Holiday Fic ; Aja
Title; Christmas Eve
For; bookshop
"Fra-gee-lay. Must be Italian!" says the man on the TV, producing a snicker from the still young and yet ever so grown up Echizen Ryoma next to him. They are watching some American movie about a boy and Christmas. Tezuka understands it well enough, but he doesn’t know why Ryoma likes it so much. Ryoma can only shrug, mutter something about it being his "childhood", and so Tezuka makes a point of paying attention whenever they watch it. And they have watched it many times. Tezuka has lost track of how many Christmases this has been, lost track of how many years he and Ryoma have shared their days and nights in this little apartment in the upper side of Shinjuku. He counts back, determined to find the date, shifting through years and years of memories, all with Ryoma's face, his laughter, his skin pulling him away from his goal. Finally he remembers--ten years this May. Ten years since Tezuka found the apartment while on his way to pay a visit to Atobe. Ten years since he found Ryoma on the street courts by their old school and, quite nervously, asked him if he would like to move in. Ten years since Ryoma blinked once and agreed, as if Tezuka were asking him for a practice game.
There is a commercial break and they are bombarded by advertisements for the holidays. Ryoma 'hmms' next to him, stretching his slender arms as he smoothes the fur of their cat, nestled in his lap. Ryoma always becomes comfortable and lazy during this sort of season, amused by it all instead of irritated at the forced cheer. Tezuka never lets him know that Christmas is always a bittersweet time for him. Not because of the actual holiday; spending endless time with Ryoma was never anything he could refuse. And while he finds the bright lights and unending wave of carols to be annoying and over the top, he has come to ignore them over the years. It’s not like he could do anything to stop the wave of commercialized cheer and imported festivities, so he finds little point in being upset over it. No, the holidays bother him because they mark the upcoming New Year.
They always argue after Christmas about what to do for the 31st. Ryoma insists they avoid his fathers place, saying he has no interest in seeing the family he sees quite regularly anyways. Tezuka knows he wants to go see them much more than he pretends, but as they had gone nearly every year after University, Tezuka didn’t blame him for wanting a change. Except that he didn’t quite know how to explain that seeing his family was out of the question. Tezuka didn’t know how to tell Ryoma that, while watching one of his matches on TV, he had blurted out that he was going to live with the young, upcoming tennis star once he returned from Brittan and they could do nothing to stop him. There isn’t exactly a good time to bring up that his parents didn’t want to see them together, were uncomfortable with his life and wished him to live somehow more in the image of their perfect son...
Tezuka sighs and Ryoma laughs, tucking his feet under him as his eyes stay glued to the TV screen. He is sharply aware that there are years and years of Ryoma he will never be able to touch, never truly understand. That sense of loss is only lessoned by the years and years they had together, and the years and years they will have to come. Tezuka does not think too much about the future, because it will come when it comes and he can only be prepared for it, but he sometimes thinks about what his life will be like when he is sixty years old and Ryoma only fifty eight. Will they still know each other then? Ryoma sighs and presses closer to him, stealing his mug of hot chocolate, and Tezuka thinks simply that they will.
He has even invaded Tezuka’s memories. While he is surely coldly absent from Ryoma’s childhood, Tezuka feels the prodigy's presence in his own as clearly as he feels the warm of the body pressed against him. Tezuka feels like he has known Ryoma his whole life, his elementary school memories shaded now with the image a short boy with gold eyes. When he thinks back to meeting Oishi the first time, picking up the racquet his father gave him, even the day his arm was injured, Ryoma is somehow always there. He finds himself searching those memories for that young face, wondering how he would look when he watched Tezuka cry for the first time on the courts, wondering if he was in the stands watching when he won the junior title. There is no time in his life without Ryoma.
"Ne, buchou." Ryoma says, and Tezuka smiles. He'll never escape that title. It doesn’t matter how much time has past, or who he's speaking too--he'll always been the captain to eight successful and different individuals. It is something he secretly holds onto, wishing to keep it that way for eternity. He had never thought about eternity until he met Ryoma. Until he had realized what it meant to want something, someone, for all of it. It is a terrifying thought--to travel to the end of forever. Meeting Ryoma had made him afraid of that end. He thinks Ryoma is responsible for his fear and his elation. Ryoma is responsible for him becoming human.
"Nee. Kunimitsu." Ryoma is staring at him and he has to focus. If he isn't careful, he will find himself lost in golden eyes. He is all too often drawn in, to fall silent until Ryoma frowns and snaps at him for not paying attention. Tezuka has tried to explain that he’s simply paying too much attention, but he never manages to say it right and only succeeds in making Ryoma chuckle. In retrospect, he thinks he should continue to try, and continue to make him laugh.
"Yes?"
