to think too hard about it. He tried not to think much at all, because all he could see in his mind's eye were white lilies and black suits.
He still wondered sometimes whether it was normal, or healthy, to value childhood friendships so much. He wondered if he should take down that old Seigaku photograph. He wondered if he was the only one who still cared.
Kawamura was turning sixty this year. He thought his family and friends might drop by to wish him prosperity and good health, and probably urge him to take a day off. But he expected he would work all day anyway, because that was what he did.
And at the end of the day, he knew he would sneak a glance at the photograph before closing down the shop, then trudge upstairs to bed, that Seigaku blue still vivid in his mind.
- END -