"What are we going to do for New Years?"
Sighing, Tezuka pulls Ryoma closer, feeling the bones in shoulders that used to be so small. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Ryoma moves, pressing against him in a way that could only be called snuggling. Their cat stretches as well, tucking her head under her paws to blink up at them and Tezuka smiles at the resemblance. Ryoma can purr and cuddle just like a kitten, but he has sharp claws and Tezuka knows he is often the most dangerous when he looks so calm. Tezuka has seen this expression from across the court and across their bedroom, and he has long since understood that the Ryoma he meets in a match is only a sliver of the man who can so thoroughly play with his heart. Tezuka wants to let him for the rest of his life.
"Nothing," he repeats, dropping his head to press his lips to Ryoma's forehead. "I want to spend it just like this." If he has his way, he would never be without Ryoma. Those eyes and lips and skin would color every experience from this moment on. "With you."
Ryoma looks up, considers, thinks over the suggestion quickly and cleanly, like he thinks over tennis games and taxes and recipes for dinners he's never made before. He shifts up and kisses Tezuka softly, like first snow fall or the sound of bells, or anything the holiday represents because for Tezuka, Ryoma is his Christmas, his New Year, his everything. His love is a gift that never changes, and never once feels anything but as magical as the first time they met.
"Alright." Ryoma says simply, pulling away to take another sip of cocoa. The movie is back on and Ryoma's attention leaves him, but he stays close, stays nestled against him and Tezuka knows that he will never grow tired of moments like these. Ryoma laughs at something in the movie and their kitten begins to purr as Tezuka closes his eyes. A quote drifts across his memory, a line from a movie in which someone said "I could die right now, I'm so happy." Tezuka had never understood that, appalled at the idea that someone would give up life and everything in it because of a fleeting moment. He had never understood the sentiment that someone could be completely satisfied, never wanting more. For Tezuka, the constant strive for perfection, for more greatness, was as natural as breathing.
But sitting like this, with Ryoma's body against him, he feels compelled to say it, repeat the sappy line that would normally make them both skeptical of the over sweetness. He leans closer, feels Ryoma smile and Tezuka knows that Ryoma understands the words he doesn’t dare utter, and silently says them in return.
The boy exclaims as he opens up his present of a BB-gun on the screen and Tezuka chooses to ignore the rest of the film and focus on the gift right beside him.
"Merry Christmas," he sighs.
"Mmm. Love you too.”
For; bookshop
"Fra-gee-lay. Must be Italian!" says the man on the TV, producing a snicker from the still young and yet ever so grown up Echizen Ryoma next to him. They are watching some American movie about a boy and Christmas. Tezuka understands it well enough, but he doesn’t know why Ryoma likes it so much. Ryoma can only shrug, mutter something about it being his "childhood", and so Tezuka makes a point of paying attention whenever they watch it. And they have watched it many times. Tezuka has lost track of how many Christmases this has been, lost track of how many years he and Ryoma have shared their days and nights in this little apartment in the upper side of Shinjuku. He counts back, determined to find the date, shifting through years and years of memories, all with Ryoma's face, his laughter, his skin pulling him away from his goal. Finally he remembers--ten years this May. Ten years since Tezuka found the apartment while on his way to pay a visit to Atobe. Ten years since he found Ryoma on the street courts by their old school and, quite nervously, asked him if he would like to move in. Ten years since Ryoma blinked once and agreed, as if Tezuka were asking him for a practice game.
There is a commercial break and they are bombarded by advertisements for the holidays. Ryoma 'hmms' next to him, stretching his slender arms as he smoothes the fur of their cat, nestled in his lap. Ryoma always becomes comfortable and lazy during this sort of season, amused by it all instead of irritated at the forced cheer. Tezuka never lets him know that Christmas is always a bittersweet time for him. Not because of the actual holiday; spending endless time with Ryoma was never anything he could refuse. And while he finds the bright lights and unending wave of carols to be annoying and over the top, he has come to ignore them over the years. It’s not like he could do anything to stop the wave of commercialized cheer and imported festivities, so he finds little point in being upset over it. No, the holidays bother him because they mark the upcoming New Year.
They always argue after Christmas about what to do for the 31st. Ryoma insists they avoid his fathers place, saying he has no interest in seeing the family he sees quite regularly anyways. Tezuka knows he wants to go see them much more than he pretends, but as they had gone nearly every year after University, Tezuka didn’t blame him for wanting a change. Except that he didn’t quite know how to explain that seeing his family was out of the question. Tezuka didn’t know how to tell Ryoma that, while watching one of his matches on TV, he had blurted out that he was going to live with the young, upcoming tennis star once he returned from Brittan and they could do nothing to stop him. There isn’t exactly a good time to bring up that his parents didn’t want to see them together, were uncomfortable with his life and wished him to live somehow more in the image of their perfect son...
Tezuka sighs and Ryoma laughs, tucking his feet under him as his eyes stay glued to the TV screen. He is sharply aware that there are years and years of Ryoma he will never be able to touch, never truly understand. That sense of loss is only lessoned by the years and years they had together, and the years and years they will have to come. Tezuka does not think too much about the future, because it will come when it comes and he can only be prepared for it, but he sometimes thinks about what his life will be like when he is sixty years old and Ryoma only fifty eight. Will they still know each other then? Ryoma sighs and presses closer to him, stealing his mug of hot chocolate, and Tezuka thinks simply that they will.
He has even invaded Tezuka’s memories. While he is surely coldly absent from Ryoma’s childhood, Tezuka feels the prodigy's presence in his own as clearly as he feels the warm of the body pressed against him. Tezuka feels like he has known Ryoma his whole life, his elementary school memories shaded now with the image a short boy with gold eyes. When he thinks back to meeting Oishi the first time, picking up the racquet his father gave him, even the day his arm was injured, Ryoma is somehow always there. He finds himself searching those memories for that young face, wondering how he would look when he watched Tezuka cry for the first time on the courts, wondering if he was in the stands watching when he won the junior title. There is no time in his life without Ryoma.
"Ne, buchou." Ryoma says, and Tezuka smiles. He'll never escape that title. It doesn’t matter how much time has past, or who he's speaking too--he'll always been the captain to eight successful and different individuals. It is something he secretly holds onto, wishing to keep it that way for eternity. He had never thought about eternity until he met Ryoma. Until he had realized what it meant to want something, someone, for all of it. It is a terrifying thought--to travel to the end of forever. Meeting Ryoma had made him afraid of that end. He thinks Ryoma is responsible for his fear and his elation. Ryoma is responsible for him becoming human.
"Nee. Kunimitsu." Ryoma is staring at him and he has to focus. If he isn't careful, he will find himself lost in golden eyes. He is all too often drawn in, to fall silent until Ryoma frowns and snaps at him for not paying attention. Tezuka has tried to explain that he’s simply paying too much attention, but he never manages to say it right and only succeeds in making Ryoma chuckle. In retrospect, he thinks he should continue to try, and continue to make him laugh.
"Yes?"
"What are we going to do for New Years?"
Sighing, Tezuka pulls Ryoma closer, feeling the bones in shoulders that used to be so small. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Ryoma moves, pressing against him in a way that could only be called snuggling. Their cat stretches as well, tucking her head under her paws to blink up at them and Tezuka smiles at the resemblance. Ryoma can purr and cuddle just like a kitten, but he has sharp claws and Tezuka knows he is often the most dangerous when he looks so calm. Tezuka has seen this expression from across the court and across their bedroom, and he has long since understood that the Ryoma he meets in a match is only a sliver of the man who can so thoroughly play with his heart. Tezuka wants to let him for the rest of his life.
"Nothing," he repeats, dropping his head to press his lips to Ryoma's forehead. "I want to spend it just like this." If he has his way, he would never be without Ryoma. Those eyes and lips and skin would color every experience from this moment on. "With you."
Ryoma looks up, considers, thinks over the suggestion quickly and cleanly, like he thinks over tennis games and taxes and recipes for dinners he's never made before. He shifts up and kisses Tezuka softly, like first snow fall or the sound of bells, or anything the holiday represents because for Tezuka, Ryoma is his Christmas, his New Year, his everything. His love is a gift that never changes, and never once feels anything but as magical as the first time they met.
"Alright." Ryoma says simply, pulling away to take another sip of cocoa. The movie is back on and Ryoma's attention leaves him, but he stays close, stays nestled against him and Tezuka knows that he will never grow tired of moments like these. Ryoma laughs at something in the movie and their kitten begins to purr as Tezuka closes his eyes. A quote drifts across his memory, a line from a movie in which someone said "I could die right now, I'm so happy." Tezuka had never understood that, appalled at the idea that someone would give up life and everything in it because of a fleeting moment. He had never understood the sentiment that someone could be completely satisfied, never wanting more. For Tezuka, the constant strive for perfection, for more greatness, was as natural as breathing.
But sitting like this, with Ryoma's body against him, he feels compelled to say it, repeat the sappy line that would normally make them both skeptical of the over sweetness. He leans closer, feels Ryoma smile and Tezuka knows that Ryoma understands the words he doesn’t dare utter, and silently says them in return.
The boy exclaims as he opens up his present of a BB-gun on the screen and Tezuka chooses to ignore the rest of the film and focus on the gift right beside him.
"Merry Christmas," he sighs.
"Mmm. Love you too.”